down the shore everything’s all right (or is it?)

Posted on August 13, 2009 by Emily

I had been looking forward to this little jaunt to the Jersey shore with my nuclear family for several months, knowing that it would be my only real vacation of the summer (save for an upcoming First Descents rock-climbing outing in Wyoming in a few weeks.)  So of course, yesterday morning I woke up with a wicked-bad case of the runs (or “ass pee” as my neighbors call it), and by the afternoon I was clearly battling a fever.  After a quick morning trip to the inlet up the road, I found myself napping for most of the afternoon.  I even missed  my own (early) birthday dinner, which I was sharing my 5 year old nephew.  How much does that suck?

After dinner, Mike came into our room and (very gently) guilted me into coming down for the cake and presents portion of the evening.  Six hundred mg of ibuprofen and several hours of sleep seemed to do a nice job of lowering my fever, so I came down and had a great time watching Oscar open all manner of pirate-themed gifts.  I rallied for the night, and managed to stay up almost to midnight.  I even scarfed down two pieces of toast at about 11 PM.

Today, I am still not quite right, but I am definitely improving.  We spent the morning at the local pirate-themed mini golf course, and then Sarah, Mike, Oscar and I took on the boardwalk.  The weather here in Bay Head has been overcast since we arrived, so I don’t exactly feel like I have missed any quality beach time, but I did have fantasies of taking some nice runs here, and instead, so far, I have just had the runs.  Tomorrow I am confident I’ll be up for a good few miles.

Yesterday afternoon, before I finally gave into the reality of how shitty I was feeling, I had a pretty serious attack of the blues.  I felt this kind of illness-induced melancholia that was all-too-familiar while I was in treatment.  I have been almost consistently healthy since last summer when I finished chemo, so on these rare occasions when my body has betrayed me, I find myself going right back to that incredibly dark place – particularly when I thought of my family carousing, having fun, drinking wine, while I moaned and groaned and battled my fatigue and aches and pains.

Since cancer, I have this almost allergic emotional reaction to being in any way incapacitated.  I am simply not interested in being an invalid.  Anything that stops me from being active and living as fully as I can REALLY pisses me off.

The night we arrived, before the fever hit, I dreamed about my oncologist.  She was plying me with medication – steroids, pain-killers, god knows what.  I don’t even know why.  And as she attempted to administer these meds to me, I became hysterical.  “I can’t take any more drugs.  I just can’t do it.”  I wept in my rage, and my doctor sheepishly continued to insist that it was for my own good, suggesting, however gently, that I didn’t really have a choice.

This dream may have been prompted by the fact that I have been following the treatment of a young woman in the DC area who I met through Imerman Angels.  She has just started the first of three cycles of taxol and cisplatin, exactly the same cocktail I had.  She and I spoke by phone for over an hour a few weeks ago, just before she started treatment, and we have exchanged a few emails.  She is also keeping a pretty snazzy blog, which I have been reading with great interest.  She is writing with tremendous energy and humor about the steroids (which she seems to enjoy much more than I did), the tedium of waiting for her chemo drugs after she has been admitted to the hospital, the difficulties of dealing with her mother, you name it.  In some ways, watching her go through this nightmare – from however great a distance – is causing me to relive my own treatment experience.  Which can be, to be it mildly, a bit unnerving.

I am surrounded by my family for these precious few days, and I do love them.  But sometimes, I can’t help feeling a greater connection to those who have lived the realities of cancer.

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turn, and face the strange

Posted on August 10, 2009 by Emily

NOTE:  This post will also be showing up soon at Everything Changes.


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Somewhere in Cyber-space, a fellow inductee into the world of early menopause said, “Menopause does not mean you suddenly develop an irresistible impulse to start shopping at Chico’s.” When I first heard this witticism, I had yet to be gripped by one of the most feared dimensions of The Change: WEIGHT GAIN. I had lost about 15 lbs. thanks to surgery and chemo, so it wasn’t until quite a few months after treatment ended that I started to feel myself…well, expanding.

Before cancer, my weight had always been stable (save for a bacchanalian year spent living in New Orleans), so the menopause-induced shape-shifting which befell me was a bit hard to accept. Most of the weight seems to have settled in my boobs, hips and thighs, so with careful sartorial planning, I can still show-off my slim arms and calves without drawing too much attention to what I think of as my middle-aged midsection. Nevertheless, when I catch myself in the mirror at the gym or – heaven forefend – in a dressing room, I think to myself, “I am now officially middle-aged; I am shaped like a pear.”

I am working steadily on making my peace with my new body. So gone are the days of trying to stuff my boobs into pre-cancer bras (I’ve gone up a cup size) and cinch an old pair of jeans (also up a size) around my lumpy belly. When I was unpleasantly thin after surgery and during chemo, I hated the fact that I could feel my pelvic bones so prominently. Now, those same bones are nicely padded, thanks to menopausal weight gain.

At 36, most of us probably aren’t thinking about menopause. Middle age and the inevitable over-turning of the hormonal apple cart might be out there on the horizon, but before my unexpected introduction to this traditionally mid-life extravaganza, I still thought of myself as pretty young. Now, though, I have to wonder if cancer hasn’t made me old before my time.

