Waiting for Chemo - original text from 2004

Waiting, wondering, worrying are never as good as you think they are when you start out. Anticipating and waiting are just playgrounds for your imagination to create the best and worse scenarios for you to rehearse. Wondering…well, when I think of wondering of think of it more as the awe-aspiring…but it usually ends up being more head games of what if…which brings me right back around to worrying. I have often quoted the story about Jesus when he visits his friends Martha and Mary. Mary stops everything she is doing and sits with Jesus to talk with him about what’s up in his life and travels. Martha on the other hand is so concerned about having a guest and wanting to do all the right things she is bustling about getting food, cleaning up and basically ignoring Jesus just to make a nice display for him. Martha begins to complain to Jesus about Mary’s obvious laziness and Jesus replies, Martha, Martha, you are worried and anxious about many things, but only one thing is required and Mary has chosen the greater portion. I quote the story to remind myself that worrying doesn’t do me any good. I quote it…I try and remember and I worry anyway!

It was like this waiting for chemo. Sometimes I would not even think about it. “Oh, well I start my cure in six days!” I would laugh when people would ask. But then as the day drew closer and the reality got more real, I began this waiting, wondering, worrying thing. Some nights I would stay up all night watching TV because I couldn’t sleep. Then other times I would just bark at my kids or my husband for no reason. I considered every cliché you can imagine. “This is the easy part.” “Your hair will grow back” “It is only for a short time.” “You’re alive.” All shit. The fact is some suited up doctor who is very nice, by the way, is going to pump chemicals into my body that are designed to stop cell division. If I remember my high school biology right, that is the ‘stuff of life’, cell division. Well, it is a necessary evil. I weigh the balance, risk my life…save my life…easiest choice that is not really a choice.

I think back to one day in the hospital when I discovered Vain Lisa…let’s call her Vainessa. I never thought of myself as the type who worried much about looks. Well, gee, it all came pretty naturally all of my life. There were three things about my physical appearance I could always count on – I have a nice face, great boobs and beautiful hair. Oops! Something changed!

While still in the hospital, I woke up one morning and decided I should take a look at what’s happened to me. Courageously, I head off with my walker to the bathroom. I am so cool, I’m thinking. How very enlightened of me, to look at my wound and begin the healing. Hehehehe…what did I know.

I arrive in front of the mirror. I begin with my face. My hair is much shorter now, but, frankly, I like that, my face looks very thin, I look a lot like my sister (who is about half my body weight and I believe twice as beautiful as me). I gaze at my face in disbelief; I have NEVER looked like my sister. I begin to wonder about what they did in that surgery for eleven some odd hours. I digress….back to the matter at hand, enlightened one. So I look at my shoulders…God, they are skinnier than I remember, too…how long have I been in this place?!

I am wearing the equivalent of a straight jacket for a bra..it has zippers, hooks, and Velcro…they didn’t want one of these girls escaping, I guess…

I pull up the Velcro to release the strap of the right side, as the cup starts to fall away I begin to cry…I’m afraid to look. Well, shit…I look like a darn Christmas tree with drains hanging off of me like balls on a tree. My coloring is all wrong, I am much too thin…oh my God…I have cancer! I HAVE CANCER! Shit! When did this happen? All at once I am aware of the term Frankenstein. I am overcome with the reality of what has happened…no great boobs…soon no more hair…and it really does matter to me what I look like…not just to other people, it matters what I look like to me! Enter Vainessa. Where was she my whole life? Was I always like this?

I became aware of someone knocking on the bathroom door. “Are you okay, Lisa,” called the day nurse,” I need to check your vitals. Do you need any help?”

The irony of all this came crashing in on me and I just burst out laughing.

“I’ll be right out. I was just finishing up.”

I’m not such a long way from that day now as I approach the next phase of this process, my chemo, my cure!

Ha! I was back to being Vainessa. I knew there were too many worse parts of chemo for me…the vomiting, the nausea, the lack of control of what was going in my body, but most importantly, I was going to lose my hair. Well, not really lose it, I knew where it would be – in the trash!

Despite all my worrying, waiting and wondering…the day arrived.

