Getting Down To Business

The verdict was in and I was found guilty. Of what I'm not exactly certain but I had been issued the life sentence of cancer so guilt of some sort was surely mine. That was my initial thinking. I was plagued by irrational thoughts that kept me wondering what I had done to bring this on myself. The mental volley being played out in my mind was exhausting. The what-if's and woulda-shoulda-coulda's nagged at me incessantly. What if I had eaten a cleaner diet? Could I have avoided this if I had not given into my love of all things chocolate? Should I have reduced my caffeine consumption? Why the heck did I have to learn to love coffee? Maybe I could have exercised more? What about my pleasurable partaking of alcoholic beverages? Not to mention any other pleasurable partakings... should I have avoided them all together? Maybe I had one cranberry and vodka too many? What if I had been a better person? Maybe if I had gone to church more? Was I kind enough to strangers? Had I been rude? Maybe I had not been a good enough wife or mother or sister or daughter or friend? Should I have become a missionary? Maybe a nun? Was I being punished for what I was or for what I wasn't??? Cancer had to be a punishment. There was no other answer. Cancer doesn't just happen! There had to be a reason it was happening to me!!!

Yes, that was honestly where my mind went. Not only have I confessed to being a troubled soul whose first concern was over the loss of her hair...preceding with great significance the question of whether or not she would die...but I must also admit to unbelievably ridiculous feelings of guilt and stupidity. All those thoughts...all that mind-numbing-drive-me-completely-crazy chatter only lasted a few minutes in reality. However, it felt like an eternity passed before I was able to regain control of myself. Once I settled the wild, animalistic panic that had taken hold of me, I was able to come to this conclusion...cancer does just happen. Okay, so I know there is more to it than that.. that there are medical reasons why it happens. I'm referring more to the aspect of who it happens to, not how it actually happens. I'm just one of many. I will never know why it happened to me and quite honestly, I don't need to know. Worrying about the why is nothing more than a waste of time and energy. It was time to bury the questions brought on by fear and guilt. It was time to get down to business.

Maybe I'm an odd being or maybe this is the way it works for most in this situation. I don't know the answer as I've not addressed this subject with many who have been in my shoes. But I process things very quickly. I compartmentalize, strategize and realize what is beyond me. I assess the situation and take control of what can be controlled and let go of the rest. I create a business type atmosphere in my mind and I set about doing the job at hand. For this task, the process began by creating a team. My Power Posse.

The team came into being the night of my diagnosis. The first board meeting was held at my friend, "L's" house. She and my friend, "K", were there to cry with me. To be with me as I made necessary phone calls. We prayed together. And we even laughed together. "K" is a nurse and she became my first line of defense. I thrive on information...knowing what to expect...and she gave me what I needed. She is also a great spiritual and emotional supporter. She has all but carried me through some of life's tougher times. She was a definite posse member. "L", well, "L" is my pal with whom I push the boundaries. She shares my love of adventure and we have survived many what-should-have-been-unsurvivable adventures together. To say we leave trouble in our wake is an understatement. We are the modern day Thelma and Louise. Although I don't know who would be Thelma or who would be Louise. (All I know is I wanna be the one who slept with Brad Pitt!!!) Well, fighting cancer was going to certainly be an adventure. I knew I needed Thelma???...or Louise???...by my side. The Power Posse was 3 members strong... "K", "L", and me. I was a member by default. With charter members defined, it was time for rules to be made. Here are the only rules I felt were needed at the time:

1) It's all about me.

2) Any emotion is fair. Expression of said emotion is always allowed. BUT regardless of that emotion, the rules state we must end all emotional "moments" with laughter.

3) I WILL look like crap. We bust on me....then work like mad to make me look cute.

I know, number 3 is sooo irrelevant in the grand scheme of things but all I can say to that is refer to rule number 1. It's all about me and I was as obsessed as hell with how I was going to be physically affected by chemo. I suppose I should have added rule number 4 stating rule number 1 trumps any and all other rules.

My Power Posse has grown tremendously in number since that first night and the rules have been slightly amended. I'm not sure how large the Posse has become. What I do know is we are all fighting the fight together. We are doing what we can to keep laughter alive in a situation where it could easily be suffocated...maybe even suffer a torturous death. Not a day has passed since that first night that giggles and grins and gut-busting guffaws have not been part of my day. What a blessing. What a treat. What a way to live. And as of that first night, I am living like I've never lived before.

