This is a post that I want to dedicate to my friends and family who have seen me through the ups and downs of the past year. Who have shown me that there is so much more out there and whose love for me has really made me who I am today.

Love is a funny thing. We hear the word and depending on who we are, we associate a million different things with it. My doctor was talking about it with me. She was discussing how crucial it was for cancer patients and their families. How sometimes just walking around the ward can make people feel better. Why sites like ChemoAngels are so successful; it makes people feel connected and ultimately cared about. I mean, love is so many things. And everyone has a different definition for it—some liken it to a flutter in the chest, a flip-flop in the stomach, romance, friendship, family, trust, loyalty, caring, the list can go on and on.

Our life experiences color the word too. Some of us take love in the form of money; others will have the life beaten out of them because that’s what they were taught love is. Some of us hide from it; some of us embrace it. Some of us run from it, while others of us constantly find ourselves chasing after it. It’s elusive, it’s intangible and can be as healing as it is destructive.

But for me, and I believe like so many of us, love is friendship. It’s comfort. It’s caring. Love isn’t some mystical and magical movement in your heart. It’s the feeling that you get when you know that someone means a lot to you. When I was sick, I remember feeling the need to constantly tell everyone around me how I felt about them. And I was lucky that I was surrounded by people who would love me back; I can't imagine how lonely someone would feel if all they had was themselves to rely on. And I've met people through my work with the Lymphoma society that did feel all alone and unloved and confused and unlucky. And I kept thinking, "how unfair is that?"

Because this whole experience taught me a lot about life and love and friendship. It changes how you look at the people in your life that you care about. Who you let in. It changes how much of yourself you’re willing to give to any one person; I've been accused of giving too much to friends who don't seem to give much back. But it also gives you a certain freedom in not keeping around people you only have lukewarm feelings for. And you just want to constantly surround yourself with love. Because it’s what gives you the reason to fight the disease that has infected your body and to make sure that it doesn’t come back. When it seems like your world is just going to be surrounded by so much darkness, when your body fails you, and all your left with is hope, you truly believe in the fact that love—the way your mom holds your hand, the way your brother sits at the end of your bed, how your friend brings you over a ton of movies, and your dad just sits in a chair and looks at you—will make it all better.

I could’ve been very bitter after I got better. The person I had once been in love with had skipped out. Best friends since college, whose wedding I had read in just months earlier, had bailed out. I had no hair, scars on my chest, pounds added on from steroids and a complete lack of direction. On one hand, I might only have a few years left. On the other, I may have had just as long a lifetime as anyone else.

They say that having cancer is a grieving process. Most of us suffer something akin to a broken heart or losing a sibling. Imagine, at 23, you feel that you have your entire life ahead of you. Then at 25, feeling that you’re not sure how much life you have left in you.

So, first you shut yourself off. You look through old pictures, crying about the past, the memories, thinking, “If I could just recapture that feeling, I’ll be okay.” But then you realize that isn’t why you were given a second chance. So, you start to go out again. Remember what it’s like to smile, to laugh, to dance, to have a good time. All that stuff you were in that hospital bed fighting for comes rushing back. You start to remember how good it feels to be open to possibilities.
But see, your heart can still be broken from being sick. You feel betrayed by your body, by God, by things that are out of your control. You cry for no reason. You don’t trust anyone, including yourself.

We forget that we tell our parents, our siblings and even our friends we love them all the time--because we do. They’ve become such a fabric of our being that we just simply love them. They’re a part of us.

But being able to be to love, means being able to be vulnerable. If you’re not willing to be vulnerable, to be open, you’ll always be scared. You’ll always be looking for something that isn’t there. If you’re going to embrace the good in life, the good in the people that care for you, you must first let go of all your anger, all your hurt, all your confusion and all your pain. Let go of your expectations, your comparisons, and your conviction that you know how it should be. I know that life will work itself out and show you that there are things that will be surprising. No one person can fix someone else’s broken heart—but they can make you see the possibility of more. And if you’re willing to take the time, to let yourself heal from this sickness, to accept that right now there are no real answers, then you have a shot. Because there are some things in life that are very rare—and a friend, a good friend, a great friend, a friend who loves you for all that you are and all that you can be—is one of those things.

I think that experience is our greatest teacher--and our worst enemy. It gives us the tools survive but at the same time can make us jaded and wary; cynical and distrustful. It shapes who we are in ways we're sometimes not even aware of.

Because of my experience, I know that I have trouble with trust and having faith. Fear--of what I can't control, of being vulnerable, of opening my heart--rules who I am these days. I find myself constantly uneasy with just BEING. Everything has to have a plan, a purpose. I need to know EVERYTHING & ask a million questions instead of just letting the answers make themselves known. I subconciously test people--pushing them to the point where they are looking at me and saying, "Is this really even worth it?" Once something takes on meaning to me--I feel the need to question it. Confidence becomes uncertaintly because now it has weight and value and the potential of loss is really...well, there you go.

But I know that these thinsg aren't who I am. They're simply my experiences getting in the way. Shielding me from getting hurt but at the same time blocking me from being 100% happy. We guard our hearts for lots of reasons--but ultimately we are all terrified of getting hurt. Because when we didn't know any better we handed all that innocence and trust over and said, "this is important, don't break it." But we're all only human and for one reaon or another we find our hearts, our innocence, and our trust shattered into a million pieces. And whoever wants to go through that again? If you're me--you shut yourself down, away, find something wrong with every guy you meet, swear to your friends that love is a myth, a joke. And then three years later, you realize how much has gone by. How by not taking the chance on being disappointed, you've accepted just being empty. Using a broken heart as an excuse. And it never heals because you've forgotten what it means to connect. Experience has kept you from experiencing anything--pain, misery and ultimately happiness too.

