Inexplicable

Last night, first I dreamt that I was on the island, by myself, in the winter time, in the dark. I was in a camp, and built myself a fire, which in the dream I noticed was positioned in a very dangerous place. You see the free-standing fire pit was right at the foot of the bed in the dream... and all I could think was, "Man I better not kick my covers off or this whole place will go kablooey". Once I was done building my fire, I got down to business- the real reason I had come to the island.

I was here to rescue the cats.

It appeared that at some point several months before, I had brought 3 kittens to the island-- and left them there. I LEFT KITTENS. ON AN ISLAND.

WTF.

So I opened the door into the darkness, and stood shivering in what I can only describe as a Stevie-Nicks-- (we all know how I love Stevie Nicks)

(...Actually I loathe her. I want to set her on fire. HATE her. This one is not for you, Daddy.)

Stevie-Nicks-esque billowing black dress, black leggings, and long blonde braids. I opened the door and made the kissing noise that universally calls all animals and said "Kittykittykittykittykitty" and stood back, letting the cold winter wind stir my long, retarded-looking sleeves and dress. Suddenly a tiny cat appeared, and then two more, and then three after that, and suddenly there were like, eleven cats running in to be by the fire. Orange cats, tiger cats, a tiny black kitten. Spotted black and white cats. So many cats. And I thought "Oh shit. Which ones did I leave here?".

I woke up gasping from the stress of all the cats, and thought I saw someone walking in the hallway. I was too tired to care, so I fell back into a fitful sleep and had my second dream of the night which I will call, "Crazy reverse tsunami boat".

In this dream I went out on a big boat on Lake Champlain and as I got further and further from the dock, about halfway between the dock and Valcour Island, I noticed the water getting shallower and shallower. (Note: This is not how it is supposed to go in real life. That is some deep-ass water.) Suddenly there was no water left at all, just boats sitting on the bottom of the lake. I panicked and couldn't decide what to do-- should I run for shore and leave the boat? What if the water comes back? I will be stranded without a boat and my boat will be sunk. But if I stay on the boat, what will happen then? I decided to stay on the boat and dye my hair dark brown... so I did. But I forgot to take the hairdye out in time, and it turned purple, and then all my coworkers were like

"Oh wow. I mean woooooooowww. So... you got... your hair is different..."

I have no idea what any of this means- except maybe that I should sleep more. And not so much rum right before bed.

Mermaid

I have a very vivid memory from when I was a child-- swimming at a particular beach, on a particular summer day. The water was very clear and the bottom was all sand, the sun was coming through at just a certain angle so that if you opened your eyes underwater everything around you was gold and sparkling. A silent world of peace. The water was warm and the sand was soft and there was nowhere to be, nothing else to be doing besides diving under the waves, skimming along the bottom, reveling in the quiet, the colors, the fun. Feeling your body like a mermaid, like a fish, sinuous and in touch with every muscle.

Today I returned to that beach. And although I was an adult, for a moment-- I was a mermaid.

Artwork is by Molly Harrison and can be found: http://www.mollyharrisonart.com

Just today...

When I used to work in MA and was IN CHARGE OF THE ENVIRONMENT, the cubicle next to me was, for a time, occupied by a certain lovely lady named Lucia. Lucia was many things-- an awesome writer, a beautiful woman, a chick with a badass tattoo, a calming influence in a sea of anger, etc. She had shaved her head, picked her own name (Lucia= bringer of light), she had no problem standing up to assholes who made me shake in my cute shoes, and giving hugs exactly when they were needed. She liked to sleep. Lucia was my hero.

On her computer, there were two post-it notes on either side of her screen:

Just today... Nothing is on fire.

And on the top of her screen:

Breathe.

Some less enlightened folks in the office made fun of these post-its. They mocked them. They didn't understand them. And I guess, until today, neither did I. How often we forget to breathe. How often we let the fires in our lives overtake our days.

Today, the sun was shining. I had lunch with my husband. The pizza was hot.
Tonight, the fans are cooling down the heat of the downstairs. The beer is sweating on the table next to me. It is very cold. The garlic was extra spicy that I put into the fresh guacamole I made. The avocado was very green.

Today, I breathed at work and looked around and thought "I am doing a good job."
Today a client signed a contract that I've been waiting for, and I made my boss some money. Another client joked with me on the phone. My coworkers made me laugh. They teased me about being afraid of spiders. Today we stopped for coffee. Today, I put myself before my life and all the demands of it.

Just today... nothing is on fire.
Breathe.

I get it.

Exhale

I got up and got into the shower. I am ok.
Washed my hair with the new shampoo. Thought about getting back into bed.

