Live Life!

I don’t come here much anymore.

More so than in the past I am finding it very hard to find the words to express what it is I feel and think in a way that does not make me sound like a neanderthal.  “Me good.  Me happy.  Me eat pizza” …Though I am not sure if neanderthal’s actually had the capability of such language…or pizza for that matter.  Well, I definitely know they didn’t have pizza, but I digress.

My thoughts get lost along the way to the tips of my fingers that long to type them out and breathe them into some sort of physical existence.

Life is good.  Really good.

I am in remission.  Finally.

Well, let me go back.   I’ve been in remission since after my first round of Hyper CVAD, however, as of this past June, I am officially OFFICIALLY….In remission.  Meaning no more chemo in whatever form.  No maintenance, no nothing.

My last bone marrow biopsy came back clean.  My Oncology team was super happy.  I’ve done extremely well.  I only have to come see them now every three months.

I have spent this past summer really trying to “live life”.   This has been my new mantra.  I like to yell it and throw my hands up in the air like I’m on a roller coaster.  Very metaphorical.

I’ve gone on trips, attended events, spent time with loved ones and appreciated every…single…moment.

Because folks, it’s all about the NOW.  and GRATITUDE.

I jumped into Burlesque with a fire and determination to, well, not suck at it.  I’ve had quite a few ladies in my town really light the fire under my ass too really be creative, to really let go, and to really just own it.  I don’t want to be another faceless burlesquer in this city, (though I have a feeling that I still probably am.)  However, I know that when I leave the stage after performing, I have put on one hell of a number and the audience has really enjoyed it.  They may not remember my name per se, but they will remember that girl who threw out the tootsie rolls or had the giant googly eyes on her ass.

21686333_825417210953629_8567925908514693356_n

I’m letting go of hooping.  Meaning, that I don’t feel it has a purpose in my life anymore. I have such conflicting feelings about this, but at this time, the feeling of disappointment, frustration and exhaustion that I feel inside the hoop outweighs the feels of freedom, connection and spirituality.  (I mean, I had felt enough of that going through cancer.) I just feel like I can’t keep up with all that is happening in the hooping community.  My body feels like it will never be able to re-learn what it once knew yet alone learn all these flippity doo’s, escalators, and off body spastic spinny spins. It’s such a shift in mindset, because I never hooped to “impress”, yet it seems like there is such pressure for there to be.   It’s a new generation of Look at Me!

Where’s the flow?

Ehhh, whatever.  Maybe I’m just old.  Get off my lawn!

I’m sure at some point I’ll probably pick it up again.   Cause that’s what I do.  I hardly ever just quit something.  Entirely.

So that’s basically it.  For now.

Doing my thing.

Living life.

 

 

Advertisements

Waiting for the Gas to Evaporate

My interest in hooping has completely fallen to the wayside.  I no longer feel that connection I once had while in the hoop.

I think going through cancer had a big part to play.

Actually I know that it has.

It’s just not the same.  It’s more work.  My hoops don’t feel right.  I can’t get the flow down without feeling clunky, and not to mention, I can’t keep up with all the moves that are going on in the hooping world.  It leaves me feeling quite defeated.

Of course I know that with anything practice practice practice, but after going through one of the most intense period of my life, where all i did was muster all the strength I had to fight off cancer… I just don’t have it in me to “work”  and to work hard at something.

There is still a small part of me that isn’t ready to let go of hooping completely.  There are times where I will urge myself to just get in the hoop and to just keep running something over and over…however after 50 failed attempts I grow frustrated and slip back into the same old redundant moves, which then makes the whole process feel boring.

I’m not sure I’ll ever get back into hooping with the fervor I once had.  Something inside tells me I will.  But now is just not the time.  For now, I’ll practice the few hooping routines I once had down pat, but I think that’s the extent of my hooping for awhile.

At least for now.

 

A Matter of Time.

The thing about cancer is that it always looms.  Even when you beat it to it’s core, there is still that worry that it will spring forth new life and wreck havoc again.

I feel anxious and jittery these days.   For many reasons actually.  But this has been one that sits with me, compelling me to do so much more with the time I have been given, because you never know.  You just never know.

Time.

It is something that has become acutely aware within me.  I fear that there is not much left.

Everyone else sits calmly.   I can not.   They seem content with the motions.  Or in no hurry.  Priorities elsewhere.  Meanwhile, time…life, is slipping by.

