Archive for the ‘Cancer’ Category


I’m home right now. Had to bring some things back. Everything I’m taking will not fit in a single car, trip back and forth. Unless you rented a truck? I’m Next of Kin. MINE!

My Transpo got waylaid too. Just have to sit and wait for my driver to come tomorrow.

There’s been a lot going on since Mom died. Well, that’s quite an understatement if you’ve ever had to deal with someone’s entire life since they’ve shuffled off “This Mortal Coil.” That one’s okay. The Band. However, every single person has said some variation of “Pass.” Passed, Passed On, Passing, Passing On.

Being a writer, I not only love every single letter that creates a word, but also words themselves. Then, that creates more love and lust for everything. Including, but not limited to: odd, emotionally laden, archaic phrases and expressions. Many times they can be all three. Perhaps this “Pass” business fits in there somewhere. Despite that possibility, I’m too exhausted to learn at this moment. It just strikes me as rather unusual.

Why won’t anyone say anything related to death? We’re also talking about multiple generations! Those of her generation, me and my sister, then my sister’s children! She died.

None of these people are Buddhist. If anything, I should be saying, “Passed On” because of my Buddhist beliefs.

Moreover, you can practise Buddhist beliefs and philosophy without the entire issue of coming back in another life form. If you disagree, come talk to me. Buddhism isn’t always that peaceful either. Monks from differnt sects have gone ballistic; yelling and screaming, throwing things to actually injure each other. Quite amusing.

Things haven’t been that bad for me though. At least physically.

I have a lot of feelings about my Mom dying. About my Mom living! Many of them conflicting, confusing, painful and sorrowful. Anger too. I also know happy, funny and not necessarily so negative. Although, there is one thing I did not question at all, not for a second. As soon as I knew she was going to die (ultimately of bone cancer) not after she died, I would never be the same person again.

That can happen, right?

Right?

Am I wrong here?

Things have been so out of control, trying to deal with everything in a practical manner, I haven’t had any time to process a single thing. Maybe a tiny shred of some emotion has managed to reach the surface, but it’s been very brief. Only then, a few tears have escaped, and rolled down my cheeks. But no matter what, I refused to let any more out.

Unless I was on my own. Then I could cry. Sometimes, many tears would come out, yet I couldn’t identify why or what on earth I was feeling. What was the trigger? What was making me cry?

There was another reason why I would only cry alone. It was much stronger, and my mind was crystal clear regarding this situation!

I’m staying at my “Dad’s” place. I’m only calling him that  because everyone else is. I still don’t feel he’s actually my Dad. I kicked him out of my life over 15 years ago after he stole $5,000 from me. Well, I caught him. Then it took forever for him to pay me back. That was just the final straw.

I’m now being reunited with many extended family members on his side. After cutting them off for more than 20 years? They’re all hugging me, telling me how much they love me, how so, so sorry they are about my Mom. Gee, that’s not more to deal with, is it?

So I’m DEFINITELY not crying in front of them! I’ve already had enough “touchy-feely” from you, thank you very much. I wouldn’t be of any help dealing with all of this from a Hospital Psych Ward. Some days, I feel like I should be in one. Some days, I feel like I’m already in one!

When this is over, I have no idea what is going to happen. It’s going to happen anyway though, so there’s no point in worrying about it. You can’t rush grief. You just go through it.

ASIDE: my friend who is taking care of my mail and apartment while I’m away just popped by. He told me his friend died today. I couldn’t believe any of my senses. We’re both friends with a guy in my building who knew the deceased. Looks like we’re going to have a grief party.

*sighs*

 

 

 

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Well, I can try. Second night at Dad’s now. My sister and uncle just blasted into the room as she flew in from across the country. Things are now getting more and more stressful as I’m coming face to face with extended family members I kicked them out of my life (including my father in the next room.) I did so because they would give you Ebola through a simple phone call.

When I saw my sister, I started crying because I haven’t seen her a bajillion years. She was pretty cold, ambivalent maybe? Both? She did complement my shoes.

