tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73036050448573911832024-02-18T20:35:17.607-08:00Annie Has Hodgkins' LymphomaAnniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03390441705765602008noreply@blogger.comBlogger21125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303605044857391183.post-80046501397295862242011-06-02T17:18:00.000-07:002011-06-02T17:18:29.236-07:00My Body Is My Own Again<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> I have only just written an entry with this title on it, because it truly has taken this long for me to feel that I have regained myself entirely. Up until now, I have felt like parts of me still remain in cancer's hand, and that they are out of my control. Now, whenever I am forced to tell people that a little over a year ago I had cancer, they don't believe me. "But you look so well!"</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> Little do they know the journey this frame has made- down the rapid spiral of disintegration only to be re-formed in a patched-up manner that scarcely resembles my old self. But slowly, piece by piece we remedy these pieces. We begin from the inside of the body and work our way out, correcting every wrong that chemo and radio hath created. Funnily enough, not cancer. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> So I'm in that stage, the better end of the halfway between ill and well. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> My father was diagnosed with prostate cancer last week. When I heard, I could have sworn that I would have to again endure the undignified process of staging and treatment. It was a hard task to remind myself that I had nothing to do in this process. My vessel was as well as it was the five minutes before I had heard, sitting in a lecture theatre at university attempting to continue my life. I was well, healthy and as far as I knew, cancer-free.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> Then the cruel twist of fate, the realisation that I would rather have it again then have to watch another writhe in its company. I am certain it would be easier to handle if I could carry it as opposed to my seventy-year-old father who has already selected the fabric to line his coffin. As I sit and listen to his petrified ramblings and his conclusive opinions about the "odds" that he has of living, I cannot help but selfishly think... "was I like this?" Was I this unreasonable? Did I morph into this shivering example of fear personified? </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> So this event could be seen in two different ways. One, that as I am emerging from the filth of treatment and the ritual purging of body and soul has come to a close, I am lassoed back down into the mire for a few more months. Or two, that by seeing how ill others are, I can begin to feel healthier. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> We shall see. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> So I will hold my fathers hand tightly and do what ever is required of me, knowing all the time that I have wings. And they are stronger than ever before.</span>Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03390441705765602008noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303605044857391183.post-86823899952797545052011-01-26T16:40:00.001-08:002011-01-26T16:40:25.235-08:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmiChTPNK2PtFsooj2tw9QartqSCAHvXOjUCtNar9vgVI_ORB368cshyphenhyphenjs_UJvtz6AEzVoQMs1kxPIAKpM6uAhY2G-octVNosRrNc31GiscXgK261uQW-OKosCDuCLSw2AGRUBJG_YsPs/s1600/Mysteries_by_larafairie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" s5="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmiChTPNK2PtFsooj2tw9QartqSCAHvXOjUCtNar9vgVI_ORB368cshyphenhyphenjs_UJvtz6AEzVoQMs1kxPIAKpM6uAhY2G-octVNosRrNc31GiscXgK261uQW-OKosCDuCLSw2AGRUBJG_YsPs/s320/Mysteries_by_larafairie.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03390441705765602008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303605044857391183.post-60383763458179251072011-01-26T16:39:00.000-08:002011-01-26T16:39:13.214-08:00 I have not come to you for a while. It feels like so long. Another curve-ball and you are the only one that I can think to share it with. <br />
My oncologist has been diagnosed with cancer. Not one that can be easily handled but the horrible kind. The kind when you hear your diagnosis you are thrilled you didn't have. It's a lingering cancer too, something that hurts and strips you bare. And to add to this cruel irony it is a haemtogological cancer as well, which is his specialty. Therefore, the thousands of people he has treated or watched die will now fill his mind and haunt his every thought in the many empty days he has ahead.<br />
<br />
I would rather take this burden from him than seen a genuine saviour be stricken so abominously. But I cannot. My only gesture can be to offer myself in any capacity he may need.<br />
But he will not need me. He has family and friends. He does not need me. He will not pay me to save his life. He will not give me anything but front row seats to what will be the most terrifying time in his life. <br />
