Little Herb Garden

I added some pictures of my lavender and spearmint. I wish you could run your hand through all of these and smell! I love my little herb garden, if nothing more it makes me smile! Here's my very first herb garden. I woud have never known until I planted, but if you rub your hands on the leaves you really get this incredible aroma! Made me want to go fix something, although my herbs need a week or two, I think. Cilantro, Greek Oregano, German Thyme, Sweet Basil and Curled Parsley. I wish you could smell this! I'm looking forward to being able to sit on my patio, watching the sun set with a glass of wine and smelling this incredible aroma!

Spring is finally starting to blossom on my patio.

Not that you can get a good feel of it yet, but there's just a hint of the flowers coming to life. Dare I mention the rabbit that ate my white tulips that had bloomed only a day?

What goes through your mind...

Do you know what goes through your mind when the doctor says, "you have cancer"? Ah, well, they don't say that. They use the big "6th Grade words" and say, "you have Adenocarcinoma." Uh huh. And your mind goes blank. You have the whatthehellisthatsupposedtomean thought going on. And then the light bulb...Harlean had this. Past tense, had it and recovered. If you recovered why does it come back? And when it comes back it's not Adenocarcinom, it's called something different. A different type of cancer. Adenocarcinom, per Wickapedia, is a cancer of an epithelium that originates in glandular tissue. Do you really think it matters WHERE it is? NO. Trust me, no. It didn't matter whether it was in my lymph nodes, my blood, my tissue, my bone marrow...bottom line, I had cancer. What made mine different than Harlean's? What stage was she at when she had her 1st diagnosis? These are questions I didn't know to ask her and now I can't. The day my doctor said, "you have Adenocarcinoma..." her oncologist told her that her cancer, which had been the Adenocarcinoma years earlier, had now spread to her brain. I don't think it spread to her brain, I think it settled there. Let me find a spot...and if she had been alive she and I would have teased about "let's find the weakest spot and settle there." Ah, this woman had an incredible mind! It wasn't the weakest part of her by any means. Why did mine react so favorably to the radiation/chemo and hers seemed to come back after year 1? I don't remember how many years she had this on-going battle. I know of seven. She'd be almost at that mark and be knocked down again. She said she wanted to be buried beside her husband...but she wanted to make sure that she was facing his grave as she was going to haunt him so badly in the afterlife he'd wish he opted for hell. I'm telling you, this woman had a fantastic outlook! She had lung cancer and never smoked. He died, probably because it was the only way to escape her (although they had a great marriage) and he smoked, but he didn't die of lung cancer, he had a heart attack. She said that she was going to haunt him FOREVER, and she'd say it S L O W L Y...for giving her lung cancer. Yes, she knows he didn't give it to her, but we have to blame. Who did I blame? I'm guessing since I had rectal cancer I can think of several people in my life that it might fit...but then again, they're still alive, so guess not. Interesting fact - my cancer did not hurt. I may have been a pain in the ass, but I didn't have one. Not one iota of pain. If it hadn't been for the fact that I was that in tune with my body I wouldn't have even brought it up to my OB/Gyn. I'm not stupid, I knew that something wasn't right within my body, so I asked. No, I didn't WAIT for my OB visit to ask, I actually scheduled it so I could find out about being the surrogate. I have to wonder how many folks wait and wait, and then where do they end up? I miss Harlean. She had a wonderful sense of humor. I was blessed to have her friendship. I don't grieve at her death, but I miss her terribly and I cry. I went to her grave site, although I didn't find it, I drove around and around looking for it. I thought about how ironic it was that she is ALL around me, even if I can't see her. It makes me feel a lot better about dying. I know that I will be missed and if my loved ones think about me, I'm right there in their thoughts. I may be physically gone, but I'm not gone from thoughts. I am also not saying that I'm ready to die yet, but I don't fear it. I'm not ready to embrace it, but on the other hand am very okay with it. Kris Allen has a song that came out after I my cancer, I think, or maybe that's just when we started really hearing it. Live Like We're Dying. My son and his wife sing it all the time, so do the kids. It's powerful. If this is all we've got, if this is all there is - we SHOULD be living like we're dying, shouldn't we? And if this isn't all there is, then we SHOULD be living like we're dying because then we'll be LIVING, not existing in this life. I don't believe this is all there is, but I do believe that I need to get it right in THIS life to help me for what is in store for me.