I brought my mother and my aunt with me to the oncologist’s office that day. These are two of the funniest women I know. My mom has always made me laugh at the most dire times of my life. I remember when I was twelve and I had my appendix removed. Oh, those stitches hurt, all across my belly, making it hard to laugh or take a deep breathe. When my mom came to visit me in the hospital after the surgery she brought me a joke book. A funny joke book…what kind of person does this to their child…I’ll tell you…the kind of person that loves their child so much that they can’t even imagine them ill or in pain, oh, and a funny person.

We were quite the site. Laughing and joking in the waiting room, other patients were chiming in with us and laughing along with us. I think it should be a rule in doctor’s offices that there be live, humorous entertainment that the doctor MUST provide. After all, they have no problem making us wait endless for them at the very least they should provide us with better entertainment than outdated magazines that are at best palatable and at worst, insulting. Give me some humor. On that day, everyone appreciated the humor of we three women. After the phlebotomist drew my blood we were shuffled to a small room where we WAITED some more. Isn’t it the truth though, all of this doctor stuff is about hurry up and wait…but I digress.

While we are waiting a woman from the big waiting room comes up to our room. I thought this was a little over the top. We were funny, but not that funny. Why was she tracking us down?

“I was told I should be in this room” she announced. Now I got to tell you, I was impressed. Perhaps she thought if she said it firmly enough we would leave.

“Come join us,” I offer, the consummate peacemaker,” there is room for more.” I lied, but it was a desperate circumstance, I wasn’t giving up my room!

“I’m Lisa, this is Phyllis and Emelia,” I offer.

“Hello,” she responded. Nothing more, no name, no nothing! Where did she go to finishing school? “What are you in for?” she asks. Realizing her mistake immediately she offers, “I have too much blood.”

Shit! My brother-in-law, can’t make enough blood. We found a match! Call the guards, let’s get her over to Adam’s we can set up some sort of Frankenstein castle and make the swap. They will both benefit and we can get the hell our of the doctor’s office…back to reality.

“Oh, really. I just need chemo,” if she only knew what I was thinking. I could see it now, her with one aluminum hat on and Adam with the other. Flip the switch and IT IS A-LIVE!

“Can I ask what for?” You can ask.

“Breast cancer,” is my solemn reply.

“I’m sorry,” her solemn response…everyone’s response.

Flip the switch…

The nurse arrives to inform us that by sharing conversation we are in breach of our HIPPA agreement and our guest must leave. (For more on HIPA see ridiculous rules to protect insurance companies and doctors made to seem like they are protecting your privacy…read the small print!) Ha! It was my room.

Enter the oncologist. Time to go to chemo, any questions?

Yeah, just one. How do I get out of this? No, really, just lead me to the place I need to be.

And so, it begins. I go into this 10 x 15 room with four other chemo patients and my mother and aunt in tow. There is not much room, but we make do. I think how odd that we are all sitting in a small circle in varying stages of cancer cure and no one says a word, so I begin by saying hi to the guy next to me and before I know it my mother and aunt are shaking everyone’s hands and saying hello.

“Let the games begin.”

Original Text from my Diary

I felt the powerful presence of the Lord, and his spirit took me and set me down in a valley where the ground was covered with bones…He said, “Tell these dry bones to listen to the word of the Lord.” “Tell them that I, the Lord am saying to them: I am going to put breath into you and bring you back to life.”

Ezekiel 37:1-6'

My car moved as if by on it’s own, through the streets to my appointment. Today is no different than any other day, rushing from one appointment to another in hopes that the madness will end with me - holding my son in bed at night and humming quietly his favorite lullaby. 

I waited patiently on line to put my car in the parking lot and then followed the maze of tunnels to the elevator to my doctor’s office. Well, it’s not really a doctor’s office as much as a “Breast Institute”. They refer to themselves as the Breast Center. I find this subtlety amusing and smile to myself as I begin to imagine the Testicle Institute The Testicle Center -or with a salacious twist - The Ballroom - ah, my mind can wander. 

Without regard for anyone's privacy all of us on the elevator know what happens on the fifthe floor. As if this weren’t enough, when the elevator doors open you are greeted by a boutique of wigs in a ‘salon’ where you get breast prosthetics. God, is nothing sacred anymore?

