Holiday Cancer Cheer

There’s no Cocktails that really make it onto my holiday menus since my cancer diagnosis. Those halcyon days of fine wine and creative concoctions are long gone. So the lack of drink kind of makes these dry holiday seasons well…dry. In light of that I thought I might share with you some of my anecdotes about how I handle all the stress and the isolation of cancer and the holidays. I’m taking a bit of a different twist on your usual cancer blog fare.

Perhaps you can take some key points away and infuse your own drinks with some of these interesting ways of handling things that are rather uncomfortable and can be somewhat depressing. I find the holidays carry as much weight as all of the past 12 years of being with my beloved and every stinking holiday season beginning about two weeks before thanksgiving and ending just after New Year’s Eve, when I can finally relax.

After 54 years alive and 1/4 of those with my husband and most of those 12 years with two adolescent growing to teen boys who expected incredibly nice, increasingly costly gifts, here’s some practical as well as some less pedantic, more spiritually-based techniques of handling the cancer holiday blahs.

  1. Learning to deal with bodily functions such as farting in public or knowing every clean bathroom in about a five mile radius from the house. Me: farts in line at the grocery checkout. Clerk: looks at me like this 😑 Me: Looking down, holding out my index finger, as if to scold a dog or a small child, and saying, “bad dog! Oh you know these support animals. I should cut down on his protein shouldn’t I?” Clerk: looks around sees no dog. Rolls eyes and elbows the teenager bagging my beets and ginger and tumeric. Me: Fart again, “bad boy!” looking around embarrassed and hoping silently I’m in range of a clean bathroom. I laugh to myself and muse as to why it has to happen so often at the grocery checkout. I stab the credit card machine with my chip up hoping it’s not declined heaping additional facial redness on top of that brought on by my intestinal eruption embarrassment. This year I am hoping for a few Silent Nights rather than personally sounding like I am playing a one -woman band version of the entire horn section of the college football show at halftime.
  2. Don’t wind up in the hospital. I don’t know if it’s the stress of the holidays or if it’s thinking about the people who haven’t called me or who might call me or who might not call me on the holidays and all the stress that goes along with that and what to say and what they’re going to ask. Perhaps that stress is all just coincidental to becoming ill enough to wind up hospitalized. However, every year this time of year I have been in the hospital for the past four years. I’m hoping that this year the hospital is not in my holiday plans instead of a nice trip elsewhere. I don’t consider the hospital a vacation. Nor that nurses are there to serve my needs and to wait on me hand and foot or to give me facials and massages. Although I wish they would instead of waking me from thin skinned sleep and asking me for my vitals over and over again.
  3. To decorate or not to decorate? Do I have the will to actually put the lights up get a tree haul it home put it up and hope that Craig will be there to help me. And then adorn it with all the decorations that I have collected over the past 12 years for family. I’m not sure that I’m going to do it this year though I did find a very cost effective retailer (Big Lots has 18 feet of white outdoor LED rope lights for $12!). I think I’d rather enjoy the beauty of nature all its own and use the stars as my decorations this year. First it’s a lot cheaper and second it’s a lot more beautiful and I appreciate them all the more every night that I’m out here and it’s not raining.
  4. Getting up before 1 pm to shop for gifts on time and with a bit of meaning for those who will get them. Probably late due to not getting out of the house in time to get to the stores or lack of personal financial resources. Wake up! I yell inside my mind, where no one can hear me but myself. As I reach for my magic rope, one I imagine falls from the ceiling above my bed, generalized bone pain and neuropathy in both arms, I’m prevented from reaching the frayed and knotted jute twisted above me. While the painful tingling in my hands caused by nearly five years of chemical therapies wakes me with a jolt I’ve no problem staying awake.
  5. Lose the guilt. Many days guilty feelings wash over me instead of a restorative shower. I feel guilty for lazing about and wonder if it’s even necessary to feel ashamed. People who count on me know I have morning challenges, or in some cases afternoon challenges. My schedule shifted later and later as we closed in on moving out of our house in San Jose. It’s amazing how much crap people accumulate over 11 years in one home. I realize too that 11 years is the longest span of time I’ve lived in one house. And now I start afresh without the guilt. I have new friends that don’t know me as I was before and therefore don’t have expectations of me as I wants was. They know me now and they like me as I am now. So I intend to drop the guilt this year and also if my friends who live in San Jose or back on the East Coast don’t understand well I suppose they’ll just have to live with that. I won’t live with the guilt anymore that’s for certain.
  6. Listen to more music. Music fills me with joy. I sing many songs I make up on the fly to my cat, Simon. Most of them are lullabies, as he seems to enjoy these most of all. I’m definitely guilty of singing loudly in the car and of course in the house. I also sing in the shower and pretty much everywhere I can. I’ll even sing to the music on the loudspeaker in the grocery store. Hopefully the same clerk who hears me fart does not hear me sing.One of the things that was absent from our lives for about five years while my husband was depressed was music. Music has refilled our house, filled spaces that were left void of sound and reverberates in our ears words and tunes that we both love to listen to. Right now we just listened to that one jimmy our Canadian trio Rush’s Fly by Night and it’s an awesome album. The title song is about leaving the past behind you with life leaving us “no time for hindsight” and that something I also intend to do which is not ditch the music from the past, but…
  7. Leave all of those past things that I can do nothing about behind me. Not making much ado about nothing. That’s something the cancer taught me to do, which is to leave the past where it belongs. In the past. That alleviates a whole lot of guilt (see above number 4) and it also brings me to my next point which is…
  8. Do not hold onto expectations of the future. With cancer you cannot have expectations of the future even if the future is tomorrow. Plans change ljconstantly. My health changes constantly and everything changes constantly around my health. It’s very hard to make plans and keep plans around something that is constantly changing. Life should be like that anyway: a little more spontaneous and a little less planned. But that’s hard to do around the holidays when people want to make plans. Further, when I was forced retirement I really didn’t have to plan my days anymore. I don’t have to live by calendar except to show up at the oncologist and get my chemo and make sure that I get my prescriptions on time. I also have a small business and I do need to ship my items on time but other than that I really don’t have to keep much of a diary. The only real diary I need to keep is a personal diary.
  9. Isolation can be good for writing not for the holidays. I wonder to myself if the reason I don’t hear from people is that they’re wondering if I’m dead or too ill to speak. Or maybe they think I’m in the hospital which I usually am this time of year. Or maybe they don’t want to give excuses for why they haven’t called or called back or texted or texted back. But it’s all OK it really doesn’t bother me all that much because honestly I’ve determined that if he will don’t want to call me I’m not going to pressure them to do so and I’m certainly not going to pressure myself into trying to call them. I don’t get very many cards anymore he used to get quite a lot. But now one or two trickle in maybe a half a dozen for the entire holiday season. Part of this has to do with my husband being depressed for the last five years and part of it has to do with me having cancer for the last five years. His depression comes and goes, stage 4 cancer just comes, and that’s about it.
  10. Live. Just live. And have a peaceful end of this year. I hold out hope. I’ll always have it for myself and for all of you. Go in peace. You deserve it.

