My Literal and Metaphorical Circle of Love

Here is another random archive post; it was written on July 5th.  My perspective was constantly changing, along with my outlook and attitude. 


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I'm having a 'back to basics' summer. In addition to celebrating Bu every second of my life, I am going to paint the walls and ceiling of the basement as a progressive art piece ( à la Joey Donnelly... A dear friend who is nothing but inspirational), not wear make up or clothing that makes sense (I've told people to brace themselves for my sinfully abstract clothing), wear an obscene amount of scarves that promote beauty and energy, surround with my tightest circle and be inspired by the spiraling off-shoots of loving family and friends. I am going to listen to the weirdest, most wonderful music and get Reiki treatments, practice yoga and tai chi, pray and shave my head and eat all of the healthiest food that I can eat. 


There are many transformations taking place- something that I have several people to thank. I thank my cousin/soul sister/life coach/confidante/fundraiser founder/best friend, Christine, for her staunch support. She even entered the depths of the scattered collections within my basement and quickly helped in transforming it into a deliciously open and inviting space (check out her website at freshjoy.ca). And of course... My family. They have parked a 5th wheel trailer and managed to create an oh-so lovely campground of our backyard. String lights, a screened, tent-ish canopy for Bu and my nephews to safely enjoy being outside in (Thank you Aunty Lorna and Lee... I love you ladies) and sit in my zero-gravity chair. (Thank you Aunty Cheryl... Your generosity never ceases to amaze me xoxo). My Mom, or Dad, or Cassy or Lauren will literally put their lives on hold and rotate through (in various combinations) to support driving, hanging out with Bu, share in this experience. If anyone knows me, they know how very much my family means to me. Even Mike and the boys will be coming up to share in it. My core couldn't be stronger. I love everyone for it.

Before today, my summer looked rather dire. It was a summer of chemo and radiation therapy- a prison of miserable, sunless, painful experiences before I will finally feel a 'new, normal Me' emerge with hopeful health. I have to be aware to celebrate this journey. I am aware. I am on the cusp off the most wonderful spiritual transformation. It's unreal.

My wisdom is born from the finding of ways to find joy. To quiet my mind and really feel my surroundings. It is important to allow yourself to respond in true ways that reflect an instinct- be it in movement or an emotional and uncomfortable tarnish on a friendship... I walked into the kitchen yesterday to find Richard laying on the floor because 'his body was telling him that he had to'- I tell you, this weirdness has some validity. Paying attention to and acting on it is entirely liberating. Dancing has taught me so much about that. 


At a recent family supper, there was a guided meditation held for me, with my daughter, husband, parents, sisters, nephews, my brother (Mike), Grandparents, uncles, aunts, cousins, great aunt, nephews and of course, the honorable, honorary family members (Jackie, Kelsa, Frank and Diana). The meditation ended with my literal, and metaphorical, circle of love come in to touch me with their divine energy. My Grandma declared a comfort shawl of marine blue to be a great comfort in a display of impassioned public speaking that I really admired. 


There are abundant ways and channels in which I receive love. The dozens of churches, spiritual canters and several non-profit communities across North America, thousands of Reiki distance healers (facilitated by the gentle, nurturing spirit of Berni Heimbecker -berniheimbecker.com... and a shout out to Demelza and Margaret), mosques, the Saskatoon Insight Meditation Community, the Town of Dundurn, a kind-hearted and lovely family who sent a guided meditation book and Frankincense oil, a group of women who make quilts for cancer patients and my friend Jessica who passed my name on to them, hundreds of families who send their love and support, a Briar bretheren in San Fransisco, Al-Anon group members, the people who work alongside my sisters, Mom, Jackie and Uncle Ken at the Hospital, the men and women at the shop my Dad works at in Pennsylvania as well in Swift Current, a church in France and 4 in Mexico, that magnet fundraiser followers, a fundraiser at the Ivy put on by my (best) lady friends at SACL, strangers, friends I haven't connected with in years, ... The outpouring of love humbles me to the very bone. I can't be more proud of humankind when I know how much kindness is being offered to my family. 


I've stopped taking people and time for granted. Everything is bittersweet and I am in balance. I stare at the Moonbeams with the same awe in which I used to admire the sun. There is beauty in all sides... and everywhere in between. Love is infinite. We are so blessed to be able to pass on goodness to all. Embrace the very nature of wishing everyone well. It's simply beautiful.

I thank so many people for the support during this path. I may sound incredibly selfish, and I am at this moment because I need to be. Try it for awhile; when you live for yourself, you are able to love everyone else more. I practice love of all, even when it is difficult.


Thought I would share. This is what I wanted to say.

With love in my heart,
M

Feels Like...

I wrote this on June 26th- nearly a week into my treatment.  I found this in my files and found it hard to remember how I felt only 6 months ago.  Movin' on up!


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Here it is. Here I am. All those days ago when I was told what this experience would be like, it was so intangible... And now I'm here feeling it. Shaved head, in the bathroom, standing over the sink while I rinse out my fluoride trays and brace myself for the ringing in my ears and nausea to subside. This is what going through radiation and chemo therapy feels like.

Ugh. And I'm only at week one.

There is a graceful way to accomplish anything. I don't feel people need to always take that route, and I doubt I would recommend to myself to be aware of grace right now. There is an image I hold in my head when I have previously thought of someone going through treatment of cancer. An angelic, peaceful presence to those faced with such a fate.  My Mom and Jackie (Hunter)'s best friend, Val was the epitome of grace when she went through her journey with cancer. It always stuck with me.  I went to her eternal place of rest to spend time with her and talk about how beautiful I thought she was for a few years after she passed.


Being in this position makes me feel everything.  I only now thought of what I look like in the mirror. But I can't bear to face that version of myself just yet. I have breezed right by my reflection in fear I won't recognize my physical self. Truthfully, the thought terrifies me to the core.

I haven't cried for days. I haven't even had a good cry since before this treatment began. I have been in survival mode- silently afraid that once I allowed myself to feel sad, I wouldn't leave that place. Damn it. I'm here, and I am sure I will leave, but there is such a despair to my situation that I feel entirely valid in staying.

