My room needed cleaning, laundry needed washing, sheets needed changing... etc. You know... regular old weekend chores that I needed to do before Thursday came again. (remember, chemo is now every week, instead of every other week)
Of course, I took lazy breaks as needed so that the work didn't feel so much like... well, work. During one of my first breaks... I finished reading "Kindred". (it was a very good book, not what I expected but really really good)
So... when I decided to take another break later on, I needed something else to read. I tried to revisit "A long way gone: memoirs of a boy soldier"... but it was still a bit too much for my spirit right now. The second book I picked up, "Crazy sexy cancer tips" was recommended to me by quite a few people. When I received it (I think I ordered it from http://greenhillgoldman.blogspot.com)... as soon as I looked at it, I regretted the purchase. Couldn't bring myself to read it.
It has a foreword by Sheryl Crow... and while I think her music is fine, and I know that she had her own bout with breast cancer... I just couldn't see myself gaining much from her words. (Yes, I do realize how snarky that sounds) But this afternoon, I figured that enough time had passed and that I was far enough along in my treatment that it might be okay for me to read this book and not feel weird.
For those who don't know... I have a very short "book attention span". It could be the writer in me, or maybe I'm just a snob for no reason... but I give books a really short window to grab me before they end up on a shelf collecting dust. The reason is simple. If I have to force myself to read it, I'm not likely to gain much from it. It just might not be my time for that message. So, rather than torture myself... I put it away and just allow myself the option to read it when I'm in a better place mentally. Especially if its a book that I suspect is a good one.
So... you'll be interested to know that by page 26... I realized that I too... should have been born a nice white lady with blonde hair and blue or green eyes. Why? Because for some reason... these chicks seem to just have it all under control.
Sheryl Crow's introduction made me want to barf. Literally. She goes on and on about how devastating her cancer diagnosis was, and such things. (I am really being a bitch) But then she shares that her cancer was found really early and she had microcalcifications but no tumors.
Uh huh. Focus on the first part of that word... MICRO. That means that without a microscope, you can't see it, you can't feel it. It basically barely exists at all... except that it does. I felt really angry at that. Sure... its unreasonable of me to be pissed because someone else's tragedy isn't quite as tragic as mine. But I really was annoyed.
I pressed on. Kriss Carr... the author of the book... was diagnosed with stage IV of some super-duper rare liver cancer, that had spread to her lungs. She had 10 tumors on the surface of her liver.
So... I thought... "damn, that's horrible... let me read on to see what she has to say about this thing... she must know something good"....
... well... not really. I mean, sure, I'm only on page 26 and so far, she really hasn't said much except how blown she was about her diagnosis. (I bet she was... that's a damn doozy right there) But then... she reveals that...
...there's nothing they can do about her cancer. She's not in treatment. The cancer isn't growing, isn't moving, isn't spreading... Its just... there.
And while I know... I really do know how devastating it must be to just know that you have something in your body that doesn't belong. Something that changes who you are... from normal girl, living her normal life... to... "cancer survivor"... is nothing small.
But again... dammit.
These white chicks seem to have this thing down pat. They just skip through life, la-la-la! happy go damn lucky..
"damn, I have cancer... woo... let's have a party or start a movement...yay, let's change the world!"
I do not feel that way. Maybe its just too early -- though it already seems like four forevers have passed since I learned I have cancer. But when I talk to other black women (the few that I have actually allowed myself to communicate with -- more on that later)... none of them have this happy-go-lucky attitude.
They tell me that what I feel is normal. They tell me that writing my blog is courageous. They tell me that I will get past all of this and life will go on. But they never ever make it seem like... "Yay... today I have cancer and ... I'm gonna make a movie, and write a book, or start a class... blah blah blah."
Is perkiness something that only comes to blonde haired white women with blue (or green) eyes? And if its not... is it even something I want to have?
I'm going to try to read more of this stupid book. But I'm a little pissed at the moment. Why do I want to read about a chick who changes her eating habits etc. for a disease that she can effectively live with? I can't live with Fred, Ted and Jim -- even if I wanted to. Those greedy bastards are sucking up the estrogen in my body like red kool-aid... and they are growing like fat kids who eat cake every day.
If they aren't stopped... they could literally burst through my breast and explode all over the place. And that's not even thinking about what other damage they could do to other parts of my body. Since Jim is already laid up in my lymph nodes... it would be nothing but a thing for him to jump on into the lymphatic system -- sorta like jumping on a subway train -- and just travelling on through my body and stopping off at my bones, or some other organs along the way.
What I'm saying is that... my cancer... REQUIRES treatment. Aggressive treatment. Chemotherapy that is draining all my energy, my good spirits and such. I know that everybody's cancer is different -- and I'm sure that I'm dead wrong for comparing mine with theirs and everybody else's who has mentioned to me that they (or their relative/friend) has/had cancer...
I'm also sure this post will probably earn a lot of boos from from the crowd... I'll have to take that today. Right at this moment (which I know will pass) I am pissed.
If I don't stop this thing... I could die. Period.
Meanwhile... she has cancer that is just... laying there. At one point she writes...
"Why couldn't I have a popular cancer? No, I had to get a rare cancer that only affects about 0.1 percent of the population. There would be no groups for me, no walks, no ribbons, no sisterhood bullshit, nothing."
Well... (picture the neck swivel...and the hands on the hips)... let me tell you as one of those sisters with a "popular" cancer... All that bullshit she just named... is just that for me. BULLSHIT.
