Hello Everyone,
Just checking in. Thanks for the continued reading. I'm about a week and a half into Cycle 2. They changed my medications (not the chemo, just the symptom management) so that the nausea has been bear-able until, that is, I thought I was doing so much better that I skipped a couple of days of pills. That was a mistake. "Hello, emergency room nurse at 4 in the morning via telephone. What do I do now? The pills won't stay down!" I even threw up while I was on the telephone. Not cool. But don't feel sorry for me. This is what happens to people who don't follow instructions. So lesson learned, I'm not skipping my pills. Today was amazing, amazingly good. I was up at 8 AM, drove my daughter to work, went back for a very brief nap, got up at 9 AM and have been busy all day. It's now 9:30 PM and I have gotten so much done today. I haven't been winded or nauseous or anything bad. Go, me!
BTW, I hope nobody is taking it personally if I don't answer messages. Like I said earlier, phones wear me out and days like today are few and far between. If you've been kind enough to think of me and message, please be patient, I'm doing my best to keep the communication lines open.
Oh! Happy Mother's Day, Mom!!!!
Blessings, Everyone.
Saturday, May 10, 2014
Wednesday, April 30, 2014
Episode 18: End of Cycle 1
I thought I'd just say hello to everyone before I go in for another round of treatment tomorrow (one down, five to go). This has not been a good three weeks. And, no, I am not as strong as everyone likes to think. I am now on a new prescription to help keep the panic attacks under control. I'm a little miffed because that was not in the book.
On Saturday, I couldn't catch my breath and started hyper-ventilating. One of the results of hyper-ventilating is tingling in the arms followed by a clenching of the hands with an inability to un-clench. Again, not in the book! Guess who got a little freaked out (me and a couple of loved ones who were watching). Being Saturday, of course all the nurses stations were closed for the weekend so I finally consented to calling 9-1-1. The 9-1-1 operator asked if I was breathing normally. As a matter of fact, no, it's quite rapid. Two minutes later I heard the sirens at the fire station which is just a block away from our house and the trucks racing down the street.
So here's the thing. We live in a very small town where everyone knows everyone and our firefighters are a team of very dedicated and compassionate volunteer men. Well, here I am lying in bed gasping for breath, hear the sirens, open my eyes and what should I see but four very handsome, rugged, all decked-out firemen looking at me. Thanks a lot guys. Now, my breathing is too rapid and my pulse is too fast. I feel like such a fool. How will I face them at the next baseball game? (I wonder if they've ever considered doing a calendar.)
On one of my better days, I got a photo of me rocking the bald. You can see my new pic on the side there. I shaved my head in preparation for baldness but so far it hasn't happened yet. Watch that be the one side effect I don't get. Haha.
To end on a slightly more serious note, please keep praying. I'm getting nauseous just thinking about the next round. They've promised to change things for me so hopefully it'll be better but at the moment that's small consolation.
Just breathe 1-2-3 just breathe 1-2-3 just breathe 1-2-3 ...
On Saturday, I couldn't catch my breath and started hyper-ventilating. One of the results of hyper-ventilating is tingling in the arms followed by a clenching of the hands with an inability to un-clench. Again, not in the book! Guess who got a little freaked out (me and a couple of loved ones who were watching). Being Saturday, of course all the nurses stations were closed for the weekend so I finally consented to calling 9-1-1. The 9-1-1 operator asked if I was breathing normally. As a matter of fact, no, it's quite rapid. Two minutes later I heard the sirens at the fire station which is just a block away from our house and the trucks racing down the street.
So here's the thing. We live in a very small town where everyone knows everyone and our firefighters are a team of very dedicated and compassionate volunteer men. Well, here I am lying in bed gasping for breath, hear the sirens, open my eyes and what should I see but four very handsome, rugged, all decked-out firemen looking at me. Thanks a lot guys. Now, my breathing is too rapid and my pulse is too fast. I feel like such a fool. How will I face them at the next baseball game? (I wonder if they've ever considered doing a calendar.)
On one of my better days, I got a photo of me rocking the bald. You can see my new pic on the side there. I shaved my head in preparation for baldness but so far it hasn't happened yet. Watch that be the one side effect I don't get. Haha.
To end on a slightly more serious note, please keep praying. I'm getting nauseous just thinking about the next round. They've promised to change things for me so hopefully it'll be better but at the moment that's small consolation.