A Promised Christmas from a Talented Writer (and city planner)

Please check this out – I found Brian a few Christmas times ago via his insane city within his house. You’ll not regret following his blogs or buying Brian’s books. His humor brings a crooked smile to even the sweetest of faces.

Plus he’s an awesome friend with a wickedly smart writing style.

sigh thank you again and tequila body shots to all my friends! Huzzah! Even if you got no boobages like me!

You Got This🤜🏻🤛🏻🤮

“You got this!” For so many reasons those three little words trip my gag reflex. Even more nauseating than when I meet someone for the first time, and after a rousing conversation, my bones crackle like Rice Krispies bathing in cold milk from the the high torque of the predictable tearful hug of a virtual stranger. Those three words bring up memories of feeling a love connection with my WC after an all margarita Tex-Mex late dinner. Even worse, looking upwards from my new physical form of a puddle consisting of liquified bones as this new acquaintance’s admission of, “I love you,” in an attempt to appear spiritually enlightened. One may hear an audible “wretch” from my throat as I search my jeans pockets for a wad of lint (or shrapnel) as a show of my displeasure.

The winning candidate with votes for most nausea inducing commentary: “you got this,” when asked about my cancer status/ diagnosis/ most recent test plucked from the tree full of overripe, saccharine fruit bending the tree of life to near demise. It’s always followed by the person’s right fist held a little higher than handshake level looking to connect in a punch, like a high five only better I guess.

I suppose if one defines “this” as cancer, yes I do “got this.” But it’s in that exchange people attempt to convey their sappy solidarity, feeling obliged to elucidate me on their understanding that above all people in the unfortunate overlapping slice of the Venn diagram of cancer severity. They wish to tell me that I have got the treatment wrapped up like a package and ready to ship off to, say, Antarctica. Vomit freezes in sub zero temperatures, too.