I may have a ton of hang-ups. A relationship with me is uncovering all those land mines, those things that I've been very good at forgetting about and running away from. Opening up old wounds and healing them--but ofcourse first it's got to sting a little bit. And not hiding behind my illness anymore. I believe that I have the capacity somewhere to let it all go and start over. To not bring all my disappointments with me. To allow myself to be vulnerable without being insecure. To trust the good stuff. To stop questioning everything because I'm so scared that if I've not thought of every scenario, every angle, then I won't be prepared. I need to appreciate the unexpected and be open to all the possibilities. Because if experience has taught me anything--I deserve to be happy.

Trust has to be the most loaded word in the English dictionary. Way so more than love. Probably because love is sometimes contingent on trust and if you love someone and they break your trust then that is probably the most devastating thing.

Anyway, the thing about having cancer, going through cancer, surviving cancer is that you have to have so much trust: in your doctor, in the research, in the medicines, in yourself and ultimately in some unknown force that you are hoping is watching out for you. The lack of control that cancer bestows on us leaves us vulnerable to so many outside forces—chemo makes it so that even the tiniest cold germ can have us taking up space in the ICU, sucking on oxygen. You have to believe that the doctors know what they’re talking about, that the researchers have stumbled upon the right combination of drugs, and that the medicines won’t kill you when they’re trying to make you better. That was the hardest part for me. I couldn’t look at the statistics, I couldn’t listen to the success stories—stats can be altered and truthfully for every success story is a sadder story of loss. So, I’d have to go on blind faith and the notion that whatever will be will be.

So one would think after becoming completely dependent on forces outside my control, that I would have far less trust issues. After all, it worked! But I don’t. I constantly question the good news, wondering why I should make it through and be okay; the unfairness of it all is something that I dwell on. I was never like, “Why me?” when I got sick, but I’m completely like, “Why me?” now that I’m okay. I can’t trust the present. I’m petrified to let my guard down and be that vulnerable again. When your whole world has been shattered and rebuilt, you tend to put up better fences this time around. But it makes you a hard person to have a relationship with. The constant doubt, the constant questions, the insecurity, the fear, the tears, the confusion—I can only imagine that it would become too much. Or maybe that’s one of the walls. Make it hard enough and then there’s your excuse and you get to say, “see I knew you couldn’t handle it.” I don’t know. Some of it is probably real and some of it is probably a defense mechanism.

Saying the right thing. It’s so much harder than I thought it would be. And I’ve learned I have very little patience for people who say the completely wrong thing.

For instance, I was talking with my mother today. A friend of mine may have a serious condition and I was a little upset about it. She goes, “Why did she even tell you if she wasn’t sure what it was yet. Why didn’t she just wait?” And I’m all like, what the hell does that mean? And she proceeded to tell me that ofcourse, she would wait until she was certain before unloading that on “someone like me”. Which put me through the roof. And I was like, “What the hell does that mean? Because I would think that if you had a friend who had been through a serious illness, that that would be the first person that you turned to because they would understand. So, now people are supposed to avoid telling me unpleasant news because at one point in time I was sick and they should only tell me things if they’re certain?”

She had no reply and she just couldn’t answer, just kept going on and on and about how what this person did (by telling me, mind you) was inconsiderate and wrong and blah blah blah and I had to say to her, “You know what? You’re making this worse. I have to go.”

I’m sorry, I love my mother, but I’m going to disagree with her here. But at the same time, I don’t know if I should take her advice. So, when I feel sick or if the doctor tells me, “I’m going to do some tests” I should just not tell anyone? Just kind of go through that alone? Wait and see what comes down the pike? Keep it all in? Be scared and nervous and just say, “Well, I mean I’m a nervous wreck and talking about this with someone might help but since I’m not 100% sure what’s going on, I’m going to keep it to myself”. Which I’ve been accused of doing. And told not to do. I don’t know, I don’t like to be thought of as fragile, as not being able to handle certain things. Not true!

I’m a very superstitious person. I mean, sadly so. Recently, I haven’t been feeling all that great, so I was staying away from putting anything down on paper. My fear was, I put it out there, completely out there for me to read again and again, and I might make all my fears real. Saying something makes it true I suppose in my warped world.

But the good news is that what seems like it really just a little fatigue (probably from the heat) and allergies, really is not signs that my tumors are back. This time I was extremely nervous. I kept playing out all sorts of scenarios in my head. How to break it to my parents, what would I do with work, etc. I thought to myself—this is it. I have to do this. But being overdramatic has its benefits since it would seem that I was not only fine, but really fine, and I was able to spend a weekend without the threat of needing to get thrown back into that life that I happily left behind. I always feel guilty for feeling like it has come back, and then there are other people who have already gone through that moment, and I get to be like, “whew, worried for nothing.”

My anxiety hasn’t totally gone into remission though. Like right now, I still have butterflies in my stomach. Why? I’m not really sure. My friend says it’s because I refuse to let anything good happen to me. I’m always searching for the loophole, the way out, analyzing everything to death until I’ve come up with every scenario and have gone through the gamut of emotions so that I wind up tired and empty and totally don’t remember what the happy part felt like.

