#58 Tattoo Me and Paddle On

The last week has been a real struggle. After my oncologist called me back last week it was decided we would start me on the injection to shut down my ovaries. I went to the pharmacy, picked it up and the nurse shot me up. I went home and not much changed that day. I sat in my chair waiting to sprout hairs on my chin and a big fat belly but nothing happened. I just felt a little more sad.

Since getting my pathology report and having to face the fact that my cancer isn't one that can be cured by chemo and is aggressive and likely looking to set up shop in organs, bones or brain I have lived with the reality that for me battling cancer is now a real fight. Before I was kind of relying on chemo to do the battling for me...thinking that it doesn't matter THAT much if I, say, have a muffin as a treat or eat a bloody steak. My thinking was - chemo is killing the cancer, and after that the surgery will remove the troublesome remaining lump and I'll be back to the business of my life, work and kids and planning for the future minus some hair and a few years off the life expectancy from the chemo, but onward nonetheless.

Now I think everyday about cancer and that the chemo didn't work. The cancer continued to grow and spread while I was being injected with poison meant to kill it all it was killing was me. The radiation oncologist told me the other day that they don't know for sure if the chemo had no effect....it's possible it killed some of the rogue cells that were trying to make a break for it and find a home somewhere else. They don't know...I hear this a lot.

I have statistics, survival odds and things to try but no for sures, no promises and no guarantees.

Over the past week I've had to come to terms with the fact that my old life is over. I will battle cancer now everyday. I have been exceptionally depressed this week, crying almost at anything, if I think too much about my kids. I see little babies and moms with them and I think about how I was OK with not having any more kids because someday I would be a great grandma to my kids babies. Now I don't know if I'll make it, then I think about them having babies and needing me around and me not being there.

Last night there was a thunderstorm at bedtime and I tucked Madeleine in and when I was about to leave the room there was lightning and thunder and she was scared and asked me to stay. Of course I did. And I sat there in the dark beside her crying as she fell asleep because I worried someday there would be a storm and she'd be scared and would want me and I would be gone. I thought about Ari waiting in the other room for me to tuck her in and reassure her too, she's a little older but I heard her call for me and ask me if I was coming to see the lightning from her room. She's only 11. She still needs me when it's stormy.

So she asked me why I was crying when I got to her room, I said I was sad that the medicine wasn't working so far but I was hoping that the radiation would work and my special diet and some other supplements I was taking might work. She said "don't worry, it'll be ok....the radiation will work and the cancer will go away". I just said "OK baby..." and sat beside her talking about thunderstorms and how to tell when they're close and far away. The whole time I was fighting back tears.

I do that a lot now. Just fighting back tears all day. A fair bit of that is also likely due to the hormone therapy that has catapulted me into menopause so suddenly. Mood swings and depression are not only side effects of a cancer diagnosis and side effects of chemotherapy and surgery to remove breasts but also real consequences of hormone treatment. For a few days last week I really didn't know how I was going to continue on. I can't believe I got out of bed.

I felt like my life was already over. There are still moments each day when I feel like all the goodness is gone. Everyday just waiting to find out how many days or weeks or months I have left with my kids and so many people I love. When I think that my time might be just a few years and I think about everything I'll miss and what it would be like without me I can barely carry on. I just cry.

But then I have to stop and I have to carry on with the day. I can't spend the rest of my life crying. I called the Dr and told him I need help. I will have an apt with the psychiatrist Monday. It's likely they'll put me on some anti-depressants. My naturopath says I should consider it. I can't go on like this. Mood effects immune system. When you're depressed so is your immunity. Good moods and happy thoughts fight cancer. I can't seem to be happy though. I know that I still have much to be grateful for. Normally I can find a way to break through the clouds to be happy but this past week has just been so dark.

My naturopath tells me that there's hope. That she has a patient with stage 4 (what people in the breast cancer community call "mets" - meaning metastatic spread - meaning incurable cancer) that has tumors in her neck and spine, so many she can't believe she can turn her head. She tells me this patient is happy and exercises and is doing just fine. It defies logic.

I hear stories of people with stage 1 breast cancer that within a year are dead from metastatic spread. There's no rhyme or reason.

This past week I've tried to get some control....I've been obsessively reading about alternative therapies, calling my naturopath, buying books about cancer, researching online, reading studies, in facebook groups asking questions - anything to try to understand cancer and control it.

