Monkey Face, I love you!

I have been living with cancer since July of 2006. Actually, probably quite a bit longer than that but I didn’t know it yet. I have ovarian cancer (the “OC”). The days before that July were the “salad days”. When I am feeling really sorry for myself, I force my mind to remember what it was like “BC” (“before cancer”). I like to romanticize about how perfect my life was and how the OC swept in like one of those storms you see on “Deadliest Catch” and changed everything in one gigantic, icy-cold wave. But unlike the crabbing season which ends in just a few short months, I have been fighting the current in these frigid waters for 1,167 days and counting. My arms are tired, my feet and hands are numb, and I am still trying to find an ice floe that is large enough that I can climb up on it and rest awhile. Don’t get me wrong. There have been moments—which sometimes even extend to a couple of weeks—where my mind thaws out and I bask in the warmth of “normal” life. But mostly this battle is what defines me these days. I hate that. I know it bores the hell out of everyone around me. Heck, it bores the hell out of me. But…“It is what it is.” I have no idea where this blog will go. It feels terribly narcissistic to think that anyone but me would be interested in reading about this. Not having written anything in a public forum before, I feel a little like the host at my own birthday party fifteen minutes before “go time.” I’ve sent 100 invitations, bought ten cases of beer and enough fajitas for the entire neighborhood … but what if nobody shows? Have I mentioned I am learning to live outside my fears? So here goes. I am diving straight off the bow of the “Wizard” and trusting that I won’t get battered by the rocks below.

I decided to blog about my experience living with the OC after talking to a new friend (“NF”) of mine who has had way too much cancer fun. NF lost his precious wife to cancer just 4 months ago after both waged a heroic fight to LIVE WELL through the disease. LIVE WELL they did but it ended too soon. Cancer has a way of doing that—of just chopping things off at the knees. NF suggested that it would be a good idea for me to start writing about this experience because at some point it might be helpful to somebody to read it. He probably really meant that it might be helpful to me to write it. In any case, here I am. I have been thinking a lot about what to write. What tone should I use? How frank should I be? What if being candid makes it harder on those who care about me? What if all of those people who think I have such a great attitude find out it’s all a façade? What if people think I am insensitive or boring or vain? What if I discover that the OC isn’t to blame for all of my problems but has become a convenient crutch to avoid living my life fully? Well … those things are bound to happen because I am officially declaring this space a “no bullshit zone.” Life is short and all of this sugar-coating about what it’s like living with this disease doesn’t advance the ball at all as far as I can see. I wish someone had pulled me aside and said, “I have a secret for you that people who aren’t in the ‘club’ don’t know and nobody ever talks about. Did you know that when your hair falls out it is going to fall out EVERYwhere? Yep. EVERYwhere. And, if that weren’t bad enough, when it does come back in you are going to have a MONKEY FACE. That’s right—a thick layer of fuzz like the wolf boys … except blond. You won’t have any eyebrows yet, but you will sure be able to braid all of that stuff coming out of your forehead. And that’s not to mention the sideburns …” True story. I look forward to all of you who read this trying to get an inconspicuous look at what I’m talking about. But if you want to see it, you’ll have to hurry. If it isn’t gone by this weekend I am making a trip to Aveda for a depilatory. What’s the worst thing that can happen? I have braid-able facial hair for goodness sake. There is no place to go but up.