Not only am I spoiled by living in Central Oregon and having access to some of the best roasters EVER, but it’s part of my ritual. It’s comfort. No matter the season, I can happily rely on wrapping my hands around an obscenely sized mug and sipping my way to it’s bottom throughout my morning.

I haven’t done this in a while. I’ve left behind quite a few of my rituals. A lot of my comforts have been laid aside for what we now call, my “new normal”. Writing is one of those things. I used to write so often. I craved the outlet. I felt like I was documenting, recording, venting, being transparent. Maybe even bringing others together who might have something in common. For quite some time, I’ve felt a sense of decapitation. Lots of feelings have swirled around that headlessness. Mostly directionless. Feeling foggy. Numb. Misunderstood. Like my ship has been hit. With that came a need to lay quiet. To be still. To observe more and receive direction.

I have always written. It’s part of who I am. It’s how I process both goodness and grief. There are a million good things that come from writing publicly to the few negatives that come with putting yourself out there to be perceived and assessed, to be criticized and evaluated. The support that I have received over the past year from the growing plethora of people affected in some way by cancer has been overwhelming and amazing. That in itself makes it all worthwhile. This journey has been quite a beautiful one because of the people who have come into my life because I have put mine out there. On the flip side, during your lifetime there will be those who may never believe in you. They may absolutely NEVER “get” you. Sometimes, these people you may feel know you well, so it feels extra undeserved. Sometimes the people who don’t believe in you will be people you don’t even know, just looking for someone to criticize. Whatever the case may be, it is important to note that not everyone will agree with the things that you are doing, and that’s totally ok. The key is to stop letting people who do so little for your life, control so much of your mind, feelings and emotions. This is where I am. I’ve let go of those that God found a way to weed out and made permanent space for the people He has, over time, handpicked to be here.

That being said, despite my weariness, my weakness, my growing tired body; I still have a wildfire in my soul. I hope to breathe it back to life, after these past few months of feeling snuffed out. God has stirred that in me over and over again. My days and my world and my head have been extremely full…. but my words…. they have been silent. Intentionally. Something stole my spark. After having thoughts and blog content a-plenty, but no drive to post or write ….I pray for the invincible desire to put it all out there again.

I realize the obvious scattered-ness of this entry, but since an update is hugely over due, I kind of just spit it all out there. I’ll try to cliff note the last several months for those who don’t follow my facebook updates. Bare with me (and I promise to get back to more insightful, cheery postings soon!)

Since summer started, I haven’t stopped running. Sometimes, quite literally. I’m not sure if it was my attempt to fill my days to the brim after months of being on lockdown, or a mission to distract myself from what was happening to my body, almost like I was attempting to prove to myself that I REALLY wasn’t sick. Running, running, running… mommy’ing, friend’ing, filling my days with family and outings, and tasks, household chores, doctor appointments, chiropractor appointments, naturopath appointments, anything appointments. My weeks and days were mostly attempts at finding anything that would slow down the relapse we discovered only 2 months after stopping chemo this year. A severe blow to my entire family and circle of friends; we licked our wounds and I hit the ground ready to figure out my next steps. I knew I needed a clinical trial, since I’ve been strongly opposed to a second round of chemotherapy. Despite the adamant advise from my doctors, I started researching everything I could and with the help of a clinical researcher, who started filling my inbox quickly with trials I might be eligible for. Months was spent filtering through them, fundraising and trying to configure how much time I had until I HAD to start something again.That time came the day after returning home from our annual family camping trip at Trinity Lake.

I had been sick off and on during that trip and knew my time was running out. As soon as I got home, I high tailed it to see my doctor and off to the hospital I went.

My lungs were buried in fluid and my kidneys were shutting down. Six days in the hospital, a surgery and two lung taps later, they let me go home and told me to start chemo right away. I argued with several of my doctors for a few days and we were off to do some mach speed research. Thank God for my sister-in-law, Kacy who took it as personal mission to contact several Universities, hospitals, trial coordinators, doctors and researchers.

Ben, our clinical researcher recommended IAT and we went back and forth between that and the Gerson Institute for about 4 days before deciding on IAT. A week later, several faxes, phone calls and last minute travel arrangements later, a tearful good bye from the boys, we landed in Freeport, Bahamas for an 8 week immunotherapy program.