So far I've come to the conclusion that any carbohydrates likely fuel cancer. It feeds on glucose. This isn't to say that it can't switch to alternative fuel sources if glucose isn't readily available- like amino acids serine and glycine or asparagine, but it's easier to get fed if glucose is present. My life enjoying muffins is over. My life casually sipping a cocktail is over. My life eating some fresh cut fries on a summer night is over. My life having ice cream is done. I shouldn't eat meat either, high in amino acids which can also fuel cancer. There's a reason why people who survive cancer are vegans who don't eat grains.

At first I was angry and sad that I can't enjoy these foods, but today I think...I can enjoy so many other things in the present. Like my kids and vegetables can be tasty I guess, sure, it's not a peanut butter crunch blizzard but I'd much rather be around. That part of my life is over. I realize all this past week that I wasn't just crying because I didn't know how much longer I'd be alive but because so many of the things I enjoyed had died for me.

My life is different now. I look back on how good I had it and didn't even realize. How pain free I was, how I spent my days just making choices with no real thought about how they would affect my long term survival. How I moved from moment not really appreciating how fleeting they were. Now I feel sad, because I see how beautiful life is and I'm not ready for mine to be over. Also sad that the part of my life where I was a carefree and felt like I had so much life ahead of me is sort of over.

My naturopath, the oncology nurse, my doctor and Jason tell me that I need to stop reading. I need to take a break from trying to control the cancer. Put down the "How to Starve Cancer" book just for a few days at the least and stop reading stories about people who take all sorts of crazy supplements and therapies in an effort to beat cancer.

I am doing what I can, I am now pretty much a vegan who eats some fish occasionally. I don't drink. I don't eat sugar. I take antioxidants and CBD oil, I have Vitamin C IVs twice a week, I take herbal detox remedies, I eat only organic and very little - only enough to get by. I have an appointment with my doctor to start metformin - a diabetes drug that has been shown to reduce breast cancer metastisis. I'm not just spinning my wheels. Everyday I'm doing something.

Today I got my first tattoo. I had to go for what's called a "radiation planning appointment". You have to go for a CT scan where they plan out on your body where they'll aim the rays. It's an important appointment because they place tattoos on your skin so they can line you up like a doll when you go each day for radiation. During this appointment they ask you to hold your breath for 40 seconds. This is imperative because you need to move your heart out of the way of the beam during radiation and they need to see where it goes when you inhale. They prepped me for the appointment last week by telling me I should practice holding my breath for 40 seconds at a time with my arm over my head.

Me being who I am, I practiced every day holding a huge breath for 50 seconds. When I had to do it for real today they said "you can actually breathe in a little less if you want....that's impressive". I don't know why I felt proud. But I did. I felt like maybe it meant I was still above average in the performance department. So ridiculous. Holding my breath for 40 seconds like I think I'm all of a sudden Wim Hof and deserve a documentary. Anyway, then they tell you good job and tattoo your skin with some little dots and send you on your way. Radiation will start in a few weeks. I always said I didn't want a tattoo because I couldn't think of something I wouldn't get sick of seeing. I never wanted a tattoo and now I have 4. I don't want to see them at all. In retrospect, I'd much rather lament getting a dolphin on my ankle.

After my appointment I packed up the car and the kids and am headed to Sault Ste. Marie. My home. The only real home I have. I've lived lots of places but nowhere feels like home to me except on the shores of Superior. It's so big and so free and so wild. So mighty and untamed. I will go there and renew my spirit.

Despite all of the dark thoughts and sadness, the pity parties I've thrown for myself over the past week there's a bit of Superior that lives within me. I might be like a tiny boat in the vast wild water of this life, but I'm still afloat despite the waves. I know deep down I can handle the open water and I'll keep paddling this little canoe right into the storm. My Shaman says I have the guiding spirit The Guardian of the Hearth with me and the Swan to protect me, there are more layers to life than a diagnosis. There are unseen forces at work. I know I have so many people watching me from the shore, praying for my safe travels.

There are still healing ways to be accessed and days left for me to live. Who is to say I can't defy the odds? Who is to say what the future brings?

I'm enjoying this water metaphor so I'll continue for a minute.

Not all lives are spent on the shore or safe in the Bay. Some lives are spent fighting against the current in the Big Water against the unknown.

There are parts of my life that are over, like calm inlets and cloudless days I didn't appreciate; however, there's no sense looking back and blaming myself for not lingering a little longer in and enjoying life in the shallows.

Today I had to dig down deep into the murky waters and force myself ahead, no time to sit around crying and let the waves take me down when there's still living left to do. I don't know when the sun could break and the waters calm or what's around this rocky shore.

No one knows. We all just have to keep paddling.