Always start with a joke…
“How about those 2014 Grammy nominations?”
OK, then do a little song…
Now you have your blog audience in the palm of your hands. You can start now (and drop the 3rd person style, it’s a cliché.)
This 59th is a “lamppost” birthday, a day to take a break, lean back, reflect, but then get my ass moving forward. That forward will partially explain the reason for that fine graphic at the top of this post.
Lampposts illuminate the darkness as well as steady on the journey. Lampposts may hold signs pointing out the direction to go, waybills telling you to look and see what is happening around you, or old Grateful Dead bear stickers that will never come off.
(Before I continue, if you have the time and the inclination, this link will take you to a list of posts that I’ve written about my life and my journey over the last few years. I think these will amuse and amaze you, and even if they don’t you can laugh at the picture of me. )
When I was diagnosed with Stage IV Renal Cell Carcinoma back in March, 13 months after having my right kidney removed to hopefully stop the cancer in its tracks, I simply lost it. The cancer had spread to my liver, but was still kidney cancer since all the genetic markers were from my kidney. Add this to my interstitial lung disease and this is complicated. It figures that I don’t smoke, so I get a lung disease and I don’t drink, so my liver goes screwy.
After a year where I felt that maybe, happily, finally, something was going to go right for me medically, this just threw me up in the air and I landed with a month long thud.
I made the mistake of using the internet to research it without acknowledging that I NEVER WENT TO MEDICAL SCHOOL AND AM NOT A DAMN DOCTOR. I just played one on the internet. I panicked myself a lot, and maybe it was justified. I read the life expectancy averages, I read the side effects that chemo can have, I read the possible out of pocket costs that might come with this. Every little ache, pain, and blemish sent me into Fred Sanford mode (I’m coming, Elizabeth!).
I worried about how to plan for the costs should I not survive. I worried about how my family would replace my support and income. I worried deeply about breaking my promise to my mom and dad to always be there for my brother Tommy. I worried about my beloved buddy, Swiper Doxy, and pictured him sitting sadly outside of my old bedroom door wondering where I’ve gotten to. I worried about promises to friends that I desperately wanted to keep as well as losing those friends, many of them new to me and many who have been there all along.
Then the best thing that can happen at the time happened. I started chemo. While chemo is scary and I hate being a pin cushion every Wednesday, it started to give me hope, it allowed me to plan, and it stopped me from self-diagnosis. I was no longer sitting around worrying, I was doing something about it.