The sores in my mouth are starting to burn. There are so many reasons for my mouth to be in pain right now that it doesn't matter anymore. All of the side effects are managed by a fine concoction of treatment plans that cause more side effects, and so on. I have had no appetite but I must consume all the calories and protein I can muster so my immune system doesn't shut down entirely and render me on a feeding tube through my stomach, in the hospital, really ill, etc. I swish with rinse, take my anti-nauseants, brave the hot flashes, wash my skin several times a day, brush my teeth, use prescription rinses, and other intense methods to sterilize my mouth... Every little decision I make has apparent grave consequences. I can see how very easy it will be to give up when I am in more pain, feel more ill and am several weeks into this treatment. My 'treatment plan'... The plan to save my life: Months of agony.

Today, I realized how numb this experience was leaving me. I was the sole provider of care for my daughter for the first time in a week today. The experience made me mourn the half step of development I am convinced Bu made. She is growing so damn fast and I really must stay connected to her right now. It breaks my heart not to have the energy to be the Mom I wish I could be right now.

I guess I need to release this negativity. I need to put it out there to everyone that this transformation isn't ideal, I'm not pleased to be going through it... But I still have a semblance of trust in it. Truthfully, my choice was made when I found out that my Stage IV B cancer literally could not be closer to Stage IV C cancer without putting a shelf life of 9 months to my life. I have somehow found myself at the end of the rope, and this is me grasping for more.


I don't have to recognize myself right now, but I know how thrilled I will feel the a day where I feel at home in my own skin again.

I debated whether or not I'd include this photo- especially because it looks like a mugshot- but it is indeed a true likeness of me in June.  My whole head was so swollen and my scar was so fresh... yikes!

The Quantum Soul

Religion Part II

William Shatner's Weird or What episode on the afterlife really spoke to me today. I realize how this sounds.  It brought me right back to a series of dreams and meditations that made me feel the meaning of life and what happens after our current physical life perishes. Like really feel it. I tried to define it (foolishly, perhaps) on facebook and to a few people in-person. I was pregnant at the time and coincidentally, also had cancer brewing in my body. Growing life while some cells were actively trying to destroy my own life... And I had a dream of death. I awoke with a realization that though our physical selves die, our energy remains. And it manifests in different forms -not necessarily in popular reincarnation philosophies, but that the energy of our thoughts, feelings, and metaphysical selves remain.

Also worth pointing out that I am now being reminded of dreams I've had even several years ago. I have had countless dreams resurface throughout my days of the past few weeks. I feel particularly tuned in right now. It is purely awesome how our subconscious works, isn't it? How we sleep and participate in different realms every night. And that our subconscious selves take that time to play and imagine without restriction while our bodies rest. Amazing.

A year and a half ago, the dream I had was that our energy stays in the Universe. The theory of the Quantum Soul suggests there may be a non-material dimensions that exist and our souls belong there.  Our senses and sciences may not be able to pick up on these dimensions, ipso facto, we don’t have strong evidence supporting their existence.  Plato taught that there was a more perfect, non-material realm of existence and that our physical senses make it impossible to accurately perceive the Universe.  The mere fact that someone is embodied makes our perceptions distorted, or somewhat of an illusion.  I believe there are ways to tune in to our Universe.

I have participated in a sweat lodge ritual where I felt a powerful connection to a metaphysical place.  Time was irrelevant, visions came to me and I was left with an amazing new focus in my life.  But that is a whole other story… I think there is some relevancy in looking to meditation, dreams states, shamanic journeys and out-of-body experiences.  All forms of parapsychology have always been quite interesting to me.  Years ago, I read The Doors of Perception by Aldous Huxley and I recognized how purely amazing it is that such significant and unusual experiences can unfold in this world.

Few people are encouraged to look for and experience their soul.  We look around at the physical makeup of our world- things we can grasp- things that are physical and solid.  But the soul is not tangible.  Some may find it ridiculous to throw out ideas of this nature, but I can’t think of a more interesting subject than whether or not souls exist.  And if they do, what that means.  The fact that none of us know for sure is remarkable… anyone’s speculation is as good as mine, so no judgment should ever be passed on religious belief. 

When I began to accept the fact that I may die very soon, I thought a lot about my soul.  I don’t have any proof it exists alongside my body to make up my whole being.  But I genuinely feel it.  And I know I said in my previous post that I don’t need to define my beliefs, so writing about a quantum soul- a rather scientific, or pseudo-scientific topic- is a bit off.  But it is a theory that translates quite well with most of the general principles of religions I follow. 

I like to think my energy doesn’t just fade with the passing of my life in this world and one day I will find out if this is accurate.  In the here and now, I will focus on listening to my inner self; I will be guided by what feels right. 

Namaste!

The Buddha, Baptism and Boudicca

I harmonize with several different spiritual communities, ranging from multi-denominational churches, First Nations ceremonies, Buddhism, Confucianism, etc. My philosophy on spirituality is that each of us must only practice what feels right. I believe there is validity in all forms of religion and I feel compelled to combine methods, rituals, and teachings from each to fulfill my own spiritual quest.

I must admit: it feels very intimidating to share this part of myself. I was raised as an Anglican (loosely, albeit) and while I don't believe anyone who sincerely knows me would be surprised, I feel awkward stating that I am not entirely fulfilled by the church. I attend services in my hometown to this day, and genuinely love the camaraderie that goes along with a community where people wish each other peace and sing collectively. I have received generous support throughout my whole life from this community and have met lovely people. I believe in the power of belief.

And I'll take this moment to say once again that I believe everyone has a duty to follow their heart where spirituality is concerned.  To be honest, I have often observed that people seem to be bred into a religion that becomes ingrained out of habit and not necessarily out of true feeling.  I’m not making a judgment about anyone’s spiritual beliefs, but this is mostly born out of my own curiosity.  My whole life I have looked to other people to see what they seemed to experience in their faith.  I know several people who are so strong in their beliefs that they live their life devoted to their religion.  I respect this when the message is accepting of others.

I am curious though… If humans were not taught religion, but governed their own spirituality strictly on feeling, I wonder what would happen? Would God or the Buddha have a name? And what is the significance of a name? Can a being not worship the energy that brought them life without labeling it? 

I'll give an example. My daughter. Her existence means everything to me. It is customary to baptize her into the Anglican faith and at times, I am tempted to go down that path. But I have witnessed several baptisms, and it doesn't feel exactly right for us to baptize Boudicca into God’s care specifically. On the other hand, I love the idea of the ritual and there are several similar practices found in other religions. I feel it necessary to then have a Universal baptism for her- to celebrate her life while uniting her with appointed 'spiritual guides'. I have selected several people to make up a 'council' for my child. Each member brings a different background and will provide Bu with a well-rounded perspective. I have not asked these people yet, but when it feels right, the celebration will take place.

