Schrodinger’s Friends

This is where I am at right now.  It is not a fun place to be.  Cancer; it sucks, we all know it sucks.  You know else, sucks, not knowing if someone you love is dead or alive.  I’ve had three hard cancer hits in the past few years.

Nicole – beautiful and brilliant mother of two.  Close to my age, her boys are close to my boys’ age.  Bile duct cancer (green ribbon).  When she was diagnosed, we all followed her journey.  Watched her battle like a warrior.  Watched her fight like her life depended on it, because it did.  She lost that battle and I felt a feeling of sorrow I’d never felt before.  Sad for her children who lost her.  Sad for her husband who loved her so much.  Sad for myself, and our group of friends, who had that beautiful light extinguished.  Sometimes a memory will come up on Facebook with her and I’m finally getting to that place where I remember her with love, instead of just the overwhelming sadness.  I miss her, I will always miss her, but I can mourn her properly.

Michaela – a beautiful and tortured soul who stood by my side as I went through one of the ugliest and hardest parts of my life.  While I tore my life to pieces, she always loved me for who I was, not who I tried to be.  With that help, I learned to love myself the same way.  She was forever off-balance, a wanderer (but not always lost), often uncomfortable in her how skin and constantly struggled to find her place in this world.  Breast Cancer (pink ribbon) of all things.  The irony was beyond painful.  I remember when she sat on the couch with me and cried as she told me.  Again, I believed she would prevail and my only real concern was that she would choose not to fight.  I was so grateful when she chose chemo.  I was certain she would be fine.  Caught early enough it can be treated.  My former mother in law won her battle, my former sister in law too.   She was younger and stronger than both of them.  She was my maid of honour at my wedding, she was my voice of reason often and when all else failed, my soft place to land.  I haven’t heard from her in almost a year.  She no longer responds to my texts.  I’ve searched her name for obituaries but haven’t found it.  She’s in Schrodinger’s box and it hurts.

Michael – a dear friend in a faraway land.  We have had a long and close friendship for over 15 years.  I remember the day my youngest was born, he called me while I was in labour.  I’d been in the hospital for over a week and he’d call me daily to keep me company.  I told him we would always be friends.  He’d know what University my child would go to.  I watched both of his children get married, the birth of his first grandchild.  I know the struggles with his wife, but he loved her dearly and would never leave her.  We watch me struggle with being me.  He supported me through my divorce and was thrilled that I found the love of my life and cheered me along all the way.  He’d always worked so hard for everything he had.  Finally, he was at a place in his life where he could enjoy his properties, his family, his life.  Brain cancer (grey ribbon).  He was given 3-6 months and that was 15 months ago.   We live on different continents.  I’d tried to keep up the cheerful, chatty emails but the responses got fewer and fewer over the months.  On Christmas day I reached out with a Merry Christmas note and got a terse note back that he was in the hospital.  I haven’t heard anything since.  I follow his Facebook page for news.  I follow his family’s pages for news.   A few brief, sad posts last week that make me worried he’s come to his end, and I’ll never know.  He’s in Schrodinger’s box too, and it really hurts.

In both cases, I don’t want to reach out to the families.  I don’t want to bring up any more pain than they’re already going through.  I’m not important in these situations, they are and I respect that the most.  Knowing where the end gives you a point to begin to heal and move on.  Maybe one day I’ll get closure, but until then, I’ll run my fingers along the tattoo on my left arm I got for the three of them.  

Enjoy yourself, it’s later than you think.

Tapping out on Cancer

Just a month ago, I lost my dear friend Nicole to bile duct cancer.  For two years, one of my closest friends has been in palliative care for breast cancer.  She tried treatment with zero effect so she chose to live her life to the fullest for the time she had left.  Then, I find out that one of my closest friends has multiple brain tumours and has been given 6-9 months.  

FUCK, stop already.  

Last week, LML’s step-grandmother passed away.  She was old, with failing health and a long life filled with lots of family who love her and will miss her.  That’s the type of death you’re supposed to deal with.  Not the 45-year-old brilliant scientist mother of two boys or a 46-year-old woman who finally learned what it was like to live her authentic self, just to die slowly.  Not the late 50’s man who is finally able to retire, enjoy his children and grandchild and vacation in his villa in Tuscany only to be given less than a year to do so.

FUCK YOU CANCER.

It’s horrible to be angry with a disease.  There’s no face to scream at, no cause to point to and say “well if this hadn’t have happened, these families wouldn’t be so torn apart and devastated”.  I don’t believe in God in the Catholic sense, so there’s no use hating a higher power that “did this” to my loved one.  I feel useless, helpless, angry, devastated, sad and full of sorrow.

