Things That Go Bump In The Night

Ok, they are supposed to, but they haven’t.

My hubs and I, well, we haven’t gone “bump in the night” in two years.

It is what brachytherapy does.  It mangles you as a woman.

Not to mention the whole lack of sexual desire that accompanies a hysterectomy.

And the trauma of cancer.

Living with your mother will screw with your intamacy levels too.

I feel bad.  I shouldn’t.  I can’t help it.  I have been traunatized both physically and mentally thanks to cancer.

But there is always the sadness that you aren’t providing your partner with a basic need that comes with a happy, healthy marriage.

I am trying to work through this.

But it sucks.


World Cancer Day

So, today is World Cancer Day – where we take a moment to highlight what is being done to fight cancers; honor the survivors and fighters; and remember those who have passed.

So, as a survivor, fighter, etc., I’m really kind of meh about this day.

I know, shame on me.


I kind of feel that everyday for me is cancer day.  It shouldn’t be a once a year thing.  We should, as cancer fighters, and survivors, and family and friends, ALWAYS be highlighting our fight.

And another thing – for those who have passed from cancer, the one thing that really burns my biscuits is when people refer to those folks as people who have lost the fight.

No – they fought until the end.  Even if they chose to stop fighting, they fought.  They didn’t LOSE that battle.  They won.  They beat cancer.  Maybe not on an earthly plain, but never, ever say, for a minute, that they gave up a fight.  It’s disrepectful.

My sister was a fighter.  Every day, every hour, every minute until her last.

My dad was the same.  He fought like hell – to see his little girl take her first steps, say her first word…he died shortly after I did both.  I was 17 months old.

I fight.  Every day.  Like a girl.  Kicking and screaming and scratching and clawing.

Not a day goes by that I don’t think of cancer.  Not one single day.

Today, I woke up, got dressed, got to work, and found spotting in my underwear when I went to the bathroom.

I’m 24 months in remission this month.  And today, I’m spotting.

I’m freaking the fuck out people.

Pardon my french, but there is no other way to put it.

Freaking. The. Fuck. Out.

The bleeding has stopped, and in my mind, I’m trying to justify.  “Maybe I scratched myself when I was putting on my estrogen cream this morning”…yeah, that’s it.  I must have scratched myself.  Which is a perfectly logical explanation for the bright red blood.  Which has stopped.

I know I need to call my oncologist.  But I’m scared to.  One, I’m scared to call him if it is nothing.

And I’m scared that it might be…something.

And that something…well, it nearly killed me two years ago.

World Cancer Day is being thrown into my face all over Facebook today.  I won’t comment on the posts.  I won’t share them.  I am like a bird with her head in the sand.

I promised myself I will call my oncologist if there is more spotting tomorrow.

Today, my head is burried.

Send me some good mojo, my friends.

Finally Finished

The stress test went well this morning, and I am finally done with pre-op. Hopefully my ONE GOOD VEIN recouperates before next week. All the blood work and the IV this morning, I admit, it is sore.

So, they once again had to ask me this morning if there was any chance I was pregnant. Seriously, if you say no, they should just let it go. But of course, he had to ask how I knew. Well, I had a totaly hysterectomy in 2012. Not preggers. No chance. Don’t have the parts. You know, I still tear up when I have to answer that question though. When they called me yesterday to pre-register me for my surgery, they had to ask me when my last period was…I asked her to kindly put a note on my file not to ask me the day of surgery. I’ll be emotional enough. I don’t want to have to tear up again if they insist I take a pregnancy test (they made me take a bunch of them before my hysterectomy).

I guess I’m just all kinds of emotional anyway. Dawned on me this morning that it has been about a year since I finished up my treatments. A year. And things are still so out of whack. I’m still struggling to find normal, to not be emotional over the weirdest things. I had what was called a nuclear stress test, which means they inject you with a radioactive isotope, and take pictures of your heart before and after the actual “stress test” part of the test. The machine they put you in is similar to the CT scans I’ve had, and very similar to the radiation I went through. When I was laying there this morning, and I had my arms over my head laying very still, that machine was whirring around me, and all I could think of was radiation. It was tough laying there.

And thanks to all the radiation I had, things down in the vag area are still out of whack. Everything is still so very painful. It’s tough. My husband says he doesn’t mind, but I do. I guess one day things may get back to normal down there…or not.

At any rate, I’m ready for my knee surgery. Ready to get it over with. At least I can avoid needles for the next six days. 🙂

Send some good thoughts my way today…I need them. Doing a lot of feeling sorry for myself. I think it’s probably just the lack of caffeine, but at any rate, I’m all sniffly today.