The Scoop

I took a deep breath, trying to decide which version of my story to give...I have several: the short version, the inspiring version, the sad version. Depending on my mood or who I'm telling it to, determines my version. They are all basically the same facts, but my voice inflection and added details determine the version. Today, I decided I would present a new version: the no bullshit, this is how it is version.

I began, "Do you want to know my background or what happened most recently to get me here?"

"Both," she smiled. "Definitely both."

"Well, it began in 1977. I was diagnosed with Ewings Sarcoma," I stated matter of factly. I left out the whole story I told you about how I was diagnosed. I went on. "I had two years of chemotherapy and radiation. They didn't really think I would survive. Ewings is a bone cancer and in 1977 had a fairly low cure rate. Mine had already spread to my lungs when I was diagnosed."

Already she was shaking her head in empathy and disbelief. I could tell this part of the story easily because I barely remember the details and only tell what has been told to me. I was only four years old at this time.

"After my treatment was over, the x-rays looked good, and I was really fine for almost five years. Then my leg started hurting, and I didn't tell anyone. I felt bad, ya know. Guilty. Not as guilty as I feel now but guilty."

She wrote something in her notes and nodded for me to continue.

"So, it ended up it was Ewings again, and so I had to have my left leg amputated all the way to my hip," I looked down, as if to say, "see."

"Even though that took care of the cancer, they wanted to do chemo just in case, so I had chemo for two more years. This I remember well. I was sick for 12-14 hours. Vomiting and vomiting and vomiting. And there were sores in my mouth. Hundreds and hundreds of them. It took so much time for my parents. I was treated at the Mayo Clinic, so they were away alot, from each other and my brothers and sisters. I'm a twin, you know. It was so hard on her."

"I can't even imagine," she interjected as if lost in her own thoughts. I sat there looking at her, and she kind of shook herself out of her thought and said, "Sorry, go on."

"Then," I took a deep breath (this is usually where people really ooh and aah), "I had another recurrence when I was 14, this time in my left lung. At this point we lived in Missouri, so I was treated in Columbia at the University."

As I went on I was getting more and more annoyed with telling this damn story - AGAIN. Telling it is itself annoying, on top of whatever reason I'm telling it. 

"How did you deal with this?" she seemed truly stumped.

"Well, up until about two years ago, really well. I was all about advocacy and getting involved, and then I just got sick of it. I withdrew. I couldn't even do my job. I was sick all the time with stuff. I guess I should tell you that I have lots of health issues - heart and lung issues - because back in the day they had just a small idea of what they were doing, and they are now learning I received too much chemo and radiation. I'm glad they know now, but I'm screwed."

"And what has been going on lately?" 

"Oh, lately. Let's see. In the last two years this is what has happened to me: I've had pnuemonia three times; I fell and broke my collarbone; my husband had quadruple bypass surgery and seven months later learned two of the bypasses had closed, so the put stents in; I quit my job; I started a new job where I had a terrible experience and had to file a formal grievance; I got another job (the same one I quit previously) and had to promise I would "screw up" up like I did last time; I had my gallbladder out and learned my stomach doesn't empty correctly; my husband retired from a long, valued career; and most recently, this pain in the ass shingles."

Her mouth hung open.

"I know. I wouldn't even believe it if it was my life. They know me at the ER by name. It's embarrassing, and I feel like some kind of weirdo psycho all the time. There is something wrong ALL THE TIME. I've had it. I don't want this body anymore. I'm tired of being strong and brave and all of that crap that everyone seems to adore." I paused. "So that is why I'm here. That is why I figured heaven seemed like a damn good option over the hell I've been living through."

Again, I thought she was going to cry. "If she cries," I thought to myself, "I am literally going to slap her across the face. I need help. I don't need her to be touched by my sad story. I need someone else to be strong."

She gained composure (thank goodness for her and me), "But you are here and that in itself shows strength and amazing courage. Your not our usual 'type,' and I bet it was hard to come here. So I hate to disappoint you, but you are still showing signs of strength."

She was right but even today - several months down the road - I struggle and will write more about that as I go. Today, however, was a great day. I was up and about all day and working on my art pieces and website. I finally came up with a logo - pretty good for a beginner, I think. Oh, and I announced my blog on facebook, so there might actually be people reading this now - YIKES!