"Cancer Chick" Is On Her Soap Box AGAIN.....

Leave it to me to get seriously ill right in the big middle of the HOT Arizona summer. LOVELY.

Went to the Dr. today and got the ol’ pneumonia diagnosis. WHY am I NOT surprised!?!?!?! Also he’s concerned with a pinched nerve in my hip that I most likely sustained back in April when I was “rock climbing without a net”, and fell flat on my ass from a slight elevation. I am off work until the 15th and have to go tomorrow to get 5 x-rays. Fun. NOT. I am probably going to end up declaring medical bankruptcy before the end of the year.

I know that a lot of people who read this stuff that I write think that I am some kind of hypochondriac that gets some kind of twisted jolly out of going to doctors, getting poked with needles & prodded for tests and popping pills all the time. This could NOT be further from the truth. It’s just that, me being * ME *, I try to maintain a sense of humor through out all of this because I’ve found that in the past IT ACTUALLY HELPS. But, even though I am cracking jokes and making light, it’s not EASY. Then again, it’s always been my philosophy that life is too LONG to make it any more miserable than it already IS.

I’ve just been feeling lately that there’s been some kind of “emptiness” in me. I don’t know if it’s because I don’t have enough “REAL TIME” to do the things I want and need to (like right now: I would much rather be running the vacuum, but with Ralph sacked out on the couch, that’s a no go!) or if it’s because I rarely FEEL like doing those things? I was so proud of myself a few weeks ago: I kicked my ass and started working out more and dropped 12 pounds like it was NOTHING. Well, today @ the Dr’s office, I learned I’ve gained back all but ONE pound of that :( No fair. I worked hard for that. But, since my hip has been killing me for 3 weeks now, I haven’t done more than I’ve been REQUIRED to do and it’s taking its toll. Mentally as well as physically. *sigh*

I guess my point is that even though I joke a lot and say things to try to lighten certain situations, sometimes on the inside, I am screaming—crying even. Trying to claw my way out of a sedentary lifestyle that would surely send me to an early grave. Struggling with every ache, throb, and pain. Clamoring for a time when my body isn’t trying to turn itself against me and all of my good, healthy, fabulous intentions. I know that I might be ill, but I am NOT weak! If you knew me 2 years ago, think of those times that I couldn’t even stand up because I was so sick from chemotherapy. Or a year ago…when radiation tore up my throat so bad I had ulcers, no voice and couldn’t swallow without tears coming to my eyes. You called me STRONG then…to be doing all that I was doing. Still raising my kids with little or no help. Still able to clean my house, do the laundry, run the errands and cook meals for my family. Still able to hold onto my sanity. I didn’t feel strong then, and I couldn’t figure out why everyone thought I was. Back then I just felt like I was doing what I had to do to get from one day to the next. No promises, no guarantees that there would even BE a tomorrow.

But hindsight is 20/20 and looking back NOW, I can see that I WAS strong. I was determined. I was gonna beat the shit out of that cancer come hell or high water. And I did. I beat it!! And my prize? MY LIFE. However altered from here on out, it’s mine and I am lucky to still have it. True, my body’s been through a WAR, but I am still living to fight another day. And there’s no guarantee that cancer won’t invade my body AGAIN. How would most of YOU like to live with that stigma hanging over your head? You wouldn’t. Because people would always see you as the Weaker One. The Sick One. The One Who Needs Assistance Sometimes. The One Who Called In To Work AGAIN. I have my bad days like everyone else. Only, for me, one bad day could trigger pneumonia that, if left untreated, could have me drowning in my own lungs before I know it. Or a fall could cause a delayed reaction because my bones aren’t what they used to be since all that POISON was pumped into me. Or one corn chip could cause half my tooth to fall out of my head.

I CAN’T HELP IT. THAT’S JUST THE WAY I AM NOW. I DIDN’T ASK FOR THIS AND I DON’T LIKE IT. BUT THIS IS ME…THIS IS WHO I AM.

SO, DEAL WITH IT---I am...the best ways I know how: I write about it. I turn up the music and utilize what energy I have to clean until nothing remains in my mind but the satisfaction and pride of having a clean house. And I make jokes. To try to remind me that NO MATTER HOW BAD I THINK I HAVE IT, there’s ALWAYS someone somewhere else who has it harder than me. I am actually pretty thankful that most of my problems can be handled WITHOUT having to check me into the hospital, or hook me up to some machine to slowly destroy my body. The jokes are my little way of thanking The Big Guy that even though I got dealt a shitty hand…that I am THANKFUL for the things I do have (or don’t have in this case!), for what it's worth. After all, life IS what you make it, isn't it!?

It’s not having what you want,
It’s wanting what you’ve got.

So, in closing…I am dealing with it the best way I know how. If you don’t want to know how I am feeling, QUIT ASKING! I will be more than happy to quit telling. But if you're a TRUE FRIEND, you already know how I feel and don't have to ask, because you love me just the way I am...scars and all. (And if you're a REALLY good friend, you like me even MORE after I've popped 2 extra strength Vicodin >:p!!!)

Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for my meds.