Who am I to trust if my doctor is not untouchable? Who can I rest my hopes in if anybody may be taken? Will this thing ever show mercy on us?Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03390441705765602008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303605044857391183.post-83461584966585547302010-12-21T23:08:00.000-08:002010-12-22T17:19:20.637-08:00You Know, I Think This Is The beginning of a Beautiful Day<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> Something has shifted. I know that next week I'll probably enter a post about how horrid things are again but for now, something has improved. I no longer look like someone who has just come out the other side of chemo, but normal and dare I say it... healthy. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> There is energy and vitality where there wasn't before and I'm more than happy to conceed that the majority of it is mental. I still cradled myself like I was ill. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> I don't know how long it will last and frankly, at the moment I don't care.</span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> But I like it. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div>Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03390441705765602008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303605044857391183.post-41356286115459096502010-11-27T18:00:00.000-08:002010-11-27T18:00:37.030-08:00<strong><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> I have the most horrendous lower back ache. I can hardly walk and there is no relief- not lying, not standing, not putting myself in rather precarious positions against the wall - Nothing!!! The doctor has prescribed vallium which means that most of my day consists of lying half conscious in a semi-dimmed room. As you can imagine, the memories flood back to me.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> Beside the expected: "I hate 2010" and "I wonder what I have done to deserve this much in one year"; the mind drifts in directions beyond your control.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> Naturally the next time you get sick after ceasing treatment and getting the 'all-clear' will be tremendously stressful and conjure up panic about this being the same thing as it was before. </span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> I think I've spoken on this before, how after five hours of Christmas shopping with screaming kids all around the stores and the non-stop chiming of 'Have Yourself A Very Merry Christmas' rings in your ears like a bad case of tinnitus- you have a headache. But of course, for us it's not a headache. It's a brain tumor.</span></strong><br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> Come on, you know what I'm talking about? You have cold sore on your lips because you're run down because you're getting the big C again, not because of some germ you've picked up unknowingly. And the doctors, sure they indulge you and send the swab off to pathology or peruse your full bloods but lets be honest, that smirk is not so easily hidden. They tell you that it's all right that you are a little on edge but it's followed by a nervous chuckle because they (just like everybody else) wonder why it really is so hard for us to let go. </span></strong><br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> It's a fine line between being vigilant and paranoid. I've crossed over, I'm sure. Slouched with my swollen, crying face buried into the cool leather of our couch, wailing that 'There's a lump! There's a definate lump in my back! Right next to my spine! Damn it, can't you feel that? I feel it, and I know my body!' And of course, it's the same as that other lump one year and six days ago. It is hard and cannot be moved. Lymphoma, for sure. </span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> Then of course we Google (which is never a good idea) and learn that lymphoma quite often spreads to the spinal fluid. And off I go on tangents of whether I would have treatment agin, where I would spend my last few weeks, how I could possibly tell my mum. Don't get me wrong, I'm not dramtic by nature but these are possiblities which are not so far fetched now. </span></strong><br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> Realistically, my back is probably a strain or subluxtaion from where I lifted something and twisted or move in the wrong direction. The fact is, treatment has made my body an unrecognisable lump of flacid indulgence. I have the body of a seventy year old and it is weighing me down as much as these sombre thoughts are.</span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> </span></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"> The term 'viscious cycle" is a shameful understatment. </span></strong><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1WhT0344M3BT7ty20xmg_S_CKbYQjKb6-zQlpr942LI19lArGyVBgoj7gPqaE1E5dQTimfCvrsh1_Ms-VxgGm7r-_ISiIWjqZ6e-PR5qxi1vdGVer9h2ZfFfqbOfNxlGZrRUUHbtuoFI/s1600/Vertigo_by_aL_baum.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi1WhT0344M3BT7ty20xmg_S_CKbYQjKb6-zQlpr942LI19lArGyVBgoj7gPqaE1E5dQTimfCvrsh1_Ms-VxgGm7r-_ISiIWjqZ6e-PR5qxi1vdGVer9h2ZfFfqbOfNxlGZrRUUHbtuoFI/s320/Vertigo_by_aL_baum.