See happiness is so much more like trying to catch water. Whereas misery is much more visceral, much more lasting, and ofcourse, loves company. It’s not that I’m miserable; I’m just realistic but am a generally contented person. It’s the excitement piece that I’m not so good at. I remember my friend Alessandra used to say every time she started dating a new guy, “Hope for the best but expect the worst.” God, I remember that since the 9th grade. Anyway, I cant’ tell you how many times I’ve heard that since then in almost every capacity. Maybe that’s what we train ourselves to do. Hope for happiness but expect to be let down. Then if it works out you’re pleasantly surprised; but still expecting it all to come crashing down around you. So, hmm, maybe that’s a really crappy philosophy.

I don’t know. Like, I get the all-clear and I’m already panicked about the December one. I think we all do things like that—for women waiting for your period to confirm that you’re not pregnant, only to spend another month waiting for it to come again because this month might be different. We’re always walking on eggshells. Waiting for something to happen that will upset the balance we’re trying to create. Life is compartmentalized, broken down into manageable units of time, either by months or weeks or milestones and events. We spend our time thinking of how what we do now will affect our future; and then if when we look back on what we did, if we wasted any time. There’s so much planning and Monday-morning quarterbacking, that I’ve forgotten how to live in the moment. Like to enjoy this exact moment in time, to think that this is perfect for right now—and if I wind up sick in December it takes nothing away from those two years that I was okay.

Sometimes people surprise you.

After dealing with the extremely rude office staff yesterday, I emailed my doctor. I didn't out and out say what a horror the woman was, but I said, "unfriendly and unhelpful". Oh well. Needless to say, he writes back, apologizes for them, takes full responsibility and will be having a chat with them later on. Nice. :-)

On a separate topic--yesterday was a bit rough for me. Besides dealing with idiot office staff, I occasionally have to deal with idiot co-workers. Let me say this: I love my job, I love my boss and I love about 80 percent of the people I work with. It's the 20 that is driving me up a wall these days. Some people are neverhappy, they love to complain, they think it's their job to give everyone "feedback" (which is just cattiness disgused as criticism to help you "improve") on every little thing that they do and it's just so frustrating.

A lot of people work with an agenda. I don't. I may talk about work an awful lot, but I certainly don't spend my day plotting and thinking about "why are they ahead of me"? Because seriously--I DON'T CARE. I go there to do work, do a good job, the intermitent "good work!" is great, but I'm not gunning for anyone's job, or to be anyone's boss or anything. It's just not where my energies are. I know that I'm just trying to make the most of the time I have on the planet. But other people want to spend their time trying to figure out how to bring you down and then I have to waste my energy, my time, my thoughts, my everything, to deal with this. Then I get stressed. And then I get upset that I'm stressed. And then, all anyone sees is not my strength, not my "I can do this" attitude, they see my tears, my frustration, my mini-breakdown, cause man, everyone has their breaking points and sometimes I'm just not up to hanlde the stress, because there is such a thing as too much.

My boss says that stress is a choice. I believe her--but it's also hard to escape your conditioning. I used to not pay too much credence to "feedback". Then I was told I needed to care more about what other people had to say, listen, not ignore it and use it. So I did that. Now, I'm back to the "filter" stage. But if I'm filtering I've still got to listen to that crap! And I'm telling you, when it's time for you six-month scan or your friends have been sick or whatever, listening to the petty, small things makes me want to lose it. Which I guess is just one more thing I've got to work on.

Ugh.

Okay, reading the paper this morning and it seems like it’s always a back and forth, “If you believe in blah blah blah” vote Republican or Democrat. Whatever. I don’t care about your party affiliation but what ever happened to being NICE to people. Seriously, does one party get the stake on that? Is one better at being decent and NICE to people? I honestly don’t think so. I don’t walk down the street and think, well that person looks happy so-they must be a heathen. It’s so frustrating. Political views are one thing, but try being a person who is kind and courteous and who doesn’t scream at someone for disagreeing with you, who isn’t dismissive, who doesn’t make clucking noises when you feel “crowded” by someone one the train, or make fun of someone who has a disability or at least have enough self-awareness to realize that driving an SUV and making fun of all the “liberal eco-nuts” who recycle is complete hypocrisy when you crave sandy beaches and blue water because you need to get away from the dirty city. NATURE IS WHERE YOU GO TO VACATION! I mean, I’m not saying that driving and SUV or whatever makes you any less of a person but just because someone recycles or plants trees doesn’t make them crazy. So if you don’t want to be accused of not caring, don’t yell at someone for caring too much.

I call my doc’s office to get a referral for a CT Scan. My oncologists had decided a PET/CT wasn’t necessary and that a regular CT would be fine. The receptionist was so rude, I couldn’t believe it. I mean, out and out dismissive and condescending and had the nerve to say (I couldn’t make this up), “Can you please explain to me again WHY you’re calling me?” I don’t understand some people sometimes. I’m a heathen because I’m pro-choice but you’re a good person who thinks that telling someone that they’re not worth your time when they need to get checked for re-occurrence simply because you vote another way? That’s what this has come down to? “Guiding moral principles” are generally subjective—you’re no more evil just because you can’t say that you have blind faith in something if it’s simply not what you believe in but volunteer on weekends because you want to help those that you can have a conversation with. We’re all different and yet we fight so much to have people think the same way we do. It’s very frustrating. We teach kids to “celebrate diversity” but at the same time we lambaste it in the media. It’s terrible.