If not now then when?

 

A Burdence

Most my life has been spent feeling as though I am a burden to someone.

Having gone through cancer….hasn’t lessen that feeling.

I don’t know when I will return to full capacity.  Yet I feel that there are expectations and assumptions about my return to “normalcy”.

I don’t even know what is normal anymore.  Not that I ever really believed in a “normal”.

Truth be told, I just don’t know what to do with myself now.

I don’t feel as though I am ready to jump back in full swing.  One, my energy wanes from time to time.  I get sick on occasion.  My immune system is weak causing me to pick up a cold every other week.

I know during my treatment all I bitched about was getting back to my life and the things I loved to do.  Yet now, my life…those things I loved to do have become tiresome.  Difficult.

This rant is nothing new.  Just the same old blah blah blah that plagues me from time to time.  Yet, when it comes to others, and their sense of time, It just feels like more is expected of me.

And I just don’t know what to expect of myself just yet.

And I don’t want to expect anything really.

Because I just don’t know.

I just don’t know where to go after all of this.

And it’s the scariest, most depressing part of this journey thus far.

The Year of Rebirth: Alive and Kicking.

Once again, another year has come and gone and a new one is upon us.

Let me just say that I am sooooo glad to say goodbye to 2016.  It truly was a fucker of year, what with having cancer and everything that goes with it, loved ones struggling, Trump being elected.  I mean seriously, I don’t know what crawled up 2016’s ass and died but it pretty much had a vendetta for most of us.

Of course with turmoil, comes knowledge.  I know that a lot of people struggled with 2016 on various levels.  I would hope that out of those struggles, a deeper understanding of ourselves has been attained. With the passing of 2016 we can now move out from under the rubble of such a tumultuous year stronger, wiser, kinder and with more love in our hearts.

Each year I try to attach a theme to it.  Something to work on or overcome.  A reminder of some sorts to help me be the best me possible.  It was something I noticed someone I know doing way back when, and I thought it such a great idea.

I’ve had many themes over the years.  (you’ll stumble across them if you dig about in this here blog of mine.)

Sometimes I come out a champ.  Sometimes I don’t.   I reflect, take what I need to be a better me, and move on.

The last few years I began calling upon the wisdom of the Fairy Oracles to share their insight in the potential the year could bring, and what areas of myself I should pay close attention to and work on.

Last year they must have been incredibly drunk and on crack, because the card pulled for the theme of 2016 was…..Vacation.

If they thought taking a vacation from my day to day was going through chemo treatments, well I gotta say…I disagree.

In any case, 2016 became the year of survival.  Whether it was known or not.  Because that is exactly what I did.  I survived.   (and if you are reading this, you did as well.)

As 2017 made it’s appearance, I toyed once again with consulting the fairies about their thoughts on what the focus of the year could be, but before I could get my deck of Oracle cards out, a word began to reverberate with in.

rebirth

After all the muck and mire of 2016, Some sort of re-birth is needed.  A Renascence if you will.

This is the time to come back alive.  To shed whatever crap 2016 burdened us with and begin anew.  Like the phoenix rising from the ashes.  The time is now.

If not now, then when?

And I am tired of waiting for “when”.

This is the year to do something you’ve always wanted to do but were too afraid.  Fuck that fear.  Do it.  You owe it to yourself to get out there and tap into your authentic being.  Authenticity doesn’t come from being afraid, or putting something off till tomorrow, or the next week, or month.

And not only is it getting out there and living life to it’s fullest, it’s also living each and every moment with gratitude.  Even when the shitty stuff happens, because it is only then that we truly realize how strong we are.

So there you have it.  The year of rebirth.  The year of really digging deep and connecting with who we really are, and really living that truth to the very best of our ability.

And yeah, living it up while you can.

 

Out of curiosity, I consulted the fairy oracle to see if they too were in tune with the idea of renewal for the year, and what do you know…..They feel Vacation is still a good theme for this year as well.  Or maybe they are trying to tell me they are on vacation and to quit bugging them.

Those damn fairies.

vacation

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Nose to the Glue Gun

I taped my Burlesque pasties back on this past September.

I wouldn’t say I am in full on Foxy mode, as I have yet to incorporate the hoop back into new numbers, or perform older numbers.

Hooping is still quite cumbersome and trying.