When I started doing my Will I also started a journal. I will admit, I didn't get really far in the journaling - chemo takes over the brain and you don't necessarily think correctly. It was odd - I could work my normal day, albeit at home, but I was focused on the work. As soon as I'd quit for the day it was as if a signal hit my brain and turned it off. You hear people talk about "chemo brain" or "mud brain." You don't want it, but in a sense it was also peaceful to not have my mind turning over thoughts! I wished I had the foresight to ask one of my kids to write for me. If you would talk to me I could keep a conversation, but to think and write somehow there was a disconnect for me.

Going to treatments was something I wanted to do alone. I didn't want anyone sitting there feeling sorry for me. I didn't want anyone to see me cry when they gave me the injection. I don't know whether I could say that it was really THAT much pain, or was it that it hurt my feelings to have it. The Cancer Staff - there simply aren't enough words to use to express my gratitude to them. The most compassionate people I have ever been blessed to be with - we worked together through this. We cried together. We laughed together. We held hands sometimes and said nothing at all, but sigh, and it was understood that this really sucked. (sorry Dad, there really isn't another word I can think of) At the end of it all, I wouldn't trade those people and I miss them...don't want to go back and do it all over again, but I miss them.

You think about phrases like "death warmed over" as you're laying back in your chair getting your infusion. Ah...you are a lucky one, you're on the good chemo. You're not going to lose your hair. And you look over and you see someone with ashened skin, and you KNOW. And the next week, you all come together again and do it all over again, and you look to make sure that person is there, and they're not. And you KNOW. And you think. And you cry inside, and hope that your eyes aren't letting go of the tears. You hope that you can smile when someone looks your way. It was always odd how my volunteer lady would come up just when I needed her the most and ask if she could get me anything. Just the touch of her hand on my arm, feeling her warmth; feeling her love.

It took me a long time before I would look UP when I entered the Cancer Center. If you look up, you see people. And they are there for the same thing you are. And there is always a FULL room. You go into the bathroom - and look in the mirror and you see what THEY see. Ah, you're looking rather pathetic, even if you do have hair. And then someonen comes into the bathroom and sees your reflection and says, "Can I give you a hug? I just want you to know that it wasn't that long ago I was YOU...and you will get better." And you cry together. No one was ashamed to have tears and no one judged you either.

I'm 4 years down the road and you know what? I still cry. It still hurts. It was yesterday. I feel my mediport scar and I stop and catch my breath...it's still there. I want someone to tell me that next year I won't feel this way.

Cancer, welcome to my life

Four years ago this past month I went in for my routine 'female exam' as we tend to call it. My daughter and I had been discussing her desire to have a baby with her new beau, but her inability to do so because of her hysterectomy. I thought about how incredible it would be to help them have a baby, she was okay with the idea, so I went to my OB/Gyn and talked to him about becoming a surrogate. I got a huge "thumbs up" from him, total support and then I said, after the physical exam, "oh, by the way, I see blood."

I think for the most part, I will play the mental games on 'what if' and try to prepare myself for the worst possible scenerio, and at the same time the positive side. It was almost the same feeling for me when my OB told me years ago that I was pregnant and I gulped, as there was NO way I needed nor wanted to be pregnant. I think we've all had at least one of those moments in our lives. They are life altering! Here I was at 47 being told I had cancer, when what I wanted was to be told I was pregnant! How ironic.

I knew when I made the decision to become my daughter's surrogate that I'd have some tough issues to face at the corporate office. I'm single. I'm in my late 40's. I was preparing mentally for how my co-workers would react to me, how society might react, how friends and family might react. How my insurance would cover the pregnancy, what if I wanted maternity leave? I was trying to sort those thoughts out before I presented it to anyone, and thinking my first stop would be HR to make sure of details I might not have considered.

