Sunday, September 30, 2012

CYNICAL SUNDAYS



photo by Debra and Dave Vanderlaan


The weather forecast called for rain. I love rainy Sundays. Especially when I'm in pain. Instead, its sunny. So sunny that I found it difficult to stay in bed past noon. So I'm on the deck. Sipping perfectly brewed coffee. Surrounded by annual foliage that refuses to die.

This is day seven. Seven days since my surgery. Seven days of not showering. Seven days sporting drains that ooze a substance that looks more like piss yellow than blood red. That's a good thing. It means I'm healing.

If you haven't guessed, I'm miserable. I'm tired of being in pain. I'm tired of talking about my pain. I'm tired of wincing, of gasping, of moaning.

If this revision surgery works, and my breasts are perky and even, it will all be worth it. If it doesn't work, I don't know how low I'll go (physically and mentally) and that scares me.

When I reach low, cynical, woe-is-me levels like this, I like to make lists.

CANCER HAS EFFECTED ME IN THE FOLLOWING WAYS
(one for each of my seven, miserable day)

1. I used to like to watch porn at 4:00 on Sundays. I realize how absurd that sounds but it was fun. I wasn't alone watching porn at 4:00 on Sundays. My husband was with me. Typically we'd have a martini or two and laugh about how we should write slapstick porn - a mix between Debbie does Dallas and The Three Stooges. Call it, Debbie does Curly, Larry and saves Moe for last.

Since my cancer diagnosis, porn no longer interests me. I look forward to the day when I get my sexy back. 

2. I used to be overly focused on a brown, age spot at the tip of my otherwise adorable nose. It started off looking round and now it's the shape of Texas. Texas, the adopted home of George W. Bush. Oh how I loath George W. Bush. Imagine reliving the catastrophes of the Bush administration every time you look in the mirror - the tragedy of the Iraq war, the shame of Guantanamo, the erosion of civil liberties, the damage done to the American economy... it's maddening!

Since my cancer diagnosis, I don't give a rats ass about the brown spot on my nose, or brown spots anywhere on my body, or spots in general or, for that matter, the color brown. I still loath George W. Bush.

3. I used to get extremely irritated by Saturday afternoon leaf blowing. I'd pledge to lead a campaign to ban them all together. And then lose steam mid-way through my second glass of wine.

Since my cancer diagnosis, I no longer give a flying fuck about the noise pollution caused by leaf-blowers. Go ahead, enjoy your back-pack, carcinogenic causing, gas operated blower. You're drowning out the sound of my moans.

4. I used to be leery of wearing flip-flops. Convinced everyone was focused on my crooked monkey toes.

Since my cancer diagnosis, I'm oddly proud of my monkey toes. They curl inward as if they're grasping on to something. Grasping onto life. Grasping onto a day worth living. 

5. I used to wonder what I would die from. Now I can say, with a good amount of certainty, that it will be cancer.

Since my cancer diagnosis I know I am brave. I know I have a will to live. I know I will not give up. I will apply for clinical trials. I will seek alternative methods and incorporate traditional medicine with mind, body, healing.

6. I used to worry that my husband would leave me. That I'd grow too old for him, or too droopy, or worse, dowdy.

I am the queen of all cancer patients. I am cared for better than, a male, first in line to the throne, premature infant. Mark has followed me to every doctors appointment, every test, every treatment, every surgery. He waits in the hospital while I'm under anesthesia because I'm scared to death I'll die if he leaves the building. He wears my healing beads during my surgery's. When we're home, he lifts me, dresses me, washes my hair, brushes my hair, strips my drains, cooks for me, pours my wine, fluffs my pillows, finds my ear buds, charges my ipod, my iphone, my computer, screens my calls, pulls my covers up, then five minutes later pulls them down. He does all this without complaining because he wants to care, comfort, heal, and help, me. I am not a burden to him.

Yes, it's true, immediately following my cancer diagnosis, my plan was to divorce him but in reality, my plight proved to me that I am lovable.

7. I worry I'll wake up square. Not square as in uncool, I mean physically square. This is what happened to my mother. Somewhere in her mid 50's, she started to shrink and yet her mid section grew. She's now as wide as she is tall. She's not fat by any means. If anything, she looks stronger.

I can see the changes already beginning. My back is getting broader. My stomach and arms are getting beefier. And I've already proved that I can fit in a square box.





This is another reason why I don't want to go too big on my implants. They'll just make me look more square.

But unlike me, my mothers complexion is flawless. She has no brown spots. No wrinkles. True, her ears and nose continues to grow, but so does her eyes and they're a beautiful shade of blue. Sadly, they're overshadowed by a constant frown. Even when she's sleeping she frowns. Regardless of the path life takes me on, I don't want to be remembered as a women who frowns.

You must be thinking I'm mad to write about my mother this way. I don't mean to be cruel, but cancer has taught me not to sensor myself. And slowly, deliberately, cancer has dismantled a reverberating negativity that once governed me. Cancer has given me a reason to smile, wide, true, for no reason, for every reason. 


photo by Celery Jamey Sims
Monkey Me arriving at camp. Basking in the shine of the Silver Guy. Burning Man 2012

xo,MonkeyME 


UPDATE:

MY MUCH AWAITED STORM HAS ARRIVED. I LOVE RAINY SUNDAYS!