Not to digress…I travel through the halls to announce my arrival. A very nice faceless woman asks me if I want my parking validated and would I mind filling out a myriad of papers. So I sit with my pen and begin answering questions to give to this stranger about a most intimate part of my body. Then, the waiting game begins. We all know the drill, hurry up, get to your appointment on time and then wait and wait for the doctor to “see you now”.

Shortly, I am taken into a dressing room and given a fine, white terry cloth robe and told to disrobe and put this robe on and sit in the waiting area. Didn’t I just leave a waiting area? This must be hell! When I enter the next room I am greeted by a dozen women wearing the same robe but with faces that tell the tale of waiting forever. This process is only the beginning of what will become one of the longest days of my life.

I admit I waited too long to get my first mammography. I am 46 years old and if I hadn’t felt this ridiculous lump I wouldn’t have even come this far. Nonetheless, I am here…waiting. As if on cue from my fatigue, a young girl arrives and introduces herself to me as Anne and asks if I would follow her. Why not? We go into a small room with a piece of equipment I am about to become intimate with for about 5 minutes and this singular event will change my life forever.

“Take your right arm out of the sleeve,” says Anne and I obey. She then proceeds to handle my breast like no one before her and places it on a cold slab of glass. She maneuvers it like the professional she is and then squeezes it between two plates of glass. “Hold your breathe” she suggests as if I could breath under those circumstances. Click. “Relax.” Ha! Now that’s funny. This procedure repeats itself and then I am sent back to the sea of white robes. Anne returns two more times and we repeat the procedure. Each time I am less and less perturbed and in fact am beginning to feel very relaxed about the whole thing. Then, I am greeted by another nice woman will do an ultrasound. I assume this is all part of the drill, so, I obey her directions and lay down on the table as she begins the process of reading my breast. “This one will need a biopsy,” she says. I am a little surprised but not that concerned since my mom gets these biopsies of her breasts all the time and for seemingly no reason. This is just another one of those things. In fact, my mind wanders, that is where she is today, getting a biopsy. I should call her when I leave here, I think, while I go pick up the kids.

While I waited for the results I returned to the room with all the other women who had finished their tests. We are all dutifully watching television, reading magazines and sipping tea, as if this is the way to while away any afternoon. There was one strange thing I began to notice as we were called one by one to get our results. Some women would get their results on the left side of the hall – we would not see them again. Others would go to the right. Without fail the women that went to the right would leave with red eyes and sniffling. I assume bad news.

When my name was called I was ushered to the “right” hallway…uh oh – my flags went up…this seems like trouble.

It was the nurse, Kathy, that sent my flags sailing and sirens began to go off. “There appears to be an abnormality in your mammography that needs a biopsy…would you like to see someone now?”

“Now? Why now? What’s wrong”…and so it begins.

I am a 46 year old mother of three without a care in the world except how will I pick up my children if this appointment takes much longer. You see I live in the suburbs with my two cars, three kids, husband, mortgage, etc. All of which makes me very normal, well, maybe normal is the wrong word…ordinary…that’s more like it. Yes, I am ordinary and none of this makes me a candidate for breast cancer. There must be some mistake. Are you sure you didn’t mix me up with someone else? How could this be happening? Why is this happening?

The saga begins.

“Uh, I have to pick up my children. Do we have to do this now?”

“The doctors think this is a good idea.”

“Can I call someone?”

“Certainly, use this phone” she says as she points to the phone on the wall and exits the room.

I quickly dialed my husband’s office number. Now ordinarily, I would never bother him at work, but I figured this was a special occasion. I briefly bring him up to speed and ask for his advice.

“Do it now, right away.”

“Can you come here?”

“I can’t really leave the office now. By the time I get there you will have waited more than an hour.”

“OK. Bye.”

I hung up the phone and quickly dialed my mother. I had forgotten all about her biopsy.

“What should I do, Mom?”

“Come home. We will talk about this tonight and you will be able to make a better decision after you sleep on it.”

I was grateful for the nod of approval on my secret desire to run away. I informed Kathy that I was leaving. She made me make an appointment for a biopsy in two days at 9:00 in the morning. I left. I ran. My heart pounded. I no longer cared about the “Breast Institute”, getting my parking validated, anything. I just wanted to get my children and go home.

