i can do this...

today was my follow-up oncologist visit. since i had already received the awesome scan results (largest lung nodule has shrunk 50%)  over the phone two weeks ago, this was more of a formality visit.  it was also for 💉 blood labs. oncologists love to take blood 🧛🏽‍♂️ !!  if everything comes back good on the blood, then i will continue with Tamoxifen. then more blood labs in 3 months.   and then scans 3 months after that.   it is beginning to feel like a normal schedule.  it feels routine.  it feels doable.  i can do this.

i still break down from time to time.  thinking over what i have been thru.  and what i might be facing in the future, someday... like chemo.  but that is not now.   and i am thankful for that.  because my body feels very old.  i look like i have aged 20 years in 9 months.  i have always been told that i don't look my age.  people would say, wow you look great for 40, 45, 49.  well, now that i am 4 months shy of turning 50, time has caught up with me.  but why is aging such a negative thing in our society? why should i not want to look my age?   i have plenty of sisters in survivorship who are no longer with us that did not get that chance.  aging is a privilege.  it is a gift to grow old.  wrinkles are the wrapping paper on that gift.  i need to keep telling myself this.  i need to keep telling myself that this is ok.  i need to tell myself this EVERY time i look in the mirror.   i want to pass this down to my daughter.  i want her not to be afraid of change and of growing old.  i need to love myself, my current changing self just as i learned to love my scars and my franken-breasted self years ago.   i have to remember how far i have come. yes, i have a lot more white hair than i did last year.  yes, i am still going to dye it crazy colors.  not because i think it will make me look younger.  but because it is fun.  it makes me happy.   i am also trying to practice yoga daily.  if only for 20 minutes.  but it is something.  i have been given a second chance for a second time.  so i am going to try and do my best with what i’ve got.

and i have been working hard all this Fall on recording music. playing shows by myself the last two years was exhausting.  emotionally and physically.  i figured i would take time off and record an album.  so i began learning computer software.  it wasn't/isn’t easy.  it can be completely frustrating.  learning how to set up mics.  and how to mix tracks.  how to save data and how to not lose data!  somedays i feel like i am getting somewhere.  somedays i want to scrap it all.   i don't feel legit.  i feel like an imposter.  i ask myself, what makes me a musician?  i am not getting paid.  i am not performing live shows.  what makes it real?  thankfully, i have been listening to a lot of amanda palmer lately.  she is an amazing songwriter and activist.  and she says, “if you can, you must.”  she also says, “make art” and “make light out of the dark.”   so, i am going to keep making shit.  even if it’s just for a handful of people out there because... i can.  i can do this.

Getting it sorted out, sort of.

So, I’ve been on Tamoxifen now for about a month and am finishing the process of sorting out another medicine (non cancer) that had to be changed because it interacted with Tamoxifen.  And I feel like my body is starting to adjust.  I’m feeling more normal.  But let me say, Tamoxifen is causing ridiculous hot flashes!   And I live in Texas where it’s hot already! So, in a heated frenzy, I have DIY’d all my T-shirt’s into tank tops in a little design I call the “Larissa Tank“.  I have been getting lots of compliments on them and people keep asking me how I made them.  So, I might do a little workshop on how to transform old t-shirts into the “Larissa Tank” - a wine and scissors event🍷✂️!    Which sounds dangerous but fun.  Stay tuned for more on that enterprise.

The Larissa Tank out flying a kite.

But I do feel like I am adjusting.  I am feeling stronger. I just rest when I need it.  My body tells me when I need it.  I tried to ignore it at first.  But my body knows better.  It slams on the breaks and blows a whistle.  And I take a little rest or nap and I’m good to go.

Speaking of going, I had the pleasure to go to the Dominican Republic for 5 days at the beginning of May with my husband.   He needed to go for business. And I was very glad to be able to join him.  It just so happened that it coincided with our 14th wedding anniversary.

Here are some pictures from Punta Cana, Dominican Republic.  The water really is that blue.  I’m so grateful to have had time to relax, feel grounded by the sand on my feet, and reconnect with my husband.

Still here. Just tired.

Thank you for all the kind words, cards, support and hugs.  They mean the world to me!  I wanted to have a clever title for this post like “Time is a flat circle” and reference the line from True Detective and somehow tie it in to history repeating itself or self referencing or being meta or maybe seeing the future or past in the present.   But “I’m so tired.”  Which actually is so meta.  I wrote a song called Caledonia Blues a long time ago about being too tired to face a recurrence if it knocked on my door again.   And it’s true.