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03390441705765602008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303605044857391183.post-89423384239051635072010-11-21T03:23:00.000-08:002010-11-21T03:23:47.094-08:00<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. That I can't be more brave or more strong. I'm sorry that many nights this thing gets the better of me . I feel sore tonight, and have been as sick as chemo ever made me. The oncologist has said that my constant stomach upsets are a side effect of the treatment, my system is trying to clear the toxins from my body and rebuild the tissue in my lymph areas. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">I feel so alone and no longer try to look for the words to explain my condition to others. Now, I just stay quiet. After all, it's been a while now. That's what they would say. Even if they didn't voice that, I would imagine that's what they were thinking. </span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">It has been too many nights with, to now be suddenly without. I'm sorry. </span>Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03390441705765602008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303605044857391183.post-78150940842369082622010-11-03T02:35:00.000-07:002010-11-03T02:35:08.253-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifG0ykvUpqHHejmZ4IbnDZ9WmnLt0KRqt0vy8-SbnbU0k2ObdsCSVdf6g2QjVcC5iO4QH_ClAdL1P96wQD6WJmXYkPZwW41mcphXNiFQZ-aDJhuZGGcK0eXxzLH4XasQcTc40R4-Iqtt8/s1600/John_Martin_003_OBNP2009-Y05832.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifG0ykvUpqHHejmZ4IbnDZ9WmnLt0KRqt0vy8-SbnbU0k2ObdsCSVdf6g2QjVcC5iO4QH_ClAdL1P96wQD6WJmXYkPZwW41mcphXNiFQZ-aDJhuZGGcK0eXxzLH4XasQcTc40R4-Iqtt8/s320/John_Martin_003_OBNP2009-Y05832.jpg" width="263" /></a></div>Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03390441705765602008noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303605044857391183.post-21480411739856679962010-10-24T03:56:00.001-07:002010-10-24T03:56:51.898-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIFzDWzWBR931PLuttpZKwAK0uqAUHA4mNkcOpqygnVFZIrMbOXAjaxXVyOYaFaaEK6APw-8HJm0HSSgc2HRAp3-BJ3-dSNiMBGUNK2So05d_Ud3s0p_nNmPLHP_PMe8XpkFj3A-4Dxls/s1600/All_Ye_That_Are_Heavy_Laden___by_emjay82.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" nx="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIFzDWzWBR931PLuttpZKwAK0uqAUHA4mNkcOpqygnVFZIrMbOXAjaxXVyOYaFaaEK6APw-8HJm0HSSgc2HRAp3-BJ3-dSNiMBGUNK2So05d_Ud3s0p_nNmPLHP_PMe8XpkFj3A-4Dxls/s320/All_Ye_That_Are_Heavy_Laden___by_emjay82.jpg" width="231" /></a></div>Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03390441705765602008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303605044857391183.post-73617790061827155542010-10-24T03:55:00.000-07:002010-10-24T03:55:45.075-07:00The urging to help people is really strong tonight. I read the posts of the suppory group for HL and my heart bleeds, I feel so helpless sitting here on a keyboard offering nothing more than how HL has affected me. <br />
What's worse is I find myself saying things that I use to hate hearing like "think positive thoughts" or "look on the positive side". Of what? The toliet bowl? Cause that's where I've spent the last two days. <br />
What happens to us when we begin to grow our hair agin and the hole where our Picc line used to thread heals over? We lose what it was to be there, to be in that place that is literally inconsolable. That place so dark that you are positive there are no others that could even faintly fathom what is happening in your world. This place, this spinning all alone on a lonely black planet where you are tortured by thoughts of "what if" and "should I". Thoughts on the monster that has begun to unravel your very soul, starting from the skin in. <br />
I don't care what others swear to, you come out no better; but worse. You are in no way improved. <br />
And these are no lessons that couldn't have been learnt by another method.Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03390441705765602008noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303605044857391183.post-52320589716680727192010-10-06T18:35:00.000-07:002010-10-06T18:35:42.812-07:00A LATE JULY NIGHT<br />
<br />
I wonder if anybody knows that I cry myself to sleep every night. I wonder if they know I want my fan on to move the atmosphere, not the air. I wonder if they can understand what its like to wait every morning for long strands of hair to fall loose and crawl toward the plughole in the shower. Or that I still allow at least half and hour for my showers and nearly always accidentally ask for someone's help in dressing my PICC line. I wonder if they could ever comprehend the reasoning behind me volunteering that I have cancer but hating it when people ask. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhpWLbGAiQoKwKkOMkyq-2kteuu-EtKtyZak2KaS81iDBed0aUzpNbLLxCS5JYEdvvXX1Jb6oW_xQPSqcnJvhCzhEZg9Mu2PDbj4WoVyfz2wcR3id_htA4060Vd732p_cqmPuUcs7yaZs/s1600/A+Different+Kind+of+Beauty.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhpWLbGAiQoKwKkOMkyq-2kteuu-EtKtyZak2KaS81iDBed0aUzpNbLLxCS5JYEdvvXX1Jb6oW_xQPSqcnJvhCzhEZg9Mu2PDbj4WoVyfz2wcR3id_htA4060Vd732p_cqmPuUcs7yaZs/s320/A+Different+Kind+of+Beauty.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>I know no one will ever understand that I miss it. I hate being well again. If I am well than I can fall sick again.Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03390441705765602008noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303605044857391183.post-26037582587387413122010-10-06T18:28:00.000-07:002010-10-06T18:29:03.003-07:00<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">From 14/6/10- pm</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">I hesitate before towel-drying my hair and I hate running my hands through it. I keep imaging that it won't hold and it will begin to fall out again.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">I can still feel it in between my fingers.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Courier New", Courier, monospace; font-size: large;">Every bloody time.</span>Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03390441705765602008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303605044857391183.post-26305120274345175912010-10-06T18:27:00.000-07:002010-10-06T18:27:05.057-07:00<u><strong><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: large;">Ingriedients of Annie</span></strong></u><br />
<span style="font-family: Arial;"><em>Vinblastin, Bleomycin, Dexamethasone, Adriamycin, Dycramycin, Kytril, Emend, Stemitil, Maxalon, Ativan, Xanax, Temazapam, Zoloft, Medazalam, Endone, Panadeine Forte, Mersendol, Panadol, Nurofen, Nurofen Plus, Allopurinal, Gastrostop, Imodium, Senokot, Argoyl, Spiractine and broad/narrow spectrum anti-biotics. </em></span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4oH5wAB-X6pZdBDJJdM_KbnKH60GKdyH0VygGciO7uZb9PlefOPRVXa2YUi7VYHfjt6mk9MykcpFpkXMQOMV34UuiVVF-BEYma6VbcTKWu_3Cz8jFZbWaZ4QE37NdilLsgfYVxV_4Zwk/s1600/An+Inner+Bondage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ex="true" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4oH5wAB-X6pZdBDJJdM_KbnKH60GKdyH0VygGciO7uZb9PlefOPRVXa2YUi7VYHfjt6mk9MykcpFpkXMQOMV34UuiVVF-BEYma6VbcTKWu_3Cz8jFZbWaZ4QE37NdilLsgfYVxV_4Zwk/s320/An+Inner+Bondage.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03390441705765602008noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303605044857391183.post-52386456618166231182010-10-06T18:18:00.000-07:002010-10-06T18:18:44.662-07:00 We are soldiers of an un-understood warfare. There is something that happens within us that cannot possibly be comprehended. There is a long journey ahead for me and many others, but in these times we have proven that we at least have a little strength and perhaps we can actually bear whatever comes our way. And perhaps I have just learnt that I actually do want to stay in this world for as long as I can.<br />
There is something in it now that makes it more beautiful. More appealing. During treatment, whenever I found myself feeling like I no longer want to fight, something small would happen. The littlest things- seeing my best friends little girl, finding a new piece of music I want to learn on the piano, a sunshower in the back garden. These things may only be small, but they made me realise that life is worth the fight that some of us have to muster. <br />
I realise now that I do have strength and courage. My courage is excersised in the strength to breath from one moment to the next-nothing more. Courage is allowing the needle to enter my skin. Strength is not pulling away when I see those black packages full of poison. Faith is walking through the door of the chemo unit. Ambition is waking up each mornign anew.Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03390441705765602008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303605044857391183.post-5223844026320171092010-10-01T05:08:00.000-07:002010-10-01T05:08:51.106-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRRJn8YVmxNBzzqs1FT0n1VsJG5oJAmOEUKo3Vfv_ufAB4bMyjb6kC6j3FpQFK6EBntbwE_lucNtXiVnuG63p_6K3Q4Vmbn75Svz789f09ougjNkIafMXQe6PR0rHE0cU_GoZd5NXe3jE/s1600/cancer.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" px="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRRJn8YVmxNBzzqs1FT0n1VsJG5oJAmOEUKo3Vfv_ufAB4bMyjb6kC6j3FpQFK6EBntbwE_lucNtXiVnuG63p_6K3Q4Vmbn75Svz789f09ougjNkIafMXQe6PR0rHE0cU_GoZd5NXe3jE/s1600/cancer.gif" /></a></div>I made a list of all the good things about having a bald head-<br />
Here is a list of some of them (feel free to add some)-<br />
* bald is the new black<br />
* Bruce Willis looks hot bald, and so can I (surely?)<br />
* I truly are a 'water-saver' with the shortest showers in history<br />
* scarfs make me look feminine and the ethnic headbands make me look a little like a "traveller" from a far of place<br />
* strangers smile at me for no reason, kind of like they do at Christmas time when the festive spirit infects everyone<br />
* I am exempt from judgment on my apperance (at least I hope I am?)<br />
* it allows me to concentrate on inner beauty, something I think we could all do more of<br />
* other cancer baldy's spot me a mile away and we sometimes spark up random conversatons like old friendsAnniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03390441705765602008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303605044857391183.post-4850114735683920062010-09-17T21:22:00.000-07:002010-09-17T21:22:23.054-07:00<em><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> I miss my life before cancer. I miss not having to care about every headache or stomach upset. I miss the days when tired just meant I hadn't had enough sleep. </span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Arial;"> What this has done to me is unforgiveable. It has changed me so much that at times I cannot even recognise my own thoughts. </span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: Arial;"> This post like all the others will lie doormant and most likely unread. No one will visit this blog, I see that now. But to close it down would be condeming these thoughts to stay within me, and I cannot adhere to that. It can't be productive. </span></em><br />
