That was Fast!

Apparently, I'm almost fasting today.  I didn't mean to, and ok, I had 2 cups of coffee, 2 glasses of home brew kombucha, a cup of golden milk, a few glasses of water, and now some herbal tea. I have been on the verge of a cold and keep fighting it, so perhaps my body is telling me to do this today.

Plus, we had a party yesterday, and naturally, I ate.

This is normal, right? Eating? And, we didn't have much naughty food. I was very good. Probably ate fewer calories than the average American at this thing.

But, I had my thyroid levels checked at my post-op appointment because it's been such a hard road, this weighting game.  And, in fact, I was right as usual - at least when it comes to my health.

My T4 levels are low. Not terribly, but I have no baseline, so I assume they were on the higher side of normal. So, yes, my thyroid is messed up. From radiation? From tamoxifen? From stress? What???

Yeah. I'm small. I work out a lot, and I eat really clean. But the second I eat more than 800 calories, and many times 600, I gain. And yes, I was a personal trainer for many years. I understand the calorie game. They are all quality calories, and since I don't count the coconut oil in my coffee, or the home brew kombucha with chia seeds I consume daily, it's probably 200 on top of whatever I record in my log. And then, factor in the exercise calories.

So, I have an appointment to meet a new GP (my old one moved to Ohio or some crap - I mean, seriously???) But this one comes from my great new OB/GYN, and she has gotten to know me very quickly, and intimately, as they all do. So I have faith that I will like this doc as well.

So, here I am. Fasting involuntarily. But I have BIG PLANS to go to bed early tonight and perhaps squash this looming not-a-cold-but-could-be-easily-if-I-keep-up-and-not-sleeping game. So now that it's nearly 5pm, I've worked out, done all my stuff, am now practicing a bit so I don't go off the musical rails before my hit Thursday.... I am planning on a cozy movie in bed with the kitties before I abruptly kick them out so they're not pouncing on me all night, and get some sleep.

Fasting works well for my weight now. It was never a thing that I did. I'm slowly learning to embrace not feeling full. I grew up super poor, so there was always slight panic in my brain. Leave no morsel of food uneaten, eat when not hungry, because you're not sure when the next meal will present itself, etc. It makes for a messed up mindset, but finally, I'm getting the hang of the fact that I will not, in fact, starve to death.

Looking forward to my millions of doc appointments coming up (not!). Mammo up ahead as well. I'm so behind on my dental, but I just get tired. Tired of seeing someone and having them do stuff that isn't fun.

Invasion of the uterine snatchers

Well, it's now 3 weeks past surgery. At the 2 week mark, I was on a plane to do gigs in both Florida and LA. It was busy, I wasn't 100%, but sometimes it's just

So I did. In a big way. Epic trip, saw friends, played for amazing crowds. Spotting but nothing bad. What I had expected, more or less.

However, my actual period started at some point - maybe Monday or so - it was hard to tell since I had been spotting. But a couple of days ago, and since then, I've been starring in my very own slasher film.  I mean, it should not be possible for me to still be alive. Yet, here I am. I've been lightheaded, weak etc. But I crumbled and popped an iron pill before a 30 minute nap this afternoon and am feeling a bit better. Had a steak last night, and my leftover shreds on a salad tonight. 

I've consulted Dr. Google, and it seems all is in order. In fact, I should be doing this. I'm definitely going to have to take it easy. The worst thing is that most complain that sometimes it goes on for 2 weeks or longer. Are you kidding me? Do I need a transfusion? 

It hasn't been painful, or not more than usual. But it has been annoying. Naturally, I can't use a tampon or diva cup, and usually I just double up with a pad and one or the other (diva if I can, since it's eco friendly and safer for me!)  But now, I find that with every breath, I am worried that I've overstepped my wings. So far, nothing too tragic, but wow. Glad those nifty Seventh Generation long pads with wings are doing the trick. Because my vajayjay doesn't need bleach or chemicals, ever. But, it does need a LOT of absorbency these days. 

I'm paranoid that a pack of wild animals will start chasing me down the street - FRESH MEAT!!!  Ah, the overactive imagination of an artist. 

