#6 Cancer Ain't no Plane Crash.

Today was a much better day. It wasn't an amazing day. I think those are behind me for a little while, but today I had a little hope they weren't gone forever.

I spent the better part of my online time this morning reading about the plane crash in Iran. Those people didn't have any more than 30 seconds to prepare to die, to even know they were going to. To say goodbye to anyone and most likely spent it all in fear. So awful and so tragic.

I've had literally solid days where all I think about is death, how I might die, what would happen along the way, would I write letters to people I've hurt or left or somehow wronged and try to apologize for all the wrongs I'd done (which could take considerable time. LOL) what would I say to my kids, should I start a diary to each of them in case I get the baddest bad news, would I suffer at the end, what about the kids, what about Jason.

All these thoughts...those filled wasted days. I realized today that death comes for us all. We never really know when, some of us are given timelines, like 3-6 months or 2-3 years or 5 years or more...but really...we don't know. Those people on that plane, they were given 30 seconds. Some people may argue it's better that way but I don't think so, saying goodbye is a big deal. For everyone.

My father who is suffering from Kidney Cancer also suffered from understandable shock and subsequent depression after his diagnosis, as anyone would. Then he went to a funeral of an old friend, and heard stories from his old buddies who were also there about their health struggles, most of which weren't as bad as having to possibly have a kidney out and at worst being on dialysis. It's all a sliding scale, but when it's happening to you, sometimes you get locked into a vortex and you can't compare.

Comparison can be an awful thing, or it can be very helpful. Comparison is no longer helpful for me in terms of physical appearance, or strength, outward beauty or any of the shallow, conventional ideas of what makes someone attractive. I'll admit, I have cared a lot about how I've looked in the past. I went through phases...pregnancy and post-partum not so much, but there have been times when I cared so much I think it was unhealthy. Lately I've worked hard to maintain my physical fitness to be healthy but I also do it to look good in my clothes. I eat right to be healthy but I also don't want to have acne or dry hair. All for what? Wasted time yet again.

At best I'll keep some of my hair, I'll likely gain 10-15lbs on the dose dense chemo and my muscle tone and strength will decrease. My skin will dry, I'll lose my eyebrows and eyelashes and my nails will peel and darken as may my skin. When chemo is over they'll remove my breasts and I'll be left with scars. And then the radiation will cause more, and it's likely I'll lose a great portion of the mobility in my dominant arm. Also, I'm not having breast reconstruction. I'll be given hormones to force me into menopause to keep my estrogen down and it's possible, as I found out today that I may need to have my ovaries removed if I turn out to be both BRCA genes positive.

I get upset when I think about it but Jason just says that it's not about how I look, it's about us growing old together and me being alive, but I really do feel sad about all those things happening. Especially because now he'll be the hotter one in the relationship. ;) All joking aside... I made an effort to look good, he just was what he was and was ok with it and was lucky it was attractive, but he's also never been one to judge people based on their appearances, he's said its just kind of a bonus. He's definitely a better person than I am. I got highlights, I tried botox, I got eyelash extensions from time to time, I wore makeup, I cared. I thought it would make people like me more, or want to be around me more. So shallow, but it's true. Now...I'm going to be puffy and fluffy and dry and flat and all that and I will look different. It's still tough to take.

But you know what? It's no plane crash.

It's just me accepting it. It's a part of my journey maybe I was meant to understand that outward appearance means very little in the big picture. It doesn't make you nicer, or smarter or more loving, and if you're with someone who loves you for who you are, it shouldn't matter anymore than it would when you naturally grew old and got old looking anyway. Being attractive is just a silly bonus, like being tall. You don't do anything to get it. And when it goes away, it doesn't make you any less. It's humbling. I guess I don't humble very well. The learning curve here is steep for me. Chemo starts in 36 hours.

So, as horrible as it is to say, my mood was so low that a plane crash actually lifted my spirits. That's awful, but you know what I mean. I spent time reading about all the lives lost and the implications for their families and what their lives were like, and for all that time, I didn't think about how sorry for myself I was feeling.

It made me think that maybe I should try to do some nice things for people worse off than me, there are so many. I don't know exactly what I'd do, but I thought about it and it didn't make me feel worse.

That's my new standard. If it doesn't make me feel worse, it's likely helping things.

We ended the day with the kids and Jason enjoying a pizza (I'm fasting prechemo) and when the movie was over Ari came and gave me big hugs and didn't argue about bed time and Madeleine did a little dance for me to make me smile. It did. When she twirls and smiles it lights up my whole world. It reminds me that there's always room for a little smile.

Having cancer still sucks and I can't believe I have it, but I also have so much more. I shouldn't plan on wasting too many more days feeling sorry for myself. The reality is that none of us know when our plane is going down.

Might as well have a twirl before bed.