Time flies when you're fighting Cancer...warning: this will take more than a minute to read!

I'm not sure why, but somehow my urge to write doesn't emerge until the late hours of the night...or maybe I should grasp reality and say the wee hours of the morning. During the last month I've had a million things to blog about, vent about or think about and somehow it just hasn't been the right moment or I just haven't felt brave enough to face the computer screen and the reality that all my friends and family are checking my blog to see how I'm coping with the everyday reality of how cancer has changed my life.

Maybe it would be faster to mention the ways it hasn't changed my life--dishes are still piling up in the sink, laundry is still piling up in hampers, corners, couches, empty counters, the top of the air hockey table and baskets throughout the house. The kids lunches are still left on the counter after multiple reminders to put it in the backpack and the piano still doesn't get practiced every day by every child. I still lose my temper, need sleep and don't have enought time to do everything I want and the house is still falling apart faster than I can even put the items on the homeimprovement to-do list (yep, I'm opening and closing the garage door the old fashioned way until the garage door people can come install a new motor...sometime next week).

All this is happening while I have the nagging thought in my head that I am supposed to be resting and letting my body fight this battle against these crazy cancer cells that might be lurking somewhere in my body just waiting for the chance to resume their crazy, and unpredictable growth. More obvious than the nagging thought in my head are the words my infusion nurse, Jennifer, said out loud the last time I was sitting in that green vinyl recliner sucking on a popsicle to prevent mouth sores "Your white blood count is a bit low. I know it was the holiday season, but you need to rest more, and eat more protein" Never really thought it was possible to feel guilt for NOT laying around the house and doing nothing, but here I am feeling guilty for the fact that I really stink at resting.

Another blog that I should have written, but didn't have enough emotional stamina to even think about it for two days after the experience was "How to pay $100 for a really good cry".
You see, ever since my mom died in a car accident 5 years ago, people have been telling me that I really should see a therapist. But because I thought I could handle everything life throws me with a big support network and an even bigger mouth that tells everyone just what I'm thinking at any given moment, I managed to avoid making an appointment to commune with the couch in a therapist office.

Even after several other major losses and challenges in life, I continued to bore my friends with my constant venting and detailed replies to their innocent question "How are you?" I'm pretty sure that the phrase "too much information" (TMI) has applied to me more often than I care to think about. In fact, the new phrase at our house is WTMI....Waaaaay Too Much Information, and it is probably a more apt description of how I have communicated my frustrations, my joys, and my sorrows over the last 5 years.

A year and a half ago I got to the point where my friends were beginning to think that a true black cloud was hanging over me...that might have been the point in time where we started to analyze the possibility of broken mirrors actually bringing on 7 years of bad luck (that's a whole other blog) or considering that retrograde mercury might be a scientific fact instead of an astrological possibility (another blog). All the household appliances were breaking down multiple times in a row and the car refused to be properly repaired after multiple trips to multiple repair shops and multiple requests for refunds on shoddy work (another blog). And inspite of the fact that I had the knowledge, resource and capability to fix all the broken things, I would have to cry (for the rest of the day) after the mechanic called to reveal another repair that had caused more damage that needed repaired. Not only was I crying, but I was enjoying the normal joys of life like reading stories to my kids or working in the yard from a distant fog, a little molehills of the day easily became mountains and I was putting myself in timeout more often than I was putting the kids there.

In reality, my life stresses at the time were probably pretty normal, but my OB/GYN informed me that my emotional reponses were not (normal that is) and that I might want to consider trying an anti-deppresant and talking to a therapist. That began my education that depression is not just wanting to stay in bed all day long...and that all my attempts to exercise, eat right and talk myself out of my funk, and keep doing the normal routine were just not working. So I tried some medication (luckily it worked fast and well)...but somehow I never got to the therapist (yep, I have a good list of excuses to justify that!) So just as I was working with my internist to see if my Effexor was a permanent part of life or just a temporarily needed boost to my system....the lump sent me to the mammogram which sent me to the ultrasound which sent me to the biopsy which sent me into this spiral of lving with cancer. So now that you've read through all that WTMI I can get to the 'paying lots of money for a good cry' part.

I don't want anyone to think that I haven't been recieving lots of good free cries over the last five years, the closet is free, the shower is free, my husband's shoulder is free, and phone calls to my friends to cry are free as long as I remember to call on the cell phone and not go over my monthly minutes! I know how to have a good cry...but the $100 dollar cry was one that I'm still considering the value of.

Serendipitously a friend of mine mentioned that she knew someone good to talk to, not that other friends haven't suggested names or suggested therapy, but somehow this time I was ready to listen, and the therapist met the requirements of taking my insurance, office with an easy commute, and the most important, returning my phone request for a call back to set up an appointment. So with a date on the calendar I geared myself up for a visit to a THERAPIST.

