"Is This It?"

Ever get to that point?

By Wednesday afternoon, having been sick with a cold, swollen beyond what I could tolerate, having pains in my stomach and my head, feeling totally miserable because the meds I'm on make me so uncomfortable, feeling so tired that I was taking naps I couldn't wake up from, laying frozen in place for minutes after waking, unable to move, I reached a bit of a breaking point.

I took a long hard look at everything and thought "Is this it?".

You know... you get so sick and you know you're not going to survive it and you just focus on buying that time, but you never really allow yourself to think about how you'll know when that time is almost up.

Is this it?

That gave me a very bad moment, almost to the point of feeling sorry for myself, which you know I won't do. I dismissed self-pity as being a pointless waste of energy within about thirty seconds of thinking 'is this it?'. I realised, with my one last shred of common sense, which was hanging on by it's fingernails, that I needed to keep my wits about me lest I lose them forever.

I'm not kidding when I say that the mere question had the potential of bringing on complete and utter panic. I decided to sit and have a good cry, it seemed like the appropriate reaction.

I was just so tired, tired like chemo tired, more so. And I know I've just had all that radiation to my brain and the cold and the holidays and that I should just expect to feel crappy as hell sometimes, but I think that when you get to that point of tired/ill, reason goes out of the window just a bit and you can't focus on anything but feeling like something the dog doesn't even want to roll in.



Anyway, my crying therapy was interrupted by Jim coming home from work. Bless him. And of course I was in no fit state to pretend that I was really fine and just having a little crying meltdown moment to relieve stress. I told him everything. Poor guy. He doesn't need to be hearing my dark stuff... it's selfish of me to even go there with him. He doesn't mind when I do, but still... it's not just about me, the whole point is to support each other and that's got to be real, he doesn't need my dramatics. (However, I think I might just need time to be a bit dramatic inside my own head if I feel so inclined sometimes. At least it gives me something to laugh at myself about later)

So that was that.

I sat mindlessly at the PC for an hour after the crying stopped, reading the irreverent humor at one of my sites, feeling pretty numb and like I was just...fading away.

Suddenly, it was like the sun coming out. Out of nowhere I felt BETTER. Like, could get out of the chair without feeling like a 90 year old woman better. Like go into the kitchen and load the diswasher better.

How did that happen? I was feeling so rough that I was thinking maybe my time was coming to a rapid end and then suddenly out of nowhere, I'm back to being me again.

I swear on my life it's something to do with PMS. Seriously, my cycle has recently affected my condition severely. The day I went to the ER with seizures after being woken in the morning with the headaches and vomiting, was the first day of my period.

I know I'm due soon, and the meds are probably stopping it from messing with my brain tumors like it used to, but looking back, what I've been feeling this past week or so is very similar to how I've been feeling every month since at least September.

The bottom line is that later that evening, I was out at the store doing a huge grocery shop, which I came home and put away while I made meatball subs for Jim and I. (He came with me, I was too medicated to drive at that point. Heh.)



I'm not sure what happened, I'm just glad to be feeling better. Back to me again. Went for a walk out back while Jamie slept yesterday and everything.

You know, the REAL bottom line of Wednesday evening was something much, MUCH better than anything that happened to me though...

While I was putting the groceries away, my son David (11th grade) came into the kitchen and announced that he's been invited to join the National Honor Society.

I am so proud of and impressed by him.

When I think of the past two years, my cancer diagnosis and everything else we've been through, moving, him having to change schools in the middle of high school, my physical setbacks, which were so, so hard on everyone, and there he was plugging away, managing to keep his grades up in spite of it all. I can't help but think there, THERE is the real inspiration in this family.

I think it makes him a hero.



I went for my CT scans at the local hospital yesterday evening. It wasn't a terribly good experience, I'm afraid, from admissions, to radiology reception, to the stupid nurse who screwed up putting in my IV line - I told her it wasn't in right, I've had enough of those buggers to know how it's supposed to feel.

So I sat and drank the cocktail, a Margarita it isn't, but so what? It's another 'do-able' ;). And then they took me through. Did the enema, yay! Laid back and went through the first part of the scan (chest abdomen and pelvis). The tech comes in to inject the dye.... *please pardon my French or close your eyes at this point*

OH MY EFFING GOOD GOD YOU BASTARDS!!!!!!

The line wasn't in right (as I said) and the dye went through it into my skin.

Now, in the past two years I've delievered a ten pound baby, been through two surgeries, five cycles of chemo, 13 days of liver radiation and 30 days (I think? damn... dementure already?) of WBR and SRS.

I'm no chicken.

I have to tell you that stuff really freaking hurt! I yelled out as it happened and she stopped the injection and ran to get the doctor. I was laying there in agony, I'm not kidding, crying my eyes out. I was at the point of just taking the thing out of my arm and leaving when the doctor came in. He had to put an IV in my other arm, where I don't have a decent vein, so I'm bruised and cut to hell today.

I suggest that having a CT scan isn't supposed to feel like minor surgery. I was in the scanning room for over an hour. They usually only take 20 minutes at the most.

Today I have this large raised lump on my bicep it's about 5 inches high and maybe 3/4 of an inch deep, starts just above my elbow. It's the dye and it's been like that since last night. I feel like someone hit me in the arm with a metal pipe or something, it's pretty uncomfortable.

Guess where Heather won't be going for her scans anymore...

Vote with your feet.

BTW, I'm in that 'not expecting the results to be good' mode, I usually chase up my doctors trying to get my results quickly, this time I don't really even want to know!

Maybe I am a bit of a chicken...



I hope everyone had a great New Year's Eve. We had a quiet but nice one here, ate and drank, watched a DVD... it was cool.

Today, while I'm still feeling okay, I'm going to take down the Christmas decorations. Why are they so much more fun to put up than take down? It's raining so no walk today, when Jamie naps, I'll get the boxes out and make short work of the job. A new broom sweeps clean, it's a new year and there's something almost symbolic about the spring cleaning that comes along with me putting away the decorations for another year.

I wanted to say that, after reading all of your comments and e-mails to my last entry (in fact, this goes for all of my entries), I'm feeling a little bit overwhelmed. I always say to people who e-mail about this blog that you guys are nicer to me than I deserve. I find your messages to be so beautifully written and full of emotion and caring that I often cry as I read them. But that's a good thing. I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who supports me, it means a lot. You help me far more than I could ever hope to help others through my postings.

Thanks for being here. Let's try to make the journey a long one (we'll take the scenic route)!