The Big C

I've been working my way through the television series The Big C on dvd. I just finished season three and it's been quite the roller coaster ride. I wasn't sure if I wanted to watch it in the beginning, because of the subject matter. I thought a tv show about cancer might be too much right now. As I worked my way through the first season I realized it was kind of cathartic to watch someone elses' experience with cancer. Because the main character is a fictional woman who receives a terminal diagnosis, Cathy Jamison is able to have crazy, irrational, emotional, bold, and yes, funny outbursts and reactions that most of us can only experience vicariously through someone else.

Laura Linney plays Cathy on The Big C.

 
It has been interesting to watch the highs and lows, suffering and triumphs, and most of all, emotional processing of a terminal cancer diagnosis and its affect on Cathy and all of the people in her life. I have been hooked from episode one and waited and marathon watched all of the dvds I could get from Netflix. Unfortunately, I am stuck with no season four dvds available yet. It is testing my patience, but I also received a big hint at the end of season three as to how season four will go. I can wait.

When I really get attached to tv characters and the shows they're on it is hard to say goodbye to them. I feel Cathy and her family slipping away as we head into the fourth and final season together. The show has done an excellent job of representing diversity and strong female characters of varying ages, backgrounds and life experiences. The male characters are great supporting parts and I am especially fond of Cathy's brother Sean, the rebel and outcast who doesn't follow traditional societal norms. In fact, he crashes through them every chance he gets. Despite that and being a sometimes unstable bipolar person who gives his sister a hard time, he is unconditionally supportive and loyal when it comes down to it.

To sit back and watch another person react to facing death in ways that are liberating, hilarious, and sometimes horrifying, pulls at my heart strings. In the bigger picture, we root for Cathy. When she is urged to go through unconventional treatment instead of giving up, I rooted for her. I felt the same when she finally got into a clinical trial she was desperate to get into. Part of me feels bad because I am watching the sometimes desperate acts of a woman with a much more tragic diagnosis than mine. Most of all, I feel a kinship with Cathy and it feels good when I see her kicking ass and taking names. She makes some wrong choices because she is human, but for the most part, she is acting out for those of us who can't. She is the voice of so many women who have faced cancer and their own mortality, even if she acts badly at times.

I wouldn't recommend this show to anyone who doesn't want to see a "brave bitch" fight for her life and struggle with facing her mortality. It isn't easy or pretty and often is what most would describe as inappropriate, but man is some of it funny. It's my favorite kind of funny too - the sarcastic, messy, intelligent kind of funny. It's brilliant and even if you don't agree with how Cathy handles things, you have to hope she will be cured, so we can keep on enjoying her company and adventures.

I think the boxing gloves are a great symbol for what it feels like to battle cancer. It's an endurance game and you have to land punches and stay on your feet while getting punched back.

The subject of a cancer patient being selfish came up and I had to agree that Cathy is sometimes selfish. I also have to say that most people have no idea how they will react to a terminal cancer diagnosis until it happens. A standard cancer diagnosis is enough to send a person into uncharted territory emotionally. I feel selfish on the days I don't feel well and want to be left alone in my misery. Maybe it's the opposite, I don't know. I don't want others to feel bad because I'm lying on the sofa and am struggling to eat. I don't want them to feel like they have to wait on me or drop everything in order to stare at me while I feel nauseous and unable to eat. I appreciate those who check in and want to care for me, but I also like feeling like I'm practicing self-care by doing what I can myself.


It's also crucial to have a support system and not be so stubbornly independent that you are incapable of accepting help. Cathy does many things on her own, but at the heart of it all, she has her family. I have friends and family that are here for me and are supporting me 110% of the way. It's been interesting for me to have had four different friends take me to chemo, with costumes and such to make it fun. It's nice that they want to be there and see what I go through every week. They have met my doctor and those tending to my health needs, seen how my port is accessed, and sat with me while I sleep or Facebook or eat in my chemo chair of the week. I felt bad at first, but then I realized they want to be there for me, with me. It's been an interesting experience and I've enjoyed it. I am grateful.

