Cancer's such a drama queen
I've never been a fan of the word dramatic. It's taken on a negative connotation over the years and frankly when someone calls me dramatic, I get fired up. And that sucks, because I, in turn, prove that person correct.
So today I fell in love with the word dramatic. I said to the husband on the way home that cancer doctors will not give you an inch. Meaning they're never too quick to get positive or happy about anything. Here I am trying to gauge how I should feel and frankly I asked my doctor this very question. When this whole thing started I had one foot in the grave and now I seem to have bought myself some time, but I want them to tell me where I should stand emotionally. And they refuse. And they are completely right in doing so.
Oncologists have amazing jobs. Oncologists have horrible jobs.
They are fighting a fight, as of now, they can't win. And I'm sure the last thing they will ever do is fill someone with false hope. I sometimes wonder about the beginning of their careers. Were they eager and upbeat and hopeful for their first few patients? Were they scared? Were they depressed when they lost their first patients? And then their second ones?
Ugh, how frustrating on their end?
And how frustrating on mine.
So I was given a little spark of light. Besides hearing that my scan looked good I wasn't given much else by my nurse practitioner. And rightfully so. I have to wait for next week's endoscopy to see what's going on in my stomach and at that point I should have more answers. So back to the spark. My main doctor stopped in for a chat and I flat out asked him if I could be happy about my current standing considering where I was a few months ago. And of course, that sly oncologist knew better than to give a yes or a no. His answer was "cautiously". Cautiously happy? That's a new term. Is there an emoji for that? If not I must invent one. Maybe a half smile and a yield sign.
Oh my god, that wasn't even the spark. Sorry, nausea meds give me a little ADD. The spark was the word DRAMATIC! The doc said that chemo has had a dramatic effect on my cancer. And that was the first time I felt a little relief in a medical conversation. I was in fact...cautiously happy.
When I got home I kept thinking about the word dramatic. I started visualizing the chemo making my cancer cells all dramatic. Like they were animated and were flailing their arms and getting all loud and obnoxious like a group of super hyper 13 year old girls. One cancer cell was saying to another cancer cell "Oh my god, this chemo is like so last year." And the other cell is responding with "I know, like I literally can't even right now." If you are wondering what I think my cancer cells look like, they are blue circles with stick figure arms and really big eyelashes. I have no idea why. Just go with it.
Seriously?
Timing is everything. So on the ride up to Philly, Billy suggests a podcast we should download. He has mentioned it before because he thought it'd be my cup of tea. It's called Crybabies and it's two female comedians that basically talk about those heart wrenching moments that break us. They have guests come on and talk about movie scenes or songs that bring on their own waterworks.It totally is my cup of tea but Oh My God! The episode he just randomly happened to download and play for our ride home was chock full of moments that cut too close to the bone.
For starters, the one woman decides to start off with an article called "Before I Go" written by a neurosurgeon ( I will include a link to it). A neurosurgeon who happens to get terminal metastatic lung cancer. He writes about his career, his life with cancer, and basically facing mortality. He had a period of remission but the cancer came back, put him in the hospital and then he went home knowing death was imminent. The kicker? Days after he got home from the hospital, his daughter was born. Really? Really fate? Really podcast? You're going there right now? Billy offered to turn it off at this point but I'm a glutton for punishment and I said to keep it on. What the fuck is wrong with me? Anyway it gets worse. This man, Dr. Paul Kalanithi ends up hitting the giant cancer nail on the head. And this nail is only reserved for him and the other cancer patients who are juggling with death and the gift of life at the very same moment. He eloquently put into words exactly how I feel about Sam and the notion of my mortality. I must share it:
"Yet one thing cannot be robbed of her futurity: my daughter, Cady. I hope I’ll live long enough that she has some memory of me. Words have a longevity I do not. I had thought I could leave her a series of letters — but what would they really say? I don’t know what this girl will be like when she is 15; I don’t even know if she’ll take to the nickname we’ve given her. There is perhaps only one thing to say to this infant, who is all future, overlapping briefly with me, whose life, barring the improbable, is all but past.
