Everyday I'm shufflin', shufflin', shufflin'

I love LMAO's Party Rock Anthem. I want to learn how to dance like the youngsters do in the video. It looks like a lot of fun!

Still working my way back to ... me. Every little change in medication kicks me in the butt, knocks me down to the ground, and I'm out. Literally, out cold. Just increasing the propanolol for the tremors knocked me out silly such that I slept the entire next day with the exception of contacting my office so they knew I wasn't dead, drinking water, going to the lavoratory and, finally, around 6:30 PM, having some breakfast, fruit and nuts -- and more water. Didn't take the new dosage of Propanolol last night -- feel normal today. (sigh) Guess I'll just have to deal with the tremors. Actually, everyone else will have to deal with the tremors. They may look a little funny but unless they interfere with my knitting or sculpting or spinning or weaving -- I'm good.

I weigh more now than I ever have in my life. It's uncomfortable, clumsy and pretty difficult to dress up. I'm afraid I won't be able to be the size I wanted to be for my daughter's wedding and she may be a little disappointed but dems da breaks. My neurologist pointed out that I probably wouldn't lose weight because of the hypothyroidism. I pointed out that I would then just have to make sure that the weight I do have is a more healthy weight from good whole foods and exercise. And, I love a challenge. Just tell me that I can't do something...go ahead, try it! ;)

April 1 will be my fourth year anniversary of breast cancer. Wow. What a "four years" it has been.

Lost body parts, hormones. Gained weight. Made the highest salary of my life and brought home a little over half of it due to lost days of work.

Have the best employer -- ever. They've stood by me through this whole thing.

I'm a darn good knitter and thinking of going for the Master Knitter accreditation. I spin. I weave. I needle felt (and I'd never even heard of that a couple of years ago.

So, the last four years? Definitely coming out on the plus side.

But I still miss you, Mom.

Fighting with myself -- I wonder who will win?

Once upon a time, some three years or so ago, I weighed about 70 lbs. less than I do now. I was working out five to seven times a week for an hour or more. I wore a size 10-12. Energy coursed through me. Clothes fit. Candy, cakes, cookies, fattening food were not enticing. Apples, greens and lean meats were my daily fare. I smoked a pack or pack and a half a day. I enjoyed being this "me".

Hello, breast cancer. Buh-bye abdominal muscle and left breast. Hello, Tamoxifen. Then Lexapro and Lunesta. Buh-bye uterus, ovaries, fallopian tubes, cervix. Buh-bye cigarettes. Hello, Propranolol (for essential tremors). Buh-bye thyroid as my body decides to kill that (instead of the cancer cells? WTF?) Hello, hypothyroidism. Buh-bye metabolism. Hello, levothyroxine. Hello, that old 70 lbs. come back again.

Clothes don't fit. Fell back into eating candy, cookies and even cake (which I never really cared that much for in the first place.) Wearing size 18-22 depending on top or bottom. Work out? Not really.

So. Now, with the encouragement of my daughter - who addresses the issue of my weight every time we communicate, reminding me that she would feel like an orphan if I died (ouch!), insisting on a diet of whole food only (little or no meat, no garbage food), inquiries into my exercise regimen - I am rejoining the original fight that got me to smaller size clothing in the first place. What a battle it is! I had cigarettes to lean on last time. My metabolism wasn't rocked by menopause and hypothyroidism. I wasn't spending days out of almost every month a some doctor's office. There are no "negotiations" of "well, I'll have this now but I'll work out " because I know I won't go work out at all.

Whew. Now it's a battle just to get out of bed some mornings because my head feels like it belongs on someone else's body (and the jury is out on whether that someone else has a pulse.) When I do get up and go, I find my energy got up and left within a few hours on some days. Making those good food choices over the convenience of garbage food is more difficult because I don't have the cigarettes to kill my taste altogether so I don't care what the food tastes like. My body is so flabby and huge and awkward that working out is not only not an addictive pleasure but a downright chore. The battle is constant, painful, frustrating -- and totally with myself.

