I spend a lot of time these days reflecting on the process of being ill. There are days, far too many days, where the simple act of walking across a flat, even surface leaves me exhausted and gasping to catch my breath. 

I have cancer again. Like the grandest fuck you from the universe to ever exist, I have cancer again. Again, again. 

I had some really good cancer free months. And I had some really bad ones too. But damn if all of this didn’t catch me off guard. 

As with everything there is good news and there is bad. The cancer is confined to my breast again, which means things aren’t as dire as they could be. I had to have my breast removed in November. 

As silly as it may seem I cannot wrap my head around the shock of it. The visual reminder of all I have lost and all that has been taken from me and all I have had to endure without hope for relief. To lose my breasts once was shocking but to have my breast taken a second time has damaged my spirit in ways I cannot describe. It shames me to be so broken over something so physical. I never would have imagined I would be the type to be so affected by this. 

I will tell you the deepest secret in the recesses of my mind: I would take the cancer back if it meant I could have my breast back as well. I sit here unable to join the leagues of women proudly proclaiming that  it’s better than having cancer. I disagree. 

Here I am once again subjected to a world where I have seen too much, have born through too much. 

I hate every single second of this. 

Something New

I tried acupuncture for the first time yesterday and I think I love it.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
Betcha thought this post would be another bitch fest huh?

Grateful Monday

It's time to spend some time #humblebragging. This blog can be so damn whiny and it wasn't necessarily meant to be that way when I started. I wanted it to be introspective and real but a lot of it is just me bitching.

Today we're going to think about the good things that have happened since cancer and some ways that I believe I have positively changed.

-I no longer support the death penalty. I never thought about how cruel a thing it was to do to someone. I didn't see how a painless, medicated death could be cruel. Now I see how cruel and awful it is to force someone to spend months or years with the proverbial ax hanging over their head.

- I have put myself out there in ways I probably won't describe here but trust me, it's way out there for me.

- I have spent a legit amount of money on frivolous crap that benefits no one but me. All those years of working to support others while I would stand in Wal Mart weighing pros and cons of spending $8 on a pack of underpants are gone. Girlfriend is strolling through life in real Tori Burch flats holding a Dooney and Burke handbag. #treatyoself

- I plan girls weekends now. If you can claim some form of connection to the female persuasion and I have met you, you're going to be asked to a girls weekend. Why? Because I can. We're going to wine country, or NYC, or the beach. We're going to drink, and eat, and laugh, and cry, and heal among women. The last couple of years have taught me the value of deep female connection. I believe on a psychological level women can heal women. Lean in to the sisterhood.

-I don't waste time on old me. Current me may have plenty of crap to cry about but I think I've left the Stephanie of yesterday in the past. I'm recreating someone and I'm still learning who she is but she doesn't feel tainted by the sins of before.

- I make the time. I no longer limit myself from doing the things I want to do because I don't have time. Now I make the time.

Did I deserve this?

I stole a pudding cup from a girl in my 3rd grade class. I also stole her spoon because I didn't want to eat it with my fingers. A few months later I returned the dirty spoon to her backpack while everyone else was out at recess because it was a regular metal spoon and it felt wrong to throw it away. She was confused, I never fessed up.

I spent months as a teenager sneaking out of my bedroom window at night to run around with a man I met on the internet.

I was promiscuous in my youth.

I was sorted into Slytherin House and I honestly don't mind.

I bought my first car and drove it for months and months even though I didn't even have a drivers license yet.

I married my first husband knowing I would divorce him one day.

I slept with another woman's husband. More than once.

I love my children, I don't think I love being a mother.

I hold grudges.

I gossip.

I didn't attend my mothers funeral.

I imagine my mother spending eternity in hell and it brings me peace.

I lied. I stole. I cheated. I injured. I overlooked. I sinned.

I did this to myself?

My body did this to me.