From the moment I was diagnosed three years ago until now I still have a secret wish to outrun this disease, to somehow escape its ravages. I never do. Escape, that is. Every step of the way there have been little issues, setbacks and recoveries. But, still in all, I am okay. I look great. I feel great and most importantly I am living a full, life in recovery.

On Being Home

On Being Home was origianlly written in March, 2004

It never ends! Everyone has a unique take on the three words – “How are you?” Let’s try this How are you?...How are you?...How are you? Get the picture? If I engage in the simple niceties of life like answering the phone – this is how it goes”

“Hello,” I say.

“Hello,” responds the caller, “Lisa?”

“Yes. Who’s calling?”

“It’s (fill in the blank). How are you?”

“Ok. How are you?”

“No, really, how are you?”

Now this is the point where I would really like to drive the idea home that this is unacceptable. Do not ask a question you do not want answered. If you don’t really want to know, don’t ask. I have decided to take all these questions head on…

“Well, the truth is that the surgical site is oozing a little more than we had hoped, and every time I have to fart, it requires an enormous amount of concentration since most of my muscles in my abdominal region are shot. I’m sure it will come back. I take pain medication every four hours and then I continue to make decisions which I cannot remember and am not accountable for to anyone. Sometimes, the medication just makes me ramble and in the middle of a paragraph I forget where I started or why I started.”

This is usually met with silence, and then the other person will say some placating thing like, “Well, we’re praying for you.”

“Thank you,” I respond, “I appreciate all the prayers I can get.”

“Take care and remember, call me if you need anything.”

Now this line requires that you know your caller. The expression ‘call me if you need anything’ doesn’t always mean exactly what it says. Sometimes it means, you can call me, but please don’t expect me to do anything for you. However, sometimes it means, call me and I will come and clean your dirty bathrooms, do your laundry and clean the kitchen for you. It is very important that you know your caller. I have been blessed with some of the former but many of the latter. Thank God!

The phone calls are part of “being home”. They are not the best part, not the worst part they are simply a fact of life. Sadly, the mortgage companies, long distance carriers and telemarketers in general have not heard about my physical condition and they continue to call, but most of my friends and family have been gracious and thoughtful and do not push me on the phone. I must admit I enjoy the conversation with my friends and never hesitate to tell them when it was getting to be too much.

Being home brings with it another joy – my three children. I missed being with them every day and welcomed the opportunity to see them regularly. When I arrived home they met me at the door. Offering to carry my bags and help me to the couch they made up for me. I was a little concerned that they would freak out seeing me walking with a cane, but they were cool. Kids are wonderful. The most important thing is that you are in the room with them. No matter how tattered, torn, worn or miserable you are they would rather have you miserable with them, than miss you one more moment. So my children folded up their tattered and torn mom and covered her in kisses and hugs. I was at once uplifted and exhausted. As I lay back against the pillows on the couch I realize I’m sleepy. Sleep has no regard for the time of day or the amount of people in the room. Now sleep is more important than anything else and it wins every battle. Except if my child comes to my side one more time for another unsolicited kiss or hug.

I found it interesting that the hospital sent me home with four separate prescriptions to fill. Each with a series of rules attached to them like, take one every four hours for pain, take one three times a day with food, or take two twice a day…whatever the rules were…one of them was for my pain medication. I learned early on this was the one to guard with your life. Pain meds must be maintained prior to the pain hitting or you cannot win the battle.

My mom calls my pain meds “goof balls”. I agree. When I am taking them I am so happy because the pain is at bay, but I am really not the person who should be making any plans, decisions or using my mind in any reliable way since it is not reliable. Well then why did they send me home with four prescriptions that require me knowing when I took the pills and when I should take them again. It was all I could do to figure out when I had to go to the bathroom and which muscles to use to make that a successful journey – now. NOW they pick for me to be in charge of narcotics! Are these doctors crazy! Finally, I figured out that my youngest daughter would be in charge of my meds. Therefore, at the tender age of thirteen, she is responsible for keeping an eye on me and my medicine. Oh well it worked.