My parents dropped everything and came with me to get me settled here, and so far, we’re a week in. I’ll start detailing the bits of that journey as often as possible as I feel it’s imperative to get this information out there for others going through the same thing.

… and a final sassy note….

I just spent 16 minutes Skype’ing my boys…. I just saw their faces across 4000 miles. They are not with me and I am not with them. Cancer, I hate you because you are ruthless and unfair.

I will kill you.

Pardon the dust ’round here. I know it’s been quite some time. The thing is…

I have oh so much to say and far too little organizational tools in my headspace right now to put anything down that feels jointed. So, while I fly through my day (and that’s just about exactly what it feels like) I come across huge thoughts and bits of introspect that often times stop me right in my tracks, but while I ponder and brood over it … I’m off and brooding over sumpin’ else. Then two weeks fly by. Or 4. Then I’m here — ‘splainin’ where I’ve been.

I’ll be honest too. I’ve had some rough weeks. I’ve soaked a few bits of tissue in both the good and the not so good. But I love that the good trumps the bad. The good carries weight. I can FEEL it’s sway. God has been hard at work on me. It’s like He has His big index finger, dipped in my chest, swirling and twirling and whirling it around in a slow rotation that becomes more and more visible the longer He does it, like a plume of water in a vortex.

Pleading. Begging. God, use me, show me, make me an implementer, an instrument. Bring good here. Show light here where it’s dark. Use this tiny little story of mine and make it seriously significant………………

……….USE ME!

(and He is.)

When we are immersed in the worst of something, we resolve ourselves to being inadequate of repairing … well, anything. (We get wilty and weak.)

But show up  and stand tall to the good in something, and we move towards the best in … everything. I’m ready to move towards the best in everything. I just am.

One of my favorites ::

—–
Lord make me an instrument of your peace,
Where there is hatred let me sow love.
Where there is injury, pardon.
Where there is doubt, faith.
Where there is despair, hope.
Where there is darkness, light.
And where there is sadness, joy.

Oh, divine master grant that I may
not so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand;
To be loved as to love
For it is in giving that we receive-
it is in pardoning that we are pardoned.
And it’s in dying that we are born to eternal life. 

—–

The last few weeks have been FULL. There have been birthdays and celebrations and long drives and 3 hour dinners, late night talks and amazing time with family. I’ve wrapped my arms around all of my incredible (local) friends and really put solid energy into spending quality time with them. I’ve encountered some of the most stouthearted people. Warriors in Christ. New friends that have truly become underpinnings and reinforcements when I’ve literally felt like my legs had fallen out from under me. I’ve been devoted to creating tribute to these people. MEMORIES. Chances to eat and laugh and contemplate and muse on. I let myself dream with them, beyond cancer deadlines and looming diagnosis. Outside of fear and worry and things that are not mine to control. God has chosen soldiers for me in this season. Do you know what a soldier is? It’s someone who fights FOR you.

My gosh, I’m thankful. I am LEARNING. And my heart is FULL.

…

I spend a lot of time now thinking of when I’ve been my most happiest. Do you know when yours was? I reflect back on snipits that really stand out to me. I think this is probably a normal phase for someone in my place right now.  I let myself go backwards here, even though I am facing forward with all my might. I know that I believe that God is good (abundantly good!) and has purpose. I know I’ve asked a thousand times in the last year, why He would allow turmoil or induct a season that has no worth or contribution to my future. That’s just it, He doesn’t. The Hebrews felt that the future was not whole without the past. I’m in the same boat. It all leads here. Now… live intentionally.