So, we'll see how this goes. 

How do you want to be remembered? Death Nesting.

It's interesting. I've been preparing for death since my diagnosis. Will in order (though it could be updated, it's ok as is). Got hubby on the apartment paperwork so there would be no question that he is an owner (I can't imagine dropping dead and the co-op kicking him out, but anything is possible in this crazy world!) Condensing accounts (one more to go, from 10 years ago - just need the transfer info, and that's on my mind hard core! But, if I were to disappear tonight, it would still be in my name and eventually go to him. But I'm all for simplicity and clean lines). SO much more stuff to get rid of in the house, or organize. Time leads to the accumulation of stuff. I've been trying to pare down so that my family doesn't have a lot of stuff to pick through or feel guilty about trashing or donating. There's really nobody to fight over my stuff, since I've basically no family. But still, I'd like for it to be as painless to eventually clear me out. I know that's a really hard thing for folks to deal with, and I don't want that for anyone, as a result of my passing.

It seems that daily, I'm less and less afraid of dying. Not because I'm better, but because, there's nothing to fear. It happens. I think it's probably a lot easier to die than to be left behind (case in point - me as a teen when my mom died). I still have a hard time. I still wake up, 25 years later, wanting to call her and check in. I first told my mom that I loved her when I was about 15 or 16. Why? I am most likely autistic. Those who know me now at this age would heartily disagree, until they heard my childhood stories, up until my mid 20's, really. I still have many signs that I have learned to curb myself. There was no help for people like me. My brother was worse. The docs said he had "tics". My father... definitely aspergers. Certainly a lot of our problems as regards our relationship - we basically never had one. I tried to make things better when I realized what might be going on. I was in my 20s, and then in my 30s. He denied everything. It must all be in my mind. So, I shut him out of my mind and life. I can't fix everything or everyone, but I am in control of my life and happiness.

 I loved my mom but felt guilt about that, since I loathed the man she married. It turns out that she wasn't too fond of him, but that's a long story. So my guilt was unwarranted, of course, but I still felt it. And when I had my daughter, I promised myself that she would hear and feel how much I love her. Because I do. My mom loved me and showed me, sometimes told me, in her own ways. But it was mostly unspoken, and difficult to hear through the disease and hatred in our "home" which was really a hoarding disaster supported by chronic unemployment.

Being a parent is so difficult as you chat with the Angel of Death. Actually, Angel is a very nice being. When it's time, it's time. Nobody is invincible. If you're not afraid of leaving, it's probably a good experience. I often wonder how folks feel as they die. The light? Is it there? Do they really see relatives who have passed on? Will I see my mom? Her sister (who died in her 20's, also from cancer)? Her parents? My grandma on my father's side, who I absolutely loved and was not invited to the funeral (courtesy of my father). In fact, when my mom passed, her will was "lost". Her platinum wedding rings were "lost", the only thing I ever really wanted of hers. I used to wear it as a kid when it was sitting in her ring holder. She used to laugh and say I always have expensive taste (I liked lobster, platinum rings... and here I was, the kid who wondered if we'd have food around for dinner). A lot was lost. More than he bargained for. Because that was my final (but long) straw. I was encouraged by ex's past to keep my relatives in my life. Blood is thicker than... I think NOT. You lose my right to keep my mother's belongings that she wanted me to have, and destroy her will? You sell her wedding rings that were to be mine? Yeah.

I wonder if my mom will meet him at the bright light when he crosses over. I don't know. Maybe there is a universal forgiveness on the other side. I wouldn't be shocked, because it seems right. But, how far does it go? Are murderers forgiven by their victims? Are rapists? I mean, how far does the forgiveness roll?

I have had to forgive a lot of people in my past. That means that I've been pretty tortured along the way, I guess. Today, I received an email from an ex. Ok, I was the ass. I "dated" him because he was so inaccessible by living 3 hours away, but gave me the opportunity to not only receive gifts in the mail (which sustained our relationship, sadly), but also labeled me as "Unavailable". It worked. Until he told me he was looking into schools where he lives... for my daughter. No thanks.