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<em><span style="font-family: Arial;"> Till next time.</span></em>Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03390441705765602008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303605044857391183.post-48531473266961101492010-09-04T04:20:00.003-07:002010-09-04T04:20:10.717-07:00<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhlkLxCfDwsMYtC319UhVuDwJbFdb7W2Jq3L2lRahtGebnqXGsAIBOLyQBbpKyFDB6Js3LWX82zuzvViBNfiRXq5aRpsbXxOOe-FNSqr6Z7pxuOmuN0bEsP8zHGJWI-20zV-cKNVZVWhs/s1600/Repair_All_My_Defects____by_sosseh.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhlkLxCfDwsMYtC319UhVuDwJbFdb7W2Jq3L2lRahtGebnqXGsAIBOLyQBbpKyFDB6Js3LWX82zuzvViBNfiRXq5aRpsbXxOOe-FNSqr6Z7pxuOmuN0bEsP8zHGJWI-20zV-cKNVZVWhs/s320/Repair_All_My_Defects____by_sosseh.jpg" /></a></div>Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03390441705765602008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303605044857391183.post-70461113731743909922010-09-04T04:19:00.000-07:002010-09-04T04:19:03.165-07:00There's Something In My Eye <span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><em>Tell me if you feel it to? Do you feel that inherant sadness weighing us down as we walk through each day. Tell me if you feel it to? Like you're simply waiting for cancer to revisit and finish what it's begun; finish the job of ending you? </em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><em> I feel it. Every damn day. </em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><em> Makes me angry- like clench my teeth, ball my fists and can't sit still angry.</em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><em> Makes me sad - like chest aching, eyes swollen shut sad.</em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><em> Makes me think - like those thoughts that you cannot possibly stay grounded during, no matter how much you try. </em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><em> Why did it stop here? Why did it leave me half finished? What was I to learn from this that I could not have possibly learnt in another manner? </em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><em> Forgive me Lord, forgive my weakness.</em></span>Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03390441705765602008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303605044857391183.post-80484060100442669482010-08-31T22:51:00.000-07:002010-08-31T22:51:20.656-07:00Thoughts One Hour Before A Possible Secondary Finding<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>Penned approximately May 2010</em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>There are things that can be dealt with easily, and things that can’t. Just because one is able to cope with a certain scenario, does not make it any less harrowing than one that is considered “too much to bear”. Realistically, those burdens which cannot be carried end up being anyway, because as I have mentioned often in my other pieces, time move on and it really is the one thing out of our control. We cannot remove a burden from our shoulders; we can only bear it by our continued existence or trade it in for a new load, disguised as a slightly easier parcel. For example, chemotherapy in all its viciousness can be too horrible for some to bear. Depending on the specific cocktail and severity of the treatment, it can be harder to bear than cancer ever would be. Therefore, such a patient decides to trade one burden in for another, the concept and realization of actively ceasing treatment. This decision has its own symptoms, and while some consider overwhelming nausea and relentless pain to be hardships, they soon learn the physical is often better born than mental. Try guilt, loneliness and anger on for size, and see how it feels nestled in the groves of your wearied back. How does it feel to march uphill, downhill and constantly forward laden with a decision which will weigh on you and those around heavier than any other you shall ever make? </em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Georgia, "Times New Roman", serif;"><em>I digress, although another completely separate article can be formed around the concept that it’s a fine line between vigilance and obsession, the wait is horrendous nonetheless. </em></span>Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03390441705765602008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303605044857391183.post-68526906717762274702010-08-31T22:49:00.000-07:002010-08-31T22:49:17.036-07:00Becoming Friendly with the EnemyI am tired of curve-balls. Yet no matter my complaints there is always a copious amount of them ready to be pitched at most inopportune moments. Sometimes, when there is a rare lull in the doctors appointments, all medical prescriptions have been filled and I find myself pondering thoughts of a more philosophical manner; I actually long for normality. Nay, for a truly boorish life that no one in company is envious of. But it’s not to be. <br />