Cathy's family and an uninvited extra guest.

When relationships and situations deteriorate on a tv show, it is easy to say that you know what the characters should do to make things better. In our own lives, we tend to not have all of the answers and sometimes think it's easier to walk away instead of trying to work on saving the relationship. Unlike Cathy, my spouse is essential to my care and survival. I'm not saying I couldn't survive without her, I could. I would be missing out on the feeling of security she gives me. I know I can tell her I just don't feel good or want to hide for days, moving between my bed and sofa, doing little in between. Unlike the tv characters, we are able to work through all of this without affairs, disagreements, lying, and so on. Even though I may be facing a shorter than expected life span, we keep talking about the future and the road ahead of us. It's very comforting.

In season one Andrea, one of Cathy's high school students, tells her "I, for one, think you're a pretty brave bitch." She even makes a custom shirt for Cathy that is bedazzled with "brave bitch" on it. I love that. To face this kind of illness head-on does force you to be brave. I, like Cathy, embrace the idea of being a brave bitch because I'm fighting a disease that wants to kill me and I'm trying to do it with humor, honesty, and as little complaining as possible. I know it's only going to get worse from here through the end of my chemo and I'm owning it, or at least trying to.

Cathy's response to her employer after she tells her to be more professional about things. It's a response we have all wanted to give to someone at some point in our lives, and we can live vicariously through her actually doing it.

A Very Special Birthday/Get Well Card

This was created by my friend Jessica's daughter, India. She handed it to me during the birthday party/fundraiser. This sweet gesture means so much to me, I decided to share it here. I have a t-shirt design of a "zombie kitty" I created and India drew her version of it. She then wrote on the back, making it into a get well card for me. I told her I was going to put it on my refrigerator when I got home, but I thought I'd share it with the world too. Thank you Jessica and India. Thank you to everyone who came to the party, sent/gave me cards and/or happy wishes. It all means more than you'll ever know. <3

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A box full of my zombie kitty t-shirts.

A Birthday Celebration

On Thursday, July 24th my friends and family gathered for a birthday party/fundraiser for me. It was organized by my friends Anni and Mo and my wife Sam. We sold some of our pottery and there was a raffle and silent auction. Most items were donated by local businesses and artists, many of whom are friends of mine. It was a very humbling experience and I am so very grateful to all who came together to make this happen. There was delicious vegan food donated, cupcakes and a cake, as well as music by my friend Levi. There also was a uterus pinata that was handmade by Sam, face painting, and massage for $1/minute. It was a beautiful summer evening and I was thrilled to see so many people I love gathered together in one place. I am fortunate to live in a community where we support one another. There were so many hugs and smiles and it was amazing.

I am going to simply let the photos do the talking for me. These were taken by Anni Becker, Abby Davis Harris, and Elizabeth Rose. Thank you to these ladies for capturing these images and sharing them.

Peggy, our beautiful pottery sales person.

Temple, myself, and Erica

Colleen and Mo

India and Jessica

Joshua, who made the food for us.

Erica and Anni

Me, face painting by Olivia Harris.

Erica and Anna, with a mug I created.

Me with two of the resident chickens.

Greg and Colleen

Jennifer and Jim

Myself and Anna

John, getting ready to bust the pinata.

Greg, myself, and Pablo, and the uterus pinata.

Erica

Children and chickens

Making a wish.

Blowing out the candles.

Olivia, painting faces.

Jenna, Leo, Abby, and Olivia

Jessica and I, posing with the uterus pinata.

April, who donated massage time for the cause.

Lisa and her winnings from the silent auction.

Tabitha and Glenn

Myself, Erica, and Anna

Levi

Anna

Sara

Ingrid

Paige

Mo, during the raffle drawing a few days later.

Me, drawing for raffle prizes.

It's Been 8 Weeks Since My Surgery!