Just breathe 1-2-3 just breathe 1-2-3 just breathe 1-2-3 ...
Friday, April 18, 2014
Episode 17: Cycle 1 Days 1-10
Good Morning, Everyone. It's sunrise on Good Friday. This episode will be quite brief. Walking to the computer has worn me out so I will be going back to bed very shortly.
Chemo is every bit as miserable as we thought it would be. In fact, I'm not going to go into details because, even in memory, I do not want to re-live the puki-ness (as in puke) of this week. All I'm gong to say about it is that all my so-called bravery, positive thinking, and optimism of earlier episodes flew out the window like birds happy to escape leaving me to be a shattered lonely figure on the floor with just my bucket and retchedness (as in retch) for company.
Short term pain, long term gain. Short term pain, long term gain. Short term pain, long term gain. Repeat.
I'm not a superstitious person. I don't believe the universe sends us omens or warnings. It doesn't take a psychic to know that walking under a ladder is bad luck. Of course it is. Somebody might fall. Oh that reminds me, I read in a book that people born on June 13 are psychic. Shouldn't I have known that? (Get it? Known that? Haha.) However, I do love symbolism. And at 5 AM this morning (Good Friday), it occurred to me that it was 22 years ago on Easter Sunday that I was baptized. I think I previously mentioned one of my favourite quotes: It's Friday now but Sunday's a-coming. In other words, right now life really sucks but it's not going to stay that way. Sunday is on the way and we will rejoice! So, in order to enjoy the symbolism of the occasion I have decided to shave my head today (rather than wait for my hair to fall out in 8" long clumps) and go to Easter dinner on Sunday with a bright pink scarf and the assurance that our trials and sufferings are temporary and there will come a time, say it with me: We Will Rejoice!
May you all have a blessed Easter weekend.
Chemo is every bit as miserable as we thought it would be. In fact, I'm not going to go into details because, even in memory, I do not want to re-live the puki-ness (as in puke) of this week. All I'm gong to say about it is that all my so-called bravery, positive thinking, and optimism of earlier episodes flew out the window like birds happy to escape leaving me to be a shattered lonely figure on the floor with just my bucket and retchedness (as in retch) for company.
Short term pain, long term gain. Short term pain, long term gain. Short term pain, long term gain. Repeat.
I'm not a superstitious person. I don't believe the universe sends us omens or warnings. It doesn't take a psychic to know that walking under a ladder is bad luck. Of course it is. Somebody might fall. Oh that reminds me, I read in a book that people born on June 13 are psychic. Shouldn't I have known that? (Get it? Known that? Haha.) However, I do love symbolism. And at 5 AM this morning (Good Friday), it occurred to me that it was 22 years ago on Easter Sunday that I was baptized. I think I previously mentioned one of my favourite quotes: It's Friday now but Sunday's a-coming. In other words, right now life really sucks but it's not going to stay that way. Sunday is on the way and we will rejoice! So, in order to enjoy the symbolism of the occasion I have decided to shave my head today (rather than wait for my hair to fall out in 8" long clumps) and go to Easter dinner on Sunday with a bright pink scarf and the assurance that our trials and sufferings are temporary and there will come a time, say it with me: We Will Rejoice!
May you all have a blessed Easter weekend.
Sunday, April 06, 2014
Episode 16: We Have a Plan
Thank you so so much for positive feedback. Very few people post comments directly on the blog (I'm not even sure it works) but people who tell me personally that they "enjoy" the reading give me a boost that keeps me going for days. I have struggled all week with writing this latest episode. I want to write and keep people informed but, quite honestly, I've been feeling down and that's when I don't enjoy writing. Tonight I received a phone call from a dear friend who gave me the lift I needed to sit down and write again.
