Cancer in my family...

Today, seven year ago, my mum died. In my room, at 67, of cancer.

At the beginning, when we got the diagnosis, the most difficult part was to distance myself from the experience of taking care of my mum and helping her die. Inevitably, I would think of her pain, her suffering, her slow decline and, then, her very fast fall at the end. I didn't really think that I would die of cancer, but I dreaded what lied ahead.

During the last four months, I have learnt a lot:

- I have the most loving, caring, sweet and fantastic partner EVER. I feel soft and cuddled in his arms. I love Gabriel more than I could ever think, and feel more loved than I ever have before.
- I have the best chosen family I could possibly dream of. I have received countless demonstrations and tokens of love, constantly, from close and far.
- I have two little creatures who keep me warm every day, internally and externally.
- I have the most supportive work environment, which is giving me time and space to heal.
- I have access to superb medical care, because my work pays for a superb medical insurance.
- Despite feeling that I have lost my hair and my youth, I am young and strong, and poisoning myself relentlessly is NOT killing me.
- Notwithstanding the nausea, pain, dizziness, lack of energy and bleeding through my nose, I feel good ever day, at least for a couple of hours.

My mum had almost none of the above. It breaks my heart to realize how hopeless her situation was. But it also makes me realize that there is nothing in common between her cancer story and mine.

I am surviving.

First of a series of pics...

Because you want to see my face, see that I am still myself despite all the poison and the toll on my hair, and because you love my sparkly eyes.

I already have a collection of wigs, and will start getting pics every time I wear one, so that you all can see these crazy looks that I am pulling off.

Meanwhile, enjoy me in the expression of my African self. :)

Today is freezing cold...

As usual on a good Sunday, we are in bed, watching the games. I am almost scared of moving, because I do not want to feel the cold wind from outside. Mostly, I don't want to feel the cold on my head. I am not used to getting cold on my head. But that is what happens when you have no hair.

My little hats and caps are cute, but uncomfortable. My head starts itching after a while. I have been using African head wraps, which I LOOOOVE and which look very nice. I am getting good at tying them up. This is my opportunity to feel like an African queen, and to remember that my spiritual homeland is across the ocean, waiting for me to come back, feeling strong and beautiful.

Meanwhile, I am in bed, with a head wrap. Kinda funny. Kinda weird. But not cold.

And so it went away...

In this case, as in many many more, images say more than a thousand words.

Gabriel keeps smiling, and says that I look like the bald little boy in The Matrix... You know, the one who bends a spoon by looking at it and says, with grave intensity, when questioned about how he does it: "...try to realize the truth--there is no spoon".

So, I am trying to realize my own truth, namely, that my (non-existent) hair is only relevant as far as it symbolizes every little battle we are fighting to get my hair, my youthful and energetic self and my health back.

Today I feel almost normal...

I have been on sleeping pills for a week now, and it is doing wonders for me. I am rested, and feel much more like myself. My energy levels continue to be low, but overall I am feeling more like a human being, and less like a lifeless piece of damp cloth.

Friday was my fifth chemical romance. The toxicity was adjusted since nr. 4. This has also helped a lot. I am in less pain and discomfort, my nausea is not relentless and my stomach doesn't cramp. Next Friday I will hit the middle of my weekly sessions!

Given that today I feel almost normal, I will behave accordingly. I am getting ready to walk the two little hairy creatures that are sleeping lazily. After that, I will watch Gabo take his last aikido seminar session. And I will not talk about being sick--I am sick of becoming my sickness!

I want to feel alive, and smiley, and sunny and happy!

I have never been good at poetry...

but here is an attempt to display the feelings that all of you have made me feel this week.
Thank you for so much love!


I am spending the day,
Thinking of those who are dear to my heart,
Who are near, who are far, of my life a part,
Who are sending their thoughts across oceans and hills.

Yesterday I was surrounded by an African ovation,
I felt happiness, empathy and realization,
Because around the world my friends think of me,
Keeping me strong, bold, beautiful and complete.

Today a string of poems arrived,
On the blog, in my email-- full of life,
Making me smile and light up like a a star,
Who is certain it shines even when afar.

I was terrified to be sick, to feel brittle and alone,
But the love that surrounds me feels like home,
It gives me strength, 
It gives me courage,
To continue walking toward my own recovery.

My first handful of hair...

...happened on Sunday. The lagartas had come to visit and we had a very very nice time, laughing and dancing around. Once they left, I crawled into bed and fell asleep immediately.

When I woke up, and passed my hand through my hair, I was shocked to find that a handful of hair had come off without the smallest effort. We had been expecting this to happen anytime. Nevertheless, I started crying like a little girl and curled up into a ball on Gabo's side. I fell asleep again, immediately. Ignorance is bliss.

The difference between rational awareness and emotional experience is weird. I knew this was gonna happen. I did not dread it particularly--I am much more scared of vomiting without control, for instance (maybe because that was one of the hardest things to watch with my mum). But the shock of it actually happening still came as a surprise.

Today Gabo will have another moment of amusement, cutting my hair once again. Short. Very, extremely short. Almost unexistent.

The time of the wig culture is about to start.

Flash bulbs in my head...

That is what I see when I close my eyes.... Flashbulbs going off with each of my heartbeats.

This is my 4th chemotherapy session, and I am fighting not to fall asleep. But, the antihistamines are working, and my eyes are tired and heavy.