I.
Am.
So.
Tired.  

And I’m just taking Tamoxifen (an oral medicine - not the big guns like chemo which is way more harsh).   But I also had to switch another medicine I am on because it interfers and makes the Tamoxifen ineffective.  So, while I get the meds sorted out, I’m a bit off.  I’m sure it will even out and and my body will find my new normal and all that shit.  But right now, I get exhausted.  And I have a brain fog.  And sometimes I can’t find the right words for things.  Or I get words mixed up.  Like shave and dust.  It’s weird.  It’s frustrating.  But I’m ok.  And am glad to be proactive and in treatment.

This is me being tired but happy. 

the dangling shoe.

next weekend i will be celebrating my 5 year cancerversary. that means that 5 years ago i got the dreaded call from the lab that said, "you have cancer." and from that moment on, i became a survivor.

my first cancerversary was probably the most meaningful. it meant that i survived my year of treatment and hell. i came out from the other side. my hair was beginning to grow back. i could finally taste foods again. i had energy. and i was full of life.

every cancerversary since then has been wonderful. but the most anticipated for me has been number 5. that's when you really start to beat the odds. many statistics are based on 5 year survival rates. i remember being in my oncologists office way back when. she was reviewing my chemo options. she jotted notes on the back of the "welcome to chemotherapy" pamphlet. i remember staring at two numbers. 50 and 5. i had a 50% chance at 5 year survival. those were my odds without fighting. if i did chemo, radiation, and tamoxifen, my survival odds were greatly increased. so, i fought.

and here i am now about to turn 5. i should be happy. but something in the back of my brain says, "don't be too cocky. don't count your chickens before they hatch. don't jinx anything." i knew my annual mammogram was coming up this month. and the old "what if" kept invading my brain. the anticipation of the other shoe falling.

this falling shoe has even broken into my dreams. just the other night while i was sleeping, the radiology technician burst into my room to tell me they found a suspicious spot on my film. i started crying and saying, "but i just had my hair done! i don't wanna be bald!" i awoke and looked in the mirror. i said, "i'm still here. every thing is going to be ok. it was just a dream." that is, until yesterday.

yesterday was my actual mammogram appointment. i put on my highly flattering hospital gown and sat in the waiting room. then i was called in for a chest xray. this seemed to go fine. and i was sent back to waiting room. next i get called for my mammogram. some films are taken. and again, i wait. but now they call me back for another chest xray. hmmm... i start to worry. i am taken back to waiting room. the tech says if everything is ok, they will have someone from my oncologist office (down the hall) come get me to go over films and have my regular follow-up. hurray! someone comes and escorts me down the hall. i'm thinking that i'm all clear. i meet with onc. things go great. she does a physical exam and draws blood. then she asks "did you have a mammogram today?" i say "yes". she says "let me go look at your slides". and that's when radiology bursts in to say i need to have more pictures taken. this is also when my heart drops. apparently radiology has found something of concern. shit! i close my eyes and open them again. but i'm still here. it is not a dream.

i have more pictures taken. the mammography tech says these pictures will be a little more painful and will take longer. it was like my breast was auditioning for a contortionist at a freak show. i had no idea it could do THAT?

and what do my breast acrobatics earn me? a trip to the ultrasound room. i meet yet another technician. she rolls her magic ultrasound wand around. then leaves the room. i close my eyes again. open them. shit, i'm still here. ok, so now the head radiologist comes in and i get ultrasounded again.

they have found what appears as two cysts that have fused together in a dumbbell shape. normally cysts aren't a big concern. but they are also surrounded by calcifications. shit, shit, shit. calcifications are what led me to my original diagnosis. sometimes, they are pre-cancer. and in my case before, they weren't only pre-cancer, they were cancer that had become invasive and spread to my lymph nodes.

i finally get to change out of my beautiful gown. i talk to my oncologist. and find out that due to the calcifications, needle biopsy is not an option. it needs to be surgically removed. but my surgeon's on vacation for the next week. so i have to wait until february 26th to meet with her.

so here i wait. i am still going to celebrate my five years next weekend. and i'm going to party with friends. i'm going to sing and dance in celebration. and i'm going to try to ignore that size 7 pink patent leather shoe that's dangling right in front of me.