Will the old me, the one I liked being years ago, win? No. She's gone with all the missing parts and hormones. Will the current me, the one on all the drugs, large size clothes, fatigue, win? No. She'll lose everything because you just can't keep on going that way. The me that is going to win is the me that comes out of this healthier, at a good weight, off the drugs that are not necessary for my survival, without cigarettes, in menopause, with hypothyroidism - and still with a good sense of humor. Yeah! That's the me I want to win!

Cheer me on, eh?

I am my Mom

I'm kidding. But when I look in the mirror at what my body has become (huge) and the shaking of my hands and head some mornings (I don't actually quite know why but it might have something to do with my farqed metabolism messing with my farqed familial tremors) -- well, there is some commonality.

My daughter noted to me with concern that my sister is starting to treat me like she did my Mom when Mom was sick and dependent. I've noticed that. But what my daughter doesn't seem to realize is that my sister, for reasons I still don't quite understand, tries to take care of the entire world. All the time. Even her clients. Maybe I could get her to visit my psychologist to find out why she does this. I like to believe that I help my sister out now and then. That would make us co-dependent, right? Is that really a bad thing between sisters who have been through as much as we have together?

My Mom was really creative. She could draw, paint, sew, knit, she was a Girl Scout leader, she could teach, she could sculpt (and got like a B+ on a sculpture in college because the idiot teacher thought she wasn't the one who created the sculpture she submitted for her final grade. What the idiot teacher did not know, was the snakes rising out of stone wall and facing each other - awesome, really, I'll have to put a picture of up soon - was actually supposed to be praying hands!) She had talent. She just wasn't as obsessive as I was/am about it. And, like I said before, she was a hell of a business woman.

I'm creative, too. But I'd rather be creating all the time and could really care less about business. I make enough money to support my crafting and keep an eye out for those I love and care about. That's good 'nuff for me. My Mom loved business, loved being a Realtor. If Parkinson's disease hadn't destroyed her life, she'd still be at now at the age of 75.

So, I'm not really my Mom. I'm working with an endocrinologist now to get my thyroid hormones stabilized since Hashimoto's disease (gotta tell ya, if you have to have a disease, that's a cool name for it, right?) is slowly killing my thyroid and metabolism. Eyeing the workout equipment and bringing it closer to where I spend most of my time. Changing my diet back to a more vegetarian one (that, incidentally, I really loved. Not sure why I stopped.)

So, daughter. Hang in there. Mama's on her way back. And she loves you very much.

And Mama ain't her Mom. :)

On the Passing of My Mother

She was an independent woman. She was generous, but needy. She was kind, but not physically affectionate (unless you were a child, in which case you got lots of hugs and kisses!) She loved to get around - on foot delivering pamphlets introducing herself as the neighborhood realtor, in her car (she knew more shortcuts than anyone I know except my sister- the realtor), on vacations to Hawaii or closer beaches, the mountains, to visit family members even when she was in a wheelchair. She did not deserve to have Parksinsons - a nasty, cruel, slow, torturous disease. It was hard for the siblings to deal with when she seemed to give up long before she had to but disease can be like that - making you question "Why bother? I'm gonna die anyway."

The last five years or so primarily my sister took charge of Mom's well-being. Mom lived with sis until her health requirements became a 24-hour challenge that no one person can handle, especially since sis had a job and a family of her own to care for. I tried to alleviate some of the burden by "taking evenings" getting Mom ready for bed, chatting about the day, making sure she got her meds, reloading the pill containers. After awhile, we both were just not enough.