I try to stay awake, not because I really want to, but because I am waiting for Gabriel. He went for lunch, and promised to bring back for me a deliciously decadent cheese cake. I am craving it... It is worth not falling asleep.

But I can't help it--my eyes are closing and my mind is shutting down. I am writing in darkness (phrase stolen from the English Patient). This Mexican patient is falling ZZZzzzzzzzz.

Thursdays seem like a good option...

...at least, this week.

Today I felt great! No headache, no nausea, no cramps, nothing! I had energy!!! I was all upbeat, instead of all beaten up! Nice change.

I made use of my energy and good mood to film a message addressing the global gathering that will take place next week in Tanzania, which I worked on during the whole year, and which I will obviously not attend. It felt bittersweet.

One of my doctors told me that I had two choices: I could see the cancer as something that is ruining all my plans and work, and therefore resist it, be miserable and frustrated. The other choice was to see it as an opportunity to prioritize myself, take care of myself, and understand that everything else falls behind because I come first.

I am trying to stick to the latter. But I can't help feeling that I am missing out on tons of things. I don't want to be sick, and I have only been an obedient patient because I feel like crap. But as soon as I feel good, even if only for one day, I want to jump on a plane and fly to Dar es Salaam.

Conclusion: yes, I am an extrovert. But, I am ALSO stubborn and still not ready to give up on being invincible, at least in my head.

The dilemma of being an extrovert...

...and being sick at home.

I have been wondering why I am feeling like garbage lately. I mean, the inevitable answer seems to be that I have cancer (or maybe no longer),and that every single week I have a drip that flushes poison through my body--while flushing my fridays into complete oblivion. All the nausea, dizziness, stomach pain,flu symptoms, shivers and insomnia can be related back to that and, therefore, are easily explained.

But is that really everything? Does it really account for my weakness, my sadness, my wish to stay in bed every day and drag myself only to the couch in Gabriel's office?

Ann told me that the problem is that as an extrovert, the isolation and lack of stimulation that my treatment is imposing on me is taking its toll. I do not get the external energy I normally feed on, the challenges that stimulate my mind and my spirit, the constant interaction that pushes me yet another step ahead.

When I was a tiny girl with pigtails and scratches on my knees, I would cover my eyes with my hands believing that if I couldn't see others, they would not be able to see me.

It seems that I haven't kissed goodbye the little girl. Right now, I am worrying that because I am grounded by cancer, and I am not seeing and interacting with the world, I will turn invisible to all the people I am normally connected to.

Maybe this is an opportunity, as Warren said, to learn that my friends love me for who I am, and not for what I do. It might also be an opportunity to learn about introverts, and how energy can be derived from within. Maybe, it is just an experience I needed to have at some point.

I don't like Mondays...

...and will not start liking them again, unless I feel different. Today was positively AWFUL. I have had nausea all day long, since I woke up until now, 45 min to midnight.

My head aches, my eyes hurt, my tummy is in pain.

Quite disgusting.

Hopefully, tomorrow will be a better day.

Good night AND good luck...

Gone in 60 seconds...

Today was not easy. I have been feeling weak and sick-ish, my eyes and my throat hurt, and I am positively exhausted. Traffic was so bad that we did not make it to the appointment with the arm doctor. (After you have lymph nodes removed from under your arm, you are forever at risk of developing lymphedema--a chronic condition in which your arm swells due to excess fluids that cannot be drained). We turned around half way, to accomplish yet another impossible mission: finding a wig.

I have always loved wigs. I have two party wigs. But today was a flying disaster. I hated all the wigs I tried on. They were boring, awful and made me look gray and sick. There was only one that Gabriel thought was kinda fun, and I liked it a bit. I got that one. I also ordered another one, which might turn out right. We shall wait and see... (I will post pics when I start wearing them, so that you can let me know which is your favorite).

The highpoint of the day came at night. It was time to cut my hair. Not shave, just cut very short. We were looking forward to it, because my hair had become opaque and lifeless. Gabriel was cutting away, giggling--I was his first-ever victim in the hair styling department. Seeing him enjoy the task made me smile and feel good. When I saw myself, I was even happier. I look so much better now! At least in appearances, part of my sickness was gone in 60 seconds. I look a little bit funky, a little bit mischievous, and a lot like my normal self.

Just a couple of stitches...

Yesterday we had an appointment with my favorite oncologist--the one who cut out the tumor with clean margins and removed 14 lymph nodes, without leaving any clearly visible traces. Yes, to those of you who have not seen me, my heroic boob gave up all of that and still looks as if nothing happened. :) I think it is a sheer matter of size. :)

But let me get back to the story. So, we went to see the oncologist, and when he examined the scar he said "oh, it is not closing properly". In the following five minutes, he stuck all kinds of materials into a tiny hole that was, effectively, not healing right. He cleaned it vigorously (making it twice the size it was before), cut the edges off and stitched it together. D.O.N.E.

I cringed and squeaked and squealed, because it was nerve-wrecking. But it did not hurt, because I have no sensation across my underarm and part of the heroic boob. Today, it actually looks like the hole will close up.

To end with a heart-warming image: Vala and Alice went to Sunday's breast cancer march, proudly sporting a big H each on their t-shirts. I feel sooooooooo loved!

Thank you all for your comments, emails and messages!