Enjoy yourself, it’s later than you think.

That’s my mantra now.  I took bereavement leave over LML’s step-grandmother.  I didn’t really morn her, hell I didn’t really know here, but I took the time, to hang with LML, extend our vacation and I don’t feel guilty about that in the slightest.  I’m booking vacations and great dinners so that we can enjoy life to the fullest because you truly never know when your last vacation or epic dinner will be your last.

• Tell people you love them
• Be kind to people
• Smile
• Hug your children
• Be grateful for what you have and humble about it.
• Live every day to the fullest.

Not ready yet to say goodbye

Cancer sucks.

I don’t know a single person whose life hasn’t been touched by cancer.  I lost my beloved grandmother at the age of 11 to stomach cancer.   Two years ago one of my best friends was diagnosed with Breast Cancer.  Unfortunately for her (and all of us who love her) the treatments didn’t work and she’s been end stage for about a year.  It’s a long time to die.

A year ago, one of my closes “mom friends” was diagnosed with bile-duct cancer.  She’s a beautiful, brilliant, happy woman.  My age, her boys close in age to my boys.  A super nerd (just like me) and a loving wife.  We had a lot in common and I considered her among my closest friends.  When she was diagnosed I sent positive vibes out into the universe for her to kick cancers ass!  I followed her journey on a cancer website, as she updated the successes and failures of her journey. 

Then, about 2 weeks ago, her husband updates her blog that the latest treatment didn’t work and she was coming to the end of her journey.  I was stunned, saddened, horrified, angry, grief-stricken.  But she’s so young!  But how will her boys and her husband go on without that incredibly bright light in their family?  We didn’t know if she had days or weeks, but he told us it wouldn’t be long after that.  Three days after finding out, she passed away peacefully in her husband’s arms.  I could almost feel a star go out, the world just became a bit dimmer without her brilliance in it.

The village that I knew her from, was a group of working mothers from all over Canada and the USA.  It had shrunk over time, but there’s still a closeness and a bond with this group.  We looked to each other for support to get through this.  I had suggested that we do a memory book of our best memories of her and send it to her husband and children.  Let them know how much she meant to so many people, how far her reach went.  I offered to collect the information and put it all together.  It’s been amazingly bittersweet.  In the beginning, every new story, every new picture, every old video sent me into another wave of tears and grief, but as I process through it, it’s making me smile.  Reminding me of how incredibly lucky I was to know and love this woman (and by extension her family as well).  Her husband was kind enough to come to our private group and offer his FaceBook profile to friend requests so we could continue watching her boys grow.  He’s a wonderful man and I can see why she loved him so much.

Remember, life is short and precious.  Enjoy every moment because it’s later than you think.   Tell the people you love how much they mean to you.  Remember the joys, forget the insults.  It’s not a dress rehearsal, this is the big show and go knock it out of the park!

I can breathe again

The last few weeks have been weighing heavily on me.  My dear friend was diagnosed with Breast Cancer.  CANCER the word alone frightens me, and to have someone so young, so vibrant be afflicted was hard for me to wrap my head around.  Not only was she ill, but there was a chance she’d be going away, for the longest stretch yet.  Since she hasn’t live here permanently for a long period of time, she’s not covered by our provincial health care.  It’s not free (we pay for it in our taxes), but it’s there when we need it.  One of the drawbacks of it is that there tend to be some long wait times.  When you have cancer, the wait times are frightening.  Because of all of this, she was considering doing her treatment in Australia.  She has a good friend there, who’s also a cancer survivor and would be invaluable to her, through the process.   The wait times are much shorter there as well.  I knew she was leaning towards Australia and I knew it was going to be a 5 year commitment to her health, and even while she was going through the fight of her life, she’d be on the other side of the world.  I’d miss her, epically.

From the moment she told me all of this all I could respond with was “whatever you feel is best” or “wherever you’re going to get the best care is my vote”.  I had to make sure she made the best decision for herself.  Of course I wanted her here.  I want her close so I can hold her hand when her eyelashes are gone.  We can share a bottle of wine (or two) and talk about what we’re going to do when she “fights like a girl and kicks cancer’s ass”.  I wanted her to be here so I could help be strong for her; as she’s always been strong for me when I needed her.  She’s been so many things to me throughout the years, but above all, she’s been a friend and I want to be one for her too.