Yesterday, we watched Saving Mr. Banks. I've never thought of myself as a fan of Mary Poppins* but wouldn't it be great if someone could just whisk their way into my life and make it all better. Apparently, the author of Mary Poppins (P.L. Travers) had a difficult childhood and as a result became cold and bitter. Likewise, Walt Disney (Sr.) also had a difficult childhood but came to a different conclusion. He learned the art of forgiveness and of hope. My quotation isn't perfect but his lovely speech in reply to "Mary Poppins isn't real" goes something like this:
This link is not silly at all. Instead it's rather sobering but I want to share it with you. It came from the Globe & Mail and I found the comments very insightful: http://m.theglobeandmail.com/life/health-and-fitness/health/adventures-in-lymphomaland-our-readers-share-their-stories-about-life-with-cancer/article17721226/?service=mobile
So here's the plan.** Last Tuesday, I met with the chemotherapy specialist. I start chemotherapy next Thursday. I've been told to plan to be at the hospital for about five hours and then I get to go home. (All the ginger ale I want, and soup and sandwiches for lunch. I'm so excited.) I guess that means most of the lousy feelings happen at home. There will be six sessions of chemo spaced out over 18 weeks. My chemo package is the FEC/D combination (Fluourouracil, Epirubicin, Cyclophosphamide, Docetaxel) which is given through IV. There will also be some other pills and injections to help with the side effects. Nurses will be coming to the house for this. I really don't know what to expect so yes, I'm scared.
If I can I will keep you updated but if you don't hear from me for awhile it most likely means that I'm feeling like barnyard dirt. I'd like to mention, also, that messages of encouragement are gratefully received but you likely won't hear back from me. I generally don't have the energy for the telephone and my brain is a little full these days so expressions of gratitude are easily mis-placed. Please don't feel forgotten, ignored or offended. You may not see it but I am hanging cards, watering plants, feasting on treats, and cuddling in comforters.
Until next time ...
______________________
*Oddly, though, Mary Poppins and Chitty, Chitty, Bang, Bang are the two movies I've seen more often than any other and if someone were to identify me by a particular housekeeper/nanny model, I probably just might resemble Mary Poppins.
**In Episode 14, I explained that we were waiting for the results from the HER2 testing. As it turns out, they were negative which is good news for me. One less problem to worry about. And another piece of good news is that it's highly unlikely that my cancer is genetic. Tomorrow, I will meet with the radiation specialist. After chemo, there will be radiation but I'll get those details next week.
Yesterday, we watched Saving Mr. Banks. I've never thought of myself as a fan of Mary Poppins* but wouldn't it be great if someone could just whisk their way into my life and make it all better. Apparently, the author of Mary Poppins (P.L. Travers) had a difficult childhood and as a result became cold and bitter. Likewise, Walt Disney (Sr.) also had a difficult childhood but came to a different conclusion. He learned the art of forgiveness and of hope. My quotation isn't perfect but his lovely speech in reply to "Mary Poppins isn't real" goes something like this:
No, no, no. She's as real as can be to my daughters and thousands of other kids, adults too. ... I don't tell you (my childhood) to make you sad, Ms Travers. I don't. I love my life. I think it's a miracle ... but I'm tired. I'm tired of remembering (the harshness). Aren't you tired, Ms Travers? Now, we all have our sad tales but don't you want to finish the story? Let it go? Don't you want to have a story that isn't dictated by the past? ... That's what story tellers do. We restore order with imagination. We instill hope, again and again and again. ... George Banks will be redeemed. He will be saved, if not in life, then in imagination. ... And when it's time to fly a kite, thousands will rejoice.I mention this because also yesterday I was annoyed by a frivolous article from a woman who complained that her boobs weren't the right shape (I'm not speaking about a medically necessary change) and how she wished there was a fairy godmother to take them away from her. I couldn't let it go. I had to answer. Rather abruptly, I told her that she could borrow my fairy godmother who goes by the name of breast cancer. I have no sympathy these days for whiners but when I told my husband about it I realized that I just might be becoming bitter. I must guard against that. It's no one else's fault that this has happened to me. And wasn't it I who said that this is a great time for boob jokes? Six months ago, I might have been laughing at her silliness myself.
This link is not silly at all. Instead it's rather sobering but I want to share it with you. It came from the Globe & Mail and I found the comments very insightful: http://m.theglobeandmail.com/life/health-and-fitness/health/adventures-in-lymphomaland-our-readers-share-their-stories-about-life-with-cancer/article17721226/?service=mobile
So here's the plan.** Last Tuesday, I met with the chemotherapy specialist. I start chemotherapy next Thursday. I've been told to plan to be at the hospital for about five hours and then I get to go home. (All the ginger ale I want, and soup and sandwiches for lunch. I'm so excited.) I guess that means most of the lousy feelings happen at home. There will be six sessions of chemo spaced out over 18 weeks. My chemo package is the FEC/D combination (Fluourouracil, Epirubicin, Cyclophosphamide, Docetaxel) which is given through IV. There will also be some other pills and injections to help with the side effects. Nurses will be coming to the house for this. I really don't know what to expect so yes, I'm scared.
