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.

As 2004 is almost ending, a world-wide event has proven that no matter what our personal tragedies, there is always room for something greater in devastation than we could possibly imagine. I have no words to write about what I've gone through or am going through or anything like that at the moment. All my thoughts and prayers are halfway around the world, hoping that those areas devastated by the tidal wave and earthquake will be able to receive the aid they need in order to get through this horrific ordeal.

I donated to OXfam america (an organization that I'm familiar with after working with Amnesty International UK and also doesn't make me question like the Red Cross). If you want to donate to the relief effort, please go to networkforgood.org to see a list. I'd suggest going directly to the charity though. . I'm not big on solicitation but for this I'll definitely have to make the exception.

Merry Christmas! It seems to get shorter every year--I think when I was little the season seemed endless. But it's still nice. This holiday was no exception; I must say it was leaps and bounds better than the last one--no oxygen tubes! Which as we all know, sets the stage for a very merry holiday! No, seriously, I had a lot to be grateful for this holiday season and well, I can't really complain (I'll save that for the off nights). It's been a very up and down season but at the same time, it's always more up than down. I actually went to Midnight Mass. I felt that since so many people put me in their prayer circles and lit candles, that I should go and pay homage. And the priest had a very nice sermon about how this season is always about looking forward. And how it represents hope, renewal and promise. And I know that with each passing day, I am closer to believing in those three things. And being around friends and family and good food, it makes you really feel as if anything is possible. So no truly valuable insights or gripes. I think for at least the next week, I'm just going to believe that there's much more that I can be, and wish for and know how much I am truly blessed.

Merry Christmas! Happy Christmakuh or whatever it is you celebrate!!!!

So there is a unique lesson that I've learned over the past couple weeks. No one really cares that you were sick. No, no, I need to amend that. That's not a fair statement. Some people simply do not care; not in an evil way, that's not what I mean. They do not care that you've been through hell and that you simply deserve better than what they can give you. Do I sound bitter? Sorry, it's just that for some reason I'll be honest--I thought that being a "survivor" kind of gave me the status of: you know she's been through enough, I really don't want to screw with that. But at the end of the day, well, we're all only human. And any time you put yourself out there--in any regard work, friends, romantically--you're still going to be on the same playing field as everyone else. Just because you have a port scar, doesn't mean that you can't get hurt. I honestly think that at 25 I've been through enough. I've buried two best friends, saw the Twin Towers collapse and had to walk through the rubble, and got through my own serious illness. I just want it not to be so hard. I don't need anymore life experience.

Last year, as we all know I was bald except for a few stray wisps. I got a very expensive wig, that I never wore except on two occasions. One was for a photo. I had on my very expensive wig and my brother put on the wig I had received from the American Cancer Society which honestly looked like, I’m not sure how to put this nicely, but that if you were going to have a crack-whore character in a movie, she’s wear it. Anyway, my brother and I posed for a photo, which my mother put on a Christmas card. Yes, that was our Christmas card that year. However, do you know what my mother forgot last holiday season? To put my name on the Christmas card. So there’s a picture of me and my brother and it says, “Happy Holidays from (insert mom), (insert dad), (insert brother #1) and (insert brother #2)” and no Terri. I know she felt very bad and I was laughing because it was like, uh, are you preparing for something? Because one year we got a card from our parents friends which was the three of them, plus the headstone of their father. Which the sentiment was nice, but it was kind of morbid to have it on your fridge.

Today it is absolutely freezing out. Bitter, bitter cold. What the hell? A few days ago it was so nice out. I was saying to someone how it was a mild winter, and then today I’m bundled up like Yukon Cornelius, rocking my black snow boots (not Uggs or anything that resembles them—these are in fact quite functional) and thanking that I had the wits about me to replace the scarf and gloves that I had lost two weekends ago. Cause, damn! And I love all my coworkers who are exercising their right to not come in and be like, "I'm working from home" simply because it's too cold for them to travel in. Yes, I'll admit it, I've done it when it's been really rainy. So rainy in fact, that I could not cross the street. However, I feel that in this day and age, we will not call out for being sick, but it's much better to call in for the weather. That's awesome. Let's show up at the office, nauseus and feverish and coughing and sneezing and show how dedicated we are to our jobs. And let's not mind the fact that there are about 30 people that we're coming into contact with and who now we're gettng sick, because we're dedicated! Stay home, rest properly, not infect the whole office--NEVER! It's all about dedication to spreadsheets! Give me a freakin break. And right about this time last year is when I had the PCP and it wasn’t this cold, and can I tell you—thank god, or else I’d probably be dead.