Time is flying by. It's been eight weeks since I had my total hysterectomy and I'm actually finding it hard to believe I had anything done, other than the nicely healing scars on my stomach. Hitting the eight week mark is a big deal because it means I'm no longer under any restrictions. I can lift things, I can take a bath, I can go to one of the places I like to relax and soak and sauna, I can have sex (maybe that's tmi, but let's get real, it's a fact of life), and I no longer have to fear any of the possible worst-case scenario things that might have gone wrong after surgery. I did it. I'm free and clear and it was actually not nearly as hard as I thought it would be. I think because we prepared for all of the possibilities we'd heard about or read about, it was a huge relief when none of them happened. Whew!

Tonight I prepared a bath with a blend of sea salts from around the world, epsom salt, and some of each of the essential oils that I've been using under the guidance of a friend that help folks with cancer. *In case you are wondering, I use Frankincense and Geranium oil.* I started out listening to my Indigo Girls Pandora station, but during the second song, Sarah McLachlan's "Building a Mystery", the wifi connection cut out. Sigh. Talk about a mood killer. I was just starting to relax and had to dry my hands and open itunes instead. I scanned my album options and decided on Beck's Sea Change, an album that I've been listening to a lot lately.

It was really nice to lay in the warm water, smelling the oils, while thinking about how quickly time has been passing. Tomorrow is chemo treatment number six. Wowzers. That means I have twelve weeks left. That may seem like a lot, but I'm a third of the way through treatment. I'm stoked. I also found myself thinking about a conversation my wife and I had just had, about a possible road trip in August across the country, to visit my late-grandmother's house before my Aunt sells it. My mom recently told me that someone had shown interest in buying the old family farm and I realized that my grandmother's belongings that had remained after her passing would most likely be lost when that happened.

I'm interested in seeing what still remains of the lives of the women who came before me. Because I am genetically linked to my great-grandmother who died from endometrial cancer at the age of twenty-one, this has become and even more important mission. She never lived in the house, but my she lived down the street and my grandmother and mother both did. That house and its contents are all that I have left of that part of my genetic history.

I am hoping to retrieve certain items to bring back with me. My grandmother made most of her clothing, as well as quilts from those dresses once they had worn out. There will be photos and hopefully paperwork or letters of some kind. It is a bit of a treasure hunt, because I haven't been there since I was 13 and I'm going to be 47 this month. As I am planning a series of work around the subject of my cancer and the women in my family, I feel I need to do this. I feel I need closure on that part of my life, on the place where my brother and I were forced to spend every summer when we were growing up.

Many memories have been flooding back to me ever since we started discussing this journey. No one in their right mind wants to go to the south in the summer time. It means horrendously humid heat and there is no air conditioning at my grandmother's house. I remember it well. I was that fat kid who just sat and couldn't stop sweating, no matter what I wore or what I did. It was awful. I also have pleasant memories of eating sweet watermelon in the backyard and watching my mom and Uncle sprinkle salt on it. My cousins and I would forage for blackberries and return scratched up, but proud. My mom would make blackberry cobbler and we would sit around the kitchen table and eat it with vanilla ice milk. I also have fond memories of sitting on the concrete porch and the porch swing, where we would spend endless hours chatting or listening to thunder storms when they rolled in.

In this place in time, I am focusing on those positive memories. I'm allowing myself to be sentimental and thinking only of my connection to these women who I either never knew at all, my great-grandmother, Laura Ann, or the woman who was so serious she scared me into avoiding her as a child, my grandmother, Maggie May. What is important to me now is the link between us and the genetics and history we share. I want to acknowledge them, the place where my mom grew up, and where I am from. I want to stand on that porch one more time and listen as a thunder storm rolls in. I want to marvel at the red clay road that leads to the house, take some beautiful photographs, and then say goodbye. Fingers crossed, we're going to make it happen.

Three Down, Fifteen To Go

Yesterday I completed my third chemo session, which means I have completed one three-week cycle. Week one I receive two drugs and week two and three I receive one drug. And then we start all over again the following week. This will continue until we have completed six cycles, or eighteen weeks total. I've decided to start counting down from eighteen, so it will feel like the numbers are getting smaller, rather than starting smaller and working my way up. For whatever reason that is making me feel better from a psychological standpoint.