Richard is very patient with me and my self-proclaimed hokey ideas. The idea of the council came about soon after my cancer diagnosis. I wanted a council of women to be her guides in the event of my passing. I have diverse circles of people in my life, and I love the idea of Bu learning from the people closest to me. They are women who have guided me, and therefore are very appropriate to guide my daughter. I even have a romanticized image similar to that of a movie, where the council may be summoned at various points in Boudicca's life to support her.  I want to provide an open spiritual path for her and expose her to several religions so that she will feel equipped to make the right choice for herself. 

Anyway, the point is that through my own experiences and in my own way, I show gratitude for life. My appreciation for all forms of life deepens each day. And personally, however life came to be feels irrelevant mostly. I am definitely at peace to have a general understanding and just go forth with celebrating. For me, getting hung up on defining that which gives life is simply not the point of living. 

What I believe to be truly important is that we allow each other to embrace our own spiritual evolution. 

Intimacy

Well, it’s official: I have made the decision to go on a mild anti-depressant. In my experience, people don't really talk about this -it feels as though it is meant to be kept intimate. I've not known many people to be very open about it and a part of me finds it difficult to admit to feeling unmotivated and unbalanced.  I wasn’t going to share this decision but I realized the point in practicing this current openness was to begin a cathartic phase of healing. Hiding parts of me feels inauthentic. When one strips away the layers created to protect the true self from violation, true wellness can begin. No part of the self is too embarrassing to show; in my opinion; even the darkest parts are to be celebrated.

It will be a while before the effects of my prescription are noticeable.  I had an irrational thought of anti-depressants being something to fear, as if once I started taking them I couldn’t stop.  But it isn’t a lifelong commitment.

I’ve been drinking fresh juice and have felt a noticeable improvement in how I feel.  I practice yoga everyday, journal, paint, talk about how I feel, channel Reiki energy regularly, meditate, go for walks to find inspiration from the outdoors, try to get enough sleep and I live my life by following my intuition as much as possible.  I wanted to try to feel better in a natural way, but my reality is that I am at a low point.  After enduring surgeries, treatments and significant hormonal changes, my body has undergone a lot of changes.  I will continue to do all of the natural therapies and will hopefully reap the benefits of everything combined.

I need to be more accepting of the fact that I don’t have to do everything on my own; I don’t have to fix myself.  I feel I have come a long way and I celebrate my journey wholeheartedly.  I don’t have to be on medication forever, but the next few months will be difficult and my progress will continue to be slow. 

So there it is.  I feel this is the best choice for me now.  This and Tai Chi... perhaps in the New Year?

xoxo …M

October 12th, 2011

I got the phone call from my surgeon that I have been waiting for.  He informed me that the results from my CT scan were in… and then he paused.  My heart stopped and my eyes filled with tears.  I was hopeful that after 2 surgeries, radiation and chemotherapy perhaps I had a chance of being cancer-free.  After getting bad news and more bad news, it is really difficult to be optimistic, especially when I was so certain after the first surgery it would be gone.  I also had reminders of how deadly this cancer can be, through random stories finding their way to me or reading up on life after radiation, etc.  I questioned whether my chest x-ray prior to treatments was read correctly, as perhaps they missed a microscopic area in my lungs or other organs that was growing a breed of terminal cancer (once the cancer reached my lymph nodes, it became likely that the cancer could spread to my organs and be terminal, giving me an estimated 9-12 months to live… it is still a possibility).  The pause seemed to last for minutes.  He continued with, ‘the report reads that you have no residual traces of cancer in your tongue, and your lymph nodes are clear.  You’re in remission.’

Remission. 

I had never applied this term to my future.  I’ve heard others use it, but for some reason, couldn’t allow myself to get ahead of the outcome.  With the rollercoaster of emotions, and celebrating the triumphs and downfalls, I have been in a state where I can only manage the present. Thinking about the next step has only brought me pain in this journey- staying in the here and now has made it possible for me to cope.  I still have a very high chance of recurrence, meaning that it is likely my cancer will come back (either on my tongue or my in the lymph nodes on the right side of my neck).  But for now, it appears the cancer is at bay.  For right now, my cancer is in remission.

I got off the phone and looked around me.  I was in shock.  I cried.  I hugged my sister and my cousin.  I looked at Bu and smiled.  I sent messages to my family, including to my Mom who is in Florida for work.  She phoned me back in tears, grateful for the news.  This has been so difficult for all of us, and to finally get some good news is something we collectively need. 

I can’t help but think of how aggressive the disease was.  And it makes me feel that there is another person out there who isn’t as lucky as me.  Someone was waiting for the call as I was, but they got bad news when I was told my good news.  I had a high chance of needing surgery right now, but for now I’m in the clear.  Of course, the recurrence rate is unfortunately high and I will likely get a devastating phone call again, but for now, I can breathe.

All those months ago, I was heartbroken when I got told I had cancer the second time- I was more devastated than my initial diagnosis- it meant my options were running out.  I’ve definitely not recovered from that experience, but I’m on my way.  This gives me a push to believe I can move on.  The fear may never go away completely, but I haven’t felt a peace like this in a long time.

People have been asking me, ‘What now?’.  The answer isn’t very clear to me, though I have a list of therapies I need to start focusing on.  And a list of things I need to come to terms with.  At various stages of this journey I have thought that the healing had begun, but I believe I am just now embarking on this path.   

I have a renewed sense of strength today.  I have a future again. 

Back in September...

Again, an older entry... I have so many versions of journals on the go and I tend to forget to share in blog-form. 

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Last Thursday, I had an unexpected experience.  I had been invited to a woman’s home by my friend Diane to gain some knowledge about raw food.  I drove past fields on a sunny, bright day.  When I arrived at the organic farm and home of art, peace and a lovely new friend, I was instantly enamored with my surroundings; a sunshine-yellow house with red trim and some friendly dogs that greeted me with kindness and curiosity.  Diane came to the front door and invited me to walk through a labyrinth nestled behind the house. In a thicket of trees, there were so many interesting baubles, statues, blown glass art, pieces of fabric wrapped around tree branches- so very many magical and spiritual things to fill my heart and soul just by their presence.  I’m not sure how long I was walking within the maze of magic, but I was happy that it was so expansive that I could get a bit lost.  I was met with the largest cat I’ve ever seen in my life and he had a voice that sounded uncannily human-like.  He was a lovely companion for the remainder of my adventure, calling out to me and bringing a smile to my face.