So, I got this email today. He's going to be at an event that I will be performing at. And why exactly is he telling me this? This also happened a year ago. In all honesty, seeing his bloated face full of anguish (perhaps his marriage is on the rocks, and I would guess so, according to the few late night emails from him once I left him, and during his marriage - which happened a month after my breaking up!) , it was non-eventful, other than the pity I felt for him, and the shame for using a person to be unavailable to others. Why couldn't I say that I was just not interested, and happily single? Every time I was single, I was hit by an onslaught of suitors or friends of guys who would be perfect for me. PERFECT, I tell you.  No thanks.

Why should someone send me an email? Is it a hopeful, narcissistic hook, trying to bait me into some torrid affair? I probably should have told him the truth, that I never liked him. But, that would be meaner than the act itself. But, in hindsight, perhaps it would have been best.

I actually did that once. Knew a guy for YEARS. Very handsome, in the same field, lost touch for years. Got back in touch, ironically, when both were single. Decided to give it a go. WORST idea. It was awful. And I kept hearing from him. Didn't want to be mean. But finally, I had to. Enough was enough. I basically told him that he had a better time than I did, evidently.

Was that mean? Maybe. But it was the truth. And I never heard from him again. Ok, a few times years later. But, at least he was able to move on, as embarrassed and angry as he probably was. I always wished him happiness and kind of wish we had just remained friends.

Sigh.

Love, or at least the appearance of love, is so complicated. We feel bad for single people. Why?

Yes. I'm in a good place now. But I'm also on my way out. That Angel of Death keeps peeking, texts me, checks in on me in my dreams. He's waiting to hang hard core. And I'm not afraid. Because, for all of my many faults, for all of my mistakes and bad decisions, I haven't been such an awful person to the core.

What happens to those who have been awful? Are they burning in the fiery pits of Hell? Do they hear a Verse on a given song over and over, without a chorus, or even some sort of drum break or interlude? Now, that would be hell. No thanks.

So, back to work I go. On the road early tomorrow and I really don't want to go, but I must. I need the money. Cancer has really taken a huge chunk of cash-flow, not to mention the expense of being my own holistic oncologist. I also want to save for when I am gone. I want my family to have something to survive on. That bathroom ain't gonna redo itself, and I set a high bar when I buy only organic foods.

Is it wrong that I hope that my husband finds a good partner when I'm gone? Should I want him to mourn my loss? I guess so. But I know him, and he will sink in it. He's super hot and smart and amazing. He needs to keep his good energy out there. I think a good partner will help him. He's a lot to handle, but worth it.

Why all of this thought about death? Because it can hit anyone at any time. People are in denial. People think they can do stuff in 10 years. They can finally clean out that closet, or write that will, or whatever. Nope. Tomorrow may be the end. And it's ok. But I'm trying to not leave my family in chaos amongst the chaos. It's somehow sobering and calming to know. I don't want to be walking toward my mom in the light only to realize that I forgot to pay some bill, or I left the cat box unscooped, or I forgot to tell my family that I loved them.

So, what exactly IS wrong?

Yesterday I burned approximately 150 calories MORE than I consumed. It was a good workout day, a good food day, yet I woke up almost 2 pounds heavier.

Sometimes I think I should just give up and move to the midwest and buy doritos by the case.

But, seriously, what is it? Is my thyroid literally toast from the radiation? Or the shutdown of my estrogen will never start back up quite the same?

What is it? And why am I not eating an entire

carrot cake nightly?

And why do I work out anymore?

I know I'm trying to do all of the right things. Correction. I am doing the right things. My body just isn't responding.

Is it stress?

So, if I'm stressing and my thyroid is screwed, I guess that could explain this. Lunch today was some turkey/cabbage soup and salad. If I gave it a high caloric count, it would clock in around 500 or maybe 600. And that's definitely more than it is.

I burned about the same at the gym.

We'll see what tomorrow brings. I do realize I'm also in PMS week - but this is just ludicrous. I have 2 big gigs this coming weekend and can not be the fat girl on stage.

