Dark Clouds Don't Dance

Why are we so mean to ourselves? Especially women. I know I'm not the only one who does it. I have a little voice in my head that is really negative. I don't know why he's such a jerk, or why he seems to be male, but I don't like it. I know Dan would tell him to buzz off, why can't I? He pipes up when I look down at my thighs, when I pass my reflection. He always pipes up about what I eat, how much I eat, my activities, my life. He's really getting on my nerves. Why do we allow that, those mean voices in our minds? To a certain extent, I guess it can be a good thing because it can encourage change, but that's only if you're motivated by punishment and fear. It gets worse when I research, when I find myself falling through the vortex of the tumor world. I watch the amazing lifestyles that some lead, full of perfect calorically restricted ketogenic diets, hundreds of pills a day, tonics, meditation, exercise, rest, these people are amazing - not cheating, just pure dedication. Some have gone well over a year without a single cheat. I read and I'm inspired, and yet reading about their journeys make me feel like I'm a lazy slouch, that I'm not trying hard enough, that I'm failing, that I'm killing myself because I'm not making smart enough decisions, like the green apple I had for breakfast this morning. In the restricted cancer diet, eating a green apple might as well be a cookie. It's sugar. I know, because I've tried so very hard, that I am not cable of being completely regimented. It makes me feel crazy, and trapped, and snuffs my little light of happiness and hope. I want to live a long healthy life, but I also want to enjoy myself. But, because I've researched the crap out of cancer diets, I also know too much to be ignorant so I end up never feeling happy with my choices. If I'm too strict, I'm miserable. If I'm too lax, I feel guilty. The little guy in my head is mocking me. Jerk. I'm doing exactly what he wants me to do: feel crazy.

So what do I do? Do I quit researching, quit reading up on new treatments, new information? I wish I had the type of constitution that could just slough stuff off. I'm working on it, but man is it hard. Clearly I need to force myself back into yoga and meditation. But I'm so bad at it. Both always feel great at the time, but I don't crave them, instead they feel kind of like a chore. I feel bad even saying that, but it's how I feel. I guess I have to just keep up the running. I feel like that a-hole in my mind that loves to tear me down is not a runner. He hibernates. He hates it. What a lazy SOB. See, look how you guys just helped me work that out? We just found his Achilles heel. Ha! I think we all have a nasty worm that infiltrates our thoughts. The trick is to outsmart him.

It's stressful living with the MRI's and weight of having a tumor, never knowing if you're doing enough. I don't want to get a bad scan because at that time it will be too late to backtrack and be more strict. Ugh. The world of brain tumors. Never knowing if you can beat it, never knowing the perfect combo, if those consistent apples will be enough to feed the tumor to kill me. Who would have thought this could be so hard. So detailed. So complicated.

As for the melanomic whatever that is growing on my breast (and the other mole), I have the OR scheduled for April 3rd. My reconstructive surgeon is pretty cool too, so that is a huge relief. It will be nice to get those areas removed. It's a heavy weight watching them grow. Of course, just as I unload my fears, my stresses on this blog, I am still chair dancing as I type. I've just remembered that when you dance, even if it's just with your shoulders, you can't have a dark cloud. It's impossible. Note to self: dance more.

A few things that made me smile today:

Cauterization & Kryptonite

Good morning world. Life has been busy, spent the last weekend in Wenatchee with family, holding a garage sale and as we're back home it's hitting me that it's already time for another immunotherapy shot. How did three months go by so quickly?

While we were gone Lemolo had his first bloom. It smells delicious, reminiscent of gardenias. Not the stinky synthetic cheap kind, but the most heavenly natural scent. Delightful.

Before we left for Wenatchee I checked my little salad garden and behold, I have sprouts!! I had been watching, and waiting, even sticking my fingers into the soil on occasion to make sure the seeds weren't planted too deep or to make sure they were keeping nice and damp. The latter, not too hard to do here in Seattle, of course.

