As a "Breast Cancer Survivor", I have actually heard people refer to me as brave
or courageous, inspirational even! Most days I don't feel that way at all, and
some days I'm just lost. Too often it seems any little thing can erode my
confidence. For instance, this morning I walked past the bathroom closet, the
door ajar. From the corner of my eye I saw a box of hygienic face masks.
Instantly, the horror of chemotherapy treatment came upon me. I remembered white
blood counts so low I could not risk going into a crowded grocery store or
waiting in a line at the Post Office, forget about a friendly hug from a friend,
neighbor, or worse, any small children! On certain days, I couldn't even work
alone in my garden without a mask to protect me from airborne spores and germy
dirt! And perhaps the worse place I had to be on a daily basis for a few months
while on chemo was a crowded blood lab waiting room where everyone in there was
sick with something! That box of earlobe masks sitting there on the shelf in my
bathroom closet just totally decomposed me. I did this digital portrait as a way
to help me process the intense feelings of raw fear I was suddenly experiencing
again, months after the fact. And this afternoon I was very fortunate a friend
showed up just as I was finishing to pull me out of the
past and back to the present! Thinking about it now, several hours later, I
suppose since it's true I never showed or even felt any fear while going through
chemotherapy, it must have been there on some level because it's showing up now,
triggered by a stupid box of masks on a shelf.
November 5, 2008
Finally we have a new President! That's great. I have a new blood clot in my
neck, and I am back on Coumidan. That's not so great :(
December 19, 2008
I haven't been painting much lately because the Taxol
left me with little to no feeling in my hands and feet! - definitely not
good on a freezing winter day, and making it difficult, some days impossible
to paint as I cannot feel the brush in my hand and keep dropping things. I
am on medication that helps quite a bit, and remain hopeful that this
side-effect will subside with time and I can paint with
joyful, prolific abandon again someday.
For me surgery and treatment were months of whirlwind
activity leaving little time to process what I was experiencing on anything
other than an intellectual level. Now, months after those events occurred, I
find myself having to deal with spontaneous residual emotional reactions to
details that didn't even register as having any importance at the time they
occurred. These Post Traumatic Stress reactions erode my confidence and
inhibit my ability to participate and enjoy life. Although I didn't think so
before, I think now that I am lucky I live alone and no one has to witness
or be subjected to any of it. I've always lead a rather reclusive lifestyle,
but now am actually afraid to accept that rare invitation from a friend, and
absolutely shun large groups (except my breast cancer recovery group where I
feel somewhat safe). I soldiered through surgery and treatment, but now I am
an emotional mess! If I think about it, it is so painful. So I try
not to think about it. Those thoughts leave me ungrateful where I "should"
be happy I lived through it all and so far remain NSD (no sign of disease).
I no longer sleep long enough to have any dreams, but I
hope to remain disease-free. For me it's a matter of biology. Either
the treatment worked or it didn't. It did give me time. It gave me today.
For that I am grateful. Because I do not know if, when, or where any
recurrence will happen or what future surgeries and treatment that might
require, I opted out of any kind of surgical reconstruction. I have my
blood draws down to two times a week, my doctors' visits down to once a
month, and my major monitoring scans and tests at 6 month intervals. I will
spend part of today outside experiencing and observing Nature, and part of
it in my studio experimenting with new techniques to accommodate my new
physical reality. That's the plan anyway. I was up at 4am. It's now only
7:30 but feels closer to noon. So I might crash at some point during the
day, scuttling the best of plans. The ice on my windows and fresh snow
outside in the morning sun are, for me, compelling and inspirational, so I
hope I make it thru the day and get some of it on canvas. We'll see.
January 9, 2009
Lived to see the New
Year! And a new President!!!
I am always amazed these fragile little birds can survive
a long, bitter cold Maine winter. I guess they are stronger than they
appear. I am now 1 year past diagnosis and surgery for breast cancer, and 6
months past chemotherapy treatments. I am finding that I, too, am stronger
than I thought, although I have looked and felt pretty fragile at times this
past year. Facing metastasis, however, I know my life remains as tenuous as
my little friends here. Though the struggle continues, I see each day as a
gift, and look forward to warmer, brighter days ahead.
Onward and Awkward
May 2009
It was pretty emotional for me being at this event, one year out of
chemotherapy, and with no sign of disease (at the moment anyway). If you
asked me this time last year, I wouldn't have believed it was going to
happen.
June 2009
I've been having to deal with a lot of complications from chemo,
including a lung infection this Spring, but on CTscan was thought to
be a possible metastases. Fortunately, I was able to avoid a major
surgery by finding a different doctor who was willing to start with a
less invasive procedure and able to determine I was not dealing with any
malignancies, which is what I most needed to know. For the first time in
a year and a half I am not in the middle of a medical crisis!
August 2009
I am finally back in my studio! Now that the neuropathy is beginning to
resolve, I can hold a brush without dropping it, and feel the ground
beneath my feet again. I did compensate by doing a series of "poured
paintings", which I am very pleased with. My energy and endurance for
long hours at my easel are still not what they use to be, but continue
to improve. And I am just lately beginning to be able to spend more time
on the computer, which is where the majority of my sales come from. I
finally emerged from my chemo fog just in time for a major
recession! But I am not complaining. The Haven Foundation Grant last
year was so helpful in allowing me to focus on my recovery without
wasting precious energy worrying about how to pay the bills.
I saw my oncologist at the end of August, and we were both very
pleased with my healing progress and recovery efforts. My most
recent CTscan in June showed considerable improvement in my lungs, and a
nasty head to toe rash plaguing me for months has completely cleared up
since I stopped taking Neurontin and switched to supplements specific to
neuropathy. Soooo, unless something comes up between now and then, I
have no tests scheduled and won't see him again for 6 months, well into
the New Year!