The last two years and some, Mom was in a nursing home. Sis and I visited a couple of times a week each, sometimes more. We brought food, snacks, new clothes, did her laundry, took her out whenever she'd let us for "joy trips" or just wheeled on down to the Baskin Robbins for some Cherries Jubilee ice cream. Little brother would take her out to breakfasts with his wife and kids - Mom loved seeing the kids. We'd get calls, sometimes several a day each, with some complaint about her pills being late, no one coming to help her eat, no one coming to help her to the bathroom. Sis and I soon were on a first-name basis with most of the staff and supervisors.

Then October 2009 - her digestive system started failing. We didn't know this, of course, until she became so severely impacted twice that she was hospitalized.

We came to learn that Hospice may be good for those who sincerely no longer want any treatment at all but it truly sucks if you are dying and don't want to remain impacted (which is very painful) and drugged (which doesn't help with the impaction). Sis, my brother and I had to fight (firmly and politely) with doctors, with nurses, with Hospice to get Mom the help and relief she needed.

The second time she was hospitalized she said the same thing to each of us, privately, separately: "Individually or collectively, I want you to kill me. I want to die." A note to parents of children everywhere: never ask your kid to kill you. It only hurts them and there's no way they can throw away the rest of their lives to end yours. Just sayin'.

She got her wish though: the doctors told us that she would have to be fed by a tube in her stomach and she would need to have her stomach pumped every couple of days -- and she'd still die because her digestive system had crashed.

We brought her home. Hospice delivered a broken bed - and did nothing to repair or replace it. Hospice sent a nurse who looked like she'd been shooting up or hadn't slept in a month and who also had not even looked at Mom's medical folder. This was highly evident when she suggested Mom take a stool softener for her discomfort. Yeah, that'll fix a crashed digestive system. Sent that one home.

Luckily, the night Hospice nurse was as excellent as the first was awful. She put Mom on a catheter.

And Goddess bless Dr. Fishman who sis called and who gave us the run down on what to expect over the next couple of days.

The first day old friends and family came to visit her. She ate some, including her favorite Cherries Jubilee ice cream. The second day she didn't eat much, slept a lot, but didn't seem to be in much pain. The third night she was moaning in her sleep. Sis was sleeping on the couch next to Mom's bed. When sis told me this, I insisted on staying the night with her. I'm glad I did. Mom died that night with all of her surviving children with her. She was baptized in the Catholic Church by a very kind priest. Even though she was barely conscious most of the time, she was still able to recite the Lord's Prayer and that is some of kind of wonderful. She beamed when he announced she was baptised and all her sins were forgiven. My sister is an amazing person that it occurred to her to call a priest so "Mom can go to the same place as Roni" (our other sister who was killed 28 years ago). That was pretty much the last time we saw her smile.

It's taken a few months to recover. Having had the weight of responsibility on us for so long, the sudden lifting away of the responsibility and availability of more time for ourselves and our families was kind of dizzying - and we were already numb.

My mom, Nancy, was a good woman, a kind soul, and a darn successful realtor and business owner. She rocked and she knew it.

Now you know it, too.

And we can all continue to move on the best way that we can.

You Go, Sally Jo!

I read the best blog today. Sally Jo's sister sent me the link to "The Phoenix Report".

Sally Jo has been diagnosed with breast cancer and will be undergoing surgery today. Sending healing energy her way.

Something she said reminded of one of the things I hate most about this disease and that is this self-blame kind of thing that I hear. I should've ... lost weight....worked out more...handled stress differently...gotten mammograms sooner...stopped smoking earlier.

Word up, ladies and gents. The medical community DOES NOT KNOW WHAT CAUSES BREAST CANCER. It's that simple. They just don't know.

They have observed that there are more overweight persons with breast cancer than normal weight persons. But normal weight persons get breast cancer, too.

Breast cancer patients seem to lead stressful lives. There are millions of people who lead stressful lives and do not get breast cancer. There are plenty of non-stressed out types who get breast cancer, too.

Sally Jo's sister and mom both had breast cancer so, yeah, her odds were higher but that is genetics and you can't fight that. I, on the other hand, had no family history of breast cancer and got it anyway.