Still running on fumes. Actually had a full meal today. For dinner a Bison Burger! Welcome to Canada! You wouldn’t see that on every restaurant menu though.

Tomorrow I have to go the Funeral Home with my sister and pay for the Cremation. A financial glitch, but I would have done it anyway! She was my mother!

I’ll get reimbursed.  It will be covered by a Government Pension Mom was receiving. Of course, I know to get a Death Certificate. When dealing with Estate Laws you ALWAYS get multiple copies of Death Certificates for everything that you have to handle.

I meant to write more about my feelings and emotions. There is just so much going on. A concoction of business, chaos, miscommunication and exhaustion. It doesn’t leave much time for even the slightest pause or glimpse into one’s inner thoughts, and time to reflect upon them. Right now, I’m either the walking dead (bad pun) or functioning on a UFO’s Autopilot System.

 


That expression formally ends​with six. Someone I worked with used to say it all the time. With six. 

He’d do it out of frustration, when he’d made a mistake, when somebody was going through a hard time to help or cheer them up, and always while joking.

I never understood what the expression meant. I’d never heard it before up until that point in my life. I’d always gone along with everyone else at work. I laughed and smiled. Inside? I felt like a total goofball.

At one point, he and I were alone. I felt totally awkward and ashamed (why?) We both loved each other. A lot.

NOTE: some Asperger’s behaviour with all of this? Can you see that? Plus, a lot of my colleagues were mean. Must hide.

So, I finally asked him.

“S., what on earth does that expression mean? You’re always saying it, everybody else seems to know. What the ‘fuck’…hahaha…is it some kind Orgy Rule?” We were both in stitches when I said that.

After we both gathered composure, he told me to think about it. THINK ABOUT IT???You, little… I have thought about it! That’s why I’m asking! Doofus.

We were both in our 20’s. He was a few years younger. Since we were so close (damn near in love with each other) he enjoyed with great pleasure to tease and embarrass me while working. In front of the public! Anything to make blush. Which can happen before a hat enters a room to drop anyway.

I told him to fuck off and just answer the damn question. Otherwise, I would beat it out of him. Which would be impossible without many weapons. I’m tiny. Even though he was thin, he stood about 6’1″ To hug me, he’d almost have to pick me up. Especially if I wasn’t wearing shoes.

Anyway, for those who do not know, the expression means that you tell everyone in your life to yes, fuck off, screw themselves, go to hell etc. Except for only six people. 

Why? You need six Pallbearers to carry your Casket when you die.

I was almost on my knees, laughing so hard. I could barely breathe. It was a good thing he was right beside me so he could pick me up. I really was that close to falling. He just smirked, satisfied he’d almost made me look, once more, like a fool in front of the public.

My number two? Well, I’m wearing almost “Death Bling.” Two of the most beautiful pieces of jewelry I’ve ever seen.

A very close friend I met so long ago “gave” me his Cross. He was also a very close lapsed Catholic. I dare you to find me a bigger one. However, his Mother was extremely Devout.

She gave him his Cross when he went fully through all the Stations. Confirmed as a young boy. If she ever saw him without it, the Bible and more would hit the fan!

One night we were drinking and fooling around, being our idiot selves and I took it. I put it on, making jokes about how Catholic he was, I was the better one by not being Catholic at all!

I went home, and realized I still had it! HIS MOM!!! I called and left a voicemail. Nothing. This went on for YEARS.

Constant contact back and forth.

“Yeah, later.” ‘Okay, I’ll call you tomorrow.” “Let me send you an email in a couple of days.” “Don’t worry, I know it’s in a safe place.”

He died and I found out after the fact. What about his Cross?! It was “missing.” His Mother. Did G. tell them anything? I never got a phone call. Granted, my number is unlisted. But he knew where I lived.

Some people later told me after all those years, the constant excuses, never coming to get it, questions before dying? It meant something. What? I was totally clueless. 

They said it was because he wanted me to have it. I still didn’t understand and couldn’t grasp that concept. In fact, it still seems a bit odd to this day.