I chose my clothes. I am ok.
I dried my hair. I sang to myself.

Don't worry, about a thing. Cause every little thing, gonna be alright.

I am ok.

I drank coffee. Rode to work. Listened to the radio. I am ok.
I checked my email. Had a meeting.
I said, bravely, "I will be out of the office this afternoon. I won't be back till tomorrow." I am ok. My voice didn't even shake.

I made phone calls. Sent email. I am ok.

My hands started to shake at about noon. I felt like I might throw up. I'm still ok.
I left the building. Said goodbye to the people around me. What will I know the next time I see them? The next time I walk through these doors? They can't smell this fear on me? This terrible not-knowing?

I have to be ok.

I went to lunch. I ate croutons. I am ok.
I teared up. I looked at my Mother's face. Her purse. The breast cancer ribbon on it. I am not joining this club. I am ok.

(It could be you. You could be next. Why not? Why not you? All those compliments on this beautiful hair and you will be bald and oh my god you will never have children why haven't wehadchildrenjohnwillbealoneandthelumpiskindofgonenowyouarelyingtoyourselfandwillyoucry whenyoudieandwillithurtandwherewillyougothisisn'treal)

I am ok.

I bought a book. Where will I be when I finish this book?

I held his hand. Felt the rain on my face. We found a parking spot.

I stopped breathing. I read "Cancer Center". I wondered if I had to throw up, how embarrassing it would be. I felt faint. Do people often faint here? They must.

Breast care center. I am ok.

hi I have an appointment. I see it in her eyes, "she's so young." She smiles at me, hands me a clipboard.

there are a lot of questions. I am ok.

There is construction happening. A man next to us jumps. Mom laughs at him. Everyone laughs. We are all ok.

I go into the room. Mom and John come with me. I am ok because they are here.

I put on the gown. It is too long and I feel like a child.

I am less ok.

I can't breathe.

The doctor walks in. He has a full orange mustache and no hair on his head.

Just lie back.

We're going to turn the lights off so it is extra terrifying.

In tv and movies ultrasounds look gentle. That is a lie.
They push hard. The gel is hot. I look at the ceiling tile.

Don't worry, about a thing. Cause every little thing, gonna be alright.

"Ok this all looks normal... (Pause) Hmmmm...."

I want to grab him by his mustache. What is this HMMMMM? I am dying. I am not ok.

I begin to cry.

He looks silently at the screen. I die a million deaths in my mind. I look at the ceiling. I'm dying. We should just start chemo now. No, that's a lie, there's no time for chemo because you're dying. You have two weeks. You have two minutes.

Don't worry, about a thing. Cause every little thing, gonna be alright.

I can't stop the tears from leaking out the side of my eyes. He does not look at me.
My stomach is quivering.

"Ok, everything looks great. You can stop worrying. You can breathe now."

I laugh, through my tears. I exhale. I am ok. I am really ok. I am totally ok.

Every little things gonna be alright.

Thanks Bob.

X Equals

Can't quite seem to stop thinking about firsts and lasts right now.

Had a little mini-meltdown at the end of watching Californication. How silly.

My first ultrasound will be not for a baby, but for a boob. This makes me sad.

I can't stop wondering, is this the last time I will do this before I know that I have cancer?

The last time I will eat an ice cream cone?
The last time I will wear this t-shirt?
See David Duchovny's face?
Make Love?
Make a salad?
Eat dinner at home?
Go to Target
do laundry

Is it?
Is this the first of many scary times? The end of being naive enough not to worry?

I know this is unhelpful, but I can't stop myself.

I keep touching, holding, probing my breast. I can't find the lump anymore. Do I not want to, or is not there? Is this the last blog I will write before I know, one way or another?

And, perhaps worst of all, once I know-- will I believe?

David Duchovny and I-- we both want to believe.

Public is just "Pubic" with no "L"

This story begins at the Target (as most good stories do...), where I was today, perusing the shoes in an attempt to distract myself from Tuesday (and, cue BOOB!). My philosophy was if I could just distract myself by acquiring more THINGS, preferably Nice, New things from Target, I would forget about the possibilities that are two days away. It seemed life affirming.

"I will need this winter scarf when it is cold and I am ALIVE."

"Oh look, a beach towel for NEXT YEAR. When I will take BOTH OF MY BOOBS TO THE BEACH."

Self-affirmation through shopping.

Anyway-- finding the shoes seriously lacking, I wandered over into women's wear to see what was on sale, and as I was considering the tissue-weight tank tops, I overheard the most upsetting conversation from the clearance rack just in front of me.