It's not your fault. There is no guarantee that if you eat right, exercise, don't smoke, etc. (take Christina Applegate, for instance) you won't get breast cancer. Your quality of life will jump exponentially, for sure, and for that alone I recommend it. But don't kid yourself into believing that it will prevent breast cancer.

I repeat: no one yet knows what causes breast cancer.

It is not your fault.

Rock on.

Because my little sister told me to!

I didn't want to. I still really don't want to. But I'm gonna...because my little sister told me to!

No one really wants to be categorized by a disease that kicked their butt even if they are surviving it. The fact of the matter is that danged thing called breast cancer has defined my life since the day I was informed I had it (April Fools Day, I kid you not!) A lot of people say it and probably no one believes it but it's still true, breast cancer sure did wake me up to the concept of GRATITUDE! I'm not going to go into it all right now, maybe later. That was a whole lot I didn't know about myself, a whole lot more that I thought I would never think, feel, or do -- all of which I have over the last year!

There are a few things that I want to be the first things I say about the whole experience. There is no one in the whole world I owe more for their continued daily support than my little sister, Heather. She cried with me when I found out. She went to almost all of the doctor appointments and if you knew how she feels about needles alone, let alone the rest of the crap that I had done -- you'd know just how wonderful this woman is! She took care of me in her home for about six weeks while I recovered enough to be able to go to my home (next door, I kid you not--again!) And she still supports me and encourages me to keep going on the quitting smoking, working out, trying to lose all that glorious weight that adjuvent therapy (drugs...) piles on. Everyone should be so blessed to have a sister like Heather. She'll want to smack me for saying it but she is an angel on earth. So there, Heather! Thank you, thank you, thank you....forever. And this blog is all because of you because you told me, too. Just like you told me to get an exam and a mammogram. Thank you, thank you, thank you again and again and again.

The second thing: I have the bestest daughter in the whole world! She came home to Virginia from New York just to be by my side in the days before the surgery and for months afterward she'd call me almost every day to make sure I was getting back on my feet. I was only half kidding when I'd say: "When I grow up, I want to be just like you!" I love you Wendy. Thank you for the assignments that got me back into society, back to work, back on the path to fulfillment. Thank you for being my daughter.

The third thing: I was hurting, depressed (chemically, folks. Dang drugs may save one's life but they sure as heck can screw it up, too!), confused and kind of felt helpless and wondered sometimes why I was even trying. Then I heard this guy's voice. I'd heard him sing before but couldn't find out who he was from just one listen. Thank you Starbucks! Heather and I went to grab a coffee on one of my earlier ventures out of the house after the surgery and I heard him singing again! A different song but I recognized the voice and the patter. I asked the Barrista -- do you know who this guy is? Please tell me you do! He points to a CD Starbucks was selling: "We Sing, We Dance, We Steal Things." Jason Mraz. I promptly bought every album he'd made. Every song went on my iPod. My iPod is now named "Jason". Every day that I could ride the 10-15 miles of the W&OD Trail, every day that I could work out at the gymn trying to get my body back, I had his music in my ears. Singing, humming, or whistling the whole way. When I could finally sit for more than a couple of hours, Heather drove me to Toronto, Canada to see Jason. He answered the question for me: getting to hang out with this man in his performing living room (otherwise known as a stage, but it felt more comfortable than that) and just party for awhile with a few thousand other people, singing and high-fiving and catching pictures while he sips on tea and sings away -- THIS is one reason to keep trying! Dude, you may make music because you have to, because it's what you are about -- but, personally, I think your fans are getting the best part of the deal! You are the ONLY performer I've ever felt this way about. That sure says a lot about you! Thank you, Jason Mraz. Stay you.

There are a whole lot more people to thank and I will. Dad, Mom, Joanne, Bill&Karen, Doreen. Lucky for me, it looks like I may just have the time to do it!

But for now...off to bed.