Speaking of being dead; yeah, I’m not always good at the segue. I’m working on it though. It was nice to talk to the ex this weekend, as I’ve mentioned below, because I’m a sucker for compliments and also it’s nice that when your 15-year-old boyfriend (who has grown up quite nicely) still thinks your cute. Hee. Blushing right now! Anyway, we were talking about our experiences (his in the war) and he told me how a missile landed right by his camp and somehow didn’t go off. He tells me that he doesn’t know the chances of that, but for some reason the man upstairs wanted him to have a second chance. I think a lot of us feel that way in our lives. Because there’s so many opportunities for us to be graduation photo on the front page of the Daily News, and yet somehow a little to the left, ten seconds late or completely missing the bus, makes all the difference. It’s an odd thing to ponder.

So it's bound to happen--the ex-boyfriend run ins. Sometimes they can be good. Sometimes they can be horrifically embarrasing. Sometimes you aren't even there. Well, for the first and the last related to my cancer-survival experience.

This weekend seemed to be blast from the past time. I have the remarkable ability of recall. I can remember names, faces and events (even with the chemo-fog) pretty well. So here I am, not drinking per my mantra of last week (btw, more below), and across my line of vision are these two birthmarks on the side of a guy's face. Don't ask how I remembered this but I was like, "Hey!" He turned around, and yes it was my high school (the early years) boyfriend. He didn't recognize me at first--oh I should explain what I looked like on this outing. I was dressed well enough, but I had decided to not wash my hair (sexy I know) and throw it back in a headband and I was too tired to put on my contacts and makeup, so I was completely without makeup and wearing my glasses (hot, I know). Yes, it is true, you will always run into people when you look absolutely like you are in your living room on a Sunday, eating a bagel and watching football. Needless to say, he looked really really good. Damn! Anyway, we chatted for a while, and he says, "So, I heard you were a little sick" and I know he knows that I wasn't a little sick, but he obviously wanted to bring it up and he's never been a master wordsmith. Anyway, I replied, "Yes, I had that whole cancer thing, but I'm fine now. Don't I look fine? I mean, in general, not tonite, because I really don't look all that great tonight," and he started laughing at my babbling and he was like, you look great Terri. Short hair is really becoming on you. And yes, I melted. It was nice to see him and to chat with him and it was just the pick-me-up I needed to feel more like myself. Particularly, after well, see below paragraph.

Anyway, so me and my mom chat all the time about stuff. It's honestly what happens when you're joined to the hip with someone. When she had to help me through some really embarrasing nights, and then all that time in the hospital and the chemo room--I mean, you might as well talk because there's a lot of hours to fill up. Anyway, I call her the next day to tell her who I ran into. And she counters with, "OH, I forgot to tell you I ran into J. on Friday night in Pathmark". I was like, WHAT? It's already Sunday--that warrants an immediate update! She told me that he walked by her, and he lost weight since we dated (swearing he reminds her of Nick Lachey. I don't know, I don't trust that comparison. And if he does--it doesn't make me feel any better). So he walks by, she's like, hmmm, I think that's him and she decides to follow him and say hi. Don't ask--we dated like 7 years ago (high school--the later years and into college). So she's like, hi, there it's me, Terri's mom, yadda yadda yadda. He's all like, "Oh, how is she?" and my mother proceeds to say this, "Well, she's a year in remission" and he was like, "Wait, what?" And then my mother didn't know what to say next. She had believed, for some reason, that everyone knew what had happened. I had to remind her that people do have lives, and since there wasn't a billboard up, that people might not know. So she throws him for a loop, and he basically doesn't know what to say and can I tell you--awkward. So he then introduces her to his fiance. He is marrying the girl that he dated after we broke up. Which is very strange to me. I'm pretty sure she followed up with a quick synopsis of my job, my brothers and all that stuff, but I could not imagine what that is like. The girl you had a horrible break up withs mother (it was like a bitter divorce) tracks you down in a supermarket and you try to make polite conversation only to find out she had cancer. Ugh. But still--makes a great story.