If I can I will keep you updated but if you don't hear from me for awhile it most likely means that I'm feeling like barnyard dirt. I'd like to mention, also, that messages of encouragement are gratefully received but you likely won't hear back from me. I generally don't have the energy for the telephone and my brain is a little full these days so expressions of gratitude are easily mis-placed. Please don't feel forgotten, ignored or offended. You may not see it but I am hanging cards, watering plants, feasting on treats, and cuddling in comforters.
Until next time ...
______________________
*Oddly, though, Mary Poppins and Chitty, Chitty, Bang, Bang are the two movies I've seen more often than any other and if someone were to identify me by a particular housekeeper/nanny model, I probably just might resemble Mary Poppins.
**In Episode 14, I explained that we were waiting for the results from the HER2 testing. As it turns out, they were negative which is good news for me. One less problem to worry about. And another piece of good news is that it's highly unlikely that my cancer is genetic. Tomorrow, I will meet with the radiation specialist. After chemo, there will be radiation but I'll get those details next week.
Monday, March 24, 2014
Episode 15: Dreaming
I had another dream on Friday night. I've struggled with whether or not I should post it because that would mean admitting that sometimes I am rather frightened. That is not an easy public confession.
Picture medieval England. Think Crusader, King Arthur, Knights of the Round Table, etc. The battlefield is littered with the bodies of footmen and horsemen and there are only four of us left to fight on each side. (I have no idea who we're fighting for or against but that's irrelevant. I don't even know how I ended up in medieval England.) Because we're down to the last four, it is now a matter of hand-to-hand combat. It is at this point that I, as a soldier, become frightened. I'm weak. I'm tired. I just want to go home. I become aware that if I fight I might not survive. I decide to run back into the forest away from the battle. I mention my plan to my teammates. I thought that they would have been a little more supportive but I was wrong. They turn on me and explain that if I don't fight with them they will kill me themselves. Talk about a dilemma. If I go into battle, I will probably die. If I don't go into battle, I will definitely die. Oh, the anguish. It's at this point that my dear husband wakes me up. He has noticed that I'm having a very bad dream. It's lucky for me that he has such broad shoulders. When I wake up, I am not in a good mood. A few weeks ago, someone else with cancer said that she felt that her body had betrayed her. I can't go that far. That seems a little extreme but, then again, I can't say I'm very pleased with my body at the moment. After all these years of being "a good girl", I really had expected better behaviour from it.
On Sunday, the four of us went to church as a family. I haven't been out much lately and to get all four of us out at the same time is impressive. The closing hymn was, "Be Thou My Vision". That was our wedding song 20 years ago and is one of my absolute favourites. Look at verses 3&5. Given my dream on Friday, was the playing of this song on Sunday a small-"c" co-incidence? I think not. "It's Friday, now but Sunday's a-coming." (Tony Campolo).
Be Thou my vision: verses 3 & 5
Be Thou my breastplate, my sword for the fight;
Be Thou my armour, and be Thou my might;
Thou my soul's shelter and Thou my high tower,
Raise Thou me heavenward, O Power of my power.
High King of heaven, when the battle is done,
Grant heaven's joy to me, O bright heaven's Sun,
Christ of my own heart, whatever befall,
Still be my vision, O Ruler of all.
Picture medieval England. Think Crusader, King Arthur, Knights of the Round Table, etc. The battlefield is littered with the bodies of footmen and horsemen and there are only four of us left to fight on each side. (I have no idea who we're fighting for or against but that's irrelevant. I don't even know how I ended up in medieval England.) Because we're down to the last four, it is now a matter of hand-to-hand combat. It is at this point that I, as a soldier, become frightened. I'm weak. I'm tired. I just want to go home. I become aware that if I fight I might not survive. I decide to run back into the forest away from the battle. I mention my plan to my teammates. I thought that they would have been a little more supportive but I was wrong. They turn on me and explain that if I don't fight with them they will kill me themselves. Talk about a dilemma. If I go into battle, I will probably die. If I don't go into battle, I will definitely die. Oh, the anguish. It's at this point that my dear husband wakes me up. He has noticed that I'm having a very bad dream. It's lucky for me that he has such broad shoulders. When I wake up, I am not in a good mood. A few weeks ago, someone else with cancer said that she felt that her body had betrayed her. I can't go that far. That seems a little extreme but, then again, I can't say I'm very pleased with my body at the moment. After all these years of being "a good girl", I really had expected better behaviour from it.