For me, I’m cataloging. I’m allowing myself valid nostalgia. I think about peanut butter and banana sandwiches in the back yard when I was little. Of hanging on the fence hollaring out to my friends who lived on the other side. Of my yellow banana seat bike that I rode for hundreds of miles. I think about my childhood dog, Sam, and how she trompled behind my brother and I throughout the neighborhood, wherever our tireless feet would take us. I think about swimming with my dad as he tirelessly dropped quarters for us to race and find at the bottom of the pool. I think about what a treat it was to stop at 31 flavors for rainbow sherbet. I remember tapping morse code messages on the wall in my bedroom at night to my brother on the other side. I think about Camp Tadmor and my summers spent giggling over boys and Wet N Wild shimmer lip gloss. I remember bike rides to the Pole Pedal Paddle and fireworks off the butte … spending warm twilights at the softball fields collecting pop cans to buy Pixie Stix and licorice ropes. I remember spending every July at Trinity Lake, where I would crush on a different boy each year, drink my first beer and worry about nothing but my tan and my hair.

Mmmmmm, isn’t the good, GOOD?  What are YOURS?

Go on you peeps of awesomeness…

continue being remarkable.

be lionhearted.

be present… here… now.

be kind.

be you.

Many ask what I’m doing with my days, now that I’m converting to so many lifestyle changes, so I thought for anyone in my shoes later (God forbid), it might be helpful to see a standard day/week.

I usually wake up between 6:30 – 7am depending on my schedule with the boys, if they are home, it’s up and at it early. Their request for pancakes starts promptly upon peeling back my eyelids. So a typical morning is running around getting breakfast going, the dog let out and fed, clothes laid out for school and the shuffle of loading backpacks, homework, brushing teeth, etc. I usually sneak in a shower while they stuff their faces with something gluten free, toss in a load of laundry, wipe down the counters and off we go.

After dropping the boys at school, which is roughly 15 minutes away, I return home and start the routine. Configuring the pile of supplements and pills for that day, I start slicing and dicing for juicing that day and I chug my glass of Himalayan salt and iodine water. I’ll usually spend a hour or so catching up on email, having a cup of coffee, answering messages, going through my to-do list, (usually adding to it), tossing in another load of laundry or folding one, making beds, sweeping up from the morning tornado and returning any phone calls I need to. I usually can get my week of doctor appointments scheduled for the following week. By this time, I’ve finished a juice and it’s time to make another.

I fill the majority of my days depending on the day of the week with what feels like a never ending list of to-do’s. I usually have some sort of client communication to follow up on, a doctor to call, a parent to fill in, plans to make for the boys. I spend an hour or so in the yard everyday, pulling weeds, planting, mowing. The garden boxes are slowly coming along and that will take a bit of my time soon. After taking care of house and home, I usually load up for the day, head into Bend and start a round of appointments. These usually take a few hours a day and if I have the kiddos, I usually have to race back to pick them up from school, get them changed, fed and off to baseball. On the days they are gone, I usually will make the most of my time in town, stocking up on things we need, meeting up with friends, getting any shopping done, washing the car, or planning meetings for upcoming plans for the non-profit. On the days I don’t have the kiddos, I try to cram as many doctor appointments in as possible so I’m free for them completely, when they are home. Evenings are filled with making dinner, packing lunches, working on homework, boy showers, haircuts, reading, playing with the dog and working around the house. I often times feel like the days are gone before they even start. I feel busier than I have ever been.

Here’s this week for example:

Monday ::
-4x juicing
-answer emails to pending clients
-call NY facility for coordination trial details
-pay bills
-clean kitchen
-finish logo comps and send to client
-coordinate video project for recent fund raiser
-chiropractor appt
-call naturopath for this weeks infusion appts and supplement order

Tuesday ::
-4x juicing
-3 hour infusion
-Patti’s retirement party
-order gravel/mulch for driveway
-chiropractor appt
-monthly blood draw
-dinner with the fam

Wednesday ::
-4x juicing
-3 hour infusion
-Oncology appointment/exam to go over monthly numbers
-early release, pick up boys at 2:30
-book club/study at church

Thursday ::
-4x juicing
-Last day of school (volunteer) pick up boys at 3:30
-Homeopath appointment
-Naturopath blood wash
-Nate’s birthday
-Cohen’s baseball game

Friday ::
-4x juicing
-No school, boys home
-3 hour infusion
-chiropractor appt
-prep for yard work projects on Saturday

Saturday ::
-planned work party in yard, lay new driveway, realign irrigation lines, build fire pit, stain concrete, build garden fence, plant seedlings/starts.