Here’s the truth: cancer is the universal equalizer. It can strike at any time, any place, any religion, any faith (cause they are not one in the same), any gender, any age, any race, any location on the globe, those who are good, those who are bad, pedophiles, pastors, moms, singletons, women who have had abortions, those who are opposed, recyclers, bicyclers, SUV drivers, blondes, brunettes, red-heads, blue eyes, brown eyes, green eyes, those who have lived charmed lives, those who have seen so much tragedy, couch potatoes, exercisers, vegetarians, meat-lovers, carb addicts, carb avengers, Democrats, Republicans, Libertarians, whatever, you’re not immune.

So maybe, just maybe, we can just all work on being nicer. Being more kind and caring. Not finding the differences as an excuse to be rude and say unkind things to each other. Because I’ll tell you this much—if you can save my life, I don’t care if you worship eggs or think that the President should have his face carved into a mountain. If you care enough to make me better, then I’m sure we can come to some sort of compromise.

This week has been nuts. I mean, completely crazy. I was co-in-charge of running a conference for 180 people. Demanding people. But a good group none the less. Needless to say, major freakout last night. I was on the dance floor, and all of the sudden I was having some trouble breathing. And for the past week, I've been sweating during the day. So, if you've read the other posts, you can see where the freakout is coming from. I'm not saying I know what's happening or that its' even anything, but I'm so wiped right now. I'm scared. I have to go for my regular scans, and well, I'm not saying that it's anything and that any of this is even real. But well, maybe if I put it out there, I'd learn to stop freaking out.

My friend from HS has been sending me emails. Not the personalized ones, but the forwards. the one today was "how well do you know so and so" and it had a bunch of questions. usually, I delete them, but i figured I'd answer these, cause what would it hurt.

But it's such a good concept--how well do you know a person. And what does that mean? Not just what their favorite color is but how they'd react, respond, relate, feel to certain topics, movies, television shows, events, etc. That I suppose is really knowing a person. And I don't know if I get that far with most of my relationships. I know that most people would know who I think is cute, and my favorite movie, but could they guess that I am outraged by the genocide on the African Continent. That I often feel helpless by not feeling like I can do enough to help people? That my life often feels incomplete for a variety of reasons: that I'm not doing enough with my talents, that the love of my life is far away and unattainable, that i spend my stressors on work events and not LIFE events?

That was always the hardest thing when faced with death for me: who really knows me? Have I had any time to make a difference? Do I just not say anything because I'm afraid of a confrontation and I am letting myself down? Am I afraid of risk, of chance, of fate, of LIFE because I'm afraid that once someone gets to know me, the real me, that they'll be disappointed? I don't know. I think we all struggle with that reality. That having someone know all about you--not just the trivia facts--is daunting because they're in your head, they're a part of you. And I don't know how many of us are truly ready to relinquish that much control to another person. I think that's why we hide, why we tell tales, and jokes, and avoid answering questions that speak to the things we're afraid to admit. I don't know. I know that when I'm out, I'm not thinking about my next CT scan. But it's there. It's in my heart. It's something that I wish someone just understood, instead of me having to say it. But if I don't voice it, if I don't make it real, how can I blame anyone for not understanding how hard it really is?

Convictions. I think that they are the most important thing we have. They are what keeps us moving, going, living, breathing, interacting, finding meaning, finding hope, believing on a day to day basis.

Yet as important as they are, we're often told to silence them. Distrust them. I was at a party last night and someone made a racial remark. I choose my moments; I don't care if they make me unpopular. And that moment was mine to choose. I made my displeasure at that known. And the worst thing that this person could throw back at me? That I was a liberal; well, with a few expletives in there it sounded harsh, but at the same time, it was a pathetic attempt to single me out and create a mob mentality around "get her, she's different." Am I? I don't think so. I don't need people to agree with me; but I ask them to respect my right to disagree with them. But, it occurred to me that this segmenting off of people is something that seems to follow us all our lives. The stakes are higher when we're older. But this constant need to brand people, to label them, seems to start in kindergarten and follow us straight through adulthood.

I'm distrustful of labels. Liberal is a label; and not something I would even call myself. Cancer survivor is a label; it seems to sound like I'm not living, but just outrunning cancer, hoping that I can survive it, as opposed to leave it behind. It implies something the minute you say it. But I have convictions. I believe in equality. I believe in affordable healthcare and social programs that might help end the cycle of poverty. I believe in education as an important investment. I believe in saving the environment. I believe in the freedom of choice--and not just choice in the politicized sense, but the power to choose in all aspects of your life. I believe that we are a far too litigious society. I believe that we no longer want to accept blame. I believe that everyone has the right to love. I believe in fiscal responsibility. I believe in giving back to society and knowing everyday how truly lucky I am and paying my wage back to the common good. I believe that having strong beliefs is the only reason I am here today. If I was apathetic, if I just went with the crowd, if I could not find strength to stand up to an idiot, how on earth was I to find strength to fight for my life? I find that everyday is an opportunity to be a better human being, and given the limited time that I may very well have, I'm not going to waste it. Some would say not to make waves, to let it go. And like I said, I choose my moments. Because if once again I feel my body slip away, I need to know that I always tried as hard as I could to be true to myself. Because we never know when the opportunities will just stop being there--and we're left with the legacy that those opportunities have created.