The effort to actually….jump…even a few inches.. is akin to the feeling of twenty pound weights tied around ones ankles.

It doesn’t help my on going problem of balance and stability.

So sans hoop I have been going.

I will say though that my costuming has improved quite a bit.  Not to say that I had shitty costumes before, but the effort for me…on some things were a few ruffles sewn in here and there.

One of the biggest appeals of burlesque for me was all the glitter, sparkley, fluffy, shiny fun things one could wear.   (You basically can wear anything.  That old potato sack?  Couch cover?  Dining room curtains? Pot holders?  Just throw some glitter on it.  Good to go.)

I have become best friends with my glue gun.  (And pretty much burned the fingerprints off my fingers.)

For my Troupe’s Vegas show I put together two showgirl looks…..

img_20160901_115201497-01

img_20160910_220518205-01

Ok it’s hard to tell really and I didn’t get a good picture of me looking Vegasy…but you get the idea.  Definitely more bling going on.

img_20160821_193326

Bling!

 

I did a real cute number where I was trying to get this man to notice me while we were waiting for our bus to Vegas.  Coyly flirting at first, then as my subtle advances fell on uninterested eyes, I would punch it up a notch with more lascivious moves and then burying the mans face in my bosoms.  (The man kindly played by my fiance…as I don’t think he would have approved of me motor boating some other dude….and not that I would want to motorboat some other dude.)  I would post the video, but it was during this performance I had my very first pastie pop.   Took me a whole good five seconds to realize it as well.  So, there you go world.  You got some nipple from me.  Ehh whatever. I wasn’t that bent about it.

Our Halloween show, I took a more..bizarre road?

I definitely wanted to up the creep factor.  So this is what I came up with.

 

fb_img_1477854689936-01fb_img_1477854657634-01

14729265_635141709981181_3674488210533173419_n.jpg

I’m not really sure how this one went over with the crowd.  Personally, I thought it was creepy.  I busted out my poi, which is something I hadn’t done in a loooooooong while.  And let me just say, spinning poi in a poofy crinoline skirt is not easy.

Overall I am pretty proud of this one.  I feel it’s pretty unique, to my local scene anyway.

You can see the video to that here: Foxy Moon Halloween

No pastie pop there, though I do have a moment to make sure everything is intact. 🙂

 

The last show I did for the year was a Heavy Metal Food drive for our local food bank.   Our troupe did a improve-ish group number.  I dressed as an elf and made the whole group reindeer pasties, because honestly….how could I not??  They were so F’n cute and fun.

15327325_657026717792680_5524268274448736338_n

img_20161203_202033001-01-01

Move over Rudolph.

 

There you have it.  Or there I have it.  My getting back into the waters of burlesque.  I’ve got some down time till next April, and I’ve got some more silly ideas.  I would like to get back to hooping.  I know that I could.  It just takes time and discipline.  Yet the whole ordeal with cancer has made me very flippant towards anything that requires “hard” work.  I mean, I just worked hard on beating a fucker of a disease and pretty much, oh you know, not dying.  I’m not really ready, nor want to do battle with learning how to hoop all over again.  But I know I will, because I can feel it calling to me.  I may never be the best hooper in the world.  Shit, I may not ever be a decent hooper again, but something inside me loves it to much to just walk away and be done with it for good.

I just don’t want to deal with that struggle right now.

 

Chemo and Such- Cancer Can Suck a Dick.

I’m halfway through my first round of chemo.

They started me out on three days of three-hour intervals over a 12 hour span.
So they would give me chemo for three hours, then give me a three-hour reprieve, do another three hours and then give me a 12 hour break till the next go around.

It was tiring, but I got through it relatively speaking.

After that, I was on 48 hours of straight chemo.

Yeeeaahhh.

I can’t even articulate the feelings and sensations of that whole experience.

I was completely wiped out. My body was fighting. That’s all I knew.

I wasn’t exactly nauseous. They were giving me meds for that, so that’s probably good….but I still felt a sense of sickness. It just wasn’t like anything I had ever experienced. Not the waves of immediate paucity to expel the depths of my deepest bowels for that moment of calm respite. It was…weird. In fact the only times I actually did spill the contents of my stomach was after I was given oxycodone to help ease the pain of the bone marrow biopsy and then again after they did a spinal tap. Fucking oxycodone. Fuck that shit.