Sunday ::
-church
-day with friends
-prep for session on Monday

Oh, Jen. I have know you for a long time now. We once had parallel lives. Both passionate photographers. Both once married to firefighters. Both with two boys of the same ages. Both lovers of art, design, travel, and so much more. We vacationed together, we worked together and we laughed together. Our kids played together.

And then it happened. Just a year ago, I watched the direction of our lives fork. Yours went the way of doctors, specialists, hospitals, chemo, pills, shots, tests and more emotional and physical pain than anyone should ever endure. From far away, I watched a community rally around you and I watched you fight with more strength and determination than I could ever imagine. You are loved by so many. Your story touches me and thousands of others and we pray for you and hope and dream for your future, with the two things we all want….health and happiness.

Jen, spending this weekend with you was a gift. I so wanted to take care of you, and make your pain go away…even for just a little while. I marveled at how you administer your own shots every hour and take so many meds…a non-stop routine with no end in sight, ever. I wanted to feed you, to hydrate you, to let you rest in a place where you would not have do do anything but get stronger. I begged you to eat and to drink, and you did a little of both for me, and then it all came back up again. I felt horrible. And powerless. I watched you sleep for most of the day, checking on you every half hour and wondering how you can go on with this pain and exhaustion. You told me you have no choice, you HAVE to fight, for your boys. I get that.

But, I still have so much trouble understanding how this could all happen to you. It is so wrong. So unfair. We talked about that this weekend a bit and I was happy to see that you had not lost your faith, or your inner strength, even though I am still not so sure I haven’t lost mine. On the outside, you still look beautiful and healthy. I do like how you have managed to stay gorgeous, mama. Maybe it’s a sign of more good things to come. I am counting on it.

Please keep fighting, Jen. We are all fighting along with you. We love you.

xoxo, Lena

And, to the rest of the photo community and the world: please keep supporting Jen…with your thoughts, your words, or a donation of any amount. The cost of fighting cancer is just staggering.

You can make a donation here: http://www.amistillagirl.com/make-a-donation , http://www.indiegogo.com/amistillagirl and/or send Jen a message.

Your notes of love and support give her so much strength. Email Jen at jen@jenthompsonphotography.com

I had a birthday this week. Better yet, I GOT another birthday this week. How sweet is THAT? I made it to 37. Seven months ago, we weren’t entirely sure. Heck, 6 weeks ago, we weren’t entirely sure.  (see my dad’s reminder below)

Even yet, thirty-seven years later, I’m still working on becoming fully ME. Isn’t it easy to slip and slide on that? How many smokescreens do we create on a daily basis that dilute who we really are? I know I’ve done it. Don’t we continue to work endlessly hard at BECOMING something? Anything? Living up to what others want us to be, need us to be, expect us to be and less of what He wants us to be?  (*raising hand* ) What’s even harder is doing that while not hurting anyone or disappointing anyone AND while still not sacrificing anything truly genuine. Eeeesh, that’s some hard math. I don’t think it happens all at once… I think it happens daily, when we wake up and choose it. Killing, slice by slice,  the forgeries and the reproductions long enough to realize that the only one who REALLY sees, is Him anyway. That doesn’t mean we stop trying it just means we adjust where our priorities are. I used to REALLY be a people pleaser. I’ve recently let go of that (sorta) and made it a daily focus to let others’ know what I need, because before, I just morphed myself into what others’ needed ME to be.

So, for the rest of my little tiny life, on this little tiny planet … whatever amount of time that may be, I’m desperately trying to be a better person. I can’t have a redo. But I get to have a restart. Everyday is a restart, but I deeply hope I don’t need  a daily restart. I kinda hope I take a few things with me each day from the day before it. With that choice, I get to be selective. Not in a non-inclusion, secret club, “what’s the password”, kinda way … but in a “hey, I only have so many days left, what am I going to do with them and who am I going to do them with?” kinda way. I think everyone who goes through some sort of smack in the face with mortality asks themselves what they want to cram in. Mine is coming on now. Slowly… and not in a non-realistic way, but more of a pragmatic, literal and straight-forward kind of way.

1.) WHAT DO I WANT TO DO ?