I think that a lot of people have the mistaken impression of what strength is. I have a lot of friends who never ever discuss their feelings. Every time you ask them about it, they give you that Pollyanna b.s. that feels the need to spin everything in the most positive way OR they say nothing and cite their inability to talk about it.

Well, here's my take on strength. It takes a very confident and strong person to admit that they need to talk--to discuss their fears of dying, of how overwhelmed they are, how scared they are, how much they don't know, etc. Keeping it all to yourself does not make you strong--it means that no one can know you, no one can help you and you are making sure that you are going to crack under the pressure.

And also really think about why you are afraid of opening up. Is it because you have people in your life who can't just listen--but take every remark you make as an opportunity to give their opinion? Or every time you have a reaction you're surrounded by people who also give their feedback on how you reacted wrong or how they would react? Is it just hard to have an honest emotion because you're afraid of how you'll be judged?

I speak from a place of experience on this one. For some reason, I think a lot of us offer judgement without realizing it. I recently got a new car. Someone said to me, "Cute but I don't really like two doors." Automatically, I did not want to talk about the car with them anymore. That remark alone made me shut down. It was encased in a negative comment and a judgemental vibe. And it goes for a lot of things in life, "I know you feel like what's happening to you isn't fair, but you know, it's just life and sometimes you have to accept it." Again--it'll lead to complete shut down. Every time we make a choice (a doctor, a treatment, a hospital, a vacation) do we need commentary? Do we need to question, feel invalidated at every turn and then start leading to emotional shutdown that is definitely detrimental to our well-being?

Don't feel the need to look for the silver lining in EVERY FRIGGIN SITUATION. If you have a co-worker that sucks--they suck. Plain and simple. No need to constantly be thankful that you even have a job--particularly if this person regardless of your efforts winds up consistently ruining your day. You can be pissed, annoyed and irritated that this person is basically making your 45 hour week in an office a bit unbearable. Because the truth of the matter is, that sometimes these people are toxic and no matter how Zen-like you try to be, they can really make you tired, sick and affect your work. And it might be a situation you can't change--so I say, don't feel like you have to be thankful for the other things, complain about how much they suck to a friend who'll let you vent without making you feel bad about it. It'll be your first step into emotional freedom because you've found a safe place to let it all out. And yes, it's a fine line between constant complaining and discussing your frustration and I walk that fine line every day (and often step off of it) but it's better than putting it somewhere else. Because eventually you'll get to the place that you want to be.

If you are dealing with doctors who are rude and impolite and standoffish--DO NOT think that you have to say, "Well, they're doing a great job with my body" because your heart and your soul are part of that, and if they feel that they are above taking care of those two things, then you'll never feel free to be completley honest with them and you've effectively done yourself a major disservice.

I'm in Florida for business. Besides the requisite, "ooh, Florida" from New Yorkers because we usually associate the locale with vacations (Disney World, beaches, Spring Break) I have to tell you that it's nicer down here because I don't feel as stressed. As tired. As worn out. I'm doing the same amount of work--and here is where my boss is located! But it's the atmosphere that's different too. There are "Relay for Life" signs all over the building. Not a single thing in the New York office but here, they're everywhere. It's so comforting. For those who don't know, Relay for Life is sponsored by the American Cancer Society and is an all-night event that people camp out and do stuff with. You can go to cancer.org to learn more about it (omg, I sounded like an ad. Not good).

I personally have never done the event. I was seriously considering it this year. I'm not very into those types of things. Not that I don't donate the money, but sometimes it's harder for me to be surrounded by so many reminders. And then I remember that it's also a community that needs to be reminded that it's not always hopeless.

But, I'm also one of the luckiest people when it comes to friends who get involved. Last year, our Team Goonies raised $2000 for Light the Night. My best friend Nikki did a MARATHON in Arizona--and not only did she honor me, she honored my friend Lindsey, a person she had never met. And in a few months, my Aunt Chris will be running as well, and baked LOADS of biscotti to raise the dollars. I'm always amazed and the love and support I get.

Update on the crappy doctor.

Okay, so I go in to pick up a copy of my bloodwork (and I have something to say about that too. I won't forget) and she's there. Grr. Anyway, I'm waiting behind the door at the receptionist desk and here is the conversation I had the pleasure to witness:

Terri's Fave Doc: Let's get going! (claps hands) Hello Mary, happy Saturday!
Terri's Least Fave Doc: (groan)
Terri's Fave Doc: That doesn't sound like a very good Saturday response
Terri's Least Fave Doc: All I'm going to look at today are stupid canker sores, it's gorgeous out and my kids are home having fun without me and I have to be here, and I'm so done with work (noticing that I'm there and that the door is opened behind me leading out to the waiting room where a dozen patients are listening to what she's saying) But, um, not that I don't want to be here to help these lovely people (trails off)

Terri: You know, a lot of people work twelve hour days. Sometimes more.
Terri's Least Fave Doc: Yes, I know, I'm not saying that I work more than anyone else, it's just that.
Terri: Oh no, I'm not saying we can compare jobs. I mean, I put in about 65 hour work week--but no one's life is in my hands. (and I say Ciao! to the crew and head out leaving Least Fave Doc to try to come up with something to say).