I am very fortunate that I haven't really had any negative reaction to the chemo drugs so far. I feel pretty good during the day and am able to accomplish small tasks without any issues. I know to expect to hit the wall, so to speak, in the afternoon/early evening. I just feel tired and want to do things that don't require much mental or physical activity. Yesterday, when I hit that point of being done with the day's activities, we watched episodes of Orange is the New Black and snacked on popcorn and kale chips.

I've been using some of my current energy to plan artwork and collaborative pieces for a series of artwork that will be about my illness, as well as my surgery and loss of my "lady parts". I roped Sam into working on it with me and now we have two other friends collaborating with us. It makes me feel good to be working with other female friends who work in different mediums on this. So far there will be photography, fibers, mixed-media, and ceramic work included. I am really excited about it and am hoping to find a gallery in San Francisco that will be interested in giving us a show. I was also considering Seattle, but SF is my first choice.

I spoke of my three-week chemo cycles. My friend Maria will be photographing me at the end of each cycle to document my physical appearance as I move through this process. There will be six portraits total. There will be a few other pieces that are personal, but otherwise we are working on expressing universal ideas and feelings that represent women who have had hysterectomies and also the notion of what makes a woman a woman. I've been asked if losing my "lady parts" means I am less of a woman. I say anyone who puts individual parts above the whole of a person is missing the big picture. If my doctor told me tomorrow that I needed a double-mastectomy because I was at high-risk for breast cancer, I wouldn't even hesitate to say yes.

Why do breasts or a uterus define a woman's worth? I recently was told of a woman who was diagnosed with breast cancer who was refusing surgery because she couldn't live with the thought of not having breasts anymore. Now that I am looking at things from the other side of a cancer diagnosis, I would never refuse a surgery needed to save my life. Don't get me wrong, I don't blindly follow what I'm told to do, but I thoroughly research things and ask questions and make informed decisions. Refusing a life-saving surgery because others want to define my worth by my breasts or other bits is something I couldn't reconcile. I also am fortunate enough to have a spouse who prioritizes my health and well-being over whether or not I have certain body parts. She sees me as a whole person and would never love me less because I had my breasts removed or, like my current situation, had a total hysterectomy.

I am really excited to see where this series of artwork takes us. So many great ideas have already presented themselves and I know there will be more as the weeks and months of chemotherapy go on. It's a great way to distract ourselves and keep ourselves busy during our down time. Yes, there will be a lot of uterus-related work, but then that is the center of where this whole new reality started for me. There is no room for feeling shame over talking about lady parts. If anything, we need to be more open and able to discuss them in public in order to guarantee cancer-screenings and health care for all. Early detection is what saves lives and I am a prime example of that. The word uterus should not bring shame to anyone, although I have made a grown man blush by simply uttering the word out loud in front of him. I'm actually pretty proud of that moment, because he is the kind of guy who thinks we just shouldn't talk about such things. I disagree, obviously.

Say it with me, "uterus, uterus, uterus". See? It isn't really a big deal, now is it?

A Photo Essay By Anni Becker

Anni Becker, a close friend and professional photographer, accompanied me to the oncology clinic for my chemo treatment last week, on June 5th. I asked her to bring her camera and document our time there. She brought Dollar Store tiaras with her and as we moved through the building, getting prepped, checking in with my doctor and his PA, and then receiving my chemo drugs, she handed out tiaras and took photographs. These are the people helping to save my life. This is what happens to me every Thursday. I think the positive feelings I have about treatment and this group of wonderful medical professionals shows through in the images without further commentary. To my doctor and his PA, who help me to believe that we are going to beat this, to those who make my appointments, check me in, draw blood and clean out my port, weigh me and take my vitals, administer my drugs and check on me during my time there to make sure I'm okay - I thank you. All of you. You make it possible for me to keep a smile on my face. And yes, you all deserve tiaras.