On Sunday, the four of us went to church as a family. I haven't been out much lately and to get all four of us out at the same time is impressive. The closing hymn was, "Be Thou My Vision". That was our wedding song 20 years ago and is one of my absolute favourites. Look at verses 3&5. Given my dream on Friday, was the playing of this song on Sunday a small-"c" co-incidence? I think not. "It's Friday, now but Sunday's a-coming." (Tony Campolo).
Be Thou my vision: verses 3 & 5
Be Thou my breastplate, my sword for the fight;
Be Thou my armour, and be Thou my might;
Thou my soul's shelter and Thou my high tower,
Raise Thou me heavenward, O Power of my power.
High King of heaven, when the battle is done,
Grant heaven's joy to me, O bright heaven's Sun,
Christ of my own heart, whatever befall,
Still be my vision, O Ruler of all.
Friday, March 21, 2014
Episode 14: Why the wait?
The lab sent my report away for an HER2-neu assessment which they just got back yesterday. The pathologist is now reviewing the information and I will most likely be called next week to be given an appointment time. What is HER2, you ask? I don't know yet if I have it or not but here is the info.
"Receptor tyrosine-protein kinase erbB-2, also known as CD340 (cluster of differentiation 340), proto-oncogene Neu, Erbb2 (rodent), or ERBB2 (human) is a protein that in humans is encoded by the ERBB2 gene. The ERBB2 gene is also frequently called HER2 (from human epidermal growth factor receptor 2) or HER2/neu. HER2 is a member of the epidermal growth factor receptor (EGFR/ERBB) family. Amplification or overexpression of this oncogene has been shown to play an important role in the development and progression of certain aggressive types of breast cancer. In recent years the protein has become an important biomarker and target of therapy for approx. 30% of breast cancer patients." (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Her2)
"In about 1 of every 5 breast cancers, the cancer cells make an excess of HER2 due to a gene mutation. This gene mutation and the elevated levels of HER2 that it causes can occur in many types of cancer — not only breast cancer. This is a gene mutation that occurs only in the cancer cells and is not a type of mutation that you can inherit from a parent." (http://www.mayoclinic.org/breast-cancer/expert-answers/faq-20058066)
The key here is that this protein is an important indicator of the treatment and therapy that will be chosen. To personalize, this means that the pathologist is now reviewing my report based on the new information and then can choose an appropriate treatment plan. Just to clarify, chemotherapy is a general term that is also known as a cocktail of chemicals and the precise combination of chemicals that goes into the cocktail is determined by the results of the various tests.
Further, this wait that I've been through is apparently quite standard. The doctor's office checked my timeline against others and they were all very similar. This wait has been good for me. Having most of my energy back since the surgery, I'm doing more around the house again and helping my husband in the office. It's not the fact that I'm doing more that matters here. The really cool thing is that I've been thinking about other things quite a bit. I actually forget about the cancer. As much as I love being the centre of attention for a little while, even I get bored with myself eventually, and it's so nice to know that there is life without cancer.
Stay tuned for more ... (information, self-pity, and hopefully a bit of humour).
"Receptor tyrosine-protein kinase erbB-2, also known as CD340 (cluster of differentiation 340), proto-oncogene Neu, Erbb2 (rodent), or ERBB2 (human) is a protein that in humans is encoded by the ERBB2 gene. The ERBB2 gene is also frequently called HER2 (from human epidermal growth factor receptor 2) or HER2/neu. HER2 is a member of the epidermal growth factor receptor (EGFR/ERBB) family. Amplification or overexpression of this oncogene has been shown to play an important role in the development and progression of certain aggressive types of breast cancer. In recent years the protein has become an important biomarker and target of therapy for approx. 30% of breast cancer patients." (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Her2)
"In about 1 of every 5 breast cancers, the cancer cells make an excess of HER2 due to a gene mutation. This gene mutation and the elevated levels of HER2 that it causes can occur in many types of cancer — not only breast cancer. This is a gene mutation that occurs only in the cancer cells and is not a type of mutation that you can inherit from a parent." (http://www.mayoclinic.org/breast-cancer/expert-answers/faq-20058066)
The key here is that this protein is an important indicator of the treatment and therapy that will be chosen. To personalize, this means that the pathologist is now reviewing my report based on the new information and then can choose an appropriate treatment plan. Just to clarify, chemotherapy is a general term that is also known as a cocktail of chemicals and the precise combination of chemicals that goes into the cocktail is determined by the results of the various tests.