In other words, when a person relates some meaningless idiomatic newly coined urban banality to confirm they can feel my inner strength like the cold nose of a dog. Yet in coping with metastatic cancer, two and only two things become apparent to me within those three little words:

a. They’re not going to offer any real help, and

b. They’ve no understanding of metastatic disease.

But wait! What does our contest winner beat out for it’s illustrious award? For your enjoyment – all of you cancer survivors, cancer saviors, or masochistically interested parties – here I present a list of similar personality driven context bereft comments I’ve heard since my diagnosis over the last three years and three months:

  1. You’re strong. (Maybe a subtle hint regarding the lack of aluminum in my deodorant?)

  2. You’ll beat this. (Watch as I Michael Jackson moon walking away)

  3. Play a short game of MadLibs: My (proper noun or the name of friend or relative or acquaintance) died (number) of years ago from (disease not cancer).

  4. If anyone can handle this you can. (With the right tools anyone can change a flat)

  5. The narcissist’s dilemma: I don’t have time for this and I don’t have time for your hospital visit. You know my fiends husband had to sell his house and my friend died five years ago from cancer. (actual text message to me from my stepsons’ mother after which I blocked her number in my iPhone and haven’t unblocked it since).

  6. You look too good to have cancer. (Was it my recent Vogue cover?)

  7. Don’t worry there’s new treatments coming out every day. (So many oncology experts!)

  8. What do you need? (By need you mean anything you won’t provide?)

  9. I’m here for you. (In the moment.)

  10. You’re a strong woman, you can handle anything. (Including keeping my dinner down)

  11. You still have your hair – are you sure it’s chemo? (My eyebrows consist of are hair, don’t they?)

  12. Can you pull the “cancer card” to get me (a discount, better seat, place in line)? (Actually you can have it as my gift! How do I loan out my cancer card and its initialing disease permanently?)

  13. Do you have any pot? (?)

  14. Try to be on time, please. (Try to not get caught masturbating when I tell you to fuck off.)

  15. It must be so hard dealing with your husbands depression on top of cancer? (And now your comments depressed me, too.)

  16. I’m praying for you (but don’t really pray.)

  17. I prayed for you and look what good news you got! (they do pray but take credit for a good scan report or blood test)

  18. It must be so hard on your husband, poor thing! (Yes I’m very poor -can you buy this round?)

  19. So you’re in remission? (Remission? That’s for lightweights!)

  20. Aren’t you finished with chemo? (Did you finish your GED?)

  21. I’ll call you soon. (Wha? Late for dinner maybe.)

  22. Call me we’ll do coffee. (I don’t do beverages I do my husband. Sometimes.)

  23. Let’s go out for drinks. (Have you no clue what alcohol does to promote cancer like a bar bouncer?)

  24. Try these pills they worked for (my boss’ sister’s great nephew’s gerbil.)

  25. Your cat is so sweet, he would die without you. (Was actually said to me a few weeks ago.)

  26. Do you use edibles? I got a guy… (he’s no longer a dealer honey.)

  27. Can you take me to your dispensary? (My refrigerators ice dispenser, maybe.)

  28. Why didn’t you catch it before stage IV? ( see comment 14)

28 b. What’s dense tissue? (I want to reply with a smarmy smart ass answer but I’m too nice to say out loud what’s swirling in my mind…)

  1. Whatever doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. (Ibid 14)

#28 doesn’t apply. My job application didn’t make the cut for any of the roles I cannot take due to a time management problem including insomnia and doctors appointments and constipation. Also, chemo brain won’t allow me to access my short term memory at times when I need it most. So no there’s not a rush to hire me and I don’t see anyone from my network tossing any contract consulting work at me. I can’t do it if I wanted to anyway since I’d lose my benefits and go further into severe debt. And stress isn’t my friend. My cancer loves eating cortisol though.

I forget what my point was but in conclusion, I know people aren’t naturally hurtful. However, they can be naturally ignorant. If they understood the life sucking costs of my treatments, including the loss of relationships with friends and family, they’d know I don’t “got” anything at all – except a terminal case of metastatic cancer.

#fuckcancer on the precipice of my 53rd birthday in 10 days. I am glad to be alive – and I’m glad you’re reading my little blog, even this vent session. Please comment with your very favorite stupid stuff people have said to you. It cracks me up and the solidarity is therapeutic!