I didn't do this intentionally. I wouldn't have chosen this. I don't know the moment where I should have gone left and instead went right. Does that moment even exist? I own my body. My body did this. I...did this. Can you do this to yourself?

Do life's little insults and injuries compound on themselves to create the culmination of whatever you've done mirrored back onto you?

There isn't a lifetime maximum assigned to an individual for misery or suffering. It is fluid. I didn't understand that prior to having cancer. As someone who has gone through a lot in life, suffered a whole lot in life, and had actively worked to move beyond that pain I thought I was free and clear. I honestly thought that we all had out there in the ether somewhere a meter counting down our misery and once we reached it the rest of our life would run fairly smoothly.

When I first got cancer I was so pissed off. I treated it as an affront. Dear Universe, How Dare You?!?...

Then I got cancer a second time but it came about so quickly that it kind of got lumped in with the first round of cancer and while it worried me, no one else seemed to think it was that big of a deal.

And now I have a lump. It isn't a big lump. Actually, I don't really think it's much of a lump at all. It's just that something feels different. Something feels...not quite right. I remember this feeling. I remember ignoring this feeling. And here I am again. If I hold my arm a certain way then there's definitely something there... but then I shift my weight and it isn't there anymore. Am I crazy? Overreacting? A hypochondriac?  Please, God let that be the case. I'll go see the breast surgeon on Friday and have things checked out. See? I'm learning. I won't sit here and talk myself out of doing anything for fear of being seen as overreacting.

I will put this out there in the universe because no one really reads this anyway but I won't tell anyone. I haven't told my husband or my best friend. I will own this worry and fear and will hold it close to myself rather than unload it onto those who can't do anything about it anyway. It feels almost peaceful to hold this to myself and let my mind work through this without having to worry about the suffering of others. I am recognizing that this is forever. There will never not be a lump, or unexplained pain, or wonky lab results, that could trigger the renewal of all that old shit they thought was behind us. Maybe it's nothing and I never have to tell them. Maybe in a few weeks all of our hearts will be breaking again.

And another thing

I've already written a blog post today but my brain is full of with things I want to say and these days I find myself rushed to get everything out and said before I forget it because believe me, I will forget it.

I want to say that there are things in my life I'm doing to get better, even if I do seem hateful and mean and angry and bitter. I don't think it represents a place of healing but I realized if I were to be facing the end of my life there are things I would feel bad for not having done or tried. It isn't a bucket list, it's me spending time investing in myself. If you invest in yourself it means you have hope for the future right?

I'm taking guitar lessons. I'm lousy at it. I don't think the lessons are very fun and I kind of dread them every week but I still want to learn to play. It's hell on the fingers, especially when you are suffering from hand-foot syndrome.

I signed up to take a bread baking class at the King Arthur Flour baking school. I've wanted to for years but could never find a time to do it. I'll take a whole week off next month and spend my vacation time up to my eyeballs in carbohydrate deliciousness.

Last weekend we went away to the mountains and I bought a whole bushel full of apples. I spent the last few days canning them. I must believe I'll still be around for a while if I'm going to make 2 dozen jars of apple butter when I'm the only one in my house that likes it. I guess that means I think I'll be around long enough to eat it.

My husband bought me a Peleton bike for my birthday and I let him. No...I encouraged him. Y'all just don't realize how cheap I am. That kind of expense about took my breath away. I justified that it will last me until forever... and when I said it I truly meant that to mean years and years. I love spinning. I'm enjoying something I enjoy.

Still here

I hate this blog. It hurts my feelings and makes me reflect on myself in ways I would rather avoid. Sometimes I forget that I've written something and I will come here and reread it and it will rip at scabs I didn't even know were starting to heal. Did I really feel that way in that moment?... I suppose I did.

It helps me to write these words even when I hate what they say about me. It's a form of therapy. I'm not in therapy though I'm not opposed to it. I don't think I'm ready for therapy. Therapy is about moving forward right? About finding ways to cope and move on... I'm not there yet. I'm still here picking at scabs.