Ha! And I couldn't have made up that exchange. Ahh, lovely. I hope the canker sores are contagious.

There are a lot of things I still don't know. But I really wish people would give me credit on the few areas that I would say I have A LOT of experience in.

For instance, one of my doctor's called the other day, left a message and said to call her about my test results. I call back, the doctor's gone and the nurse was like, "I guess you can talk to her on Tuesday." This was Friday morning.

Here's the deal--THE DOCTOR DOES NOT LEAVE PERSONAL MESSAGES JUST TO CALL HER IF IT'S GOOD NEWS. Never. They'd tell you everything was fine, not to worry and they'll see you at your next appointment. I told the nurse, "Look, I know something's up. I've been through enough, so please just tell me what's up." She was hesitating, and put me on hold for like five minutes. When she came back, she told me a test was abnormal. It's probably nothing, but I lost it a bit anyway, and then she's going, "Oh, my god, I never should have told you," to which I had to reply, "No, me getting upset for five minutes is way better than anticipating what could be wrong for five days. I know you can see my health history--the cancer and all, so I can take bad news. And this is just run of the mill bad news." I hang up and tell her to have a good weekend.

Then it occurs to me to call back and give my cell phone #--they only had my home phone # so I'll never be able to connect with the doctor since she'll mostly call when I'm at work. I leave a message and then I get a call back telling me that the nurse paged the doc and she'll call me in a bit. She does. And i now in a lovely game of telephone she says, "Why do you think you have cancer again? Why did you tell the nurse that?" She was being very kind, but at the same time, I couldn't help but be a little agitated at the nurse because I hadn't said that. But I often find that people goto the extremes of conversations. Do you know what I mean? I make a few statements about certain American policies, and all of the sudden I hate America outright. I apparently want to live in another country and well, can I come up with another country as good as America? I'm like, wah? I didn't say that. "Oh, no, but that's what you were thinking." And I'm like, no I wasn't. And then it goes on and on and I find myself defending a position I hadn't planned on even taking about Saudi Arabia and other random nations and I'm so confused because by the end of it I've been deamed a self-hating, pessimist, America-bashing liberal when all I was saying was gas prices seemed really high and it sucked and should I buy a hybrid instead of the car I got? I really wish I had a tape recorder so I can see the exact point that a conversation takes that terrible turn where it no longer looks like what you started out with.

Back on topic, I had told the woman that given my cancer history I'm used to doctor's dancing around the issue, and I'd be better off if she just told me. Ugh. So now the doctor is talking to me like I'm twelve, because she can't believe why I had immediately jumped to that conclusion and I ended all this with "No, I think we just have to do the test again." She was like, yeah, that's what I was going to say! Imagine what would happen if people just didn't always assume that they knew what the other person was thinking--the conversations that could take place! The arguments to be avoided! It would be revolutionary.

And for the record: I do not hate America. I do not hate Americans. I do not make blanket statements like that. So the next time you have a disagreement with someone on a certain issue, refrain from calling them names and questioning their loyalty to a country. Geezus.

I was away for business last couple of weeks. I wound up with an excrutiating sore throat and a swollen gland on the right side of my neck. I was exhausted, glassy-eyed, nauseus. I had to stay for meetings but the day I got home, I headed straight to the doctor. My regular doctor wasn't in, so I had to see one of his colleagues.

Let me explain--I was really sick. I mean, I could barely move. So, while I'm there at 11:30 in the morning, the nurse's aid pitches a fit that she'd been there since 8:30 a.m. and didn't feel like seeing anyone else. She's tired and annoyed. Whatever. The doctor comes in and doesn't take my blood pressure, my temperature or my pulse. Asks me what's wrong, looks at my throat and says "Yup, you've got tonsilitis". I said, Okay, well, I also was hoping to get some bloodwork. "No, not until you're better". She said. The real reason: the nurse's aid refused to draw anyone else's blood and threatened to hurt people if she was forced to. I had been quite sick the past couple of months on and off, and I was like, "Wow, I just can't catch a break." And that rude doctor turned to me and goes, "Well, given what you had gone through last year, I'd say you're doing quite well, so I don't know why you're complaining." I stood in shock and then the doctor just shooed me away, gave me a prescription and a curt "Take whatever you want" when I asked if I could take Tylenol for the pain.

How is this acceptable? I'm truly amazed. I really had no words. This doctor didn't want to be there and it showed. I mean to the point of potential malpractice. I am seriously just confused. I would love to show up at my job at around 11:30 declare, ya know, I'm just not feeling it right now. I mean, I potentially could, I work in training so it's not like anyone's going to DIE if I did that, but there's this thing called responsibility that stops me and no one's life is in my hands. Geez. Scary isn't it.

It's amazing how a cheesy movie, with horrible acting and very lame editing, can stil manage to make me cry and put an end to my going-out plans. Let me explain.

I am about to admit that I'm a huge Ryan Reynolds fan. Yup, I mean, like fourteen years ago, I actually watched the show Fifteen when it was on Nickeolodean and had a huge crush. So there you go. Yes, I know he's marrying Alanis Morrisette and well, his movies aren't always the greatest, but he has this ease and charm that I can not help but find attractive. Anyway, he was in a movie on ABC Family and I just happended to TIVO it. After catching up on all my shows this evening, I cliked my now playing and turned on.