After a few years though, I think I might have figured out why. 

I knew he had ADHD roughly 10 years before I knew I had ADD! He confided in me, something he’d never told anyone else. His Mother had Mental Health Issues. And all around, I was the only person who really understood him. No words were ever said about it. I don’t think he could have put any letters together to start a sentence for it!

The cross is gold. 14K. Maybe an inch high so proportionate. It has the entire Lord’s Prayer in Relief on it!

ASIDE: Relief is a Coin Collecting Term. It means any part of a coin that is raised. The higher you can feel it, and the cleaner it is on the coin (and the cleaner the coin itself) the better Relief. Then, it is extended to all metallurgical engraving.

The second piece of jewelry is from my Nana. My Mom’s Mother. I loved it so much, even as a child. I actually became so bold when a teenager, I asked if I could have it when she died! She just laughed and said of course I could.

It is beautiful and obviously sentimental. A locket shaped as a shield. 18K. I can’t even begin to describe its complicated and intensely gorgeous engraving. 

Inside, there are two little pictures. One of her husband, my Grampa, a dashing, young man. The other, a baby picture of my Mom.

Neither of these are coming off until? Definitely not until we take care of Mom’s Estate! And probably longer. Definitely longer.


I’m exhausted.  Both my head and my body need a serious break. 

Two new drugs.  Side effects.  One of the two pulled for several reasons.  The last drug to treat the problems.  The problems are still there.  The drug is new so who knows what will happen.  You’ve just started the drug, so you need more time to see if it works, and the side effects go away.

I DEFINITELY needed a break the day my uterine biopsies were done. My OB/GYN did them last week. 

Although, before I continue, this Post might be a bit much for the squeamish.  So consider yourself WARNED.

It was the second most painful procedure I’ve gone through in my entire life.  The first being the insertion of a urinary catheter while just lying on an examining table.  The Doctor put it in faster than completing the sentence:

“Okay, this is going to hurt a bit.”

I screamed at such massive decibels.  I still wonder to this day if I didn’t scare the hell out of all the other women in the waiting room.  Or perhaps, only dogs could hear me. 

I don’t remember if any women were in the waiting room.  I was like 18 tornados trying to find the exit doors when everything was done.  This was for ongoing UTI’s.

I have no clue what my OB/GYN was doing for her biopsies.  However, I can say she’s thorough? Holy shit.  Or holy blood?

I have a new Fibroid, the lining of my uterus is fuller, thicker etc.  Basically, a lot more blood and tissue for an egg to implant, but not good as my Fibroids are taking up space there too.

The biopsies, though? They’ll be benign.  THEY.

I could “feel” her almost slicing me up all over the place!!! Not like a simple “Punch Biopsy.”  Those are like a small poke.  You feel like you’ve just been vaccinated with a large needle.

After we were done, she told me quickly, “Move up the table.  Move up the table.  I don’t want to get any blood floor.” 

Like I said, she must be…thorough?

She told me to relax, take my time, I did a great job (she said that as we were doing it, I could take a break.)  It took me so long to actually move, then clean up, then try to get dressed…they actually sent a nurse to check on me.

BWAH-HAH-HAH!!!!!!!!

Ah, I love Medicine! I wonder what my hysterectomy will be like?

My OB/GYN is lovely though.  Only two things to note for the anaesthetist:

1. Not to be picky, but if you’re thinking about Propofol? It makes me sick.  Midazolam, please? 
Granted, those were only for less invasive things I’ve had done.  Still, no Propofol in your Alchemy.

2. DO NOT forget I’m on Propranolol.  I’d like to wake up after surgery.


I got my notification for the MRI I’ve been waiting for, like 10 years? <gross sarcasm because I'm SO pissed off>

What do I see?

MR IAC’S

What does THAT mean? It means I sure as hell hope and not hope they got me mixed up with another patient.

Not hope? Because it will be wrong but I’ll have to get the right one ordered and wait all over again.

Hope? As above, a patient mix up but only on paper.  Then things can just proceed “as planned.”