2.) WHO DO I WANT NEXT TO ME WHILE I DO IT?

I ask myself that a million times a day now and while God is certainly not an amateur at this whole, love unconditionally deal, I certainly am. With that in mind, I try  not to limit things, experiences or people but it’s becoming necessary. I simply have to pour myself into those who need and want me to; into the things that are important, that will last, that will be remembered. What are my treasures? WHO are they? But also, what are my pangs? If my way  is hurting people, I absolutely need to change and in the same breath, if my way is hurting me … I need to change.

I am tearing things down…. lots of them. Taking all things apart, so that I am able to see over the top of the dust cloud, and rebuild. Isn’t that what a remodel is? I’m being remodeled.. built UP…whether I have 3000 or 3 days left. THAT my friends, is the beauty of changing seasons.

And here, what is more than likely to become my next round of ink… maybe aside the scar that reminds me daily, two of my favorite verses, written together… Exodus 14:14 and Psalm 46:10

difficult… but not impossible.

In addition, I was notified a few weeks ago that, (by the sweet grace of God and the very wonderful people in my home community) I was voted Woman of the Year by the Source Weekly, an edgy weekly magazine in our area. I have no idea how one becomes anything of the year, but apparently, if you play your cards right and get a daunting diagnosis and have to undergo some tricky procedures, it puts you in line. Regardless, it was pretty difficult for me to accept such a nomination without including the entourage of people who have continued to make it even remotely possible. Thus the photo concept of the names which were written onto my naked, scarred torso making it just edgy enough to qualify for placement. Regardless, these two publications have done an amazing job of highlighting some important issues and bringing the ovarian ick, to the surface. So, I thank you.

Thank you, Ben-Ben… rockstar documentarian who always pulls my ideas out of my head and turns them into pixels.

Ok, so there comes a point when you’ve committed to blogging where, say, you don’t for a while and then you feel completely and utterly overwhelmed with all the updates, pictures and little ditties that need to be said to bring everyone up to date, but then you realize that not only is this bit about blogging going to be a TOTAL run on sentence and grammatically incorrect on a million levels, but that it’s been over 2 months since you updated last, and then you just sit and stare at your computer screen in a coffee shop surrounded by a lot of other stumped bloggers and think, crap… Facebook updates just aren’t cutting it, I just need a total cleanse. A blogoscopy.

This is my view right now. Mrs. Cheryl McIntosh is on a mission to detoxify me. AND she just scowled at me because after detailing all the the kinds of sugar I can’t eat anymore, I popped a sweetTart in my mouth and laughed. Stubborn? No. Deliberately rebellious? Nah. <insert another sweetTart here>

So instead of “Rice Krispy covered french toast”, she’s using words like: enzymes, burdock tea, yeast flakes, beets, dandelion root, liver and colon. And where she thinks she’s hilarious by making a play on words using the word Whey. Like, let’s make some “whey delicious pancakes.”, uh huh, you’re funny.

So here we are, in February. It’s been a freakin’ doozy of a lot of days and weeks filled with a lot of stuff that has been both really good, and also, really lame. We’re in over 6 months of this stuff. For some that may seems like no time at all, but for us, it’s been life altering on every level and unfortunately been the cloud over just about every single day.

It’s ALL we talk about. I’m kind over it. The last several months have been filled to the brim with downers and hope (mostly hope) but the downers are enough to sweep you out at the knee and knock you flat. Here’s the cool part… all of us in this together… we know more this year than we did last year, on SO many levels we’re just more wise. Confucius says … “By three methods we may learn wisdom: First, by reflection, which is noblest; Second, by imitation, which is easiest; and third by experience, which is the bitterest. So much has been experienced and only half of it has anything to do with cancer.

After a return to the hospital by ambulance for a crazy week of ANOTHER abdominal surgery, NG tubes, an ER visit for a busted open incision and our final (God willing) dose of chemo (this time, Carboplatinum, errrrr harf) … I will, with no pride, admit to being completely wiped out. I’m tired both physically and in my soul. Way deep down. Physically, I know I’m in for the long haul for recovery… emotionally, I’m turning a very wide corner… finally. I can finally see beyond today.