Nothing much has changed for me, I am still struggling, still in pain, still sleeping – I’m just not in the hospital anymore. The people around me don’t know anymore about how to care for me than I do and we are all on this journey together without an experienced guide. What a hoot!

Food seems to be very important to the people around me. Everyone is bringing food to my house, or cooking for me or asking me what I want to eat. I would wake up early, when my mom arrived to drive my girls to school; my husband would bring my son to his school at around 8 am. With all this bustling around me it is hard to stay asleep. My daughters kiss me goodbye as they head out for school and I can see in their faces they are pleased that I am here. Michael, my son, has no worries about getting to school on time and turns on the TV, pulls down the covers next to me and crawls in so we can watch Spongebob Squarepants ® together.

“Gee, but it’s great to be back home,
Home is where I want to be…”

What do you say?

The phone rang very late last night, nearly midnight. The kids were finally settled down and my husband and I were ready to go to bed. I answered, reluctantly, since this is generally how we receive bad news.

"Hello," I paused waiting breathlessly for a response.

"Hi, this is Sammy's grandpa. Is he at your house?" I heard the hesitation in his voice and immediately wanted to reassure him.

"Yes. We went to bring him home about three hours ago, but no one was at the house, so we thought we would let him stay here until we could figure out what was going on. Do you know what is going on?"

"Well, we were wondering what Sam had done with the kids. We couldn't find them. So Sammy is with you, that's right?"

"Yes, he is right here, do you want to speak with him?"

"Please". I passed the phone to 10 year old Sam and I could see the fear and confusion all over his face. He spoke briefly with his grandfather, then handed the phone to me.

"I am on my way to pick him up. Sorry to impose."

"No imposition. Please, he can stay with our son if that is okay."

"I will pick him up shortly."

I knew from the sound of his voice that this was not a good situation, but I didn't want to pry. While I was waiting I wanted to speak to Sam's mother, my friend Gayle.

"Sammy, try your mom's cell phone again, would you?"

When I finallhy got Gayle on the phone I said, "Something is wrong, Gayle, your dad just called here to pick up Sammy. Sam is not home, we don't know where he is at. Do you think he went to Gunther's?"

"I don't know," she said and I could almost hear her voice tremble. "I will call Gunther's and find out."

Sam's grandfather came to pick him up and explained that Sammy's dad had an asthma attack and went to the hospital. "Whew!" I thought, "Good thing he was able to make it to the hospital," I thought.

The next morning I got up early to go to my kickboxing class. I love this clas. I feel more alive with every kick and punch. The more my body aches, the more determined I become. I worked up a good sweat and was feeling particularly proud of myself.

When I got home my son was behaving kind of odd. "What is it," I asked.

"Gayle called. She spoke to daddy" he toyed with me.

"Okay, what did she want. Did she want to talk to me?" I asked.

"Sam McGregor died last night in a car accident," my husband said to me.

"Are you kidding?" I replied.

"Would I joke about this?"

This tragedy is punctuated by the fact that one of my son's other friend's also lost his dad just a few months ago.

There is no good way to handle this kind of information. There is no smart or clever thing to say. In fact, generally speaking, we don't know what to say, or what to do. As human beings we are fortunate enough to have empathy. I could imagine Gayle's pain. I ached for her children and wept for all of them. This was no easy thing and there was not going to be any quick fix for any of them.

What could I do? I searched my brain to find an answer. Was there anything I could do or say that would somehow ease this pain. Surely not. So I just had to be there for my friend. Let her grab hold of me and cry and ramble as she tried to sort this out in her own mind. When I have to I can really plant my feet firmly on the ground. So I knew this would be my gift to her. I would plant myself and she could count on my to be right there, right where she expects me to be. I will listen, cry and laugh along side her while we figure this out.

My mind races to the future. Would we still go to her summer house in Massachusetts? Would the boys still want to play soccer and basketball together? Would she have to turn down that promotion now because travelling was out of the question?

The one thing I can think of for certain is... none of this has to be decided now. Life unfolds mysteriously slowly when it has to - almost like it is in slow motion.

What can we do for the people we love when we see their pain, and cannot wipe not one drop of it away? I pray.