It’s not like I’m tired enough having a massive TBI right now.  One that was initially considered a stroke. 

One that could be a stroke or not.  Or perhaps something else, but we need an MRI to try and get an injured part to say: “Smile for the camera!”

So what does that IAC business mean that has now set me on fire? It stands for “Internal Auditory Canal.”  What does that have to do with?

BASICALLY EVERYTHING TO DO WITH HEARING!!!

Aw, come on! I never had any problems with hearing before, during, and after what happened.  I still don’t! It even looks for these quite rare tumors called “acoustic neuromas.”

*bangs TBI head on table*

Ouch.

This is out of our known Universe! Nobody even examined my hearing in hospital!

I’d roll my eyes like banging my head on the table but that might send me back to hospital.

Speaking of, and this isn’t funny, I had two similar episodes now that I’ve been home for a month.  Well, one was minor.  The other one left me shaking on my bed, totally confused if I really should go back to hospital.

But I could still heeeeaaaarrrr!!!!

Sweetie GP is away too.  So I also have to call a backup she’s got that’s new.  Not her regular, and in fact, seems like a pushy Intern.

Nothing against any of you other Interns out there! Residents too!

Although some of you Attendings? *raises eyebrows*

So an important telephone to Intern tomorrow.  Maybe I can use her to my advantage. 

She seems to be, sort of, have this air about her to show and prove how much of a rising Star she is. 

Okay, Girlie.  I can hear you.  I’d like you to listen LOUD AND CLEAR about this.

Delivered by WP+Android=Technocrap


First, I can make Blog Posts via my Mobile, second, responding to it and Twitter stuff doesn’t work so well and third:

I’m now part of the orgy!!!

I think we all know of the Government’s collusion between Tobacco Companies and so much more. 

Also, I am in no way a conspiracy theorist.  A UFO could land on my head and I’d be quite pleased with that.  Even better if they took me away from this planet.

Way back in uni, of course we were all living in poverty.  Kraft Dinner and shitty Ramen packets that cost $0.25 day after day.  And yet, how did we always have loads of alcohol on hand? To party EVERY NIGHT?

Never mind.

One thing we always had a hard time obtaining were cigarettes.  With all of that partying and drinking going on, they really cramped the bank account.  Or pile of cash if you didn’t have one.

So what really helped us were these little packs of smokes that we actually nicknamed, “Poverty Packs.”. They had 15 cigarettes in them and were dirt cheap compared to a full pack.

Not to mention, Ultra-Cute.

So, out I am and a guy I know buys…A POVERTY PACK! I didn’t even know they existed anymore.  Although a lot different from years gone by.

Over many years, Health Canada got on a real kick about smoking being so bad for you.  They started putting icky pictures of people dying and body parts being destroyed on all packs to try and stop people from smoking.

Then, for some reason they took away all the lists of ingredients on each pack of cigarettes, in measurements per brand.  I don’t know why.  Listing all the crap could also aid in someone quitting? Not.

Maybe a “retaliation” from the Tobacco Companies! Huh?

We can get access to “Native” Cigarettes too.  People can in the U.S. as well.  These are from Native Reserves (aka Indian but not PC to use that term!) However, this is a “Highly Illegal Practice.”

Everyone does it though.  A carton for $30.00? You tell me.

Back to my “Poverty Pack” I just bought.  And joining the orgy.  They are $2.00 more than the cheaper brands here.  I just about died.  And there is NO WAY about them being a novelty feature.

The Government wants everyone to stop smoking? I think not.  And the Tobacco Companies sure as hell don’t.


I got a telephone call from my sister late last night.  I had already taken my meds so I was mumbling and slurring my speech.

I slowly tried to say, “Oh, if I sound funny, I…”

She immediately cut me off and said, “You sound like you’re drunk!”

My sister always thinks I’m drunk.  Yes, 20 years of addiction to alcohol and marrying an alcoholic might do that.  But please cut me a little slack? Please?