She’s chosen here for her treatment.  A wonderful friend in her life apparently pulled some strings and got her pushed up on the schedule.  She had a great meeting with her team at the hospital about time lines and plans and all the details and it made her feel good about choosing here.  I almost exploded with happiness.  Happy that she has finally chosen and has begun a plan.  Happy that she sounds eager to do this.  Happy that she’ll be here and not on the other side of the world for the next 5 years.   I feel so much relief, and I will do EVERYTHING in my power to help her through this.

I didn't even shed a tear

Sometimes I wonder if I'm broken.  If my normal meter is off.  This past weekend the Marvelous Miss M came up for a Christmas party.  I had a wonderful time hanging out with her.  Watching the little gifts interact with her.  There was tons of laughter, tons of wine and blissful happiness like there always is when she's around.

Then, after the little gifts were in bed, and my husband was off sampling beers at a friends, in the middle of my kitchen, she dropped the bomb.  It was cancer.  I knew there was something, but I was giving her the space to tell me in her own way.  Breast cancer, stage 2.  I hugged her, that was my first reaction, then tried to ask questions and let her tell the story.  The Queen of Irony proceeded to tell me who knew, and who was stepping up to help.  We talked all night, I sobered up VERY quickly at the news, and simply listened as she talked.  Quiet tears rolled down her cheeks every once in a while.

I listened, I wondered what I could do to help.  For some reason, and I'm not sure if it's denial or faith, but I'm not scared.  I KNOW she's going to pull through this.  I know she'll be at my wedding reception next year, drinking with FCW and running interference with my mother.  I know she'll spend weekends with us through the years.  She'll see the boys go to University and get married themselves.  

She's one year older than me, she's one of my favourite people in the world.  She's helped me become the person I am today, and come hell or high water, I'm going to do whatever I can to help her through this.

So many conflicting emotions

It was a tough weekend, and it was because of cancer.  On Friday of last week, I took a darling 5 year old bundle of purrrr and love and had him put down because of Lymphoma.  He’d dropped a LOT of weight and was literally skin, bones and fur.  He was horribly dehydrated and it was because he likely hadn’t eaten or drank anything for a few days.  The lump was in his throat and it was obvious he was exhausted.  He’d been hiding in the lil’est gifts closet during the day and then snuggling with me when I watched tv at night.  Having had another (older) cat have cancer, I recognized the signs and new taking him in I was likely going to say goodbye to him.

Darling BBE was working evening shift and told me over and over that we had the funds to help him.  Not to worry about the money.  He’s a cat lover as well, but he was watching me agonize over the pain this poor animal was in.  I was there by myself (although I know he would have been there with me if he could have been) and I had to make the decision, either euthanize him or treat him.   When the doctor said “cancer” she asked what I wanted to do next and honestly I didn’t even think, I simply said “we should let him go”.  It was out of my mouth before I knew what I was saying.

Going home with an empty cage was very painful.  Every time I looked at it, I broke down crying again.  My instincts had told me I’d done the right thimg for Myles, but I was starting to second guess myself.  Was I selfish?  Was I being cheap?  Should I at least have TRIED some options if there were any, hell, shouldn’t I at least have asked?  Yep, the guilt was starting to get me.  Fortunately for me, BBE came home from work early.  He wouldn’t hear any of my “oh don’t worry about me, I’m fine” protest, I was a mess, and he knew that, and he wanted to be with me.

I was going about what was planned to be a fun and adventurous weekend, trying not to dwell on the guilt that was bothering me, then, out of the blue, my former sister-in-law called me.  She had a question that was work related for me, but also told me how her cat (16 years old) had been diagnosed with the same illness in early September.  When she and her daughter (my 26 year old niece) found out, they weren’t ready to say goodbye and opted for treatment.  She told me about the steroid shots and pain killers … and how it was simply heartbreaking to watch her suffer for another two weeks.  At the end of two weeks, they decided to say goodbye to their beloved cat.  She praised me for my strength in making a difficult and selfless decision.  Wow, that was EXACTLY what I needed to hear.  She not only saved my weekend, but picked me up enough that I was ready to go out and get another little bundle of purring love.  I have my beautiful little torti tabby adjusting to my house in the bathroom.

Coincidentally, it was the “Run for the Cure”, a race to raise funds for cancer research.  This same former sister-in-law ran with my other former sister-in-laws, one who is a breast cancer survivor.  I get it, we need to fight for a cure, and I’m so happy my former sister-in-law beat this horrible disease, when fighting makes sense, god dammit FIGHT!  But when it’s truly the end, why are we more “humane” to animals, allowing them to peacefully and gracefully end their suffering.  I hope (god forbid) I’m ever struck with a terminal illness, that we have the HUMANITY to end suffering.