That was decided long before I even entered this world, that my demise would be a downhill spiral which would take years and turn me into something I and those around me could no longer recognize. So far the fate that I have suffered has manipulated me into something unnatural, something so far removed from the woman I had strived to be. For that it is my mortal enemy, and for the fact that with no question nor negotiation, it will claim my life eventually.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV4F0OPkMgWMdSAdb70DP0Fzasve4lgeXFdZdnc-o8vvkipklqT53kd0-MCQfAOuib7scItq0JtIPqtFTmaHPwqjk26uNMG2SCpTtxDy9vL8_O_BZZEYbQpjRv9G9uo1gMzlj3cLNCy9k/s1600/Not+Strong+Enough...+Not+For+This.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhV4F0OPkMgWMdSAdb70DP0Fzasve4lgeXFdZdnc-o8vvkipklqT53kd0-MCQfAOuib7scItq0JtIPqtFTmaHPwqjk26uNMG2SCpTtxDy9vL8_O_BZZEYbQpjRv9G9uo1gMzlj3cLNCy9k/s200/Not+Strong+Enough...+Not+For+This.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br />
But as one of few remaining character traits which I can apply to make myself a mere shadow of my former being is truth; so I will tell such and say that I do not hate the enemy. In fact, there is more of a place in my heart for it than there is hatred for it. It’s a fact, or a finding that has taken me a long time to be comfortable with and only recently have I acquired the courage to voice it on public page, a method which epitomizes honesty. This word, which I even still avoid at any costs to say, this thing that is killing me slowly, is my beloved friend and companion. For it is my only cohort, caught in my body as much as I am caught in its presence. The strange twist of fate is that I actually pity this thing, for it has been subjected to the same treatment that I have and as I have expressed with much fervor, no body and no thing deserves that.Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03390441705765602008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303605044857391183.post-21952207012122981232010-08-31T22:46:00.000-07:002010-08-31T22:46:39.666-07:00Fury Welling In a Fake-Smile<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><em>I am trying to think of all the expletives I possibly can, but none can even faintly brush the surface of what I have been feeling for the last month. I could say ‘angry’ and ‘furious’ but it feels when I say it like I am referring to another person. “No, surely this person isn’t me… what I am feeling is far more horrid than then these small, meaningless words?” Descriptives such as ‘insane with anger’ and ‘burning with rage’ still only vaguely pierce the top layer of the shell I have created for myself. And that’s the thing, which no one understands. </em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><em>No one ever seems to understand the walls that we as patients, have to erect in order to keep ourselves going, to keep moving, to keep the time passing. The faith we have to own must be so strong so that everyday when our reserve in questioned, we have resources to fall back on. We cannot rely on those around us; this much is proven. We have pillars of strength within our lives that drive us to and from physical locations, but to no fault of their own, there is no one that can carry this. So we learn to stand tall, so at least when this all turns pear shaped we will go out with dignity. Not even the closest family members can possibly fathom what we have had to make ourselves into so that we may summon the bravery that is needed. Isn’t it fair to assume that our anger and resistance will remain present for months after we succeed in this venture? </em></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;"><em>I find that we are expected to change like the wind, turn sad on bad news and then smile on cue when the PET comes back clear. The idea is of course, that if our emotions are thoroughly predictable than they can be handled. Unlike anything else your friends and family will have to acclimatize to. After all, enough has changed in their lives without you becoming “different” or daring to reflect what is being felt inside, in the pieces of you that you think that cancer can’t touch. We are proven wrong on that point, almost immediately. </em></span>Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03390441705765602008noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7303605044857391183.post-67867442691672234732010-08-31T22:44:00.000-07:002010-08-31T22:44:03.219-07:00Thoughts BC (before cancer)<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><em>Penned approximately late December 2009</em></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><em>Before I was diagnosed, I used to have to do so many chemo people's bloods. Sometimes on the hospital wards they would be so close to the end and I would have to take their blood, a task made notoriously hard from all the scar tissue which had formed on every one of their vessels over time. I have written down the names of every patient I have ever lost... to cancer. I keep the list in a book, kept in a safe place. It was only fitting that I be struck with it too, so that my empathy could become truer than ever. </em></span>Anniehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/03390441705765602008noreply@blogger.com2