I began to hear the voices of Diane and the maker of the creative and beautiful labyrinth.  Diane introduced us and I hugged Beate.  I’m not exactly sure why, but to touch her nearly made me burst into tears.  In fact, I became a bit withdrawn while she and Diane chatted about the animal members of the family, as I contemplated why I didn’t just cry and why I fought to gain composure.  I was feeling emotional and I don’t have to hide that from anyone, least of all a woman who I know would accept my feelings.  I have become a master of disguise where my feelings are involved- sheltering people from any uncomfortable interaction with me.  Well, I shouldn’t claim to be a master of disguise, as I do routinely open up to people (some strangers), but just as often, I choke back my tears and try to suppress my inner conflict.  I can no longer do this.  I know I feel better when I am my true and genuine self, and I need to only surround myself by people who are accepting of who I really am- most people in my life are of this caliber.

Inside we go.  Beautiful, color-filled paintings of horses adorned the corridor and the kitchen cupboards and stairs were painted an ultra-marine blue.  It was fun and playful, full of brightness and entirely comfortable. We congregated in the kitchen to discuss food.  I have to admit I had fear surrounding a commitment to eating only raw food.  As I listened to the wisdom of Beate, I realized I just need to try it honestly before being afraid.  I am nowhere near being able to eat right now.  I am still using my feeding tube to get most of my nourishment, with the exception of a couple glasses of water a day.  I am still supposed to have 2,500 calories and 100 grams of protein everyday to keep my body armed to fight against the effects of chemo and radiation. I can’t see myself being able to take in that amount of calories or protein from organic, vegan food.  However, I am repulsed by my current source of nutrition- opening up a can of dense, disgusting and chalky liquid that is expensive and doesn’t contain any fresh, let alone raw, ingredients.

As I explained where I was at with nutrition, I broke down about my treatments. I have been struggling with what has just been put into my body- something that I did willingly.  I have been researching alternative cancer treatments, including holistic remedies and I wonder if I made a mistake.  I was told I had stage 4 cancer and I was so damn afraid for my life that I signed on for what I was told was necessary.  And it has left me with side effects so severe that I am consumed with regret.  As I opened up about what I willingly did to my body, something within me clicked.  I have a major blockage going on with me.  Something big isn’t allowing me to move forward and I am on the cusp of addressing it fully.  My lesson in raw food was cut short by a phone call from Richard, and I had to go home so he could go to work.  Beate told me that I am fine, I just need to tone up.  How very true- my soul needs toning indeed.

Incidentally, the next thing I had to do was go to my doctor to discuss my mental health.  Ugh.  I recounted my past few weeks to him and opened up about the fact that I feel low.  I have to give myself a pep talk to go outside everyday.  I talk myself into drinking a glass of water.  I make myself do light cleaning around my house.  I’m so tired and unmotivated, moreso than a few weeks ago, and I feel I have a rain cloud over my head.  I know the difference between how I usually feel and how I feel now.  I have reason to feel down, but I wonder if I should allow myself to take the plunge and try an anti-depressant.  And then I wonder if I what I need right now is to feel down and be upset after all that I’ve been through.  If I put more chemicals in my body and mask my current pain, I’m not addressing it head-on and fully healing from it.

How appropriate to have an eye-opening discussion on living cleaner and more naturally, followed by a meeting where I talk about taking and unnatural drug. I am not sure what I am going to do with the prescription I stashed in the depths of my purse.  Perhaps a mild pick-me-up for my system shouldn’t be so scary.  After stripping my body and adding in such toxicity, how could I possibly be balanced? Or perhaps balancing my body with food should be my first step?


Thank you to Beate! Please look at her website. She is so cool!
http://www.beate-epp.com/

*Also, after I met her, I indeed started a practice of nourishing myself with raw, vegan food and I feel amazing!

Giving Thanks

To My Family, 


I feel it necessary to take a moment and say how amazing you are as individuals, and as a group of people I am proud to call my family.

Things have admittedly been difficult for me recently- I've felt anti-social, withdrawn and generally low. I feel there are pieces of me that have slipped away, and most of the time, I'm unsure of how to get them back. For example, I am so frustrated with my voice that I don't even sing when I'm alone anymore. Tonight, in the safe presence of my family, I merrily belted out in song without even thinking about it; I was caught up in the moment and sang my heart out. I thought about this on the drive home-  sometimes I am more myself in front of people than when I am alone. I've recently felt until I can connect my own dots, I have no business talking to anyone.  I have been trying to get into a place where I know how I feel about my life again, because right now, I am all over the map.

Ahh, family.  There is something so comforting and magical that happens when we all get together. I have such a lovely time observing and interacting with everyone- I truly believe we have a special and unique bond. Earlier today, Bu and I spent some time chatting with my Aunt Lee, Aunt Lorna and my grandparents outside. Bu had fun exploring on her own, as she usually does, while I was able to chat with everyone.  It was so pleasant, and it prompted some memories of my childhood to surface.  My life is not comprised merely of this moment, but a series of moments that have brought me to this point.  It is comforting to know that though this time is difficult, I have a past and a future.


Tonight, I couldn't eat the delicious turkey dinner, as I am still primarily getting my nutrition through my feeding tube (and drinking). I have a lot of worries in my life right now, particularly as I am awaiting results from my CT scan and am dreading possible news of a surgery.  But I have a lot to be thankful for. In fact, there were so many little moments that made me feel inspired tonight. I am entirely grateful to be alive right now. I shed tears with my Aunty Cheryl on her couch, giggled with my sisters, celebrated a successful outcome of my Aunt Joyce's intense surgery, took part in a team effort to clean up wine spilled on a lap top (my Mom swears it was Grayson's fault), I bonded with my cousins through laughter until my cheeks were sore and I was crying, I danced with my daughter and nieces to Justin Bieber and Selena Gomez songs, I talked about what was in my heart and on my mind - even confessing to believing in aliens (how else were some Megalithic structures built?).

I am fortunate to be surrounded by people who genuinely lift my spirits. People who nurture me and share with me a relationship where there is openness. I have to say it feels good. I learn so much about love from every single one of you.

To the family members and friends I was not able to see today, this all applies to you. The love is always there, and I am pretty damn thankful to you for it. I can not believe this world sometimes! How mind-blowingly amazing is life? Even during the 'bad' times, I feel a sense of duty to celebrate.  Why else am I here?  


So I give thanks, indeed, for my ability to be here and to realize how beautiful my existence is.


In Appreciation,
M

Bu and I enjoying the beauty of my Aunty Cheryl's backyard... 