I could give less than a damn about a pink ribbon, an awareness campaign, a grand public display of sympathy forced into a walk or a marathon.... I don't want to participate in any support groups, or go to classes to teach me how to wear a wig or put on makeup.
I don't -- dammit!! -- want to do any of it. I don't want any parts of it. I truly don't. I want to be back to normal. That's it.
I am too tired of feeling like a monkey in a cage. I promise you -- it is not fun, in any way, to be part of millions of people with a disease that could kill you. It is not fun to feel like you're a symbol for someone else's fear -- while you're struggling with your own fears.
In fairness... there were some things that she mentioned (in these few pages) that I could relate to. Like the ongoing mind chatter that's all about death or dying... the stuff you can't mention to people when they ask how you're doing because they will probably think you're out of your damn mind. And in even more fairness... I probably will glean some goodness from her book. She was diagnosed with her cancer 5 years before me. I hope that she's learned something from her journey that is relatable to other folks.
I don't want to go to any support groups. I do not want to feel like I'm any more on display to the world that I'm some sort of "freak"... than I already feel with my bald head, my darkened hands and feet, and so forth.
I don't want to go to classes to teach me things that I learned when I was 15, like putting on makeup. or stuff I am just not even remotely interested in -- like how to wear a wig. (bleah)
I'm just not that interested. Not now.
Maybe I will move to that place where group activities will feel more like a normal thing for me... but right now, it feels forced. I have been finding myself either saying yes when I want to say no... Or making excuses because I'm too chicken to just flat out say no.
NO. NO. NO. NO. NO.
If this is a time for me to learn how to put myself first, to focus on what's good for me... etc. and so forth... then I have to grasp that saying no comes with that territory.
No.
No support groups. No prayer circles. No visits with small children. No. Just no.
I will admit to enjoying some of the attention that "I have cancer" brings out in people. But most of it is really uncomfortable. People get these weird looks on their faces, or these odd ass silences when you're speaking with them. Or they ask dumb questions that they don't realize are dumb. Or they offer you unsolicited advice for some odd "cure" that you just have to try. Or they ask for details that you know they really don't want because when you give it to them -- you can see/hear them just glaze over. And you know what has happened is that they have leapt out of what's happening to you and right into their own imagination about.... "what if this happened to me". Its understandable... I just don't like dealing with it, over and over and over again.
And that's what I'm not ready to deal with on a more public level. Even in a support group, there has to be a level of sharing that I'm not quite ready for.
To start with... I am not...
stage 3a breast cancer, HER2 positive, 4 tumors,
lymph node positive...
My name is Nicole Valencia. And somehow... in all of this "disease and treatment" crap... she has completely gotten lost. Nicole had a whole life and a bunch of dreams mapped out prior to July 28th. Now... its like none of that matters.
All I ever hear... over and over and over again...
"how are you feeling?"
Which is really not the same as ... "how's it going?" or "how are ya?"
How are you feeling is very specific and goes right to.... "you have cancer Nicole". I am really being a bitch and I'm sorry but I'm tired of all day, every day... cancer cancer cancer!
(see, what that book did to my happy mood?)
Even my boyfriend doesn't talk to me the same way anymore. He asks me how I'm feeling before any conversation can take place. It was okay for awhile, but now its smothering me. Making me constantly remain stuck in this awareness that my body ain't quite right.
Its rude of me to say any of this... but I can't shake this feeling that for the rest of my life every time someone asks me.... "how are you?" ... I'm going to hear.... "is your cancer better today?"
Imagine if... you had a really painful, hot, bright red, pimple on your nose or your chin. And everyday... everyone asked... "wow, does that hurt?"... "damn, that looks painful"... "how does it FEEL?" And so forth... its a little bit like that.
There isn't a remedy for what I'm feeling. And I know that as soon as I finish this entry... I'll go right back to pretending/believing that it doesn't bother me. I can't tell if it really doesn't bother me or if I'm just so accustomed to being on the surface of my feelings... that I don't know if it bothers me until I force myself to focus on it. Like... reading a book about someone else's cancer struggle.
"Inspirational stories of black cancer survivors"... that's one more book that I'm going to read at some point. I'm just not ready for it right now. I appreciate the gift and the thoughtfulness that inspired it. But I just want to be me again. Not me with cancer. Or me dealing with chemo side effects, or emotional baggage caused by fear of my early and/or painful death. I'm not ready to be inspired by black people struggling with this pain.
I'm pissed at the moment that I won't be "me" ever again. At least not a "me" that I really am comfortable with, yet. It took me about 35 years to get comfy in my skin, to feel like I knew who I was... and then just when I was getting into the groove -- BAM! -- now you're a totally new chick with a whole bunch of new problems. Ta-da.
I apologize right now for being rude and obnoxious. My mother did teach me better than this. I do have home training. And I know that its not nice to be so sour with people who have nothing but good intentions for you.
I was having a pretty nice, lazy day Sunday... washing clothes, playing games online, etc. But then I made the bad decision of trying to learn more about how to deal with this cancer.
Well... (full disclosure)... I was hoping for a remedy for all this damn gas. I am about to blow my room right outta my house. It is HORRIBLE over here. That's another reason why I'm avoiding people -- I'm not really fit for human consumption over here... and to top all of that... I have no shame about cutting one loose. (and now I know my momma taught me better than that!)
See? I'm back to giggling at myself. I'm already over it...
...thank goodness.
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