Building Hope One Plan at a Time

Last night was a bad night.  It's one thing to have breast cancer that is in the breast, hasn't broken out, can be shrunk, and then cut way.

It's another to have breast cancer that has run out the door, through a very tiny crack, and f'ed up your liver beyond some comprehension.

I am at that between time when we've started treatment and we wait. We wait to see if the Taxol shrinks the spots of my cancer in my breast and liver. We wait to see if the Herceptin keeps it all in check.  We wait to see if my flipping liver functions and tumor marker levels improve.  That's a whole lot of waiting between start and "you're gonna live."

So last night was a bad night. A night where I didn't have much to do but sleep and instead hugged the pit bull crying in fear and loss for my sister and mom (I so wish they were here). A night where I laid alone and thought, this is not good.

So I got up and made a phone call. I called my friend Lisa and sobbed. Then I called Y-ME Breast Cancer Support's 24 hour helpline and asked if they'd match me up to someone living with a similar diagnosis.  And I contacted Living Beyond Breast Cancer and asked for the same thing. To top it off I read a brochure called I Still Buy Green Bananas from the Breast Cancer Network of Strength, making sure to mark out the areas of the brochure that talk about end of life planning and palliative care (I don't even want to think about getting to that point, although in my compulsive way, I already have end of life measures fully in place).

Today I made more plans.  Next week will be my buzz cut with a barber shop not far from here, the word Survivor stenciled into the back of my hair.

March will be meeting with a tattoo artist to work on the tattoo I got earlier this month in support of my chemo.  I love the message "All is Well With My Soul" but thought the end product was less feminine than I was seeking (I sometimes whistle "Popeye, the sailor man" when I catch a glance of the tattoo).  The tattoo work will happen after chemo is done.

And in that vein, I will be visiting a piercing studio to have my nose pierced (small stones are purtiest).  I've for years wanted to do this but work made me hesitate.  Now I can point at my pierced nose and say, "I have cancer. I wanted it. Deal with it."

Living this close to the bone of life has certainly made me more aware of the things I've denied myself over the years, some big, some small.  But the one great affect is I care even less what people think of me.  If I could have passed that to myself at a younger age, I think life overall would have been a little less angst filled and a lot less annoying.

So there you go. Building hope one little plan at a time.  Shoot.  What's the worst that could happen? I could die.  But hopefully, I'll have gotten the damn nose pierced before that happens.