I'm having a lot of trouble sleeping. Right now, I'm all cozy in my bed, and I can hear the wind whipping against the trees which is throwing them into my windows. Earlier today I saw the backyard cats, all snuggled up together and sleeping. And now, I can't get the vision of them alone and cold and with this weather the way it is. It's honestly making me so upset, that I'm having a hard time getting to bed.

Because I always think of how much I have. Maybe in comparison to some people, I don't have that much. But honestly--I have a good job, a nice apartment, nice clothes, spending cash, great friends and family. I also have my health, which is something that I put at the top of the list. This season is so hard, because I think of those that don't have what I have. I struggle with that notion; like I could be doing more but at the same time, I'm not sure what that is. I couldn't really take the cats in and I'm not sure if I should have something built in the backyard for them, because then it might just house fleas and vermin and I might be doing a disservice. But this "cycle of life" thing is really hard to accept. Why there are those who are out there suffering--either from illness, or poverty or abuse--and I'm not. What lucky straw did I get to pull out in order to be here and be so well taken care of?

I'm not attempting to be a constant downer. I had hoped that with each revelation about the difficulties of simply existing, never mind being a cancer survivor (or survivor of any life-altering event) that I had infused a bit of humor into the struggle. I was watching the O.C. tonite, yes, I love that show, and Seth (the boy that beat my brother out for the part so we're not to mention the name of the show in front of him, even if him and Adam are friends) was consoling Lindsay. I could tell you about what but then this becomes a whole recap of who is who and what is going on and that's not going to really help. Anyway, he says that they joke after traumatic events, or even during traumatic events, and even though she looks skeptical at the time, she catches on and throws one in herself. I would hope that I do the same here, and in my life. My friend accuses me always of being self-pitying, I prefer witty with a side of self-deprecating. I know the limitations of a situation and it's hard to be honest in a forum when you don't know who's reading it and what they're thoughts of you are. I'm always concerned about how people view me, what they think of me, and how I come across. So being here behind words doesn't really help to gauge the reaction of those who may or may not be looking this over in either agreement or snide giggles. I guess that's the chance we all take when we agree to be honest about what goes on. And I guess that's the chance that I'm taking when I decided to not just write about my illness in and of itself. That will always be the safer route because most people won't mock cancer patients. But when you choose to be honest about life after treatment, or life in general, you open yourself up so much more. And I find that here I am, making jokes about the fact that at this point in time, I'm so confused, so lost, so searching and at times, so lonely. Lonely because I feel that every action needs to be reasoned and explained. I'm always concerned about the deeper meaning behind each choice I make. It makes you guarded; and when you let down your guard and become vulnerable, even for a minute, you're more likely to freak out obsess. It's so much easier to be closed off, to not tell anyone what this is like, but then that's only because no one can know of the embarrasment or the questions or anything that can't be tied up with a pretty bow.

I'm not going to say I have any answers. It's obvious from reading through this I don't. I am struggling with my new life. I hadn't ever thought that I didn't have to leave home or move across the country in order to start over again. Although now, I feel that it's exactly what I'm doing. I'm reestablishing things that most people my age have already done. They've navigated the unsure world of where I'm at just now, and whether or not they've actually come to any conclusions, they at least know somewhat of where they're going. A lot of my friends can't understand my constant overanlyzing or seemingly strange behavior. Who cares if you got drunk? You had a good time! Who cares if your boss yelled at you? They'll forget about it tomorrow! Who cares if your bank account isn't all that high? You're only 25 and single! I know how to handle the big stuff, the actual life crisis. It's the little stuff, this everyday stuff, that I just can't seem to get a handle on.