Out (August 15th, 2011)

I am out.  Among the normal people who go places and have things to do that don’t revolve around a medication schedule.  Around my daughter who expects every ounce of energy that I can muster.  In a space that has privacy.  I am at my parent’s farm and I can hardly believe the version of myself that I became.  I was fearful of leaving the hospital and joining the outside world.  I felt like I shouldn’t be leaving a safe, sterile place that has all of the assistance I could ever need; I became dependent on the institutional atmosphere.  Now that I am a few days out, I am becoming more human.

I went for a walk yesterday and had to wave away mosquitos.  I grinned inwardly at the thought that I had even missed these pests.  All of the things that make a person feel alive, both good and bad, are vital in bringing comfort and adding that extra dash of vitality.  In the void of the hospital, I rarely missed a dose of dilaudid (a painkiller)- if I could mask the pain and be numb, I certainly did.  I felt like allowing the time to pass and just lay in a hospital bed until I (or more often, my Mom) talked myself in to going for a walk.  I became detached from feeling and being.  I was waiting for October, when I could expect to feel better. 

I am now in the thick of the pain.  The side effects of radiation accumulate and build until after the treatment ends.  The first night of being out, I vomited all night and became severely dehydrated; I was terribly afraid that I simply couldn't exist out of a hospital environment for the time being and I would have to go back.  I had a slow turn around and began to tolerate crushing pills to put into my stomach tube. My esophagus has felt worse over the past few days, and my tongue is still a mess… but I believe I may be on the cusp of a healing breakthrough.  I can hope this is the case.

My Aunty Cheryl was over for a quick visit today.  It was lovely to see her- I literally miss everyone... and I cried for the fist time in a long time… Cassy played a video of when I rang the bell after my last radiation treatment.  (There is a bell in dedication to a 5 year old girl who finished radiation treatments and it is a rite of passage for those who have completed their treatments- it was a very emotional experience for me).  I have shut out so many pieces of my experience for the time being, I realize this now, as I have slipped back into survival mode.  Thinking about radiation therapy makes me feel wounded.  Putting the journey into context and feeling proud of myself for being this strong, fills me with an intense emotion. I honestly can not believe all that I have had to endure.  It makes me thankful to not have known the extent of the treatments when I first heard the word cancer back in February.  My god, I would not have been able to keep my head up after everything if I knew I would continue to be knocked down.  I can admit this has been a struggle.  I will be the first to admit I am so god damned afraid for my life that I silently pray all day to be able to live. I am constantly on the verge of tears, but am physically unable to just let go and surrender a full-out cry session.  My throat is so tight and there is so much pain that when I start to tear up, I have to breathe and meditate through the moment.

On Thursday, I had to go to the hospital to get blood work done.  I also had a doctor appointment for an infection… my body is literally maxed out right now and any more stress could land me back in the hospital.  Being out in public was a scary experience- I was leery of everyone I encountered and wore a mask and gloves to ward off any germs.  I saw a few people I knew and literally could not make small talk.  I used to be the Queen of Small Talk, but I just don’t have it in me right now.  I am unable to relate to people.  I guess I may be in a different space soon enough, once I can apply some normalcy to my life again!  To go grocery shopping, have at least an ounce of a social life, not be consumed with my white blood cell count, not be on 14 prescriptions, …live in my home.  I’m just not there right now.  Perhaps I am forever changed and will never go back in that direction.

Boudicca.  My sweet girl is so big, so quick and so bright.  I am constantly in awe of her, as I feel I am getting to know her all over again.  She is so much bigger than the beginning of the summer- the last time I was her ‘full-time’ Mom.  She is a sassy little person who could walk all over me, and it wounds me slightly to say no to her.  I want to protect her and give her the world… and ultimately, she needs to be balanced and learn several vital lessons. I am so pleased she has been so resilient throughout all of this; it would have been infinitely more difficult if she was having a more difficult time with this transition. She misses Richard, but we are were we need to be right now.  The bond she has developed with my parents (especially my Mom) is beautiful and strong.  She has loved playing with her cousins and receiving love and comfort from my sisters.  And we will be going home soon enough.  Home… the concept of a home really has changed for me.  I have several homes, which is complicated but comforting.

Love to all,

M

One More Weekend...

I have managed to make a tragic mistake in blog-ownership... I haven't updated it in far too long! I have no excuse.  I simply haven't felt like communicating until now.  I have found myself in a true purgatory state for nearly 4 weeks- I'm in the hospital. It all started on the day of my wedding anniversary, July 11th, when I had an allergic reaction to my chemotherapy session (earlier that day).  I had a terrible fever, chills, and a rash; my Mom rushed me to the Emergency Room at 11:30 pm.  I endured blood work, urine tests, an x-ray, several rounds of questions by doctors and nurses and an unreasonable amount of pain.  My Mom stayed by my side, trying her best to keep me as comfortable as possible.  I remember falling asleep for small segments and nearly grew delirious in the chaotic environment- complete with intoxicated people and various demographics of the Saskatoon community. We spent nearly a full day in the Emergency Room before being placed on the Cardiology Ward the next night. My Mom only left once my husband showed up and she knew I was taken care of by appropriate nurses- being that she is an all-star nurse, I couldn't be luckier to have a more appropriate guardian at these scary times.

I got moved to '6100'- the Oncology Unit at the RUH. I have been here for so long that it is an eerie version of a home to me right now. I have a rhythm to my day and spend my time anticipating an interrupting intrusion of my little hospital room world.  I couldn't even count how many exist everyday: doctors (I have seen at least a dozen on a semi-regular basis), nutrition experts, nurses, special care aids, social workers from the Cancer Clinic, people bringing telegrams, people mistaking my room for another patient's, or asking if I want my tv hooked up, residents, dentists... but sadly, no real visitors. A lot of the time, I have been too fragile to accept visits from friends and family. 

I only made an exception when I attended a fundraiser put on by some of the most generous and beautiful friends anyone could ask for... it was one of the most intense moments I've ever had.  For 3 and a half hours, I got to be 'normal' and celebrate with so many loved ones. I haven't been able to have a typical summer, and that night filled me with so much love and inspiration that my spirit is still soaring from it. 

