CharmingBitch

These Things I Carry In My Purse

So. A quick update. About a week ago, I had to go to the Dr. Now when I say I ''had'' to go to the Dr. I don't mean for a scheduled follow up or routine maintenance. No, medical attention was needed because I was seriously (NO, REALLY) thisclose to killing someone (nobody in particular just...whoever) in this house or myself. My moods were OUT OF CONTROL and while, sure, I tend toward ....mmmm let's be kind and say DRAMATIC on my best day but I was swinging wildly mood-wise and having a few other symptoms that were eerily reminiscent of about this time last year. Abdomen feeling full and bloated all the time, legs like rubber after very little exertion, horrible, awful crying jags followed with hostility chasers.

Let me first tell you the false hope I was given. Ovarian cancer is known to recur at a very high rate. But but but but but I was told that because the cancer I had was so aggressive and spread so quickly and was subsequently battled with oral chemo, IV chemo, isotopes AND em effing radiation the likelihood of recurrence, for me, was slim.

Well. Let's all thank our lucky stars that I listened to my body the first time around because yes, hello, one pelvic exam with a dildo cam, bloodwork and an ultrasound later, I have cancer. Again. Some more. Or still. There are three ways to classify this time of relapse so to speak and they are graded by when the growths are found following being given a clean bill of health (less than 3 months, within 6 months and after 6 months). Because (thankfully) the growths appear to be slow growing it could be remnants from the last time or something that has formed in the last three months. Meh, whatever. It really doesn't matter, treatment is the same either way.

Obviously, this has been a kick in the junk (oh, haha, the junk, see what I did there). Best part though, hands down, was that I found out from a message being left on my voicemail. On our landline. That any of the kids could have accessed. Yeaaaaaaah. Going about my business, I see the message light flashing and keep thinking, mmmmm I need to get that, see what's up. And it was, I shit you not, like getting a goddamn weather report, ''Yeah, hi, Shannon, looks like it's a go, it's positive, cancer is back. Give us a call in the morning! Talk to you soon!''  ..................Need I even say, WHAT THE FUCKING FUCK??!!!

So. Yes. Cancer. Chemo. Radiation. Part 5000 begins Monday. I sent D's step-mom a two line e-mail that night and when I woke up this morning that woman had e-mailed me her google route and itinerary with a note that just said, ''Packing my van, leaving in the morning, see you in a few days''. Angel doesn't even begin to describe that woman, no shit. As far as we can plan for now there will be little disruption for the kids and I will be able to stay at home. This could turn out to be the treatment I was initially promised last year, 3 go-rounds and ALL DONE. I sure as fuck hope so because, you know: DAMMIT, MAN.

Friends Forever

Ganked from a mass e-mail I received. Today, I just wanted to share something good. Something sweet.

Here is to a better day for all tomorrow. Because Thursday has blown goats.

===

The orangutan was in a rescue and not doing well.  This old hound wandered in absolutely emaciated and the orangutan snapped to attention - like his buddy had arrived.  He stayed with the hound night and day until he was well and in the whole scenario, found a reason to live.  They are now inseparable. 

Somebody Isn't 35 Anymore

Happy Birthday to me........Happy Birthday to me.........Happy Birthday Dear Meee-eeeeeeee......Happy Birthday to me!!!

Aaaannnnnnnnd many more!!!

Yeah, that's right. I am officially 36 as of 645 this very morning three and a half decades ago. Good job, mom!

It's so funny that this time last year, I was actually ''upset'' that on my next (this) birthday I would officially be in, ''my late thirties'' but given all that has happened this year, I can say honestly that I am thrilled to join the ranks of those closer to 40 than 30. YAY ME, I made it another year. And I'm glad you all have been here to nudge me along. Thanks guys. Srsly.

Happy Birthday to me........Happy Birthday to me.........Happy Birthday Dear Meee-eeeeeeee......Happy Birthday to me!!!

Aaaannnnnnnnd many more!!!

Yeah, that's right. I am officially 36 as of 645 this very morning three and a half decades ago. Good job, mom!

It's so funny that this time last year, I was actually ''upset'' that on my next (this) birthday I would officially be in, ''my late thirties'' but given all that has happened this year, I can say honestly that I am thrilled to join the ranks of those closer to 40 than 30. YAY ME, I made it another year. And I'm glad you all have been here to nudge me along. Thanks guys. Srsly.