Back to the call.  My sister and I always get along like a continent on fire, but now she was stumbling for words.  I somehow felt vindicated.  She didn’t know how to tell me, didn’t know what to say over and over again.  I told her just to be blunt, spit it out, just tell me!

My mother’s husband died on Saturday, November 02, 2013.  Look at the date today, folks.  My mom even called me that day.  We were briefly talking, she sounded just fine and after barely saying anything, someone was at the door and she said she’d call me back later.  Nothing since my sister called.

I thought it was my mom simply being her (undiagnosed) mental self.  Nope.

Apparently…it “seems” like she didn’t want to tell me as I’d be too upset about it.  OMG! Well, THIS clearly needs to be sorted today!

I’ve been crying all morning.  I’m crying while writing this post!

I’m feeling so selfish.  She hasn’t called me in a year.  YES, a year!!! She ALWAYS calls me on my birthday and this is the first time she didn’t.

Why didn’t I call her? Sure, very sick and lot going on, but what’s a phone call? It’s like, what is sending an email to someone? Even if she rambles on forever on the phone! That was one thing I wanted to avoid.

Her husband started out with Prostate Cancer but after a year what happened? What was the full story?

Okay, I can’t write anymore about this.  I feel like I’m dying too.

For the first time in my ENTIRE life, I think I’ll have to say, “I Love You” to my mother–and really mean it.  I’m scared about that.  I’m a mess.


I just realized I was a bit contrary in this post.

I said that I shaved my head for a lot of reasons.  However, I then said I wasn’t going to post a picture as it wasn’t a “sideshow.”

I apologize, folks.  When writing the post, I think I was a bit shaken up.

It was the exact day I heard of my friend’s mother’s death from cancer.

Thus, it was the exact day I immediately ran out and shaved my head.

I also did it before even finishing the post.

Here I am.  Bald is beautiful.  Even more so if you want to read my crazy post above? Yeah, I was a mess that day.

Get Off Your Lazy Ass And Advocate

What Part Of My Hover Did You NOT Understand?


NOTE: I had to edit this as I originally started writing it on October 09, 2013.  Obviously that is not the date today.

My friend R. who lives in London (but born in bred in the same city I live in) had to fly back recently.  His mother “had cancer.”

Immediately after he arrived, he said, “It was such a surprise to everyone!” Alright.  We do have the aspect of cancer sneaking up on you.  A sort of “surprise” where you seem fine for a while, and then you become gravely ill.  Or something to that effect.

Well, Dr. PA felt she needed to share a medical aspect.  She reminded him of her brush with breast cancer and sure, “everything” was benign, but some things may have still remained (or even have come back.)

Anything dormant or returning may not have be noticeable.  Then, they became malignant.  The speed of the malignant tissue and/or tumors metastasizing, could have spread so incredibly exponentially.  It was only at that time the cancer appeared.  Then, when it had affected so much of her body’s systems, she became terminally ill.

This woman woman was A ROCK.

I don’t know how much “a lot” is, but she definitely had her fair share.  And never a stumble or a trip; always the craziest sense of humour and a smile that would crash any other rocks to bits!

She loved me.  So much.  Countless Sunday Family Dinners where we always joked, I was the “Surrogate <insert my name>” because it is the same as their daughter living to far away to attend the Sunday Family Dinners

Here is an ABSOTIVELY, POSOLUTELY INSANE example of how much she loved me.  It was regarding one Sunday Family Dinner.

There would always be pie for dessert.  I don’t really like fruit and they were always fruit pies.  I would politely decline or maybe ask for just a tiny sliver (and then completely slather it in ice cream to get it down!)

One night, she asked me about pies.  I told her I really didn’t like them.  I didn’t like fruit ones, at least.  I didn’t like fruit!

She looked at me squarely in the eyes and said there must be some kind of pie I liked.  There were lots of them out there.  I thought about pies.  With all of these types of pies spinning around in my head, I thought maybe I didn’t like any!

Wait! Pumpkin! It’s not fruit! Yes!

I showed up for the next Sunday Family Dinner.  She made a fruit pie for EVERYONE ELSE and a PUMPKIN PIE FOR JUST ME!!! 