Further, this wait that I've been through is apparently quite standard. The doctor's office checked my timeline against others and they were all very similar. This wait has been good for me. Having most of my energy back since the surgery, I'm doing more around the house again and helping my husband in the office. It's not the fact that I'm doing more that matters here. The really cool thing is that I've been thinking about other things quite a bit. I actually forget about the cancer. As much as I love being the centre of attention for a little while, even I get bored with myself eventually, and it's so nice to know that there is life without cancer.
Stay tuned for more ... (information, self-pity, and hopefully a bit of humour).
Monday, March 10, 2014
Episode 13: Waiting
Aaargh! I had thought that by now I'd be writing a very different episode, something with substance. But unfortunately, there is nothing new. Today is two weeks since the surgery and only just this morning did the pathology report arrive at the surgeon's office. This has been a long wait and will continue until I hear from London with an appointment date. This week? Next week?
This has not been a good week. As calm as I may appear, I am getting tired of waiting. I've been doing a lot of sleeping which is to be expected recovering from surgery. Unfortunately, when I'm not sleeping, I'm generally feeling sorry for myself. Too restless to rest and to weary to put the restlessness to good use. Not a good combination.
The other night I had a dream that I was living in a glass house in the middle of the forest. I was standing in the middle of the living room watching a young deer walk by. All of a sudden, the deer bounded away. I knew there was only one reason for a deer to hurry so quickly: a wolf was near. I was worried because I knew I would see it through the glass (and vice versa) but I reminded myself that all the windows and doors were closed so I would be okay. I was wrong. The wolf came in through the open door and grabbed my arm. That's when I woke up. I think the symbolism of the wolf is fairly straight-forward. My arm hurts.
I am, however, a bit more perplexed about the glass house. There are two possibilities running through my mind. One, which I think is the more likely, is that I always felt somewhat secure in the idea that truly bad things only happen to "other people". I could be compassionate but from a convenient distance. Now, the glass house of my own immunity has been shattered. I've had to contemplate my mortality. It's not fun. I told my husband that I'm not comfortable with dark, small spaces. He thought I was joking but I wasn't. I've become "other people", the one everyone feels sorry for, the one for whom noone has the right words. I've seen the pity and the helplessness in their eyes, their desire to wave the magic wand and make it all better. But they can't. Noone can walk this for me.
Not so long ago, the lady from Episode 5 came to visit me after my surgery. I'm clinging to her words, "This is do-able." I hope she's right.
This has not been a good week. As calm as I may appear, I am getting tired of waiting. I've been doing a lot of sleeping which is to be expected recovering from surgery. Unfortunately, when I'm not sleeping, I'm generally feeling sorry for myself. Too restless to rest and to weary to put the restlessness to good use. Not a good combination.
The other night I had a dream that I was living in a glass house in the middle of the forest. I was standing in the middle of the living room watching a young deer walk by. All of a sudden, the deer bounded away. I knew there was only one reason for a deer to hurry so quickly: a wolf was near. I was worried because I knew I would see it through the glass (and vice versa) but I reminded myself that all the windows and doors were closed so I would be okay. I was wrong. The wolf came in through the open door and grabbed my arm. That's when I woke up. I think the symbolism of the wolf is fairly straight-forward. My arm hurts.
I am, however, a bit more perplexed about the glass house. There are two possibilities running through my mind. One, which I think is the more likely, is that I always felt somewhat secure in the idea that truly bad things only happen to "other people". I could be compassionate but from a convenient distance. Now, the glass house of my own immunity has been shattered. I've had to contemplate my mortality. It's not fun. I told my husband that I'm not comfortable with dark, small spaces. He thought I was joking but I wasn't. I've become "other people", the one everyone feels sorry for, the one for whom noone has the right words. I've seen the pity and the helplessness in their eyes, their desire to wave the magic wand and make it all better. But they can't. Noone can walk this for me.
Not so long ago, the lady from Episode 5 came to visit me after my surgery. I'm clinging to her words, "This is do-able." I hope she's right.
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