"Oh look at this ADORABLE little zebra-print bikini!!! Mom- I need this."

I looked up to find what appeared to be an eleven year old, extremely tan child; her cheerfully overweight 40 something mother; and a man. I cannot say who this man was, as in his full silver beard, he seemed a bit too old to be a father. Uncle? Great Uncle? Grampa? Neighbor who they gave a ride to Target? Step-Dad? Bus Driver? Under-cover cop?

I couldn't figure it out. I went back to the tanks.

"And LOOOOOOK they have it in extra small and Extra Extra Extra Large!! You can get one too Mom! We could match!!!!"

"Oh no. No way. Mom cannot wear that. That is not a Mom-Suit."

"But whyyyyyyyyyyyy?"

"Well, honey, let me be honest."

At this I looked up. Honesty in Target? I wasn't sure I was ready for this.

"There is hair that Mommy doesn't want the world to see that this suit just won't cover up."

"Ewwww. Well just SHAVE it, MOM!"

"Nope. No way. Learned that one the hard way. ITCHY"

At this point I have abandoned even touching the tank top and am blatantly staring at this conversation.

"Well just get a brazilian. Duh."

"Absolutely not. There is hair there for a REASON. God didn't just put HAIR THERE FOR NO REASON."

I started to back away as I watched Old Uncle Daddy grin from ear to ear. He thought this was hilarious.

As I scurried into the jewelry section to get away from this band of misfits-- afraid of what other life-lessons I might overhear if I stayed, I thought about this girl. At 11, I still believed in Santa Claus. I read Nancy Drew books. I had crushes. This girl knows what a Brazilian bikini wax is. Holy fucking shit.

I ended up in line behind them at the checkout. Turns out little miss tan got her zebra print suit, as well as sparkly zebra shoes-- along with an all too public education on the perils of pubic hair to boot! What a productive Sunday!!!

Turns out you can take the "L" out of public, and give it to Old Uncle Daddy to Leer with, and you've got a Sunday at the Plattsburgh Target.

BOOB!

I went whole 40 minute stretches today without thinking about my breast. My lump. My unlovely lady lump.

I would float along on a sea of normal and then BAM! BOOB!

Like it was hitting me in the face. I went to a meeting and sat in a room that I have been visiting once every couple weeks for the past couple months. All I could think was, "the last time I was in this room this was not even a possibility. this was not even a nightmare on the fringes of my brain. the last time I was here, despite anything else that was wrong, I was so so so happy."

BOOB!

I imagined a hundred futures in my head today, and lived them out in great detail and fear. Really it is just three that I wonder about.

#1. Best case scenario- this is nothing and I live my life. We go on. We make money and buy a house and have babies and someday a long time from now I will vaguely remember this moment when I gained perspective.

#2. Middle case scenario- this is something that can be dealt with. Maybe it is a blip of a something, a month long worry that ends up being fine but that needs to be dealt with and moved on from. Maybe it is a more extreme deal... one that involves a bit more courage and some lifestyle changes. Maybe it is a something that changes my whole life, but allows me to retain one.

#3.

Today I scheduled an ultrasound for next week. Tuesday. There are a million moments between now and Tuesday to wonder and worry. A hundred thousand or so to forget and then BOOB!

Tonight I looked in the mirror at my slightly stained t-shirt, my long hair, my eyes. I'm healthy. I'm young. Wouldn't I know? Wouldn't I see it in my eyes, feel it crawl along my skin and nest itself into me? I feel like I would know. But maybe not.

Persistent

Today the doctor found a lump in my breast.

My right breast.

Persistent, she called it.

"I don't want to freak you out" she said.



I can't breathe.

Conservative- she said. Thorough. Careful. "You deserve to have someone else do the worrying for you." She handed me a tissue. She said it would be alright.

I came home and cried. I touched my forehead to my husbands. I tried to remember the leaves. The sky. His breath on my cheek. If everything else faded, I would remember this moment of bright colors when I was very alive.

I slept. I went to sleep because my brain simply couldn't deal with being awake. In my dreams, there was something very important that I had to do, someone I had to speak with, but I kept floating up. Unable to finish a conversation. Flying, but trying to fight my way back down to earth. To solid ground. Like trying to stay on the bottom of a pool.

Why not me? When my mom was diagnosed with cancer, I had the opposite reaction most people have. "Why not us?" I asked. "Bad things happen to good people every day. Why not us?"

28 year olds get diagnosed with cancer. Who am I to think it might not be me?

I can't breathe. I can't do anything but breathe.

I'm terrified.