Monday, March 9, 2015

Celebration

Some of us call our cancers by their official names, "ductal carcinoma", "lobular carcinoma", or by their more common lay terms such as "breast cancer", or "thyroid cancer".  Then, there are those of us who decide to name our cancers.  We put a name and a face on our opponents.  For me, thinking of my cancer as the Banshee helps me visualize what I'm up against.  It's also an ever-present reminder of what lurks in the shadows.  As far as anyone can tell, I am "cancer free".  The banshee is silenced... for now.  However, the odds are 30% in favor of her making a return and a TKO.

I am blessed. I am lucky.  There are those of us, many of us that don't ever get a reprieve. They don't ever receive the  tenuous joy or respite of being deemed "cancer free."  There is only living with cancer, doing your very best for as long as you possibly can to stave off the hungry wolves.

By now, you are probably confused by the title of this post, seeing as how the first two paragraphs probably have you wanting jump off the nearest building.

There is so much darkness in cancer, in fighting cancer, in living with and dying of cancer.  The Banshee is a formidable adversary. So, what do you do? You celebrate! You celebrate every victory, every tie; you celebrate every damn day that you don't let the darkness and fear overcome you.

I lost a good friend and neighbor to cancer last year.  There isn't a day that goes by that I don't wish I could  take back all my advice on everything from health to sleep management; all my little pearls of wisdom about life and just let him do his thing.  You see, I did the same thing to Ray that everyone does to me now and it drives me absolutely crazy!  

When he celebrated life, he did so in a million seemingly frenetic ways: cleaning his yard and ours, smoking cigars, drinking margaritas, walking his and other neighborhood dogs at 2:00 am, toasting the sunset in the small park atop our neighborhood every night.  He never slowed down, until he did. What I never understood, what I could not have know  is that he was celebrating. Ray was living, he was enjoying life to the very last.  When he had the energy, he used it, and then some. God love him, he made damn sure he and everyone else around him enjoyed every bit of his energy.

Unfortunately, the mind isn't always stronger than the body, and he would have to lie down and rest.  Sometimes it would take hours, days, or weeks of sleeping and couching-it before he could come out into the world and light it up again.

During the flow period of this tide, I always urged caution, restraint, rationing energy and moderation; above all be moderate. Be moderate in your drink, your food, your exercise, etc. What I didn't realize at the time, was that I was not only asking him to be someone that he wasn't, but I was also asking a man at the precipice to stand back, take heed, and waste what little energy, time and life he had left.  I was asking him to moderate life. Why? So, he wouldn't have a hangover; so he could get more sleep, so the next day wouldn't be as hard, wouldn't be as fun, wouldn't be as enjoyable.  After all, everything in moderation, right!?!  Bull shit!

I was the queen of moderation: I rarely drank to excess, I frequently found ways to avoid party situations or found excuses to leave early, I never did any serious drugs, I never had one night stands, never, never, never... Always the good girl, getting the good grades, being the team player, always eating healthy, and always exercising.  When my family and friends drank soda, I drank water, when they ate candy, I ate raw fruits and vegetables.  Where did a life of moderation, caution, and responsibility get me: breast cancer at 34.

You're damn right I push it now! I ran 4.6 miles today at an 11 minute per mile pace.  While this distance and time is a joke to my former self, the self that loves marathons.  Today, it is a huge accomplishment.  For the last 3-4 weeks, I've been running most mornings with my very heavy almost-four year old son. Should I be pushing my body this hard, this fast!?!  I don't know, but for God's sake, please stop asking me in that judgmental tone that makes it crystal clear that the question is reciprocal.  Leave me be! Running along the beach in the early morning light of a new day with my son is a little piece of heaven on earth.  Words fail to express the love and gratitude I have that God gave me one more run, one more run with my son, and another beautiful run on the beach.  It takes more out of me than I'd like to admit.  When the rush of energy, adrenaline, endorphins, and serotonin ware off, I am left fatigued.  The kind of mind and body fatigue I only ever felt after 16+ mile training runs. The kind that require a nap for recovery.  

I push it in other ways too.  I pushed it last weekend when after a long and tiring week of work at work and work at home, I accepted two offers to go out on both Friday and Saturday nights with my husband and friends.  I had the energy, so I used it and then some.  I had the opportunity to enjoy time with my friends and husband, to enjoy life, to laugh, to be merry, to CELEBRATE, so I took it.  Gone are the days when I am going to pass up on any opportunity to live and love with my friends and family out of fear of needing a nap or having a hangover.  I am done with moderation.  When I am tired, when my energy is spent, I will lie down, I will sleep, I will rest, but I will do it begrudgingly, not because I want to, but because my body is tired at a cellular level and I have no other choice.

Whether it's laughing and crying over too much wine with friends, or running too far too fast with my son, I am living, I am enjoying every second of this beautiful life.

No one with chronic, possibly terminal disease can win.  Yes, that is a double entendre.  Once you get the "cancer free" title or once the "active treatment" phase is over, most folks expect you to just get on with it, to just be over it, to just be back to "normal".  So, you do your damnedest to be the Tiff of old, large and in charge.  Then comes the chorus of folks saying you're doing too much, you need to rest, you need to work yourself back up slowly.  You know what they say about opinions!?!

So, let me get this straight... it's ok for me to spend what energy and time I have on cleaning the house, cleaning clothes, cleaning the yard, paying bills, cooking, working, working, working, but it's not ok for me to spend some of my energy and time on actually living?

 I know this all sounds a bit whiny and immature.  I want my cake and I want to eat it too.  You're damn right I do.  I've earned every celebration, every nap, and every vacation.  This insidious disease and its treatments are tough.  The Banshee takes, and takes, and takes.  She breaks the strongest of hearts, minds, spirits, bodies, and dreams.  

This disease demands a lot of caregivers.  Thank God for my family and friends.  I am grateful, I am, but as my Aunt Kathy said "if given the choice between the role of the caregiver and the role of cancer victim, which would you chose?" So many have given so much to help me fight and recover, but I am still recovering.  Please give me a break and let me go through what I am going through without judgement.  If you no longer want to help, it may hurt, but I understand.  I am still on a physical, mental, and spiritual journey that I don't fully have my head wrapped around yet.

Some days I feel great, I feel like I can take on the world,  The fabulous Tiff can take my kids to disneyland all day, and dance all night.  Trying to live life fully takes its toll and means that other not-so-fabulous days are tough.  Sometimes the not-so-fabulous days hit regardless of my daily or nightly activities.  My body and organs have taken a serious beating.

I'm doing my best to find a balance, a way to balance the need to celebrate each day, each good test result, each milestone, with the obligation and responsibility I have to my family and work. 

If I need to lie down, I will, but don't expect me to stay there for long and try not to judge me for living a little less moderately, a little less cautiously.