My friends have been incredible. Months and months later, still here, fighting along side me, literally tredging through no different than I am, providing everything from their smiling presence, to bags of fresh oranges, from homemade dinners and gift certificates to hospital visits and kiddo pick-ups, from cards, emails and weekend visits with plans to only chill and devour entire bags of chili cheese Fritos to homemade hats, wraps, jewelry and beyond, from midnight texts and charity benefits, to entire Fridays in the sun … it’s all a constant reminder that we ALL are intimately loved by the God who has infinite resources, that come in the form of these amazing people, these helping hands… adding strength and courage to any fight. I swear, without them, I wouldn’t try this hard. They are there for my sad days with endless solace and support and on the blessed victorious days, with tearful cheers. So much grace has been extended… I am constantly reminded that, I too, have so much of it to give. What a lesson! And while I struggle with letting down my walls again, with letting (just about everyone) too close to me, while I stand at a distance and prove daily, that this walled-up girl, isn’t always so tough…. always trying to keep hearts safe and the hurt and fear far away… while still trying to live out in the transparent open air of what life really is– with all it’s treacherous risk and unknown potential.

“To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket- safe, dark, motionless, airless–it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable.”

So now we wait, to see how my body responded to all these months of ca-ca and ick, and pray, that God will keep it forever gone — and while that seems SO incredibly NOT easy; I keep thinking how hard it must be for our God… who waits on US constantly. Daily. I know that His best work happens in the dark. In the depths. In the despair. In the worry. In the fret. When the foundation is burnt down to ash. The rebuilding begins. Teaching us to lean on Him and Him alone. My gosh, I’m learning this the hard way, always one that is constantly aware of my own limitations and others’, my own flaw, my own mistakes and short comings… only now, nearly 37 years later, that only He is consistent and steadfast. His endurance and my trusting dependence that He knows better than I do, is sufficient.  Because there isn’t any amount of darkness that even one small candle can’t brighten and in that, faith and hope are rising. Right. Now.

Less me :: more Him

I keep a trail of imagery on both Facebook and Instagram, it’s a simple way to document the little stuff… to which my friend, Lena is making me an album of as we speak!  I took this picture at one of my favorite little Bend spots and instantly posted::

      “upside.down.and.still.completely.full.”

and then found myself quietly praying….

“Jesus, there are so many changes taking place. I know change can be a good thing, and I am trusting you to show me the way and give me the strength to embrace thatchange and to be and do all you have called me to be and do.”

Oh, if it were only so easy… I wouldn’t have to pray for it.

So for now, while I struggle with being ridiculously anemic and nursing a sore incision, missing my kids on the days they are gone so much it literally slices right through me, having so little energy that I actually get frustrated with myself and how little I can do physically…. I focus on what I CAN do.

Like my dad said to me on our last day in the ER after I growled in teary frustration “ughhh, why can’t ANYTHING go right!?” … he simply said “it has… you’re ALIVE.” Oh yes… THAT. And he’s right. I am still here, my kids are healthy and happy, I am swarmed with true friends and united family so committed to seeing this through, that I have absolutely no room to bark.

Difficult… but not impossible.

That is where I “met” Jen.  A customer told me about her and her diagnosis of Stage 3c Ovarian Cancer just days after she got that terrifying news. Through conversation, I learned that her and I went to the same church.  Later that day something tugged at my heart. I knew that I had to do something. I knew with the resources I had available, I could help this stranger. I started by coordinating meals for when she came home from Portland and the months to follow but that didn’t seem like enough.  After a few phone calls and texts with Cheryl … they let me in her house! The first time I went out there, I took my Mom and my daughter. I had no idea where I was going or what I was walking in to. I was in AWE of her house.  Gorgeous.  We folded laundry, put dishes away, took trash out, brought packages in. The 2^nd time, Melissa and I had fun prepping for her return with vases of flowers, and a few understated welcome home goodies.  And then the 3^rd time. One of the ladies who had prepared a meal, wasn’t able to drive it out to Jen’s so I volunteered. I am not going to lie. I was a nervous wreck.  I have no idea why. I was finally going to meet this Woman whose house I had been to twice, whose friends I had talked to numerous times. It was like she was sort of a legend!  I also had no idea what to expect. I had never been around someone who just had a tumor removed. Someone who was the same age as me and had cancer. Who I met that day, was a Woman who would become my friend.