It was horrible. It really was. It was overdubbed, the dialoge was horrific and well, I didn't really want to watch it but I was sucked in. And there I was, enjoying the cheesy goodness and yup, it turns out that this loveable, young, wonderful teacher had terminal cancer. Throughout the movie you get glimpses--that he doesn't want to have relationships, he's kind of cut off from his world outside is job, yadda yadda yadda, and seeing him in the chemo room kind of jolted me. And I was literally in the chemo room that I had received treatment in two days ago, so I have no idea why this moved me. Maybe because there I had been visiting, on my way to somewhere else, and I had gone back just to say hi, to show off that I have hair, that I look normal. I don't know. But here I am, blotchy faced and a tension headache hitting between my eyes. Needless to say, I won't be getting dressed to go and sit at a bar and watch the crowd go by.

Insecurity. I’m pretty sure that we all deal with some measure of it. Me, I’m pretty bad. I know I’m extremely insecure, mostly about how I look. The worst part about it is, I studied rhetoric and cultural theory in college, with Susan Bordo as a frequent book selection, and Leslie Heywood a teacher and advisor, so truly I should know much more than the average person about the damage of the conventions of beauty. And while I’ve been able to dissect the social constructions around beauty, I’ve still never been able to reconcile it within myself. I give good speeches, but I’m not sure if I ever truly accept even my own words of wisdom.

Ah, so how does this at all play into this game of survival? I think this part of me is genetic. When my grandmother was dying (of brain cancer) she was talking about seeing my dead grandfather and a biker angel. She had become obsessed with Ricky Martin and Joe Pesci. But even though her mind was slowly slipping away, her vanity remained intact. She still wanted to wear makeup, and nice clothes, and she was so concerned about how the steroids and treatment was making her look. My nanny was a beautiful woman. She was absolutely stunning. She was a kind, good-hearted person who gave of herself and any definition of beautiful—in regards to both the aesthetic and personality—applied to her. While others questioned why she would care what she looked like, I didn’t. I understood even then. She would’ve been beautiful to me no matter what; and I know that she knew that, but it didn’t mean that she didn’t want her lipstick applied perfectly day in and day out.

What happens is that we become attached to our outside persona. We recognize ourselves in photographs and the mirror. It’s how we reach our identity. But this sickness, this disease, takes that away bit by bit. You’re subjected to countless humiliations and all of the sudden you’re completely dependent on everyone you come into contact with to help you get well and not lose your mind. And you look in the mirror and you wonder: Is this who people see? Is this who I am now? It’s not even fitting into some idea of beauty that Hollywood has created. That’s why I don’t understand plastic surgery; why would you want to look like anyone other than who you are? I would think that would completely screw with your head. Believe me, I wasn’t even thinking, damn I wish I could look like Kate Bosworth. I was thinking, when can I look like the girl smiling in the photos of my trip to California? When can I look like me? If I don’t look like me, and I certainly don’t feel like me, who am I? And if I can’t connect to that, do I lose that part of myself?

I am readily admitting I am insecure. I try to be better than that, I’ve written about it, and I wonder when I’m going to grow up and be comfortable in my own skin. When I’ll stop comparing myself to other people, and feel confident in knowing who I am.

This is a new year, and I suppose we’re all making resolutions. Or the smart ones of us aren’t wasting any time making them, which means that in one month there will be no guilt about not sticking to the excel spreadsheet that lays out the year’s budget. I actually signed up for a program called Builders of the New World, which mentors homeless children, sometime ago. It just so happens it gets kicked off in the New Year, which makes it seem as if I’ve resolved to do more charity work. But it’s not a resolution, it’s a conscious act, and it’s one I’m actually committed to.

I had my first training session on Weds. night, and I had a great time. It seems as if it’s a really great program. We had to go around the room and tell why we were involved. I had to write something similar on my application and I found myself then saying trite things like “I can learn so much more than I can teach” blah blah blah. But when my time came to speak it out loud, I found my reasoning much different. I had always worked with children and when I was sick, I wasn’t allowed to be around the disease-spreaders (I love them, but kids are gross and pass germs around like cookies) and it really sucked. I find kids to be very refreshing. For instance on Christmas my aunt had come to the house but didn’t want to hug me because she had a cold. I said, “Well, I’ve already had bronchitis this year, so don’t worry about it,” and my neighbors 7 year old daughter turns and says, “And cancer.” The whole room fell silent and I burst out laughing. I said, “Yes, and cancer but I don’t have that anymore.” And she said, “And bronchitis you don’t have anymore either.” It was such a random exchange but it really stuck with me. Anyway, back to the training session, I’m up and I said, “Well, last year I was diagnosed with cancer and when I was going through treatment, I wasn’t allowed to be around children. Now, I feel ready to connect to them again and I think this program will really be helpful. Plus it’s a creative outlet, so I’m not just raising money and removed from the situation.” And I found myself being much more honest. It’s probably really selfish that I want to do this program. I want to get back to doing things, and not feel so disconnected from people, from life. And also to get myself out of my own problems. It’s easy when we have something happen to us to get dredged up into it. I find that a lot of my recent charity work has to do with cancer. But I don’t want to neglect the fact that there are a lot of varying degrees of terrible situations and that I can’t just be like, “wow, this happened to me, so poor me” because that’s not really how I feel about it. And it’s not bad to be reminded now and again that I am pretty lucky all things considered.