I am grateful for my friendships, grateful for the love our children share, I am grateful that I was there for her yesterday and that I can be there for her tomorrow. Grateful that God has filled me with so much of his love that I can share this portion with my friends and still have more for the next day. Grateful that sleep allows us to forget for a little while and that every sunrise takes us toward a new beginning.

God bless you Sam where ever you are. Please find the peace that you need to cross over and know that we are all grateful for the time we share with you and that we will keep you alive with your children and your family that loves you so very much.

God blessed with you and we bless you with Him.

The Day Arrives

Ha! I was back to being Vainessa. I knew there were too many worse parts of chemo for me…the vomiting, the nausea, the lack of control of what was going in my body, but most importantly, I was going to lose my hair. Well, not really lose it, I knew where it would be – in the trash!

Despite all my worrying, waiting and wondering…the day arrived.

I brought my mother and my aunt with me to the oncologist’s office that day. These are two of the funniest women I know. My mom has always made me laugh at the most dire times of my life. I remember when I was twelve and I had my appendix removed. Oh, those stitches hurt, all across my belly, making it hard to laugh or take a deep breathe. When my mom came to visit me in the hospital after the surgery she brought me a joke book. A funny joke book…what kind of person does this to their child…I’ll tell you…the kind of person that loves their child so much that they can’t even imagine them ill or in pain, oh, and a funny person.

We were quite the site. Laughing and joking in the waiting room, other patients were chiming in with us and laughing along with us. I think it should be a rule in doctor’s offices that there be live, humorous entertainment that the doctor MUST provide. After all, they have no problem making us wait endless for them at the very least they should provide us with better entertainment than outdated magazines that are at best palatable and at worst, insulting. Give me some humor. On that day, everyone appreciated the humor of we three women. After the phlebotomist drew my blood we were shuffled to a small room where we WAITED some more. Isn’t it the truth though, all of this doctor stuff is about hurry up and wait.

While we are waiting a woman from the big waiting room comes up to our room. I thought this was a little over the top. We were funny, but not that funny. Why was she tracking us down?

“I was told I should be in this room” she announced. Now I got to tell you, I was impressed. Perhaps she thought if she said it firmly enough we would leave.

“Come join us,” I offer, the consummate peacemaker,” there is room for more.” I lied, but it was a desperate circumstance, I wasn’t giving up my room!

“I’m Lisa, this is Phyllis and Emelia,” I offer.

“Hello,” she responded. Nothing more, no name, no nothing! Where did she go to finishing school? “What are you in for?” she asks. Realizing her mistake immediately she offers, “I have too much blood.”

Shit! My brother-in-law, can’t make enough blood. We found a match! Call the guards, let’s get her over to Adam’s we can set up some sort of Frankenstein castle and make the swap. They will both benefit and we can get the hell our of the doctor’s office…back to reality.

“Oh, really. I just need chemo,” if she only knew what I was thinking. I could see it now, her with one aluminum hat on and Adam with the other. Flip the switch and IT IS A-LIVE!

“Can I ask what for?” You can ask.

“Breast cancer,” is my solemn reply.

“I’m sorry,” her solemn response…everyone’s response.

Flip the switch…

The nurse arrives to inform us that by sharing conversation we are in breach of our HIPPA agreement and our guest must leave. (For more on HIPA see ridiculous rules to protect insurance companies and doctors made to seem like they are protecting your privacy…(read the small print!) Ha! It was my room.

Enter the oncologist. Time to go to chemo, any questions?

Yeah, just one. How do I get out of this? No, really, just lead me to the place I need to be.

And so, it begins. I go into this 10 x 15 room with four other chemo patients and my mother and aunt in tow. There is not much room, but we make do. I think how odd that we are all sitting in a small circle in varying stages of cancer cure and no one says a word, so I begin by saying hi to the guy next to me and before I know it my mother and aunt are shaking everyone’s hands and saying hello.

“Let the games begin.”

Waiting for Chemo...