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the dark side of the moon

Posted on August 10, 2009 by Emily

NOTE:  Hopefully sometime within the next week, this post will appear over at Everything Changes.  Thank you, Kairol, my heroine, for giving me the courage to do this for an audience beyond Planet Cancer.

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I am not mystically inclined. I love The Lord of the Rings as much as the next person, but I have never been a druid (one of my friends in middle school claimed that she was), a sun worshiper or a witch (a college roommate was most assuredly one of these.) But one of the hardest things to adjust to about menopause has been losing my connection to the cycles of the moon.

For some people it’s probably hard to imagine missing anything about menstruating. (No more cramps? No more PMS?  No more tampons? Where do I sign?!?) But cancer robs us of so much that we take for granted, and for those of us who are sent into either surgically or chemo-induced early menopause, it takes away the primary way in which most of us feel connected to the rhythms of our body, the hormonal cycles we often curse, but which define so much of what it means to be a woman.

In the year-plus before I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer, I was trying to get pregnant. I had begun the tedious (but fascinating) process of taking my basal body temperature and paying somewhat pathologically close attention to the nature of my vaginal discharge. Charts and notes related to my menstrual cycle piled up on my night table. I was peeing on ovulation detectors in the bathroom at my office, and rushing home to demand sex on the appropriate day. I was, to put it mildly, in tune with my body.

After my hysterectomy, it was as though the tuner connected to my hormonal cycles broadcast nothing but static. Without the signs to which I had grown accustomed (tender breasts, the changing texture of my discharge, and of course the thrills of a monthly period), I suddenly felt unmoored – disconnected from my woman-ness, and from the cycles of nature (the moon, the tide) that I had always associated with my monthly hormonal evolution.

I remember distinctly a stretch of time, probably during college, when the first day of my period continually fell on the same day as the full moon. Suddenly, I had a new sense of the ways in which my body and the experience of being a woman connected me with nature. It was pretty damn cool.

Now, over a year and a half post-hysterectomy, I am still searching for new ways to feel connected to the earth and to stay aware of my body’s rhythms. The patterns are new, but the goal is the same: to stay in touch with the physical essence of being a woman.

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hot as a hairdryer in your face

Posted on August 10, 2009 by Emily

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Heat.  I am not a fan.  We’ve actually been pretty fortunate this summer, as it’s Augsut 10th and I think this is really our first unspeakably hot day.  As in, leave-the-airconditioner-on-for-the-pets hot.

A year ago, the week I finished chemo, in early June, we experienced an ungodly heat wave more typical of mid-August.  I came out of the hospital after my last treatment only to be engulfed in a haze of moisture and temperatures in the high 90’s.  This was NOT – I repat, NOT – what a body that has just been through four months of chemo needed.  It was like drowning above water.

 In the aftermath of chemo, heat wasn’t just unpleasant, it was like some kind of soul-sucking demon.  Drove me to tears on more than one occasion.  But what’s a Leo to do?  The dog days are a rite of passage.  It’s just that last summer, I had quite enough other rites of passage I was struggling with, thanks very much.  Heat+chemo=pure evil.

So while I detest the fetid, saturated air that shrouds the City of Brotherly Love on this Monday morning, I am gratfeul, at least, that I don’t feel like Mother Nature is trying to assassinate me, personally. 

Here’s once again to the resilience of the human body.

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i do get a little bit nervous

Posted on August 9, 2009 by Emily

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I just coughed up my first menopause blog for Kairol.  I emailed it to her and am waiting to hear her reaction.  She’s written a book for god’s sake.  Will my piddly little 400 word post be worthy of her?

I feel like one of those tittering young women waiting to find out if she’ll be crowned Miss America.  Or something.  Will Kairol like it?  Does it suck?  Does it make any sense?  I want to be funny and serious all at the same time.  This is not easy to do.  It’s also really weird to think about discussing my vaginal discharge with an unknown reading public.

See Emily Play will hopefully evolve into more than just a cancer blog.  Life is finally back to being about much more than just cancer.  (Kind of reminds me of a local restaurant, More Than Just Ice Cream.  Does this blog need to be re-named?)  But the truth is, it’s a rich fucking subject, and I have plenty to say.

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GOING WIDE

Posted on August 8, 2009 by Emily

A few days ago, one of my friends from Planet Cancer asked me if I would compose a guest post for her young adult cancer blog.  I felt like the coolest guy in school had just asked me to the prom.

Kairol Rosenthal is a relentlessly focused young adult living with cancer.  She has made a career out of raising awareness about the issues and challenges particular to our segment of the cancer population. She leaves no stone unturned.  She is tireless.  I want to be like her when I grow up.

She asked me to write about early menopause.  So tomorrow, in between loads of laundry, I will sort through thorny topics like weight gain, vaginal dryness and hot flashes.  I’ll be sure to post a link when something’s up on her site.

In the mean time, the thought of writing for Kairol’s blog prompted me to finally set up shop with my own site.  With the help of my tech-savvy husband, See Emily Play has been born.

The written word has always been a great friend to me.  Writing has sustained me through the turbulence of adolescence, the mysteries of living in New Orleans and the nightmare of cancer.

It’s time to go wide.

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