A friendship that I didn’t know would happen, but couldn’t be more grateful for.  Most of Jen’s friends have known her for years, grew up with her, went to college with her, have been colleagues of hers.  Not me. I never knew Jen “pre-cancer”. I can look at photos and imagine how different her life was and how drastically things have changed.   In the last 6 months, I have learned so much about Jen and about myself also. The conversations we have range from silly stuff, to real life stuff and even to scary stuff, like death.  My daughter adores her boys. If we had all the money in the world, they would have every single Angry Birds item we see.  If you have spent much time with her, you know what I am talking about when I say her presence is calming.  I have seen this thing called Cancer, bring her to some of her weakest points, both physically and emotionally.  Heartbreaking.

The other night when we were chatting, she said she hadn’t written a blog post in a long time, and she felt badly. I told her to have someone else write it and she asked if I wanted to. My heart skipped a beat.  Sure. But what did she want me to write about? She said, my view, my perspective. I always seem to have plenty to say but as I was writing this, my words did not flow as gracefully as I imagined.  My view and perspective is more than I could write in a blog. To be a part of a tribe surrounding Jen, is seriously wordless. It has reminded me that no matter how much or little you are there, YOU are a support and an encouragement to someone.  I guess what I am trying to say is this: wherever you are reading this:  on your couch, in your bed, on your phone, hopefully not while driving , at work, at home or at school, wherever you are, you can make a difference. You may think you are “blessing” someone but at the same time, open your heart, your ears and your eyes and take in the unexpected that may come your way. You never know where a friendship will begin.

-Marla

I’m ridiculously behind. Like, REALLY behind. It’s been over a month and since my brain is fried from chemo-juice, I may or may not be able to recall a month’s worth of events (or the conversation I probably had with you yesterday). I’ll give it a shot.

It’s been a colossal month. We started treatment in Bend and fell in love with my oncologist, Dr. Kornfeld, who just so happens to be freaking amazing on every level. He’s personable, lovable, warm, funny and gives the best hugs ever. He gives me high 5′s when I gain weight and gives me permission to eat things everyone else tells me not to eat. He lets me obsess over my blood test results and accommodates all of my incessant questions and premature planning. I love him to pieces. The nurses here too. Seriously, amazing. Every single one of them, we have already fallen in love with. LOVE. Like, little, puffy, hand-drawn hearts appear magically and float all around them when they walk into the room.

So, a couple weeks ago… we decided to do the infamous BRCA test. (we call it Braw-ka). It’s genetic testing. Expensive, but totally worth the peace of mind. My main concern was for Bella, my niece … being the only other female under me on the Burgess side; I wanted to make sure SHE wouldn’t have this to face later, and if it was genetic, we could have her tested early. (Early detection, people!) Also, incase you didn’t know. Breast cancer is kind of like the horrible step-sister to ovarian cancer. I’m actually at high risk to get it. So is anyone I gave birth to. Like, my own boys. Yup, men get breast cancer too. We got lucky. It was negative. (In my heart, I already knew this.) This was not a genetic cancer… it was indeed, “environmental”. Here’s the quintessential piece of token cancer’y advise you’re obligated to get from me … if you think something is wrong, it probably is. Who cares if you sound like a neurotic hypochondriac. Pain is your body’s way of telling you something is off. Listen to it. If you have a lump, get it checked. If you have a pain, ask about it. If they don’t listen to you, ask again. If you feel weird, ask for a blood test. If your lymph nodes are swollen, ANYwhere… have them checked.

**Note to men … those are NOT your lymph nodes. So, stop it.

Roughly two weeks after my first chemo, I knew my hair would start to be an issue. So… because I’m kind of a control freak, I took the reigns on that one. The first phase was just cutting off most of my hair to a short bob until we were ready to take’r down. Then we rallied the troops and had a head shaving night at Salon Envy. Ben came with his gear and we documented the night which ranged from giggles, to tears, to weeping and back to giggles again.(there is a video coming and we’ll put all the images up at that point.) I will say this…  it was most definitely the most emotionally traumatic part so far. I didn’t think I would care about it until the moment JUST before we started, and I let out the most primal gasp and exhale of held in tears. Everyone just stopped and let me have it. I pulled myself together and that was that. Done.