To hell with pumpkin pie?

I’m already an open book so I didn’t care what R. said to any of his family members about me.  I was so close to them anyway! He told her a lot.  Apparently.

No direct conversations or words were ever uttered, but countless times she would always say, “If you want to come over, you’re always welcome!”

That would mean I’d stay in R.’s bedroom.  Wow.  How many memories would that little space hold.  I certainly would have liked to come to the house but I wondered if staying in his room might be a little TOO much.

The last time I saw her, after the last Sunday Family Dinner, she changed her suggestion to me.  She knew I was alone.  She knew I had so many problems.  She knew I was in pain and in so much trouble at times.  R. would have told her all my diagnoses; everything I have battled my entire life.  I know he told her that I had tried to kill myself (more than once?) He visited me in the hospital for one before he went overseas!

Instead of, “If you want to come over, you’re always welcome!”

It was, “If you need a place to stay, you’ve got one here.”

CONTINUATION, POSTSCRIPT, WHATEVER: 

R.’s mother died today, this morning, this was supposed to be a #FF post but when I found out? Fix this post, on Twitter, time was passing, “Crap! I gotta get out and do this now!” More…

I went out and shaved my head.  Right down to #1.  I’m pretty bald.  And no pictures.  This isn’t a sideshow.

I did it for her, others that have had an impact on me personally (family for sure!) Others I’ve I’ve worked with who are terminal.  I get anemia infusions in hospital.  I see the cancer patients on the other side of the floor getting chemo when I drag my tree to the bathroom there.  On and on…  I wanted to make a wig but my hair wasn’t long enough–even for a kid.

Wake the hell up people!!! And if you don’t know why I’m bald? If you don’t even ask? I’m going to scream why in your ears anyway!!!

I went out a bit.  Dressed all in black.  Quite formally and with my formal cane as well.  I had a drink which I shouldn’t do.  But under the circumstances? Fuck it.  My own way of a wee mourn.  Until the funeral comes around.


I made some Tweets tonight but I don’t know who saw them, who cares, but I’ll bring anyone who’s interested up to date.

Crisis.  But hanging on with dental floss right now?

The day before today, neuro lowered my Clobazam despite my seizures getting worse (not to mention the accompanying psych and emotional disasters that come along with.)  I figured out why after a bit.  He thinks that prescribing such a high dose was lowering my seizure threshold and then WHAM! Look how high they flew up! Bastard.

But today was so painfully and unbelievably shocking.  I’ve lost my therapist that I have been seeing for a year now.  Stoopid Guvmunt crap and changes in the clinic.  She was even shocked herself.

Spock held it together through the appointment but wee PA crumbled to the floor bawling uncontrollably trying to get to her GP.  Right on the floor outside her therapist’s office. Hello, everyone else in the building.  Here’s a bit of an Asperger’s Display.   FUCK YOU!

I’m a total wreck.  I’ve been ruminating about going to hospital and yet, on the other hand, can I be strong to handle this? How strong do I have to be? I don’t know.  All I do know is I’m so afraid, I took one more Valium than prescribed a little while ago, my therapist does have her own practice but I’d have to pay.

Then I talked to a guy I know about saving money for drinking.  Not going out.  He bought me tonight some Vodka, Whisky and beer that I can drink at home.  Right now, Vodka.  Neat (that means no ice–an abomination!)

I’m pretty freaked out to talk to anyone.  I think I have someone to take care of my place if I admit myself.  Not the alcohol guy! Can’t trust him.

My mother’s off the radar.  I’m too scared to call after almost two months as I suspect her husband has gotten worse with his cancer.  She laments not being “able to take care of both of us.”  I have no clue.  And I don’t want to hear bad news.  Family trauma, PTSD and all of that! My mom is still mentally ill so who knows what demons might come out!

So, yeah.  My “coping mechanisms” ain’t so hot right now.  I’d like to say, “Let’s see what tomorrow brings.”  But I know that’s a ridiculous statement.

Back to listening to Dead Can Dance.