I have only had a feeding tube surgically implanted in my stomach for a week.  Prior to this, I was given a concoction called, 'TPN' (Total Parenteral Nutrition) through a PICC line (Peripherally Inserted Central Catheter), which was also surgically implanted in my upper arm and acts as a semi-permanent IV. Because I have not successfully swallowed any liquids (water included) for the duration of my stay, I have relied on these two methods for all of my nourishment. It has been psychologically painful to think that if I could just swallow a glass of water and work my way up to other liquids, I could go home and be with my daughter. It goes against every ounce of survival skills in my possession and the frustration was constantly in the back of my head.  Alas, I could do nothing.  I am still unable to do anything.

I haven't had any privacy; complete with detailed questions about things like my bowel movements (definitely not in my comfort zone).  The biggest challenge hasn't been born from the fact that I hate hospital environments, but rather because I've had to be out of my home environment, with my loved ones (most of all, Bu) at the core. I have missed her so much that I carefully weep at night -I say carefully because my throat is a big, scabby mess and even crying requires more energy than I can spare.

I have completed both chemo and radiation. Radiation wrapped up with a lovely ceremony- I got to ring a bell that is mounted on to the wall of the RT area. It was so lovely to take part in a ritual, especially one that started in honour of a 5 year old little angel who had radiation and her family donated it to allow survivors to take part in this passage to the next chapter in their journey. It proved to be an emotional passage as my parents and sisters embraced me with tears and felicitations. Chemo wrapped up today and I am afraid to admit that I have been waiting for the proverbial other shoe to drop. Chemo caused my 'imprisonment' nearly 4 weeks ago and I can't help but be fearful that misfortune is brewing in my blood.

It is a bizarre experience to have pre-chemo meds hooked up and know that there is still an option of saying 'no' to the Cisplatin. The way they give this chemical concoction is through IV and the drug itself is labeled by a bright, neon green bag- making it look frighteningly radioactive. A very big part of me wanted to reject it and be done with this cycle, but I have invested so much into this therapy that it seems a pity to walk away at the end.  I feel I owe it to myself to give my future the best possible 'margins'. My doctor had said that the side effects I have been experiencing are quite concerning (hearing loss, the allergic reaction, mucositis, mouth sores, kidney problems) and I had to carefully weigh the pros and cons. In his absence, for 2 weeks, I had seen many of his colleagues and have to admit to feeling misguided by one of them. My White Blood Cell and Neutrophil Counts were low earlier in the week. I could have been transfused to bring them up, but he said if we wait a few days, it should be fine. When my doctor returned to have this very real conversation with me, he said it was too bad that I didn't get the chemo earlier, as it is most effective within 24 hours of my last radiation session! It is too late to do anything about that now, but I can't help feeling disappointed in the gaps of care. I just have to hope that what I have endured will be enough to give me the precious time that I crave so intensely that I will happily live a life without ample hearing, taste, saliva, normalcy... I have done all I can do. With massive open sores in my mouth, I still did my daily fluoride treatments that caused such an intense burning feeling I felt I was going to pass out from the pain. I meditated my way through it. I walked around the hospital to keep my strength up, dragging an IV pole with me everywhere I went for a month. I watched my child develop very quickly into a little girl in between her visits and spent lonely nights in a hospital bed trying not to allow my heart to turn bitter at this hand I have been dealt. I have tried so hard to remain in the moment and celebrate even a portion of each day so that I wasn't constantly trying to fast forward to the end of this journey. I need to feel this angst and need to be present, as I do not want to have to go back to this place to address what happened; I want to move on gracefully and own this.

My daughter is coming to visit me right away.  I haven't seen her in a couple of days and will hopefully be reunited with her more permanently when I leave this place and go to my parent's farm to start healing 'outside'.  I can't wait. Well, I can wait as I have been... I'm almost free! 

With Love, 

M 

P.S: I am foregoing proof-reading this, as Darling Bu has arrived. Any errors will have to just add to this post's authenticity...

Strange Routine (July 6, 2011)

My days of radiation therapy are becoming a strange routine. We go to the Royal University parking lot, deposit our monthly pass and the arm lifts, bidding us entrance. My Mom hands it back to me, I put it back into the protective sleeve and grab our 'cancer clinic parking permit' to place on the dash. I walk into the cancer clinic with my Mom (and sometimes Bu). I use hand sanitizer, smile at the lovely women at the reception desk and head downstairs. My Mom takes my photo by the door marked, 'Radiation Department' every day, and we head down to the RT reception desk. I dig around in my purse for the mandatory appointment card, where the next day's time is written down for me. We wait for a few minutes, I usually decide I should quickly pee before I'm called, and then an RT staff member comes to get me.

My Mom watches my sunhat and purse while I wind down the hallway to the 'Meadow' RT room. I enter the tiny change room and select the most worn, softest gown from the stack, take my bra off, pull my strapless dress down to my waist, and tie the gown at the side (I am unable to tie it at my neck, as my left arm is not very mobile). I glance at myself in the full-length mirror and exit. I deposit my bra (and typically, a scarf) in one of four lockers available. I often am called right away, but sometimes I sit and wait. There is a really beautiful kaleidoscope sitting there, and I occupy my time by slowly turning the bottom to change the lovely images only a slight frame at a time. When I am called, I use hand sanitizer again and walk around a corner, down a hallway and round another corner to the now-familiar area. If I am wearing glasses, I set them down on a chair. I recently found out I am able to wear my contact lenses, which I favor, but I ordered 12 pairs of glasses on-line and am sure I will be flaunting them soon.

I keep my sandals on and walk over to the plank that I am to lay on. Polite conversation is typically exchanged. I am becoming a bit of an expert at where to position myself on said plank, so that when I lay down, my shoulders, head and neck are where they need to be. Then I tilt my head back and forth until I find the perfect position for it. I take my arms out of the sleeves of my gown, typically exposing my breasts (I haven't quite mastered the maneuver, and quite frankly, don't care too much). There is music softly playing in the background. One of the techs puts a contoured cushion beneath my thighs and I am always comforted by the feel of it. Another tech goes to grab my mask off a shelf where there are approximately 15-20 similar ones. I am always a bit startled when it appears over my face and comes down over me. I rarely have my nose in the right spot, and have to wiggle around to find the true place for it. For the first 6 treatments, I kept my eyes closed the entire time, as I felt pressure on my eyelids and was honestly too afraid to open them. Now, I keep them open for the first while and close them when I start to meditate and drift within.

