Tuesday, September 6, 2011
The consumption
Cancer, cancer, cancer. Everywhere I turn. Every thought I have. Every prayer I utter.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Labor Day Musings
G has been sick all week. She had her varicose veins banded on Weds and the pain has been nearly unbearable for her. Unbearable for me to witness her suffering.
Sometimes, I feel as though I live in an otherworld. I keep thinking we will go into a doctor appt and they will say to G, "We misdiagnosed you. You don't have myleofibrosis after all. What you have is very treatable and you will live a long and healthy life."
But we never hear those words. Instead, we hear about chemo and bone marrow transplants and GVHD. We don't ask about statistics. Ever.
Sometimes, I feel as though I live in an otherworld. I keep thinking we will go into a doctor appt and they will say to G, "We misdiagnosed you. You don't have myleofibrosis after all. What you have is very treatable and you will live a long and healthy life."
But we never hear those words. Instead, we hear about chemo and bone marrow transplants and GVHD. We don't ask about statistics. Ever.
Tuesday, August 30, 2011
Ground Zero
What day is it? How many bottles of wine have I actually consumed since those gray-haired doctors told me my 33 year old daughter has a chronic Leukemia? A Leukemia for which there is no cure but a bone marrow transplant. Let’s see (counting fingers on one hand) . . . it was April when we returned from the Mayo clinic. Yes, it was April – we flew home the day of my birthday. It was not a celebration – yet somehow, my G (and her best friend, C) kept me in stitches the entire plane ride home. I have always said my daughter has a young, exuberant spirit. I am an old spirit. I rarely laugh.
I had cervical cancer when I was 21 years old. Almost prevented her (my gorgeous, beautiful daughter) from every making her entrance into this world. I fought for her. Yes I did. I fought hard. It was 1977 and I had to find a doctor who was willing to treat the cancer and not automatically yank out my uterus, as they were want to do in those days. I wanted children. I desperately wanted G. Before she was born, I called her my butterfly. Here is where teal and orange blend together. Teal for cervical cancer; orange for Leukemia.
I am now an orange mom. I hate the color orange . . . but I am learning to embrace it.
Like Ginsberg, I am nearly destroyed by madness, and I Howl deeply, privately, over my daughter’s cancer diagnosis. Yet here I am, in the public domain. What in the world has come over me?
Most of the time, I only hear my own echo. Sometimes, I hear the slight whisper of that Greater Being. Sometimes, I actually do feel the presence of the He/She God. But then, those cavernous, cave-dark moments return, and I scrape my knuckles against gravely walls as I blindly try to find my way.
I like to think of God as He/She. My best friend CT, who died this year from brain cancer, thought of God in this way. I like awakening the female in God. It makes Her so much more approachable. A mother’s loving touch. I am a mother, too.
Why in the world am I blogging? There is no audience to hear my pain. But there is the He/She God. Perhaps She receives these bits and bites.
I am living out loud. And I am appalled at myself. Yet, I can't seem to stop what I am doing here in this empty land of cyberspace. A Howl, I suppose.
I had cervical cancer when I was 21 years old. Almost prevented her (my gorgeous, beautiful daughter) from every making her entrance into this world. I fought for her. Yes I did. I fought hard. It was 1977 and I had to find a doctor who was willing to treat the cancer and not automatically yank out my uterus, as they were want to do in those days. I wanted children. I desperately wanted G. Before she was born, I called her my butterfly. Here is where teal and orange blend together. Teal for cervical cancer; orange for Leukemia.
I am now an orange mom. I hate the color orange . . . but I am learning to embrace it.
Like Ginsberg, I am nearly destroyed by madness, and I Howl deeply, privately, over my daughter’s cancer diagnosis. Yet here I am, in the public domain. What in the world has come over me?
Most of the time, I only hear my own echo. Sometimes, I hear the slight whisper of that Greater Being. Sometimes, I actually do feel the presence of the He/She God. But then, those cavernous, cave-dark moments return, and I scrape my knuckles against gravely walls as I blindly try to find my way.
I like to think of God as He/She. My best friend CT, who died this year from brain cancer, thought of God in this way. I like awakening the female in God. It makes Her so much more approachable. A mother’s loving touch. I am a mother, too.
Why in the world am I blogging? There is no audience to hear my pain. But there is the He/She God. Perhaps She receives these bits and bites.
I am living out loud. And I am appalled at myself. Yet, I can't seem to stop what I am doing here in this empty land of cyberspace. A Howl, I suppose.
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