Today I wish you laughter and smiles...sunshine and happiness...a life full of living!

Until next time...

-L

That Dreaded "C" Word

Cancer. The one word no one ever wants to hear. It is ugly. Vile. Frightening. Earth-shattering. Unwanted. Uninvited. Yet for some...inescapable. As of four weeks and four days ago, I became one of many for whom cancer is an undeniable reality.

It was a typical Thursday night and I was alone at the office attempting to make up for all the hours missed due to my recent run-in with bronchitis. An unknown number appeared on my phone yet I felt sure of its origin. Continuing to shuffle papers as I answered the call, I assumed it would be the results of my recent biopsies. I had no worry or concern about the results. The only troubles I felt my future held would be the scheduling nightmare I would most likely face in trying to have the annoying-but- what-I-knew-would-be-benign lump removed. A big believer in never worrying until there is something to worry about, I had convinced myself all was well. This time, the power of positive thinking failed me.

After only a few words of greeting from my doctor, the "C" word was spoken and from that point on, the conversation was a blur. Words like "invasive tumor", "highly suspected lymph node involvement", "chemo", "skin involvement", "full mastectomy", "radiation", "oncologist", "urgent".

Each word carried a sting...a bite...yet I was numb to it all.

I remember using my fist to stifle the sobs as I sucked up the tears that wanted to break free. For some unknown reason I needed to stay in control of my emotions...to grasp every word being spoken...to be in control of an uncontrollable situation. I remember thinking how often you hear of one's inability to process bad news as it is delivered and this was definitely bad news. In that moment it became critical to my existence to get the facts straight. I felt like a child yet wanted to act like an adult. My mind was spinning at an alarming pace but I was fighting with everything in me to bring it back to a steady place.

I was alone. No one was there to share the burden of recording the facts. It was up to me and only me to take care of business.

I asked the doctor to repeat her words over and over. I wrote them down and repeated them back to her, making note after note of what was said. Upon returning to my office the next day, it was painfully clear what I had done. One Post-It note after another was scattered across my desk, each one saying the same thing. In sorting through them, not one could spare me the ugliness of what was to come. Each held the same horrid verdict... I have breast cancer.

In hindsight I remember so little, yet I remember so much. So many odd thoughts passed through my mind and I find it utterly fascinating where the human mind will go when faced with such earth shattering news. As I hung up the phone, I began pacing the hallway, finally allowing the tears to flow. Words came tumbling from my lips, but I have no idea if I was successful in forming coherent sentences. I kept running my fingers through my hair, wondering how quickly it would begin to fall out.

And I began to wail.

I'm sure the mourning was over far more than the loss of my hair, but it was the catalyst that pushed me over the edge of the cliff into the abyss where only heartache, sorrow and irrational thinking dwell. I could think of nothing else. No thoughts of death. No fear of pain. No concern for the eventual loss of my breast. I just desperately wanted to keep my hair. Strange, superficial thoughts. The only thoughts my mind would allow in that moment.

That was four weeks and four days ago. A lifetime has been lived in those thirty-two days. So many doctors visits, too many tests and scans to count, poking and prodding, needles and biopsies, port-a-cath placement and two chemo treatments... all this and more has filled my calendar. My world has been turned upside down and shaken equivalent to that of a magnitude 9.0 earthquake. But through it all, I have found peace. The fear from that first night has been replaced with an acceptance...a willingness to work with the hand I've been dealt. My faith has always been a huge part of my life and God has come to my rescue once again. An enormous amount of information regarding my treatment has afforded me the chance to know what to expect in the upcoming months. To summarize, 24 weeks of chemo, a full mastectomy then radiation. The side effects have been spelled out. I don't like them, but I can live with them.

I honestly don't know the state of my prognosis. I've been made aware the journey will be a rough one but the expected outcome should be positive. I know no one can know for certain what the end result will be. Anything can happen. But God gives me hope. He gives me peace. As one of my favorite songs says, though He may not calm the storms around me, He will give me Perfect Peace. As for now, I rest well in the fact that hope is alive and in knowing that God is with me each step of the way. This road has been traveled by many. Sadly for so many women, it is not a journey unique to me. My wish is to fight the fight with grace and thanksgiving for all the good in my life. You see, I've discovered a truth. When faced with the worst, one can discover the best. That dreaded "C" word, while as ugly a word as can be spoken, has allowed me to see how truly blessed I am.