I know. Shut up. I'm a size 2, maybe a 3 soon. But - I'd be ok with that if I WERE eating a carrot cake for dinner every night. I'm eating super clean and light and working out. That's what's scary. When I look at my calculations over the past few months, I should have lost 30 pounds, not gained 10. And I don't mind being thought superficial - but the truth is - I'm petrified that something is utterly wrong that we don't know about. So tempting to get

wings for dinner. So. Tempting.

Uterine slicings are not cancerous!

Ain't life grand?

I actually didn't expect them to be. I have too much stuff going wrong in my life, so I just needed something to be right for a change.

Still crampy and spotting, but I'm hoping to be me again soon.

The best idea during recovery is to NOT have a bunch of noisy workmen in your apartment, sequestering you in a plastic bubble around your kitchen. But, that's precisely what happened Monday.  You see, our co-op replaced our hvac crap a few years back. And it's never been right. So, they keep coming back to tear our walls up and "fix" it. So far, I'm not impressed.

Tuesday was a ginormous snowstorm, so they cancelled continuation of work.

Wednesday, they came back. And left again when they realized they didn't have the right parts. Super.

It'll be Friday tomorrow. I wonder what will happen? Not holding my breath.

Meanwhile, I do feel better when I move. I tried lifting weights but that was definitely not good. Until I went super light. Then it was great! Is it prolonging my healing? Who the f cares. I feel better.

Have to schedule my post-op in 2 weeks. I have a work trip in a week - playing in Florida for some fancy thing, and then in LA for a very fancy thing... The Grammys!!! , so I'm hoping to be spunky and leak free by then.  Meanwhile, motherhood has been a royal pain in the tuchus, and I'm worried that all of this crap has gotten to my girl. I wouldn't blame her, but it hurts that I don't feel her with me sometimes.

Hysteroscopy and other fun stuff!

Well, it happened yesterday. Had my little surgery. Overall, it wasn't horrible, though I would have been happier without. You know?

Basically, they knocked me out, shoved a camera in my hoo-hah, looked around, took photos, and sliced a few things out. I woke from anesthesia, cracking jokes with everyone. And that's precisely what the surgeon told hubby when she called him to say I was all done. "Your wife just woke up and is making everyone laugh in the recovery room". I should have charged a cover!

Anyway, I left fairly quickly after that. I know my body. I am good for a while, then I lose it. I don't want to lose it in the hospital, because I don't want them to keep me there! Walked home, because the numb stuff was still doing it's magic. I even encouraged hubby to look in a store that was closing, and he scored a pair of shoes - for $100, normally $400. See? My bad health is good luck!

We made it home and even grabbed some dinner along the way. It was the first thing I'd had since an apple and a ginger ale in the hospital. Famished, I had some arugula salad, half of a falafel sandwich, and half of a lamb and tabbouleh platter. And about 500 drinks (non-alcoholic, thank you!) since I was so dehydrated.

Hubs had to work that evening so he laid down for a nap. I did too, and knocked out. It was about 5:15, he left and I remember him going. I tried to read a little and fell asleep immediately. Woke up a few times at night, and at 4am got up, made a cup of tea, did some cleaning, made my special coffee sprinkles because I ran out, and finally crawled back into bed to read more.

Basically, I've caught up on a lot of sleep that I have denied myself. Still achy and groggy and dizzy and a slight nausea, but plenty of fluids, made a juice with a ton of ginger which helped the pain immensely, and had hubby guasha my shoulders. Apparently, this procedures can make your shoulders really hurt. Talk about opposite ends!

Hoping I'll be ok and mend quickly. I think I will. Because I'm stubborn as hell. Pathology in a week. Post op in 3.

A new yea

Well, here we are. 2015.

Great! I made it!

Living my life in pain, physically and emotionally.

Ladies, you know when you're hormonal, and it is more than wanting to gorge on chocolate and cookies? When you're... hormonal???

Put that on 11.  Then imagine it on 12. That's me.

I'm pretty sure that I react way more extremely than other women. I just said today that I would love to find a way to be LESS in touch with my body. I don't want to know, now that I know, that these little aliens are growing in my uterus (3), along with a polyp on my ovary. Yeah, I'm a female dart board.