That message is simple: When you come to one of the many moments in life when you must give an account of yourself, provide a ledger of what you have been, and done, and meant to the world, do not, I pray, discount that you filled a dying man’s days with a sated joy, a joy unknown to me in all my prior years, a joy that does not hunger for more and more, but rests, satisfied. In this time, right now, that is an enormous thing."
At this point in the car ride I'm not sure how I will recover but I do and I am ready to move on. However, the guest comedian decides to share a clip of a movie that always makes him cry. It happens to be my favorite movie and of fucking course, it happens to be my favorite scene. If you are not familiar with Wes Anderson's masterpiece The Royal Tannenbaums, then you better get familiar! I love this movie with all my heart but what I love most about it is Ben Stiller's character Chas. Chas is raising his 2 boys after his wife tragically dies. Again, I'm internalizing and feeling like this is too close to home. Anyway at the end of the movie Ben's character utters one line to his father played by Gene Hackman:
"I've had a rough year, Dad."
Every time it gets me. Every friggin time. Waterworks ensue and I feel like someone punched me in the gut. Come on, you know you all have those crybaby moments too. Anyway, I haven't watched this movie in a while. My gut has enough issues right now. And I guess this quote has become something else for me now. And where I am at can be completely and simplistically summarized in these exact words. So yeah. I've had a rough year. And this is the scene that is being played on the podcast. Seriously?
At this point I turn to Billy and ask him: "Would you like to pull over and stab me in the heart? Preferably with a blunt object?"
He chuckles because he also can see the riculousness of how close to the bone this podcast is cutting. Yet, I remain a total asshole and keep listening. Actually, we had to turn the volume down for a while because they started talking about the show Mad Men and we are only in season 2. I'm sure whatever they were talking about would've in some way linked to my life or made me cry uncontrollably, but don't worry kids the tears and weird links to my life don't stop there. Their guest host decided to play a song that emotionally kills me too. This time around, I was not alone. The song, which is "Hope There's Someone" by Antony and the Johnsons, is actually one that crushes Billy every time he hears it. He played it for me years ago and I agree. It's a killer. Over the last few months I actually dread this song randomly popping up on our playlist. Because now that I have cancer, this song is even sadder and has taken on a whole new meaning for me. Here's a snippet of the lyrics:
Hope there's someone
Who'll take care of me
When I die, will I go
Hope there's someone
Who'll set my heart free
Nice to hold, when I'm tired
Trust me, it's a simple but sad-ass song. And again, what are the chances this hidden gem is on this podcast?
So at this point in the car ride I am thinking a few things. That my husband is possibly trying to kill me. Death by pinpointing the things in life that can truly break my heart. Or, that I am on some sick and morbid hidden camera show that takes pleasure exposing peoples' emotional hotspots. Or lastly, that maybe there is such a thing as coincidence or fate and maybe I was meant to hear this podcast and face the things that can break me. Because even though these are my emotional triggers, they are so raw and so beautiful and so human. Pain, can in a sense, be beautiful because in the end, a memoir, and a movie, and a song are all about love. And love is truly what makes facing death so scary. Not having the ability to love my husband and my kids and my life. What could be more gut wrenching?
Luckily the ride came to an end before the podcast did. Thank God! I am strong but if the next moment was a clip from the Michael Keaton movie My Life (This actually is a movie about cancer and a baby!) or that Olympics commercial that thanks all the hardworking moms who supported their Olympian daughters, I honestly would have jumped out of the car. Seriously!
Signing off for now,
Your cautiously happy, crybaby cancer patient
P.S.
Please feel free to share your crybaby moments with me. I can't be the only sap out there.
P.P.S.
Here is the link to "Before I Go"
http://stanmed.stanford.edu/2015spring/before-i-go.html
Here is the link to the article I mentioned last post "I Have Cancer and it Sucks"
http://www.cosmopolitan.com/health-fitness/a37555/i-have-cancerand-it-sucks/