Sometime this month, 4 years ago I went through some uncomfortable tests. I hope that women will read this and understand - just trust me when I say for us a pelvic exam is a BREEZE. When a doctor says, "I have to do a digital exam" your mind is trying to figure out exactly what type of exam this is...then reality sinks in - ah, I get it. Trust me, it was the most uncomfortable exam I've ever had to go through. When he said, "we might do a sigmoidoscopy" I smiled and said, 'if, and only IF you put me out first." No, I'm not going to apologize for feeling this way, but I can totally empathize with the male population in HATING to go to the doctor for those exams. I will go though the discomfort of a mamogram, because to me my discomfort was how you had to contort your body for the xray. Men, I'm sorry, I'm on YOUR side!

Some of the home tests that had to be done weren't too difficult to do, and then there was the one that was a little more, um, lock the bathroom door type. Then it's making sure to let the kids (adults) know, do not open that little brown bag. I smile at the look on my son's face when the reality of what was in that little brown bag! I appreciate how patient my kids were in supporting me through this time as well, and to be quite honest at this point I wasn't thinking of what they might be feeling, it was only about what I was thinking.

I remember at that time thinking...this could be nothing, but it's a nice test situation. This could be something and we'll figure it out. This could be fatal...hmm, on that part, do I have things in order so my kids don't have to worry?

Get a will. Easy. Do I do this through an attorney? Do I just have it written out and then sign it and hope that the Texas Court will abide by it? What type of will? Obviously I want a living will - for a couple of reasons. IF this is something not good (and even at this time I think in the back of my mind I was thinking cancer it just wasn't a conscience thought, odd as that might sound.) Okay - let's say fatal...the kids HAVE to know that I do not want to be kept alive under artificial means. That is not living, it's existing. My oldest, Melissa, did not appreciate one iota that I was doing the will as to her it was a statement of death. For me, it was to lessen a burden for them. I simply sat around and looked at all my "things" and said in pen, this goes to ...and then hoped that my kids would understand. Here I am four years down the road and my will has never been notorized. It would have been IF...

Mentally I set about trying to figure out bills I owed. How much of what I did monthly could be handled via the internet? Did I sign up for auto pay? This was one of those things I remembered thinking at the time, and then seem to become unimportant. I had recently purchased a new car. Okay, I signed papers for the 5-year term for a new car! My 3rd Saturn. Less than 30-days of signing the note I got my cancer diagnosis. Within 30-days of signing my note I got the "Saturn Survey" to take via the mail. I hadn't filled it out, and received a reminder. I think it was the month later, which would be May I went to the dealership. I remember that at that time I had just started chemo, and had the 24x7 pump on my hip but I covered it with my sweatshirt. I apologized to them for not getting the survey to them sooner, however I had just received my cancer diagnosis and didn't think the survey was that important for me, but then knew that Saturn didn't know why I failed to respond...so here you are...I LOVE MY CAR...I hope I stick around to continue to love my car. I'm sorry Saturn is no longer in business, as they were incredible to me during this time frame. One of the fincance guys came out and told me how sorry he was to learn of my cancer (trust me, they are a family unit there) but on my financial papers one of the things I signed was that in case of death my car would be paid for. I looked at him with tears in my eyes and said, "you know, I cannot thank you enough for telling me this, as I'm looking at any/all debts I have and do not want my children to be burdened by my death." I think they were as touched as I was. Saturn is no longer with us...I am...and in another year the car will be paid off!

What my couch wants to become...it's inside there, I know just waiting to unveil!

Today is the beginning...

For a while I've wanted to share my story - maybe it's only to myself as a life journey? Maybe someone will see something I've done and say, "wow, I'd like to copy that." Imitation is the truest form of flattery, isn't it? There are many women in Blogville who inspire me. We are a sisterhood of creators, caregivers, lovers of life. Maybe I'll inspire someone too.