Oh wow. So you write something and then before you can hit the delete key, it's published. It's out there, and you can read over and over again about your a. lack of dating skills and b. fear of death. Nice. But I'd be going against the rules I set out for myself when I started this whole thing if I deleted what I wrote. So I'm stuck with the whole world (or the handful of people who read this) knowing how lame I truly am. But in the new spirit of "LIG" (let it go), I will and allow for the fact that I am not as cool or as detached or as together, I might have wanted to appear to the world at large--and in that instance I might not have been fooling anyone anyway, so it's really not that much of a loss, right? Okay, moving on.

But I guess that's what this is all about--fear. Our fear of being human. We always are consumed with it, even if we try not to act like it. Yes, I am very scared of dying. Of being the friend that has left the group, to be talked about in the past tense, and after a week of intense crying to be an afterthought on holidays, and anniversaries of birthdays and deathdays. The moments in between where you may have been a thought in someone's head when you were alive, you no longer are. You're no longer an active participant in anyone's life, and because you're alive to know you're going to be forgotten when you're gone, it's a scary thought. Not that I think about this all the time, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't cross my mind on more than one occasion.

Okay, more fear. The fear of actually caring. I feel that I have this pattern of having guys fall really hard for me, only to then have them turn around and coldly leave. Often with no explanation. So, I'm always left with the "what did I do wrong" "what can I do differently" and "what the hell is wrong with me." I'm tired of all this. It's so exhausting to be in a relationship, to fall for someone and then to have them decide to move on (regardless of the fact that this is normal and human and how life actually progresses). See because caring can lead to getting hurt, and I am just done with getting hurt. I'm done with not knowing what to say when, what to do when, worrying about if I'm too aggressive, too shy, saying the wrong thing, doing the wrong thing and all that other stuff that comes with it. I'm done with getting hurt and disappointed, because I feel as if I have enough to last me a lifetime. But I guess you can't be in a relationship, or a semi-relationship, or a casual hookup that takes place at 4 a.m. drunk and tired, without the possibility of getting hurt. So, quite a dilemma. I hate monday morning quarterbacking about my weekend and where it went wrong, but I guess it's better than recapping all the t.v. shows I watched. I don't know which I'm more afraid of--dying alone or analyzing alone.

I've mentioned that I'm horrible at dating, right? I can't read signals--good and bad--and like most things in my life, I tend to make a mess out of any and all potential boyfriends. I think that I also have this problem that I'm trying so hard to erase last year in the end, I wind up making an idiot out of myself. And in my lame attempts at being 25, I find myself constantly questioning every single decision that I make. And I have a hard time dealing with my mistakes. I feel that everything should be better, I should be more enlightened, and yet, I can't seem to get my life back on track, where it was. When I was completely confident in a career, when I had no problems meeting guys, when the world seemed like it was full of endless possibilities. Now, I feel like I'm pressed up against the starting block, waiting for the gun to go off, so I can make the mad dash before it's all over. I'm petrified of dying young. I'm so scared of not having lived, that I make rash and stupid decisions.

When it comes down to it, I guess, I never really admitted my ultimate fear of my untimely death. We had to do a visualizing exercise over the week at a leadership and we had to see ourselves in a year. Okay, why did I see a headstone? Is that not fucked up. I think that's unbelievably depressing. What am I thinking? It's not as if I've been given just a year to live. But here I am, scared of getting to close to anyone in case I do die; and then scared of not getting close to anyone in case I do die. I really am a headcase. I have serious issues.

On November 13th, I received an email from my friend Lindsay, which told me how she got my call but that she was really not feeling well and things aren't going well for her at all. She wasn't in the mood to really talk about it or write about it.

"All I have to say is--you are so lucky that things went smoothly for you. I would give anything to be in your shoes. I will try to give you a call back when I am feeling better or when I actually have good news."