With Love...

-L

Where Oh Where Have You Been?

Seems I'm getting this question a lot lately. I know. I know. I've been a bad, bad blogger. Would it help to say I've had very good reasons for my absence? I actually have 3 very good reasons. Vacation. Infections. Uncooperative internet. Try as I might to work around these issues, I've been unsuccessful. It's quite evident how unsuccessful I've been given I haven't updated since...ummm...the beginning of time??? How about a little update.

Early in July I went to Canada to visit my girl. Her summertime adventure in Calgary seemed the perfect excuse for me to cross the northern border into our neighboring country. It was a quick but wonderful holiday. As luck would have it, my trip coincided with The Stampede, an annual cowboy festival to rival any I've ever known. Cowboy hats, cowboy boots, massive ornate belt buckles... studly wanna-be cowboys poured into tight jeans as far as the eye could see. Kinda made this single girl's day.

(Sidenote: They really grow 'em tall in Canada. Because of The Stampede, the streets were excessively crowded. Every time I turned around I seemed to literally run into someone. Most often I found myself staring into the chest of a many-inches-beyond-six-feet-tall fella. And let me tell ya..."tall" does it for me. My heart even skipped a beat just now as I relived the memory. You can imagine the heavy breathing and racing heartbeat I experienced when tilting my head ALL the way back to gaze into the eyes of the towering cowboy as I muttered my apologies for the collision.)

My northern vacation was incredible...but that's where the fun seemed to end. While I was there, I felt ill. I tried to blame it on the change in air and altitude but on the return flight home I began to realize I was one sick chick. Several doctor's visits and multiple prescriptions for antibiotics later and I think I'm on the mend. Missed vacation days and sick days have left me terribly behind at work. What days I could work, I pulled super long hours...can we say fun with a capital "F"? I still haven't completely caught up but I am starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel.

During those horrible sick days, Lady Luck decided it was time to poke fun and I was her intended target. Actually, I think she was suffering from an acute case of PMS HELL! If she was gonna suffer...someone was gonna pay...and that someone was me. Not so sure what I did to piss her off, but trust me, I plan to work hard to never do it again. One mini crisis after another cropped up. The most interesting being my A/C went on hiatus during the days I could barely lift my head off the sofa. Ninety plus temperatures, a raging bout of bronchitis and I only had ceiling fans for relief. During that time coughing fits became the bane of my existence. Sweat poured from my forehead as I coughed up first one lung and then the other. In hindsight, it was actually a little comical. I also had a severe case of laryngitis. All my cries of agony and woe went unheard as nothing...and I do mean no sound whatsoever...passed my lips. Even my coughs were squeaky and soft. I bitched and I moaned. And no one heard. Seems such a waste of energy now.

Leaking ceilings, broken refrigerator doors, wheel bearing issues on my car.... yep, Lady Luck was laughing her ass off at my expense. You would think Lady Luck would eventually decide I had been tortured enough and move on to another unsuspecting soul. You know, dump her excessive heaps of bad luck on someone else. Not so. The final blow came when my house was struck by lightning. How do I know it was struck? I was touching the keys of my keyboard when it happened. And let me tell you, that jolt of electric current that zipped through my fingers and up my arm...not the most pleasant of feelings. From that day forward, I vowed to steer clear of any and all electrical items when a storm is raging. The aftermath of being blindly hit from above has left me without cable, internet, phone, a multitude of lights, and several electrical outlets. We are still working hard to repair my internet issues. Until we do, I must steal time from my work day to play online. Sporadic, stolen moments in blog-land make it difficult to properly update me lil ol' blog.

So there you have it. My very valid...have-to-be-true-cause-nobody-could-make-this-crap-up...excuses for being AWOL. Whew! Glad to finally get that off my chest. So tell me. What's been going on in your world? I'm eager to hear all that I've missed.