After my mask snaps into place, the plank is raised and the few lights that are on are dimmed even more. Red X's are present to line me up. I was given 3 tattoos when I went for my mask fitting. One in the middle of my chest where my cleavages starts, and 2 on my sides, parellel with my belly button. A black pen is used to redefine the areas (a scope signal, like an aiming tool) The techs manipulate my shoulders, use the sheet beneath me to slightly rotate me the slightest fraction and use terms like, 'A little ant' or 'I'm slightly post' and they raise the plank more or less, move it side to side and calculate very precisely where my entire body should be. At this point, I tuck my hands below my hips, careful not to adjust even a little. I was cautioned that I wouldn't be strapped down completely with restraints, but only if I can manage not to move on my own. I only get one chance, and I am determined to keep even the slightest bit of freedom.

Sometimes the music is turned up as the techs announce I am ready and they leave the room. I have never been disappointed by the selection of songs- I feel as though each day, there is a new playlist tailor made just for me. I've even joked with a couple of the girls that they must have really done their research, as they appear to know my musical tastes so well! The best part of it is that I narrowly escape a Taylor Swift song or Sweet Home Alabama, as they start to play when I am exiting the room.

I am slightly adjusted by remote control once the girls are at their desk and have to line me up on their monitors too. Then the buzzing noise starts, and the equipment begins to rotate around me. There is a square window that starts out inches above my face. There are 'leaves' in it that move around and adjust just the right amount of radiation in just the right areas, protecting things like my sense of smell, my hearing and eyesight. Good stuff. I try to keep my eyes open, but eventually lose interest in watching the machine move around me. I close my eyes and focus on being healthy. And I pretend that the radiation is reiki love, coming into my body and healing me. This causes me to relax and focus inward.

I used to get a half-way point heads up, but asked to not have it any longer, as it tended to startle me when a voice on a microphone comes through speakers and says, 'Krsh... Half way done, Megan'. Typically before I know it, 20 minutes have passed and someone is at my side reaching over my face saying, 'All done, Megan', and I slowly become aware of my surroundings. I put my arms back into the sleeves of my gown and wait for the plank to be lowered, the cushion removed from under my legs, the mask taken off. I sit up slowly, put my legs over to the side and tie my gown. I grab my glasses if needed and walk out, get dressed and say good bye to the several staff members. When I meet my Mom in the waiting room, she is sometimes chatting with someone and she tells me their story once we leave the building. We sometimes have to see a nurse to change an appointment upstairs, or chat with my social worker, or grab a copy of some paperwork.
It is a strange routine, a strange existence right now.  I have found a surprising amount of comfort in the routine, as it means that time is moving forward and I'm not stuck.  With grace, patience and support, I will be on the other side of this experience.

Small Town Charm

Sweet Baby B stayed home this weekend. I arose on Saturday, swept Bu into my arms and headed outside to my Mom's trailer. We visited for a short while and I carried Bu back into the house and made her breakfast. I looked into her face and realized... she can't go! I burst into tears and began telling Richard how painful a day without her is. Even when I was in the hospital, I spent the majority of each day with her, with the support of my family. I can't have it any other way. I am still relatively well and have energy, so it does not make sense to be without her.

I took my emotional show on the road, and went back out to the trailer to explain -through sobs- that Bu would have to stay here. My poor Mom started to apologize, in case I took her the wrong way, that she was only trying to give me a break, and not steal Bu away from me. She is without a doubt, the best type of support anyone could have in my situation. She's there for any times that I would need her, intuitive at times when I wasn't even aware I needed her, and gives me space for all the rest of the time. She hasn't imposed herself for even a minute of this journey, and I then felt bad for making it sound like it would have been a complete honor for her to babysit my child all weekend. We continued our cycle of apologies for a few moments before I settled into talking about the despair I had felt the night before. Talk about an emotional breakthrough! I hadn't been crying for the first 2 weeks of treatment, and all weekend, I allowed myself to let the tears flow. My Mom and Lauren (sister) were a very appropriate audience for such an unconstrained moment. I had a similar moment with Cassandra (sister) a couple of nights previous, but that was out of anger. This weekend was purely, passionately, sorrowful.

That's not to say we didn't have fun. We had a lovely encounter with the folks residing in Dundurn. There was a colorful Canada Day Celebration that boasted a military display, a 'car smash' (2 cars, a sledgehammer and young men with muscle shirts and apparent rage), a moonbounce, preserves, pineapple pie, beer gardens in a lovely barn, a greenhouse display and archery. When we arrived, a fellow in a jean, cut-off shirt that remained unbuttoned to display several faded tattoos, listed off all of the events. He also purchased the fireworks that were to go off at night; the man loves a party. Some friends met us there and we walked the grounds, taking in all that the celebration had to offer. An egg toss started, so we decided to join in. Truthfully, I had never 'tossed' an egg, but why not? After 26 years, it was high time I tried. Apparently, Lauren and I are rather good at it! We took a step back after every toss (more than the other contestants- we were further apart), and would have won if my last catch didn't contribute to the demise of our poor egg.

Shortly after the festivities, Lauren and Mom went home and my house was quiet, as Bu was sleeping. I was delighted when Richard came home, and he informed me his was playing at the soiree that night. As a respected member of the town council, it was his duty to announce the winner of the Town Slogan Contest (which was my idea). Dundurn: A Place to Grow. This is certainly true for me. And my family.

In a small town, time moves slowly- as if to allow for one to savour every sweet moment. I feel relief every time I drive away from the city. I love Saskatoon, but it is a nice place to go to, and not for me to exist. I believe this little community was the best place for us to buy our first home. When we started our house hunt a year and a half ago, something told me to veer off the highway on my way home from Regina. I fell in love with the overhanging trees on main street, the quiet parks and the neighbourly waves I received. Something told me this was where we needed to be.

And here we are. It isn't convenient for anyone to have to travel back and forth for my daily radiation treatments. And it takes organization to remember every little thing before going to and from the city. But it is a retreat- a place to get away from noise and people. I need this safe haven right now.

We had a few good friends stop by for visits. Bu seems to like hosting people here, something that rarely happened before. She is delighted when someone comes through the door, and no doubt has expectations of entertainment. Life is good. I feel better after allowing some sorrow to slip out of my heart. I will have to work on bringing more to the surface. But for now, I am going to stand outside and let some rain fall on my face. Having a shaved head provides so much freedom somehow- I used to avoid getting my thick, long hair wet at times. I feel so much more equipped to be spontaneous and pounce on opportunities nowadays.

Dancing in the rain,

M

Relative Acceptance (June 30th, 2011)

I am currently experiencing the darkest mood I have ever encountered. It is a dangerous thing to try to communicate at a time like this, and journaling these moments has felt very off-putting in the past. I realized not long ago, that I have shared most of the more pleasant sides of what I am going through, and well, that's not exactly a true account, now is it?