Three Years Ago We Had A Son

Three years ago, this happened. Then a few short weeks later, this happened.

And some days, I am okay. I mean, relatively speaking. Fuck nut crazy everyday but it's manageable. But some days, a lot of days, his death just clings and sticks and colors everything and makes it so goddamn hard just to be, just to exist, just to not give in to my baser instincts and tell any and everyone to fuck right off because, seriously, I don't have the time or inclination for social graces.

But I don't do that, not often anyway. Not often enough, in my opinion because some things and honestly some people are so egregious that really the only true response is fuck you and everyone that looks like you and did I mention: FUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!! YOU!!!

And then I realize that yes, people are appalling but really no more or less than they ever have been before or after Jackson came and went and then oooooh then, my brain gets all twisted and butt-hurt with well, what purpose did his birth and death serve if everything is the same as it ever was and people, society just keeps spinning along like my son never existed, as if he isn't dead. Why do you do that world, why do you refuse to acknowledge my small boy?

Even on my craziest days, I know none of that is truth. I know my son mattered, I know he made a difference and I know of all the preshus speshul snowflakes in the world, he was in fact the best. I cannot make anyone else know this or acknowledge it but that I know it is true is enough, should be enough and again, many days it is and I am fine.

The days that his loss sits on my chest, sticks in my throat and wraps around me as a physical presence though, they are long. And painful. And maybe as someone a shit-ton smarter than me pointed out, maybe it's because death came so perilously close to me, personally, this year, that is why his loss is echoing so loudly. Maybe it's that we have lost nine people this year, fucking a seriously, no shit, NINE. In a year. Plus cancer. Eff me all up in the a but it all seems a bit excessive.

And then too, it all seems irrelevant because sure enough, do not misunderstand, cancer sucked harder than I will ever be able to convey. The funerals we went to and eulogies we wrote and for the love of fuck burying my dad (MY!!! DAD!!!!!) all mattered. Deeply. Some moreso than others (see also: DAD) but still in all, they were meaningful losses and everyone in this house is, I think, perpetually still grieving.

But my son. My child. My baby. I can't shake it. I can't get out from under it. For another day with Jackson, another hour, I would attend a funeral a day for life. I know, such typical drivel of loss, oh what I would do for another day, another moment but the English language is sadly lacking in conveying grief, it's depth and breadth and all consuming power.

Really, it's simple, I guess. I miss my son. The end.

Eeeeesshhh I am a butthole. Sometimes.

Here is the thing, or if not THE thing at the very minimum A thing. When D does super sweet things like post a super sweet song and leaves a super sweet message and the only reaction I can muster goes something along the lines of, ''yeah yeah pretty words, pretty song, whatever jerkface, just get home'', it's not ALL because I am a butthole. Mostly, yes but not completely.

I am tired. My husband has been gone over a month. All four, ohyessssma'am, all four kids have the flu. The swiiiiiiiiiiiiine flu. Fortunately thus far it hasn't been any worse (or better) that the regular old flu but fuck me gently with a chainsaw, listening to four sets of lungs hacking and four set of lips whiiiiiiiiiiine with the swiiiiiiiiiiine has made me a bit, oh let's say, EDGY. And buttholish.

This says it all babygirl

Know you're having a rough week. Love you my boo. Glad you're already my wife. I love you, I DO. Home soon promise.

You Like Me! You Really Like Me!!

So, like a million years ago when I last posted an uplifting little ditty about cancer, cancer and oh looky there more cancer, some people took notice.

Like the awesome and beautiful Schmutzie who runs the equally awesome Five Star Friday which is meant to highlight the best of what is being thought and said on the web. I KNOW, RIGHT? Lookit me, all up in my fancy pants shaking my ass up in that piece.

And then, you are not even going to believe this shit but these kind people (tho she is currently taking a catching-up-with-life blog break) do a weekly radio show about the posts on Five Star Friday and holy shit balls was THAT a nice experience.

You are thinking I have to be running out of braggadocio right about now but lo, would you be betting on the wrong horse. Because plus and also and furthermore and in other news and this just motherfucking in*: BlogHer of the Week. Oh, that's right. You can look but no you cannot touch perfection like you're looking at right now, yo.