33 comments:

  1. I am sorry that you are still in pain, but glad that you still have your indomitable spirit--and that you got your Sunday afternoon storm! Feel better. Oh yes, and it's awesome that your husband takes such good care of you, and that you now know you are lovable.

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    1. unfortunately for me, I sometimes forget the important parts, like the caring and instead focus on the lack of communication skills (bad shannon). lets see if he even reads the post. typically, I have to withhold sex to get him to read it but I'm already withholding sex, so.... wait, don't tell me... too much information.

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  2. You could have come here... it's been raining for days. And since Tony was up early you could have even had his side of the bed. :)

    And I know I should say something really uplifting here, but all I can think about is the box... still one of my favorite posts. :)

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    1. Ha!!!! mine too :) written back when life was simple - before catstir.

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  3. your wise words were answered and proved by the storm and winds of heaven! The 'rain' came for you...your journey has further to go and I see beautiful places, a beautiful you


    Aloha from Honolulu,
    Wishing YOU a super week
    Comfort Spiral
    =^..^=

    > < } } ( ° >

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    1. Cloudia ~ you really are magic, aren't you! thank you for your good wishes. I wish you the same. oh... and you know, I never got your book. I'm 99.9 % certain I ordered it on amazon. I'll have to research that.

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  4. Oh my goodness, this was funny. Of course, not funny that you are in pain. (My dear that could never be funny.) But ha-ha funny in that you crack me up with your writing and wit! Your spirit jumps off the page. That is some good balm for anything that ails you, me, the world! And Missy you have yourself quite the hubby there. A keeper, fo' sho'!

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    1. well, sure, today husband is great but I'm overlooking his flaws (I think its the vicodin) for example... he's a REALLY loud coffee and soup slurper! so glad I made you laugh. I can't tell when I write it if its funny :)

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  5. I am sorry you are having to deal with so much pain. I smiled when I got to the part about your husband. So much love and devotion from your husband is an awesome gift. And I imagine he doesn't see the spot on your nose either...or if he does, he would never mention it.

    Just be glad you're not here as we are in the midst of ONE MORE DAMNED HEAT WAVE! I want some rain, but no porn. Definitely no porn.

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    1. Denise, I took this one part out because I thought it was too much husband praising, but just before surgery they made me get on the scale and then the nurse said my weight OUT LOUD. I turned to Mark and asked if he heard it. He looked at me clueless and the nurse answered for him. She said,"He loves you no matter how much you weigh." all that sounds great but I needed an answer from HIM before I walked into surgery so, once the valium kicked in I asked him, point blank... "do you still love me even though I'm faaaaaat?" He looked at me,this time annoyed and said, "I don't know what youre talking about, you haven't gained a pound!" and he was serious. And I'm 30 pounds heavier than I was when we got married.

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  6. I hope your pain eases soon. Keeping such a fine sense of humour through all this is amazing and inspiring. Your husband sounds like a man in a million -- a gem!

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    1. he's patient, he's kind, he's a decent dancer, he's amused by me. :) but enough about him.... back to me ;)

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  7. This is my favourite. I like the "matter of factness" about it.
    I like the bit about Mark. I like Mark. He's what we in NZ call "a good bastard." The world needs more good bastards!
    I like the yin and the yang: of the tale, of your realisations, of my two best friends in CT.
    I like the way you can fit into a box marked RUSH. I suspect if you had gone bigger there may have been an issue with the box.
    Cx

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    1. ahhhhh bigbadnaughtychad! my best NZ friend! you read me! you get me! and yes, Mark is a "good bastard" :))))))

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  8. This day has certainly been breathtaking here in Indiana but oh how I love rainy days.

    if I tried to fit in a box it would have to be the size of a stove!! HA!

    because of you I'm reading about Burning Man!! Thanks!

    I can never imagine what pain you must be going through since my pain was from a herniated disc. I had to use a walker just to get around. I wanted my life back. To be able to get out of bed or even to just roll over in bed without the fear I would hurt my back worse was a challege. After two years of exercising and shots,I am getting my life back.

    You are doing great!!

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    1. pain sucks, constant pain is TERRIBLE! I keep repeating, its temporary, its temporary, but chronic pain is much more challenging.

      Burning Man is an experience in itself. enjoy the reading and the photo's!

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  9. Well this made me cry, although I was crying already. I have become a cry-er. It's a profession for which there is no pay, but I do realize I should take out stock in Kleenex and start making some bank off my sorry ass. I envy you the rain dear. It's raining on the inside here and all this damn sun is ruining my melancholy. I'm really rooting for your perfect perky pair!

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    1. nothing wrong with being a good cry-er. you're working it through. nothing worse than sunshine on a melancholy day.

      keep writing.... your words have wisdom and power. its what we cry-ers need on dark days

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  10. I've heard that a good attitude speeds the recovery process. It sounds like you're well on your way. I'll keep you in my thoughts and prayers.