Sleep hasn’t been all that restful.  Even in sleep I could feel myself fighting.  Pushing through, trying to send my cells the energy they needed to do what they need to do.  My dreams were dark and almost comatose.  Fleeting images and voices floating in and out.  I was continually waking up soaked, drenched with sweat which reeked of chemo.  My pillows stained with that wetness and smell.  My clothes and hair clinging to my body.   It was like having a fever dream….but with out the fever.

On top of all that, they were pumping me full of lasix to get rid of the water weight.  At the start of the cycle I was up every ten to fifteen minutes to pee.  As it wore on, time lapsed, but sleep was always interrupted by the need to expel the contents of my bladder.   I think I was up at least every other hour having a pee.  If it wasn’t the lasix, then it was the fluids they were pumping me full of.

 

The combination of being tired and just …..fighting, wears on me emotionally at times. Depending on the day I am having, anyone walking into my room can be met with watery eyes and just the need for understanding. The understanding that even though I am a tough cookie…I am allowed to still be scared, tired and just done with what is going on.

I think maybe that is the hardest part. To just let myself be vulnerable and say at moments that you know, I’m tired of being strong. I just wanted someone to take my hand and let me be..just be..in that moment and know that it is ok.

After the 48 hours I had a few days of no chemo.  Maybe a small bag here and there, but after that 48 hour one….I definitely had this shit in the bag.  That was until it was decided that I needed to have a lumbar puncture where they would draw some spinal fluid and inject a shot of chemo into my spinal fluid. It’s a precautionary procedure, as the cancer could sneak into the fluid and there would be no way of traditional chemotherapy could get to ii.

The thought of a needle being stuck into my spine really threw me into a panic. It was here where I felt I truly wimped out. I tried to stay calm. But when it came down to it, I cried and broke down.  Crying in front of the doctors and shaking like a leaf.

Thank goddess they let the boyfriend and my uncle stay in the room to hold my hands during the procedure. I don’t know how else I would have gotten through it.

The procedure went fine. But it was still intense for me. Sure I couldn’t “feel” anything. But I could feel the pressure… and stuff moving about. It just wasn’t fun.   I don’t like my spine t be touched with to begin with.   It just feels uncomfortable and weird.  Gives me the heebie jeebies.   Let alone sticking needles back there.

The day after I had the headache from hell. Which started to make me nauseous. They gave me the anti nausea medicine, but as far as the headache itself went, I can only take oxycodone, as Tylenol and ibuprofen can hide fevers which they need to keep an eye out for since my immune system has been wiped pretty low. I thought if maybe i took the shit on a full stomach I should be ok. I got in a few hours of sleep, woke up feeling ok and then all of sudden the urge to purge was imminent. Once that was over, my head hurt once again, if not worse. Back to square one. So it was a day of deep breathing and meditating to try to move over the hurdle.

And unfortunately, that will not be my only and last LP. I am to have them every month.

So. whoowhoo.

This next leg of treatment involves having to take a bunch of steroids at night. I hate them. 15 little green pills that dissolve into acidic bitterness the minute they touch my tongue. Or get stuck in my throat and dissolve there, sending my gag reflex into action. But I guess considering the other parts of treatment, this is the cake walk.

So far my prognosis looks good. I am progressing along nicely. Though the Dr’s did come back and say that a bone marrow transport is in my near future. At first they didn’t think I would need it so soon….if i needed it at all, but there is this thing called the Philadelphia gene that I only have half of. And while only having half of the gene is better than having the whole shebang, I think they still want to be as proactive as possible.

I’ll get more into that gene business later. As I still have many questions in regards to that one, and really need to learn to articulate the delicate processes that are involved with how those genes seek each other and dance with one another.

My support circle is unbelievably incredible. I can’t even fathom where I would be without every one. They truly are the force behind my fight in all this. I am so blessed. I can’t stress this enough. It amazes me on a daily basis. Even the kindness of strangers opens my heart wide with awe and love.
Loved ones aiding me in my call to arms.

It’s such a beautiful thing. I get so weepy just thinking about it. The gratitude that fills my soul is unlike anything I have ever felt, and definitely the catalyst for the strength needed to kick this bullshit disease.

So I continue to push. I continue to focus. Continue to fight.

fuck_cancer_hey_cancer_fuck_postcards_package_o

Previous Older Entries