I'm grateful that I knew something was wrong. But, someone please tell my body to not feel it as I wait for a procedure(s) to be scheduled. Luckily, it's the holidays, so nobody is reachable. Because, life stops for the stupid lit up ball to drop for all of the folks who have been corralled in Times Square for 24 hours without a bathroom. I sure hope they were giving out Adult Diapers. Get back into life!

This is ruining my life right now. It makes me go back to some thoughts I've had earlier in my illness, that perhaps this is our bodies way of softening the blow if we do croak. I mean, when folks say "I'm so glad that he/she is not in pain anymore. He/she is in a better place. I'm happy that he/she is not suffering anymore, and neither is their family".

I get it. Shoot me in the forehead and please don't miss - because I want to be pain free, in a better place, and to have my family no longer suffer.

Seriously, though, is there a hypnotist who can hypnotize the pain from my brain? Isn't there a switch? Hubby always wants me to take advil, but I think of that as a last ditch trick. Because it is toxic. Advil side effects are FUN! And even Forbes got in on the fun!

Yep. I'll stick to my home remedies as much as I can stand.

But then, there are our families.

My husband bears a lot of weight now. He is afraid for my pain, but also how it affects my INSANITY.  It's like I'm back on Tamoxifen. This insanity was a side-effect, so I can only imagine that it's connected via the other side effect of uterine thickening as well as creepy shit growing on the walls. I mean, women go through phases of uterine changes every month, in different ways. But this is nonstop, ongoing pain. Tell me exactly how I am supposed to keep smiling and carrying on like a good, obedient woman? 

Would I actually pull a Bobbitt? Ew.

But, life is really trying. I need to be locked in a cage with some really good chocolate and sleeping pills. Because I don't know how I'll get from here to there.

Not every waking moment is painful. Just most of them. The problem, of course, other than the actual pain, is the fact that it's hard to hide. I often hide tears behind sunglasses, or I walk a bit hunched over to try and relieve some of the pressure (how that happens, I have no idea. It may be in my head, and that's fine). I try and live an anti-inflammatory life. Of course, I have to run out and get almond milk because I'm out and am literally dying for a cup of golden milk, but the cow stuff will most likely muck up the anti-inflammatory process. 

It's funny. No, not haha funny. I live my life so clean, and then the crud keeps growing in me. I know that what I'm doing is helpful, but it makes me want to surrender. Get the white flag, let's make arrangements for my memorial. I want to be cremated. I don't want a big whoop-dee-doo, and I certainly don't want a bunch of cut flowers at this party. Bring potted plants. Hey - how about exchange them at the end of the shindig? Everyone bring home a potted plant and remember that cut flowers smell like a funeral, and are a waste of cash, and are depressing. Make it a pot-luck. Cook your favorite dish. If you can't cook, bring my husband some really nice whiskey and stuff. Bring my daughter anime stuff. Order pizza - whatever. Just have a good time. It's not a talent show, or a place to say "I knew her so well" when you're just trying to get a gig from someone else who might be there. 

I get pretty cynical when I see folks dying, and others vying for the coveted handouts from the closet, or the foot stompers who don't get enough from the will (ps. I'm broke). It's like, we are waiting for you to die so we can fight over your handbags. 

Ain't nobody fighting over mine. They go to my daughter. Someday, she may want to carry them. And if not, hubby can help her ebay them and put some money away for college. 

What do we leave behind, really? We leave memories. A whiff of perfume that a long lost love wore can bring out an unscripted emotion. The block-away-doppelganger who, upon closer inspection, is actually a cross dresser, or at least, nothing like your loved one gone too soon. A snippet on the supermarket muzak that reminds us of some dumb excursion that once was shared and laughed about. Nothing at all. Nothing can remind us of everything. 

I still see my mother. She has now been gone 24 years and 5 months. I hear her. I smell her. 

Where is she when I need her??? Because she's here, but she's not taking. I only hope that she doesn't feel guilt for this disease we share.