Waiting, wondering, worrying are never as good as you think they are when you start out. Anticipating and waiting are just playgrounds for your imagination to create the best and worse scenarios for you to rehearse. Wondering…well, when I think of wondering of think of it more as the awe-aspiring…but it usually ends up being more head games of what if…which brings me right back around to worrying. I have often quoted the story about Jesus when he visits his friends Martha and Mary. Mary stops everything she is doing and sits with Jesus to talk with him about what’s up in his life and travels. Martha on the other hand is so concerned about having a guest and wanting to do all the right things she is bustling about getting food, cleaning up and basically ignoring Jesus just to make a nice display for him. Martha begins to complain to Jesus about Mary’s obvious laziness and Jesus replies, Martha, Martha, you are worried and anxious about many things, but only one thing is required and Mary has chosen the greater portion. I quote the story to remind myself that worrying doesn’t do me any good. I quote it…I try and remember and I worry anyway!

It was like this waiting for chemo. Sometimes I would not even think about it. “Oh, well I start my cure in six days!” I would laugh when people would ask. But then as the day drew closer and the reality got more real, I began this waiting, wondering, worrying thing. Some nights I would stay up all night watching TV because I couldn’t sleep. Then other times I would just bark at my kids or my husband for no reason. I considered every cliché you can imagine. “This is the easy part.” “Your hair will grow back” “It is only for a short time.” “You’re alive.” All shit. The fact is some suited up doctor who is very nice, by the way, is going to pump chemicals into my body that are designed to stop cell division. If I remember my high school biology right, that is the ‘stuff of life’, cell division. Well, it is a necessary evil. I weigh the balance, risk my life…save my life…easiest choice that is not really a choice.

I think back to one day in the hospital when I discovered Vain Lisa…let’s call her Vainessa. I never thought of myself as the type who worried much about looks. Well, gee, it all came pretty naturally all of my life. There were three things about my physical appearance I could always count on – I have a nice face, great boobs and beautiful hair. Oops! Something changed!

While still in the hospital, I woke up one morning and decided I should take a look at what’s happened to me. Courageously, I head off with my walker to the bathroom. I am so cool, I’m thinking. How very enlightened of me, to look at my wound and begin the healing. Hehehehe…what did I know.

I arrive in front of the mirror. I begin with my face. My hair is much shorter now, but, frankly, I like that, my face looks very thin, I look a lot like my sister (who is about half my body weight and I believe twice as beautiful as me). I gaze at my face in disbelief; I have NEVER looked like my sister. I begin to wonder about what they did in that surgery for eleven some odd hours. I digress….back to the matter at hand, enlightened one. So I look at my shoulders…God, they are skinnier than I remember, too…how long have I been in this place?!

I am wearing the equivalent of a straight jacket for a bra..it has zippers, hooks, and Velcro…they didn’t want one of these girls escaping, I guess…

I pull up the Velcro to release the strap of the right side, as the cup starts to fall away I begin to cry…I’m afraid to look. Well, shit…I look like a darn Christmas tree with drains hanging off of me like balls on a tree. My coloring is all wrong, I am much too thin…oh my God…I have cancer! I HAVE CANCER! Shit! When did this happen? All at once I am aware of the term Frankenstein. I am overcome with the reality of what has happened…no great boobs…soon no more hair…and it really does matter to me what I look like…not just to other people, it matters what I look like to me! Enter Vainessa. Where was she my whole life? Was I always like this?

I became aware of someone knocking on the bathroom door. “Are you okay, Lisa,” called the day nurse,” I need to check your vitals. Do you need any help?”

The irony of all this came crashing in on me and I just burst out laughing.

“I’ll be right out. I was just finishing up.”

I’m not such a long way from that day now as I approach the next phase of this process, my chemo, my cure!

Where to begin

Well, I'm almost done with graduate school. So, what did I do? Why did I do it? Ah, I guess we all ask these questions from time to time...but I am glad I was able to do it and having breast cancer in the middle of the show didn't stop me.

That was the main reason I pushed to finish when I did. I didn't want there to be any change in my life plans just because I happened to be diagnosed with breast cancer. I did my stuff, mastectomy, chemo, meds...now back to my life.

Cancer is a pretty time consuming proposition. When you're done treating it you're never done running from it. Sometimes I get scared and think I won't run fast enought. That is why I go to the gym and practice. I practice running, biking, elliptical stepping, weight lifting - anything associated with health. That is the new definition I want for my life - healthy!

Anyway, it's pretty cool to join the ranks of the over educated. I look forward to taking more classes and increasing my education further.