With my excitement from the growing plants, we headed out for our weekend. We'd loaded extra stuff for the garage sale into Dan's car, the old 1982 Land Cruiser and went on our way. It was sunny, and gorgeous. We laughed as we made it up Steven's pass, enjoying waterfall after waterfall along the highway as cars zoomed by. Our old goat is a slow girl. We hit the crest with a glance over at the spotty skiers meandering down the hill. As the nose of our old goat faced east, Dan leaned over and tickled my belly, and told me, "See, I told you she could do it!" But as things go, it was only a few miles before old goaty pooped out. We were driving down the two lane highway when the engine stopped running. I can not stress enough how grateful we were to find, within only 200 yards, a pullout. The mountains have been dumping snow off and on so there was snow plowed along all sides of the roads with not many places for reprieve. As we were on the windy road we were lucky to not have been stranded on a blind corner.

We pulled over and tossed on some extra layers of clothes; the temperature was dropping quickly as the sun set.

Nope, that's not Seattle sunshine, it's the moon.

We attempted to fiddle in the engine, testing wires, and tubes, and parts for about 45 minutes to an hour. Then, we gave up and called my parents for help. My poor parents, their job is never done. By the time they got there it was pitch black and I was pretty damn cold, with my father's truck registering 31 degrees. We left the old goat by the side of the road and headed home, happy to be thawing.

The most amazing part of the whole experience was that Dan and I never got upset. We were cracking jokes, and as Dan tried to troubleshoot I jumped up and down to stay warm. It was just another adventure. When we were nestled warmly in my dad's truck we all visited, and laughed. I love it when even in tough times, people can keep their heads on straight and have a little fun. The next day the old goat was retrieved, and she is resting in my parent's warehouse. My uncle Michael came over and the men bumped heads to figure out the problem. The conclusion: fuel filter. Between the goat adventure, and the garage sale, visiting my sweet grandma a few times, and a family dinner with our uncle Dave and his new wife Berrit, it was a fantastic, and eventful weekend.

I have a day to rest, then I have an appointment with a reconstructive surgeon tomorrow morning. It's a preliminary appointment for my old mole issue that never seems to end. I have already had to go in for surgery to remove moles all over my chest, and I've also already had to have them go in deeper. Way deeper. Twelve stitches deeper. And this time I have two more deep areas they want to remove. One is on my areola (gross, I know, but we all have them). What are they going to do, remove my nipple, scoop out what they want to scoop out, then sow my nipple back on? Excellent. As for the other area, it's on my other breast. I love my breasts. They're mine, they're feminine, and they're disappearing fast. Three chunks in two years? Jeez. Ugh. Last time they removed a chunk from my chest I started having an aura that was headed into a seizure so we had to stop the surgery for a period of time. It was a mess, and nauseatingly traumatic. No one wants to feel cauterization, or tugging during a procedure. Gross.

As for my mind and my arm, and the cognitive issues and right side weakness, I don't know what's going on. It could be just my kryptonite (lack of sleep), or seizure activity, or the fact that my brain waxes and wanes due to all the instruments, fingers, scalpels, saws, drills, etc. that have nestled around in there. I keep hoping I'll get back to normal, that my brain will heal completely, but the truth is that there are varying degrees of damage after brain surgeries, and I've never met anyone who has come back after a brain surgery and said they are exactly the same. It might be just a hairline change, but it's a change nonetheless. For me, not being able to understand things at times (which by the way is a strong bonding point with my grandma at the nursing home - a silver lining) makes me a little sad. I don't dwell on it, but I wish it wasn't so. I'm only 33 years old. I keep hoping that I will one day wake up and notice that I'm me again. A non-confused me, with an arm and hand that will do whatever I want whenever I want - and to be seizure free. In the meantime, I plug along trying to ignore the oddities, trying to push enough to challenge my body, and my mind, so that they grow, and heal, yet recognize when to pull back and allow for rest. The challenges come daily, there is never a dull moment in the O'Carroll household (that's what we call ourselves). Please wish me luck at the consultation tomorrow; the whole thing scares me.