Oh, what's that you say? Chandra at Mommys Who Blog thinks I rock? I KNOW!! Oh you can read all about it right here and click around please and read about some more kick ass blogs.

Now, for a moment of complete seriousness. I have went back and forth about posting this last bit but end of the day I would feel like an asshole for not spilling it. I have googled the shit out of the e-mail AmyC******@aol.com trying to discover some sliver of who it may be as this person sent my family $250 via PayPal. Now, if you're blessed enough that $250 is no big deal to you, that is fantastic. To my family, it's a chunk of the mortgage. It's the light, gas, water AND car insurance bills. It's a helluva lot of groceries for our family of six. It was honestly a blessing, a sure enough out of the blue blessing from an anonymous stranger and AmyC, whoever you are, thank you sincerely from my heart. 

Putting all shit-talking aside, thanks you guys. Thank you thank you thank you, having your writing acknowledged by even one other person is incredible any old day in life; accolades like this after feeling shuttered away from life (literally) and humanity for so long, this was the best welcome back ever and I could have never even imagined it.

*When I was a young whippersnapper, when arguing (futilely) with my dad, when making another point IN MY FAVOR rather than saying, ''And another thing!!'' I would say, ''And plus, and also {insert inane point here}'' and after relaying this in my dad's eulogy, D picked up on it and started saying it to me in jest and it has now manifested into, ''And plus, and also, and furthermore, and in other news AND THIS JUST IN {insert still inane points here}. Oh, I know, the communication skillz, we haz them.

Say. Let's talk about cancer, cause that's FUN!!1!

I promised myself I wouldn't turn into one of those people who get all, ''oh, my tortured psyche, let me show you it'' about cancer but well, when you're 35 and have endured months of chemo, radiation, various other indignities up to and including not one but two heart surgeries, sometimes it just feels WRONG to withhold all my new fangled WISDOM and LIFE EXPERIENCE from you great people.

Nah, there is no wisdom, at all. But my designer vadge is still not fully functional and whereas normally I would take advantage of an empty house to watch bad television and soft core porn and diddle myself senseless but in lieu of those fun-filled days, I will instead share my new-found want of kicking my own ass for not seeing the forest for the trees prior to a few months in the hospital doing battle with cancer. Oh, no, don't worry, YOU'RE WELCOME, in advance.

Home Sweet Home

Well hello there, buttercups. Long time, no post, right?

I got home last week and man, what an adjustment. I have been on lock-down since, can you believe it, MARCH. It is very strange being home, mostly because I am, shhhhhh don't tell anyone, home alone. D is back on the road (in ALASKA, you believe that shit?) and my kids are, wait for it, out of the country.

OUT OF THE MOTHER EFFING COUNTRY!!111!!

Never let it be said that cancer doesn't sometimes come with benefits, right. Not for me so much (a mangled vadge and two heart surgeries later) but D's dad and crazy awesome step-mom took the kids to the Dominican Republic, D's dad home of origin. I would like to be all righteous and posting pictures of the kids helping the less fortunate and volunteering at orphanages but fact of the matter is in this scenario they ARE the less fortunate kids and are essentially on a ''Fresh Air Kids'' scholarship, you know? I kid, our children are very blessed but this is definitely a vacation for them, not a trip of benevolence. They are soaking up the sun and water and experiencing being in the minority for the first time in their young lives which, to me, is the best thing about the whole trip because I am a white liberal full up on white guilt and angry at white privilege so you know I have to at least in gest (right) suck the fun out of the whole thing by making like it's a sociological statement.

Gaah. I need to not wait so long between posts, it makes me tend to ramble.

Quickly

Shan is fine, coming home Monday if all goes according to plan and she should be posting something today or this weekend. Last few weeks have been busy busy but the kids are good Shan is going much better and things may get bacj to normal soon. My wife has been in the hospital since MARCH, normal has never sounded so fucking good, people.

All for now. Except that wehn Shan knows I am upset she calls me bunny, I dont know why or when it started but I know I have heard Oh Bunny, it's okay more than I ever wanted to lately. Cross evertthing she comes home Monday.