Funny thing happens when you make an appointment...it's like trying to get a mechanic to hear that funny clunking noise that you've heard in your car for months....life seems to be going fine- kids are good, house is relatively clean, husband is being extra thoughtful, emotions feel under control/normal and you seem to be coping fine and you are wondering what you really need to talk to a therapist for. But I'm one who is highly committed to things written down on the calendar (if I remember to look at it) and I arranged my schedule and showed up for my appointment.

Mistake number one: I didn't wear waterproof mascara!

I haven't cried for quite a while ( at least 2 weeks) so I quit wearing my waterproof mascara that I have been wearing since I found out I had cancer and started crying at random times when I would be talking to friends about how life was...I'm really just too lazy to use makeup remover to clean my eyelashes and I was happy to just be using normal mascara that washes off with soap and water. Besides there is a comfort in wearing normal mascara...it means you are "normal" and can go through the day without spontaneously bursting into tears about some random comment someone makes.

Mistake number two: My hormones are out of wack!

Because of Chemo my poor body is not sure what to think its hormonal age is--I still have all my blonde (well...dirty blonde and graying) hair but since baldness isn't a sure side affect of CMF I have to deal with the side effect of going into menopause at age 38...but it's not a for sure side affect, just a possibility and so my body can't decide whether to be young...or menopausal...so now I have no schedule to predict when my PMS days are...maybe now everyday is a PPMS day (a Perhaps Pre- Menopausal Syndrome). WTMI but the reality is that my emotional days were pretty predictable and now they aren't....so I was already a bit emotional when I went, just not on schedule enough to make me think "this is a waterproof mascara day"!

Mistake number three: I went to a therapist with a real couch and a real big box of kleenex within easy reach.

To make matters worse there was a beautiful water color painting on the wall that looked just like Josie and Julie riding the horses through the trees at the ranch (I need my waterproof mascara just writing about it). And the reality of all my losses immediately felt fresh and raw. It didn't really help that my therapist is a nice sympathetic, gentle speaking woman who makes you feel like you really should be crying about your life...and she is really good at just listening for a full hour while you try to talk about all the things on your list that she might possibly be able to give you advice about. So somehow I talked/cried a full hour until the secretary buzzed in to say "Your 11 o'clock appointment is here".

By the time I composed myself enough to walk down the hall, hope that the 11 o'clock appointment wasn't coming up the stairs (that might have scared them off!), and find my car I had somehow spent $100. Then I had to sit in my car for 15 minutes and think (as much as you can think with an I Just Cried for an Hour Headache) about what I had to show for my expenditure that wasn't nearly as fun as a drop-in visit to TJ MAXX. What I got out of the visit: go to the library or bookstore and get a DVD or book on Guided Imagry Relaxation, breath deeply and relax 20 minutes in the morning and 20 minutes in the evening. Write in my journal everyday (or blog...oops, now you know how well I followed that advice!). Keep talking to husband, friends and family....I'm doing that right. Look for support groups for my kids that don't have very supportive friends and read the PEOPLE CODE (more typically known as the color code) by Taylor Hartman.

So here I sit--giving myself some free therapy by writing WTMI for the world to read. And just in case you are wondering, I think about breathing deeply at least 5 times during the day...and I breathe deeply for as long as I can before I am distracted by the next thing that needs done. My personal librarian (who picks up, drops off and renews my books without a single reminder from me--The library is loosing out big time on predictable Johnson overdue fines!) has the requested books on hold or on search....and I am still thinking about support groups for the kids...they aren't too hip on the idea. I have written in my journal a few times and I am able to wear normal mascara, unless I blog. It took two days to recover from therapy....good thing I have at least 3 weeks to think about whether or not I really want to go again.

I went to bowling the next day and talked to anyone/everyone there who would listen (therapy for free) and came home with: no bloodshot, red, swollen eyes; no headache; lots of hugs and encouragement to keep on living and enjoying life; appreciation for the fact that other people have difficulties too and I don't necessarily want to switch my problems for theirs; a good laugh at the fact that I still always say "at least we are all healthy and happy" and I'm really talking about myself and my family as if we have no health issues to deal with; grattitude for female friend who don't try to offer solutions to my problems but just simpathize and tell me that I'm doing a great job of coping (they always say that it's the thought that counts and so I prefer to think of myself as coping just fine and then it will be true).

I'm really starting to think that the true therapists are the people around me who are willing to listen to me even when I give WTMI and don't send me a bill at the end of the conversation. In reality I have therapists in the form of the Baxter and Johnson families, my neighbors, at the school when I volunteer, at church, when I pick up kids from playdates, on the soccer and basketball sidelines, in my email inbox, on the answering machine, in the mail in the form of a card, at bowling on Wednesdays between chemo when I can actually lift the ball, all my Alliance friends, the JETS, my friends from DC, El Paso, New Orleans, Utah, Ricks College, USU, UTEP--you have all been telling me that I need to breath more deeply and blog more often--and it hasn't cost me a dime! I think I'll keep all you free therapists and throw in a shopping trip to TJ MAXX--no waterproof mascara required!