Awhile back I wrote about how people tend to not really treat you all that different when you're a "survivor". I re-read the post and realized that I sounded pretty angry and felt some sort of entitlement to be treated differently; like I shouldn't have to put up with the same shit that everyone else does. Sort of like, god damnit be more careful of my feelings!

I've thought about it, and I guess that if everyone was hyper aware that I had been sick, and dealing with all this stuff, then I'd hate that too. I'd hate to be treated differently at all. What I was getting at is that probably what we all deserve is to treat each other better. I don't think you have to be sick or have a traumatic event or anything, I think that in each and every way possible, we need to make a concerted effort to be better human beings, for the sheer fact that if in some small way we can make someone, anyone's day better, we're reshifting this screwed up planet consumed by anger, money, power and violence. But on a day to day basis we forget occasionally forget to be kind or honest or thoughtful. We carve out days to do so, or hours, or events. I think I was just so frustrated with someone that day, I wanted the special treatment. But in general, nah, I don't want kit gloves just for being a survivor.

For instance, we were all at the bar the other night and my friend D notices something on my neck. He starts to go, wah uh, what's this. And I spun around, confused and was like, it's a scar. He freaks out, going, on my god, I thought it was a hickey. I start laughing, and said, no, no, it's not a hickey but do other people think that too? Hmmmm, that might not be helpful when I'm out and about. He finally relaxed and realized that I wasn't going to get upset or freak out or be like, you insensitive jerk it's a biopsy scar. Hey, maybe if I didn't like him I would, but in general, that's not my style. I don't like to make people feel bad for things that they didn't know.

There is no specific way to deal with a person being sick, or going through a family crisis or a traumatic event. The best way is to ask what they need and want from you. Explain that you're new at this, or that you want to be there for them, but they also need to express to you what that means. We as the patients shouldn't be expecting everyone to suddenly know what to do and read our minds. We're all different, we all handle things differently and if there was a great catch-all, as the magazine articles would like to suggest, then there would be no need for conversation at all. We could take their lines and use them in everyday life and be done with it. But life, illness, death, injury, war, anything is messy and painful but we owe it to each other to start to talk about it, be honest about it, have real conversations about it. That's always my theme--just be honest. On all ends. Walking around on eggshells is how we distance ourselves and makes for miscommunication and anger.

I used to write poems when I was younger. I’m pretty sure that they were horrible. I was always writing about some boy who may or may not have liked me and how my love was unrequited and while I’m sure it felt meaningful at the time, I look back at that and think, “was this for real?” The problems we create in high school seem so much bigger than us, and no one understands, no one can possibly be going through the same thing, yadda yadda yadda. As time passed, I found that I had less words to put into rhyming couplets. My problems had become deeper but I was also more removed from them. If someone asked me to write a flowing poem about the death of my grandmother, I wouldn’t be able to do it. She was far more meaningful and special to me than any high school boyfriend. But while I could compare the hurt of being broken up with to a gaping black hole in my soul (hey, I never said I was original) I really couldn’t find the words to deal with her dying. I know that a piece of me died when she did, but at the same time, I couldn’t put into any sort of form of what that really meant. I still probably can’t.

When I started this blog, I was hoping to get out on paper what it felt like to be going through cancer, surviving cancer and then just, well, surviving. I never felt that no one knew what it must felt like. Quite the opposite—I figured there would be tons of people with whom I could nod my head and say, “exactly”. My friends who never heard me express anything about my illness would read about my experience and gain a deeper insight into not just my journey, but their own or anyone else that they would meet along the way. But sometimes, just like above, I find myself falling short of the words to truly express either the joy or the pain of what is happening. And again, I find myself with endless paragraphs about unrequited love, although not as poetic but at least much more realistic. It’s funny, I’m so excited to not be writing about cancer, even if relates to my cancer in a tangential way, because I feel as if it’s something others beyond this little world I’ve created can relate to. But I wonder if it’s because I want to put all my effort into something that in reality doesn’t really matter all that much to me. I think we all do it. Put up those fronts to the rest of the world, hoping that if we can find those commonalities, we’ll never have to really discuss what makes us so different. I mean, I refuse to believe that people only think about the most shallow of bar discussions on a constant basis, even if that’s all you ever hear them talk about. But these barriers we create, hidden by topics of no substance, but are things that we can go on and on about, things that always provoke some sort of endless conversation. That’s always what attracts me to people. The minute they let down that barrier, even for a brief moment, that softening of their persona, I’m intrigued. It’s like you’re really seeing someone and they’re really seeing you and all the pretense and the lies are gone, and I feel like, yes, finally, I can say something to an actual person instead of just writing it and being removed from it. But the moment passes, and the walls go back up and maybe I spend the rest of my time looking for that moment again when you can really connect about things that matter. But it’s probably not appropriate to discuss with most people that you meet. It doesn’t even necessarily have to be depressing, just meaningful, but it doesn’t matter, I guess. Not all the time anyway.

So, that’s just something I’ve observed lately. As I start to participate more, I’m also finding myself saying less. Becoming obsessed with talking about those topics that have little relevance in the grand scheme of things, but then I don’t have to worry about discussing the latest test or the how I had to go for an echo cardiogram on my day off. But I don’t think I’m doing anyone any favors by forgetting the reason that I started this blog. Or maybe, this is what happens when you become more removed from treatment, your cancer becomes the core section of your life, but you also become less and less attached to it. It doesn’t rule your life, it just touches it. I’m not sure.