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.

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?