I fear I am in true despair. I feel very unbalanced. My body is literally toxic right now. My urine could injure someone if it came into contact with skin. It is a hopelessly depressing fact that I am chemically charged right now. Not to mention the radiation. My God. My mouth is starting to get so sore that talking is painful. I am on day 2 of a strickly-liquid diet, as food is impossible to eat. I can take medications to numb my mouth, but they are tragically temporary- long enough to get some calories and protein down the hatch. I have been warned that I must not lose even a pound a week, as I will have a feeding tube inserted in my stomach. Naturally, I am determined in my efforts to stay out of that category. I diligently consume the 2,500 calories and 98 grams of protein recommended by my nutritionist. My nausea is supposed to subside soon, but then I have another chemotherapy cycle to begin in a week and it will all start again. The delicate inner lining of my mouth is peeling and blistering from chemotherapy or radiation, or likely both. The parts of my mouth that don't yet have sores feel sunburned and extremely sensitive, making the 4-5 times a day brushing of the teeth routine very much dreaded. I am experiencing ringing in my ears constantly, water tastes like metal (everything does, really), I'm tired, irritable, menopausal... Everything feels fairly difficult right now. Once I start complaining, I can't stop. So I don't travel this road very often... and rarely out loud.

The worst part of this has to be that in the back of my mind, I question, 'why me?'. I'm a 26 year old female. This type of cancer is an 'old man cancer'. I don't even have the more treatable oral cancer of HPV. I have your average, run of the mill, locally advanced squamous cell carcinoma that 80 year old men get because they have smoked pipes their entire lives. The only probable answer ever given to me was that it was likely caused when I was 7 and accidentally drank a cleaner on the farm. The scar tissue in my mouth and throat could cause abnormal cell development, but why it is so aggressive right now is a mystery. So, scientifically, it is indeed baffling. Spiritually, I can admit that I feel I am on a quest. I have gone very deep within myself to connect with the Universe. I find this part of the journey to be entirely profound. But that is for another day. Right now, I feel I need to address the despair in my heart.

In my 'why me?' moments -of which there are several, daily- I feel a silent envy of others. Anything could trigger it, and it is not always the same things. One day, I may genuinely only feel happiness when I see people having fun -and the next, I feel jealous that my carefree days are replaced with intense reminders of my mortality. I am on an entirely different level than most people. All I think about is living, and being alive. I have not allowed myself to look at too much on facebook these days, as hearing about everyone's summer plans nearly always evokes jealousy. While I would love to report that I am spending time in the sun, going on holidays and attending weddings, or other lovely social functions, I am really hiding from people because my white blood cell count is low, and I'm going to radiation everyday, and I'm too sick to care for my daughter. It's not that I can't be reminded of the joy in the world, but it just hurts too much. And I'm so early in to this journey that I really must protect myself from feeling so badly. It is only going to get worse from here. It's so difficult to imagine, but I see it everyday at the cancer clinic.

The people I have met there are undergoing various forms of treatment, but we are a community. The strength I see in the confines of that space is truly inspiring. It is rather difficult to witness, however. The thing I was the most afraid of when I was on the cusp of this 'battle', was that I was beginning to fade away. I will fade. My light, my spirit, my energy, my physical self, my emotional self- every part of me will fade. And I know I will brighten up eventually (I feel there is no other real possibility), but the thought of fading is frightening.

I have absolutely no energy to give to anyone right now. I am maxed out when I get up and take on my task of drinking water and starting my oral hygiene regime. My family supports me to get further on in my day, and I am so grateful that my daughter has barely noticed so far that everyone has stepped in to be her primary caregivers in my absence. We are a tight, cohesive unit. But it still pains me that I can't just be a normal mom. That I can't kiss her in fear of getting a debilitating cold.

I am just a fading light. Others keep lending me their energy all the time. I should be more grateful, but I feel a very real anger inside of me. One that I must address soon, or I fear I will hit a wall. I go through my day in such a haze, that I feel numb to most of the pain or annoyances I have just described. I am so angry that this is Boudicca's first year of life and I have to deal with missing out on being her Mom so I can take care of my own survival. None of this is fair. I have made my amends, making peace with everyone, and when I find I didn't go deep enough, I start all over again. I appreciate every little thing in this Universe. I have changed. I am becoming my true self. I forfeited most of my tongue 4 months ago, and with it, my self-confidence, ability to speak and communicate effectively. I emerged from that ordeal with a strengthened resolve to overcome my insecurities and find ways to cope. When I finally accepted that fate, I got told the cancer had spread and was impossibly large. I had a major surgery to remove all of the lymph nodes on the left side of my neck, limiting my mobility (among several other things, too numerous to mention). Then I found out that I had stage 4 cancer and would need to quickly begin treatment to save my life. I am as resilient as they come... and I am overwhelmed right now. My life is foreign on the surface. When I think about who I was 4 months ago, it is so incredibly different from who I am today. I am not saying it is all bad, and truthfully, deep down, I know I will be at peace someday again. But right now, with praise to allah... it is really bizarre. Problems that were so significant before have really taken a backseat. When you are reminded how precious life is, you really begin to pay attention to how much you crave living. I am not necessarily afraid of dying personally. But the impact my death would have on my daughter terrifies me to the core. I am not done teaching her (or learning from her). I simply have to be there for her even a little longer. It will take a miracle for me to live another 5 years. My cancer will almost definitely return in that time, I have been warned. Oh, but if it doesn't.... a more grateful person could not exist. I have a shelf life. I've been told of what will happen if the cancer spreads to any of my organs. 9-12 months is the best I could hope for at that point. 6 months if I opt not to get chemotherapy. I am still shaken by my medical oncologist's words.

So when people say, 'you'll be fine... you're strong', I silently cringe. Strength has only a little to do with this outcome. Fate, attitude, trust, faith, etc are all vital. I know I am strong. But there is a very real possibility I may not be fine. Failure to acknowledge this is spawned out of fear, and I realize why people are not comfortable addressing it. I sound judgemental, and I am not trying to be. I may have said the same thing to someone before I went through this.

Well, my incoherent rant is nearing its end. I have exhausted myself emotionally, and must rest. Saturday will be the first full day I will have without seeing my daughter. She leaves tomorrow with my Mom to go to Swift current for the weekend and I must rest up so that I may spend time with her in the morning before she goes. I am almost sick over being without her... Sweet B.

Good night. Namaste.