The Jungle

I am on AMAZON! I just did a search for "Drenda Howatt" and my book came up! Woo hoo! And, someone has purchased one through Amazon. I have had my first sale. Oh my goodness.

Strong & Courageous...The Book!

Strong & Courageous; A Survivor's Facebook Journey Through Breast Cancer

Scheduled to be released by December 4th...

Coming Back

There are hours, finally, where I live life. I live life -- real life.

Not life lived through the lens of cancer.

And how glorious those hours are!

We were on vacation for a few days this past week. And half way through, I realized that I had not been punched for a few days. No cancer punches to my stomach. Almost able to really relax.

I even forgot the reason for my 'creakiness'. The same medication that inhibits estrogen (and hopefully, cancer) also causes bone pain and joint stiffness. But this week, in my thoughts, I was just 'creaky'... not 'creaky' because I take medication to keep cancer away.

I had thought it would be terribly scary to increase the time between my visits to see my friend Jerry. But, the reality is that that time allows me to be normal. It allows me a break from the journey. A few times, it has even allowed me to think "did cancer really happen? Did I really go through all of that?"

And those questions, those breaks, let me be me. Just plain old me. Not Drenda who is strong and courageous. Or Drenda who is 'looking so good'. Not Drenda who is overwhelmed with the terror of cancer.

Just Drenda.

I kinda like her.

And so very happy she is coming back.

Cavalier. Who? Me?

adjective
a cavalier disregard for danger offhand, indifferent, casual, dismissive, insouciant, unconcerned; supercilious, patronizing, condescending, disdainful, scornful, contemptuous; informal couldn't-care-less, devil-may-care.

"It is what it is."

"What if it comes back? Well, it comes back. And I'll deal with it then."

Dismissive.

Unconcerned. (not really. ALWAYS concerned.)

Casual.

Have I mentioned that every ache and pain causes heart aches and pain? 

Have I mentioned that the every day type of headache or leg cramp raises my blood pressure? That every one makes me inhale sharply and talk myself calm? Every one? Every damn one?

Jerry's words to me were that if I had bad headaches, or bone pain, he wanted to know about it. Other than that, he basically told me to go and have a good life.

I have had intermittent and recurring leg/ankle pain in my right leg for a few weeks. 

But, I told myself, it was intermittent. Cancer pain would be always there, right?

Yesterday I google searched "bone pain from cancer".

Intermittent and recurring.

Today I called.

oohhh, that was a hard call to make. Hard to quell the quiver in my voice. Strong and courageous? Who? Me? You've got to be kidding.

Jerry doesn't have "advice nurses". He has "triage". I am thinking that 'triage' isn't the best word to use. I shall add that to my list of suggestions for NW Cancer Specialists. 

I talked to nurse Kathryn. She was one of my favorite chemo nurses. Don's favorite, too. She is a Mac girl.

So I describe to nurse Kathryn about the ankle and leg pain. She said "so, do you have a question about it, or do you just want the doctor to know?" 

Um, yes. My question is if the pain is caused by cancer. That is my question. But instead of asking nurse Kathryn my question, I respond "Jerry said he wanted to know if I had bone pain..."

Nurse Kathryn asks for the best phone number to call me back. I ask when the call would be and she said "probably Monday, possibly late this afternoon".

Imagine my surprise when my phone rings within 40 minutes. Dr. Segal wants me to have an xray today. And don't wait too long to go so that he can get the results this afternoon...in case they have to do an "intervention". 

Breathe, Drenda. Breathe. It is probably nothing. Quell the panic. I tell myself that I will feel silly about my upset and fear when I get the news that all is well.

I go to Providence for the xray. No record of the order. Finally found. Sent to xray.

Darrell, the xray tech, asks me why I am having an xray. "Injury?"

"No."

That is all I say. I am laying on the table, and thinking "'no' is enough. He doesn't need to know more." I cannot bear to hear myself say the words that are in my head. I cannot bear to say the words "just ruling out cancer"... or "want to make sure breast cancer has not spread". Can't say them.

Darrell goes to develop the xrays. And he comes back. And spends quite a bit of time at his monitor, looking at the xrays.

Then he comes over to me and asks me to pinpoint for him where, exactly, I am having the pain. I do. He says, "ok. You can go. The doctor will interpret the xrays and then call your doctor, and your doctor will call you."

Cavalier?
Strong and Courageous?

My facade may be all three.