HugsNLuv,

-L

P.S. If you believe in prayer, I'm asking you to please remember me. I underwent a few tests yesterday and as always, the waiting time for results has left me nervous. I feel certain all is well but my usual Pollyanna attitude is wavering. Prayer brings peace...and that's what I seek. Much love to you all.

Bikini vs Tankini...Or Should I Just Go With A Muumuu?

With swimsuit season upon us, I thought I would ask this question...what type of swimsuit do you wear? For me, the mere mention of the word "swimsuit" evokes a seasonal panic attack. One where shudders race down my spine and I begin to hyperventilate as I envision my dimpled, pasty white flesh being wrangled into submission and forced to dwell within the confines of the usually-never-enough-fabric-to-cover-all-the-ugly-parts-and-still-look-cute contraption we call a swimsuit. Never mind the added bonus of knowing no matter how I squeeze, tuck and try to suck it in, my body will still be on display for all the world to see. These are the thoughts many a nightmare is made of. Should I ever be lucky enough to create a somewhat pleasing image it is all for naught. The second I begin to move, all the mounds of flesh that were carefully confined within the tiny little strips of cloth spring forth with new life and begin to jiggle their way free creating a mini earthquake effect across my backside and down my lower half. All it takes is one shopping trip where the intended goal is to locate the perfect (bah! ha! ha!) swimsuit and I vow to move to Alaska where I can hide my pudge beneath a parka year round. Oh the tales of woe generated from this little ordeal.

This year I've been working out hard and eating right (the majority of the time) giving me a little confidence that I would have a few more options when it comes to swimsuit selections. At least that was my thought several weeks ago. Summer has resuscitated my waning social life. Warmer weather means outdoor adventures, late nights hanging out downtown, barbecues and travel. And you know food and alcohol are part of this equation...a very big part. In spite of my efforts, I find myself in the same position I'm in each and every year...one where I fight back swear words (a fight I always lose) while struggling to cover my enlarged tush with a few tiny little strings. You see, a bikini is the only real option I have. I know. I know. Where oh where is the logic in that???

Take this one-piece suit for instance:



One would think this would be a sure fire way to cover the nasty remains of my most recent nosh fests. But let's face it, many one-piece suits come across as frumpy and do nothing more than remind me of my grandmother. At least on my body. So often I see women in one-piece suits and think how amazing they look in them. Not once do I think of dear old granny when I see THEM in a one piece. But each and every time I give one a try...yeah...well, I have horrible flashbacks of Ruby Lee (my grandmother) at the local pool, sporting her granny suit complete with floral swimming cap. While I love my grandmother dearly, I don't exactly want to recreate her fashion folly.

(Sidenote: I hate to totally rag on her but my sweet, adventurous, totally out there grandmother also wore a nose plug and swimmies...the blow-up flotation devices children wear on their arms. She couldn't swim a lick but wasn't about to let that stop her from jumping off the high dive. When the swimmies didn't fully do the trick of helping her bob back to the surface after her less than attractive swan dive, she added a duck shaped float to her arsenal. Try to imagine this spry lady in all her childlike safety garb taking a complete leap of faith into the deep end of the pool only to have the duck float surface many seconds before she did, sputtering and flailing about in her attempts to keep herself afloat. We were eventually banned from the pool as the lifeguards tired of rescuing her. In hindsight, I think I now know where I get my spunk!)

I will admit today's versions of the one-piece are a far cry from what grandma wore. This one is cute and actually kind of sexy. It does in fact provide coverage without being a total snore. But it just doesn't have the desired effect on my body.

Then there is always the option of the tankini...a hybrid of a traditional one-piece and a bikini.



To most, this is the perfect solution. Gone are the confines and restrictions of a one-piece as are the excessive skin-baring fears brought on by choosing a bikini. And let me say, if I could look like this...



...all my problems would be solved.


But...

I don't look like that. And I never will. Through the years I've taken a hard cold look at my body. I've learned to embrace the good, the bad and the ugly. When it comes to any clothing choice, I work hard to find the best solution for all my positives and negatives. As for swimsuits, I lean toward this...