I cried over this email for about an hour. I was sad that she was not feeling well, sad that talking to me wouldn’t make her feel better. I knew she was dying and I wanted to help her, but I wasn’t sure how I could. So I went to the store and stocked up on DVDs, an angora hat, Skittles lip gloss, a care bear canteen & key chain, a book on tape, a quick read that I really enjoyed, some other stuff that I’m forgetting right now. I packed up a box and sent it out. A week before she died, Lindsay sent me a Thank You note that she’d call when she was in better spirits. Seeing as how this box cheered her up, I went out and bough a bunch of new stuff—Christmas pajamas, fun tee-shirts, a conch shell that I had from my trip to Key West. I was waiting for a box of makeup from my friend Karen, so I didn’t get a chance to send the box out yet. It’s sitting on my windowsill. I guess in retrospect it’s a blessing that I didn’t get a chance to send it out. Because that would’ve been awkward for her parents to receive; but it also sits there and makes me feel sad and angry and guilty. Sad that she’s gone; angry that she’s gone and guilty that that box represented my efforts to make not just her feel better—but myself feel better. It was selfish really. Sending those gifts made me feel less like I couldn’t do anything and more that I was a good friend. It was as much for her as it was for me, prompted by that email that I was “lucky that things went smoothly for {me}.” When in fact they did. I’m here. I can write this all down. I am still alive to feel guilty about it all.

It also makes me cry that she probably felt so alone. I know that a lot of her friends had dropped out of her life. We make excuses for people, talking about how hard it is to be around people that are sick and we’re asked to forgive them. I call bullshit. I do not care how busy you are or how hard it is to be around a sick person, you just do it. A lot of this girl’s friends just stopped calling. And at the end, because I had gotten better, she probably found it hard to talk to me. And I mean, god, how is that fair? You don’t get to say you’re sorry when the person is gone. And she was so sweet and I know she didn’t tell her friends how they made her feel. She didn’t get a chance to stop and say, “You know, I really need you at this point in my life.” And we all do it. We all forget and we figure we have time to make it up. A year later attempts to visit do not make up for the fact that when that person was sick, and alone, and scared that we weren’t there. It makes me so angry. Especially at this time of year. Look, we are human and when horrible things happen, you know what, we’re not going to stop worrying about our hair, our weight, work, or any of that petty stuff. It’s always going to be there and it doesn’t make us any less of people because it upsets us. It’s life. But it really is time to appreciate the people in our lives. And to appreciate the value of life. To stop wasting it on past hurts and realize that there are so many people out there that need us. By being in a holding pattern and dwelling on loss, we forget those that are out there now, and we become skeletons of our formal selves. Maybe I did everything I could—I called, I emailed, I sent gifts, I attempted to visit (usually thwarted by a medical emergency) and maybe I didn’t, I probably could’ve listened more, complained less, just been a better friend. Maybe I will never get over the thought that my friend died questioning: “why this had to happen? And why are all those people who didn’t even call me on a regular basis going to be crying over me now?”

Why does it always take a person to be gone before we celebrate their life? Why do we always think that tomorrow is the day we’ll get the time? Who are we kidding? There will never be enough time, but there are always those seconds that it takes to jot down a quick “hey there.” I know I’ve ranted on this before, but it’s one of those things that I think I can never get through enough, even to myself.

So in honor of my friend, I want everyone that reads this to send out a note to everyone that they consider as their friend. Not a mass email—individual notes that say hi, how are you and what have you been up to. Send a regular card, or a holiday card with a personalized note. If you’re peeps don’t have email, then call while you’re commuting or if you have five minutes at your desk. If you have to leave a message, hey that counts too. If you can get everyone together not for someone’s birthday or the holidays but just because. I’m donating the gifts that I got for her to the hospital; not just the cancer unit but if there’s anyone there that’s in that “in-between” age because they often get left out. Usually there are tons of gifts for kids but everyone older gets a bit shafted. Let’s make sure that as many people as we can don’t feel alone because those extra five minutes might mean the world to someone who’s searching for a reason to face the day.