But my heart?

My heart is quivering. 

My heart is often fear-filled. 

My heart is waiting. For the other shoe to drop.


So I am home now. 

Waiting for Jerry to call.

And when that phone rings? 

That's when I'll need the strength and courage. 

Just to answer.

You're Invited...

I had a wonderful conversation with one of my sisters today.  About many things.  So good to really talk.

I asked her if she thought that our family was different now after going through cancer with me.  I asked her if she thought that we knew how to reach out better to others in our midst who were battling cancer.

She said "yes".  She said that she thought that because I had "invited people in" to go through cancer with me that reactions were different.  She said that because I was so "open and willing to answer questions" that our family knew what I needed.

Her words made me stop in my tracks.  

Invited?

No.  

Not really.

I hadn't thought of what I shared as an 'invitation'.

It was more the throwing out of a lifeline, asking, begging, for people to grab the rope and pull me in.  

I was drowning and needed to be lifted out of the quicksand that was engulfing me.

I shared my pain and terror and the details of the photographs and the overwhelming tide of chemo and surgeries and radiation and the nausea and the hair loss and the draining of any energy and the sadness not because I wanted 'my people' to know what I was enduring.  Or because I wanted people to feel sorry for me.  

No.

I shared those things because I knew not what else to do.

I shared those things because, when I laid in bed, the choice was often between more tears or more typing.  

I shared those things in writing because to speak the words was more than I could bear.  And to keep them inside would kill me.

So, there really was no 'invitation'.

But how thankful I am that you RSVP'd.

One Year, One Lifetime

"...a year ago on mother's day my strong, beautiful, and faithful momma was bald, going through chemo, and just trying to get through each day. now my mom is healthy, cancer free, and living life to the fullest. i am so proud to be her daughter and so thankful for her! i love you, mom!"

My daughter, Rachel, posted this on her facebook today.  As I read it, my heart was thrilled.  I was happy.  My daughter is proud of me.  My daughter thinks I am strong.  She thinks that I am beautiful.  She thinks I am faithful.  She loves me.  She has no idea the import of those words.  They make me cry.  Even now as I sit typing this note, I am teary-eyed.  

And then her words made me think about the last 18 months.  It has been quite the journey.

One year ago.  I was going through chemo.  "Going through" doesn't give the true picture.  I think the word "enduring" is better.

One year ago, I was bald.  I was bloated.  I was oh, so tired.  All the time.  And getting through the day was a struggle.

But now?

Now I am healthy.

Now I am cancer-free.

Now I am living life to the fullest.

Thank you, dear Rachel, for the reminder.

And I am proud to be your Momma.  Oh so very proud.

Hate

I hate cancer.

Hate it.

Even though I am thankful for the things I've learned and the ways I've grown because of cancer, I hate it.

I hate that it silently creeps in and rips normal routine out of families' lives.

I hate that it tears into the hearts of our children.  I hate that it causes life-defining moments  for them.   I hate that it makes little ones consider the mortality of their parents.

I hate that it has the power to create panic that knows no bounds.

I hate that it is everywhere.

I hate that it still has the power to punch me in the stomach.  Hard.

I hate that it causes questions over EVERY little ache or pain.  Every one.

I hate that I have the knowledge now of what it feels like to hear unimaginable words.

I (unlike the rest of the world, apparently) hate the pink ribbon.  I know what it means.  I know it is good.  I often wear one.  I still hate it.

It is good that I can be of help to others who are battling cancer.  It is good that I can accompany my dear niece and her strong and courageous husband on their appointment with the oncologist.  And I am so glad they asked me to come.  

But I hate the reason I am there.  

Even being at the 'cancer center' with them punches me in the stomach.  Inside, my head is screaming "why are you here?  OH!  YOU'RE HERE BECAUSE YOU HAVE CANCER!"  And then, my rational side takes over.  "NO!  I HAD cancer.  'HAD' is PAST TENSE."  

All this screaming and discourse going on in my brain while I am listening to the oncologist explain next steps to Jon and Dustine.   I want to protect them from the terrible words they are hearing.  I hate cancer.

In a post I wrote on my birthday last September, I said that I am thankful for the difficulties of cancer because I am thrilled with the blessings.  I wrote that I would not change the past.

I wouldn't.  

Really.  

I am thrilled with the blessings.  I stand amazed at what God has done in me and through me because of the trials of cancer.

But I still hate it.