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    1. I'm trying Andrea, some days not so good with the attitude. writing helps. thank you for reading and for your thoughts and prayers.

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  11. I like the uncensored you. You just keep getting better. Write on, you writer. Sending healing thoughts your way. Oh, and cheers too.
    Kim of Canada.

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    1. AHHHHHH KIM SAID I'M A WRITER, SO IT MUST BE SO!!! thank you for the healing thoughts, they really do help. xoxo :))))))))

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  12. I don’t know if I ever mentioned this, but my mother is square too. It just happens; most of us will be square sooner than later. You will be back to Sunday porn in no time. Give Mark a hug and kiss for me; I’m glad you are not going to divorce him for awhile, because he is adorable and a sweetie pie. I hope I’ve never said anything to you too offensive, I sometimes think I just say the weirdest things. I love you and think of you daily and send you healing blessings. I hope we can see each other off Playa next year (2013). That is one of my goals, visit green monkey and tasty white meat in 2013. I am crazier than usual lately, and not as easily accessible. I’m sure I will be better soon. I’m sure you will be better too. I really miss life being not so hard; I really, truly hope life will be easier for both of us soon. I love you. Inky

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    1. INKY....there was that one time at camp, when you talked about how you'd eat my husband... :))))) but seriously, Pinky, I don't want to test it but I can't even imagine you saying anything to upset me. If something doesn't sit well with me I'll just tell you and you'll do the same and we'll all live happily in the rabbit hole together. I get this strong feeling that you like me as much as I like you. and even more, that I love you like you love me and that I understand you like you understand me. Let's make this 2013 thing happen because to be honest with you, 2012 SUCKs. THE FIRST, THE VERY FIRST taste of healing came on top of the Phoenix. With Jesse driving, you on my left, Piko on my right, and Jelly and MG behind me. and then there was this beautiful sunset... and love and art everywhere... I WANT LIFE TO BE GRAND AGAIN. I DEMAND IT TO BE SO!!!!!!! XOXOXO I LOVE YOU.

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  13. Good one honey, now where's that box?

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  14. Ms Monkey, I found you on my good friend Wander's blog. I am the Christopher he has written about, the one who showed him that computers work different from pens and paper and that he had somewhere to go with his words. I went here to find out why you would be so kind to him and here it is. So as God will speak sometimes with skin on, my Ontario friend wrote of cancer in her poem and I responded with the poem I share here:

    Above The Nipple

    I didn't know from
    lumps until you put my hand
    on yours, saying, feel!
    and we had to choose
    between risk and certainty,
    black lines and blue ink
    signing the intent
    but not what happens to us -
    that we must wait for.

    October 1, 2012 7:54 PM

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    1. Christopher...... this gave me chills, which I interpret as, TRUTH. Truth according to my soul, my head, my ache, my will. THANK YOU! Can I add your poem (with credit to you but tell me how to word your name) to all sorts of things.... not bumper stickers or tshirts, but on the lead page of my catstir blog, share it with my friends at breast cancer .org. etc.

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    2. Green, my new friend, you may use this as you see fit but I must add while it may be truth it is not fact. I did lose my wife to divorce, then to illness but it was not breast cancer, nor any other kind of cancer. On the other hand there is no one alive over fifty who cannot claim a cancer survivor or cancer death nearby. I have several. I am just saying this poem is imagination, not fact, but as you say truth nonetheless. I mostly go by Christopher. Hileman is my last name. I live in Gladstone, Or.

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    3. DAMN, I love the internet. Thank you Christopher... :)

      I will continue to read your poetry, but I am not good at commenting. I take the words so literally. Feed them deep inside of me and then don't know how to reply in a general sense.

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  15. Shannon, I keep telling you that you should start putting all these fabulous blog posts together for a BOOK! It would sell like crazy! And not just to women who have cancer (WWHC), but to ALL women, and throw a few good old bastards in there, too! I LOVED this. I keep saying too that your writing just keeps amazing me. Loved the photos of you "in the box!" And hey...I'm getting squarer and squarer, too....and I'm only 5 feet tall...not a good thing. I've been referring to myself lately as Square Becky Sponge Pants. (Now where's those Poise pads I just saw?)

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    1. Becky, I need to hire someone that sits next to me and tells me what to do. This statement from a women who hates to be told what to do. It all feels so overwhelming to me. And when I hear people talk about query letters and rejection letters and revisions, I break out in a sweat.

      So glad to know I'm not the only one getting squarer :) now where to find those square pants?

      LOVE YOU!!!!

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  16. Too funny! And don't forget....not only Square Pants, but Sponge Pants! :)
    Love ya back!

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  17. Some people hide behind words. You use them to reveal yourself with stark honestly, and say, "This is ME, world!" I agree with the other comments about you writing a book. You've got the gift.

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Thank you for encouraging my JOY of writing. By reading and commenting you are feeding my soul, stroking my heart, and in the end...making me a better writer.

Thank You For Encouraging My Joy of Writing

Thank You For Encouraging My Joy of Writing
greenmonkeytales@live.com

Shannon E. Kennedy

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Photo by Joan Harrison