The boys thought it was pretty cool.

A question I get a lot right now is… “What does chemo FEEL like, does it hurt?”

Chemo days are a trip. I have to gear UP for them. Now that I know what to expect, I don’t get anxious about it anymore, but I do dread them. Those days are LONG. They are boring. My tribe is there and I’m constantly worried about THEM being bored. Being tired. Being hungry. Being uncomfortable sitting in those ridiculous hospital chairs in that tiny little room they give us. My dad never brings anything with him. No books or magazines. No ipad. No computer. It bugs me.

But chemo itself is just sucky. It’s 10 hours of infusion. That means, dripping a long, slow drip of craptastic into my uncooperative veins after maybe 4 attempts at an IV. The chemo itself doesn’t hurt. But the process is uncomfortable. Once they start the stomach port infusion, I’m usually pretty full of fluid. I get REALLY uncomfortable around hour 7. By then I’m usually 5 bags of fluids in. I’m visibly swollen and feel ridiculously full. That night, is usually pretty uncomfortable and I’m typically pretty wired from the steroids they pump in that day. By the next day, I’m tinkling a lot. Like, lots. But the side effects don’t typically kick in until day 2 and they are really bad on day 3 and 4. Typically, I  feel as though I can’t move without help.   As the treatments have gone on and the cumulative effects of chemo have caught up with me, it seems like each infusion is a tad bit worse.  I usually wake up feeling like I have the worst hang over ever.  The side-effects usually kick in and every bone in my body usually aches. My skin feels flu-ish thin and paper-fragile. My muscles usually throb or burn a low, steady pain. It’s weird and kind of indescribable. Any strong smell is usually too much. It reminds me of pregnancy. I get intensely nauseas over brewed coffee or the smell of meat cooking.  I usually feel weary tired but the kicker to the steroids is they make you unable to sleep. Nothing really helps either … not really. The steroids make it bearable, I’ve tried smoking pot and hate it, eating usually helps but the nausea makes that pretty hard, all in all … the days following chemo are pretty painful. I remember my dad came over one day, during the last double-dose we got, and I was on day 8 or 9 of being in bed straight, and I just started crying like a little girl. It just hurt THAT bad. Every so often, my mind literally just goes blank and I have trouble even finishing a thought or a conversation. The most recent side effect has been thumping in my ears… kind of like the sound of a distant helicopter… not continuous, but frequent enough to be annoying. The symptoms that come with each treatment only last for a few days – longer as treatment goes on – but for the first 6 or so treatments, those post-treatment symptoms would only last a week or so, depending on how much chemo I get. The last round was harsh, but the single dose I got after it was great! I just never know what to expect. Since my treatments are only a week apart there isn’t much time between to feel good. When they give me a week break, I actually get a good solid week of feeling good. Those days, are AWESOME. Like nothing hurts!  I could think and actually REMEMBER conversations and I didn’t need a nap! Every treatment so far,  I have a moment – after the side effects wean and I started to feel normal again where I just marvel at how good it felt to feel good. To feel N O R M A L.

On these days, I actually feel guilty. Guilty for leaving my bed, for putting on my new fancy wig, for having plans, for drinking a beer, for being out at a restaurant, for NOT being sick. Like, I have cancer… I’m not allowed this. Some people NEVER get to feel good.

I will and AM letting go of everything else, all of it…  (you know… the ick and muck we all carry around like the initial swellings of grudges and anger and resentment and self-protection and heart guards and walls and…. and…) and clinging ON to the GOOD. There is SO MUCH GOOD.

I keep asking myself, have I lived enough IN the moment? In THIS moment?

To love life wildly enough to fight FOR it.

“Joy is always a function of gratitude — and gratitude is always a function of perspective. If we are going to change our lives, what we’re going to have to change is the way we see.”

Cancer is changing the way I see. Or maybe it’s God, USING cancer to change the way I see?

Difficult, but NOT impossible.