The shit just got real...

I have cancer.  HA!  Still feels like I'm making up ridiculous lies when I say that.  CANCER.  Me - - fairly young (since 42 must be like the new 26 or something, right?), stubbornly independent, single mom of a hormonal 'tween and rambunctious toddler, passionately focused high school English teacher (i.e. CRAZY woman), spiritually based, self-reflective, environmentally focused, always-trying-to-better-myself and never getting caught up in the superficial, materialistic pressures of our wacked out society, STRONG, I-can-get-through-anything (and I've already proven it) woman ----- I have cancer.

And the scary part is that now that I've put it out there, I am FAR from alone.  There are wayyyyyy too many amazing women out there who have, have had, or will someday have cancer.  So as I write about my own journey, I am writing for them - - and for my kids, both at home and at school, and everyone else in this world who is faced with the kinds of challenges that knock them on their asses. 

The more I live this crazy life, the more I learn that in some way, most  of us deal with "cancer."  I think perhaps I may have just gotten lucky, though, for when cancer really IS cancer, there is no mistaking it - - you can't hide from raging tumors, can't ignore chemo punching you in the gut, shoving you down, and kicking you in the face while you're cowering (hairless) in the corner.  There is no luxury of denial when it's actually cancer.  Metaphorically cancerous challenges can be ignored.  Hell, sometimes drowning them in liquor actually works, at least temporarily.  And those metaphorical cancers in our lives may slowly eat away at our psyches, but they don't literally kill us.  ACTUAL cancer, though - well, it's a murderous bitch.

But again in that way I am lucky.  Assuming that the hours of scans I'm about to endure do not reveal any major advancement of my cancer, I will likely beat this thing.  So I don't fear cancer the way I feared cancer when I was younger and treatments were not as advanced.  Instead, I fear the treatment itself.  While the disease may not take my life, the treatment WILL, and that freaks me the hell out!!

I'm still processing this -- getting used to the idea that my commitment to focusing on my biological children and creating their most memorable summer ever has now turned into dumping a load of most-memorable-crap-EVER into their lives -- getting used to the idea that the simple week away from school to have half of my thyroid removed has now turned into innumerable weeks, all told.  (Did I mention I'm a perfectionist control freak bitch who truly believes that her students only learn when she is there, personally conducting what she has orchestrated to be a highly complex symphony of learning?  Shoot - their instruments are out of tune even when I am there to direct them - - that is, if they even remember to bring them.  When I'm NOT, my room sounds more like a roomful of dying animals.)

I want to believe that I've come to grips with baldness.  I already have my hair appointment set to sheer my current locks shorter than I've ever been comfortable wearing them.  There goes vanity!  But I think I shall have fun with eye makeup - heavy layers of paint on a white canvas, fringed with fake lashes?  And I can deal with no tanning this summer.  Shoot - it is my lack of prior sun worship that causes me to be mistaken for ten years younger anyway.  HA!  But no chest-baring tops?!?  (And by chest, I mean blank space above non-boobs, thus LITERALLY chest.)  Bald may be beautiful, but surely chemotherapy ports are NOT.  Ugh.  I'm already draped in scarves to protect the beautiful slash across my neck from burning, but now I have to raise my neckline as well?  Can't I just find some chunky, long, ostenatiously layered necklace that will somehow disguise the gaping hole in my chest??  Oh, that's right -- I'm the one who can't stand even wearing earrings when I'm hot.  So much for excessive neck adornment.

But a friend put things in succinct perspective when he made this perfect comment on one of my Facebook posts:  "Temporary inconvenience. Permanent improvement."

It is not cancer that will be the challenge to be beaten in the next few months -- it is my brain.  Cancer is a minor issue in light of recent breakthroughs in treatment.  But treatment... oh, treatment....  If I thought a week of being confined to the bed and the couch following my parathyroidectomy were torturous, then I've got some major work ahead of me if I'm going to train my brain into acceptance of the limitations cancer treatment is about to place on my life - on my ability to mother - on my dedication to my career.  So that, boys and girls, is the first thing I need to tackle.  How does an over-obsessive, ADHD brain go from constant hyper focus on all things challenging to meditative calm and peaceful resignation?  If only Liz Gilbert were here to advise me....  Luckily I have Kris Carr and her posse of beautifully inspirational, cancer-surviving women who have already begun to inspire me via Crazy Sexy Cancer Tips - - I have a plethora of friends calling and texting and Facebooking me encouragement and support and prayer and positive energy -- and I have a sister who now gets to experiment on me as she delves further into the powerful impact of nutrition on our minds and bodies.

Yeah - the shit got really real when I walked into the University of Chicago cancer treatment facility yesterday.  But it is now Day 2 of KICKING CANCER'S ASS, and I think I've got a pretty good start.  Tomorrow I may be drowning in a puddle of tears, but I'll make sure to pack my snorkle.