Cancer-versary

10 years ago today, at lunch time, I was sitting in a Mexican Restaurant that's no longer there. It's now a Taco Diner. I was with a friend/business associate. It was a beautiful sunny day. I remember the restaurant had a bunch of different crosses on the wall. And there were so many men eating lunch there. And my friends were at my house texturing and painting the walls.  Just weird things I remember.

Then the phone call as lunch was arriving. Tacos? Enchiladas? Taco Salad? I don't remember that part. But I remember the words...are you on your cell phone? Are you at a safe place to talk? Are you sitting down? And then Charlie Brown's teacher talking WAA WAA WAA WAA WAA...I honestly was not understanding a word she said until she finally got to the point. I'm sorry. You have cancer.   Yes...just like that on the phone, in the middle of lunch at the Mexican restaurant.  And then my end of the conversation went something like this:  WHAT? No, the dr. said it looked like nothing. The radiologist said she would be shocked if it was anything other than benign. So what is this you are telling me? Have you confused me with some other person that has my same name? Did you swap biopsy results in the lab - you know that happens right?

Charlie Brown's teacher sqawking again.

I remember my friend holding my hands and praying with me. And all those crosses. And all those businessmen eating their Mexican food.  And tears rolling down my face. But I didn't lose my appetite. I ate my Mexican food too.  Because it takes a lot for me to lose my appetite. And my friend gave me the name of three friends who had been there done that with breast cancer...and I got home to my friends who were painting and I remember saying I have F*ing breast cancer. And we all hugged and we cried. And then I called my sister and told her she had to tell my parents and spread the word.  I got on the computer or phone, I don't remember and told my closest friends. and Pete.  Because this is what you do when you find out such terrible things - you tell.  And then we went down the yellow brick road, went through the scary forest, lost my hair/regained my hair and got back to Kansas.

So here we are -  10 years post C1 and celebrating the Cancer-versary?  Remembering is more like it.

It did dawn on me that maybe I needed to re-set the clock for C2...but then I decided I need two cancer-versaries because the greatest silver lining of cancer is getting to make your rules up as you go. And this is mine.

Now where's my cake?

Perfectly imperfect

I will admit to being THAT GIRL in the family - the one who got the "I'm sorry I'm not perfect like you" insult on a regular basis.

It's not that I believed I was perfect but I will admit to STRIVING for perfection.  A 98% test grade wasn't good enough for me - I wanted 100% or 105% if they threw in the bonus questions.  When I played softball, I practiced for hours.  In my work life, I was super achiever. In my home life, I tried to be super mom.  In my personal life, super work out queen.  (AHA MOMENT: I never did try to be the perfect wife and I guess that may be a contributing factor in the less than perfect marriage and divorce).    I gave myself migraines, lost sleep over unimportant things...all in the great quest for PERFECTION.  Perfect family. Perfect job. Perfect body. Perfect life.

As my children turned into teenagers, the Sorry I'm Not Perfects continued.  In fact, someone wrote a song about not being perfect that was frequently turned up loud in my son's bedroom.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cGs8vtjDxxY

I hate to put Cancer and Raising Teenagers in the same sentence but I am going to with great apologies to my Perfectly Imperfect sons, because both of them taught me a lot about losing the perfect.   However, since this is a cancer blog and not a child-rearing blog, I will leave out the imperfect moments of raising hell raisers.  Suffice to say, all perfection was thrown out the window for a few years. For those of you who witnessed me in Exorcist Mom mode - sorry.  Super Imperfect.

Meanwhile and back at the cancer....

During Cancer I, I think I was still doing the perfect thing.  I was the poster child for cancer.  Kept the good attitude.  Got my chemo with a smile; sailed through radiation; played soccer; kept that wig on and kept working.  Perfect Patient.  I wanted the perfect result.

The silver lining of Cancer II has been embracing imperfection.  Truthfully, you can do everything perfectly and still end up with cancer. Eat right. Exercise. Clean living. Cancer. Not to say that you shouldn't keep doing those things (I am a firm believer in them), but there is no guarantee that it will save you from the C.  And all that driving yourself crazy trying to be perfect doesn't put you at the head of the get out of cancer free line.  So why be perfect? It's hard work.  It's unattainable.

It's a month post-surgery now - I still have stitches.  The girls are not quite symmetrical.  When I look at myself in the mirror, I see less than perfect breasts. A body that could use a few nip tucks. A face that is beginning to wrinkle. Hair that would be gray if I allowed it.

You know what?  (Siblings, sons...listen up...)

I'M IMPERFECT.  And that's perfect for me.

What we don't say

One of the silver linings of having a life threatening disease is realizing VERY QUICKLY hmmm...my days ARE limited - I will make them count. But the best silver linings is that "your people" understand this too.  And they take the time to tell you I love you. You inspire me. I admire your strength. A lot. And they lift you up with You're beautiful. You're smart. You're funny. You have made my life better.  And I am here to tell you that there is nothing better in this world to have your child tell you I'm a better person because you helped me, because you believed in me and stuck with me.  Or you are the strongest person I know. You help me remember the important things.  I don't know what I would have done without you in my life.  Staring down the C hole results in the verbalization of these things.  After all, you might not make it out alive and there is a sense of urgency to let you know these things.

But then again, you might.

All this C-ness was put very quickly in perspective for me with a series of tragic and sudden losses...and the things we say at funerals and memorials and to families...a lot of things we never said when we had the chance.

All of us struggle with insecurities.  All of us want to feel needed, loved, appreciated.  Please don't wait until someone is sick or gone to tell them just how wonderful they are.  Do it today. Do it often.

Just do it.