For the longest time, I could never figure out why a bikini actually looked better on my less-than-svelte figure. I've even solicited the opinion of several friends and they tend to agree. Then one day, I had that "aha" moment and I realized EXACTLY what it is. I'm short-waisted. Without a longer torso to create those nice, sexy lines, I look like a pudge ball in anything that covers my mid-section. I have a large top and an even larger bottom. Something needs to delineate the ending of one and the beginning of the other. Simply put...without a belly-baring bikini...I look like a walking, talking mass of boobs-on-butt!

So there you have it. My reasons for baring it all...err, almost baring it all... in the summer. Trust me, it still isn't a very pretty picture but what's a girl to do?

Hope everyone is having a wonderful summer and soaking up some rays! Catch up with you soon!

-L

Stress Me Out!

Today I will be undergoing a stress test. During my lunch hour I will befriend a treadmill while hooked up to various machines and walk/run until my heart reaches a targeted rate. All this in an effort to see if I have a healthy heart. My physician ordered this test after hearing I've been experiencing irregular heart rhythms while exercising. Could be I don't need a stress test as life is always creating enough of the dreaded reaction to life's woes. All that's needed is a monitor attached to my hip as I go about my daily do's and I'm sure a few off-the-chart heart rhythms could be recorded. There are days I look and feel just like this...





Home repairs, car issues, mounting bills, to-do lists that rival the length of the Appalachian trail...all of it keeps piling on. But at the end of the day, I take a good hard look at what must be done and realize it isn't all that bad, especially if I take it one task at a time. It could always be worse. I've come to appreciate the adage that basically says: If I were to throw my troubles into a pile with everyone else's, I would quickly retrieve my own. That isn't the exact verbage but you get the point.

Personally, I think my erratic heartbeat is caused by nothing more than excessive caffeine consumption prior to exercise as the problem seems to only arise on days I've guzzled more than my fair share. Then again, my heart also seems to race when I make eye contact with a few hot, buff, studly men at the gym. AND, it will skip a beat when one of them actually smiles at me. But it always returns to a regular rhythm....cause a smile is all I get. Can't blame a girl for dreaming, now can you? ;-)

In other news, I'm heading to Atlanta to rescue my daughter's car from airport parking. The child was fortunate enough to go to Canada to visit her boyfriend's family. As her week long visit was coming to a close, she made the decision to stay for the summer. Ahhh, to be so young and carefree! His family helped her find a job and she is getting the experience of a lifetime. The plans to retrieve her car fell through and it is now momma to the rescue. But isn't that what moms do? Ride in and save the day? Her spontaneity has had me shipping boxes of clothes across the border and now bailing out a vehicle that has been locked up for almost a month. Fees have been mounting daily. I can only imagine...and literally cringe...at the thought of how big this bill will be. Just another example of how life creates an never-ending stress test.

Before I go, I have a favor to ask. For all you blog friends who live in the Atlanta area...if you see I'm AWOL from the blog scene longer than usual, please come rescue me. I fear I may still be aimlessly wandering the rows and rows of parked cars looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack. I plan to pack a snack just in case I get lost.

TGIF everyone!!!!!

White Knight, Where Are You?

Today I dream of you. I long for you to ride in on your strong stallion...wielding your massive sword... slaying all demons and dragons that threaten to invade my world. Today I feel like a damsel in distress. Will you please come to my rescue?

You are who I dream of...








Rugged...handsome...strong...





BUT...





...the way my luck has been going lately...









YOU are the one I will most likely get...









A bad-a$$ medieval punk who does nothing more than leave hell in his wake. (Looks like someone missed his bi-annual dental visits. *shudder*)

Guess I should take up a sword and fight my own battles. What do you think? Think I can become a bad-a$$ medieval wench who rushes into combat and comes out victorious??? I'm thinking a little dragon slayin' is good for the soul.

Happy Hump Day and may all your demons forever be banished!

HugsNluv,
-L

Hello Friday!

Just a quick post to wish everyone a wonderful weekend. I will be hanging with good friends all weekend then gearing up for a 3 day visit from my mom. Can't wait to spend time with her. A little update...I'm working hard on all the changes to my blog. I have tons of ideas swirling in my head and I'm anxious to share. Hope to debut soon.

Before I go I want to share this picture I found in photobucket when lurking around recently. Doesn't it just scream "good times" and tropical places??? Ahhh, if only I was heading for warm sandy beaches........



Here's to a weekend of sunshine and smiles! Cheers!