Back from the Atmosphere: 🌏 

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Real talk, I’ve been a tad on the emosh lately — for so many reasons.  The teeniest, tiniest things have the power to set me off in an array of passions and personalities that I didn’t know exist.  Lets face it, it’s been a long time since I’ve lived, instead of existing to survive.  Naturally overwhelmed by my affections, I’ve realized I’ve been covering up my scars with paint and I’m finally ready to wash away its taint. The very same taint that tortured me for the past three, almost four years.  Yet, in its wonder I have continuously been learning that my most painful trials can be rewarded with the most salient growth.

I have failed to balance my writing, or, rather share my writing because I felt stuck on a road with no end. No end to the endless days of pain, but keeping hope in my mind that life could once again be kind.  It seemed like a dream, a place far away from my reality, as I was encased in flesh and bones, yet desperate for life in my veins.

Month after month following my HIPEC surgery were spent under the covers. Forgetting all of the faces and all the different places I have been. It made no sense in my mind that I should feel lucky to be alive, while dealing with such agony.  In my dreams my tears were chilled to the bone, I couldn’t remember what it was to feel alive.

The brilliant medical team at Mayo would remind me that patience is a virtue and that my body has been sliced, diced and poisoned to the nth degree.  It seemed as though  I was walking alone, and no one was following. It wasn’t just pain from the recovery — my body was telling me something wasn’t right.  Just like every other instance, my body was insistent on a pain so severe that it made me call for the man in the sky.

Friends would ask, “How are you?”

Great, fine. Just not healing as fast as I’d hope,” I’d reply practically lying through my teeth because I didn’t have any answers.  The fib would then be followed by an exclaiming, happy heart face emoji.  This all in an effort to indicate that I wasn’t hiding inside a cage, but was instead a warrior. The way so many seem to view me.

Meanwhile I hated leaving the house, much less get out of my infamous monogrammed, “B.K.O.”, black robe. I only wanted to be home, where I belonged, where I could put sorrow on the record player and smoke until I found a heavenly place to fall from grace.

.It was now March and by this point I had a decent amount of post op appointments with “da team.”

“Doc, I literally feel World War III erupting in my insides.”

I wasn’t saying that loosely, or to be insensitive given the current political climate, but quite frankly I felt that after months of bitching and getting nowhere, it was an obligatory analogy.  Even if my example was a bit crass, it turns out that I got my point across and at last the Doc’s realized I wasn’t complaining because it was good for my health. Okay, bad pun.  Yet, they actually began to understand and realize the severity of my pangs. I was no longer drowning under their belief that my body was behaving “normally,“

I digress — off to the Urologist. Let me tell you, I’ve never met a man more in love with his job. Urine banter and all that it entails to “void,” is his pride and joy and I had a feeling that just maybe, just maybe, he’d magic up the culprit to my evils.

Sure enough, he did. I was having issues doing one of the most basic human bodily functions, i.e. wee, wee-wee, number one, pee, piss, U-R-I-N-A-T-E — g*ddamnit.

“I mean, WTF is wrong with me now?”, I would scream to myself.

Nevertheless and lucky for me, after months of complaining, it only took two appointments with, Dr.Piddle for him to solve the current mystery this body of mine riddled.

A Magician, perhaps — or just a man so passionate about liquid body waste that he becomes golden, baby. Of course it took several uncomfortable and down right miserable tests that forced me into a state of meditation that my mere existence relied upon.

Once the worse was over, the mystery was revealed. My abdomen/pelvic region had been so invaded over the course of the past few years that my muscles, including my bladder, is in a constant spasm state. Suddenly the hell I had been enduring made perfect sense — I was practically having constant f*cking contractions.

The real rabbit out of the hat was that there is no magic cure — except six months of physical therapy. Annoyed by the lack of instant gratification, I made the offering and obliged under his respective Doctor order.

Right after my first session of “PT”, as the cool kids call it, I decided that my body deserved physical therapy. It was time to let go of all the marks that have settled in my skin. Knead out the all of the suffering, trauma to my guts and the scar tissue both mentally and physically.

Since then I have returned to yoga, wake up during daylight, clean the house without paying for it later and come together with my mains for cocktails and a good old fashion gossip sesh’. Best of all, I have released the pause button on feeling secure enough in my health to make future life plans with my loving and endlessly supportive husband.

When you look at me, you wouldn’t know that I am lucky to be alive. You’d think I was the picture of perfect health. The long and short of it is that each day brings its own sets of challenges and I am privy to the fact that healing is a life long endeavor.  Even so, maybe this time it worked.

Updates to follow…

Love,
Britt x

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Life Lessons: 30 Things

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Typically before a big surgery my mind begins to overthink, racing with thoughts of what I have learned over the last three and a half years since being a cancer patient.  The thing about cancer is that it changes people.  It sculpts us into someone who understands more deeply, hurts more often, appreciates more quickly, cries more easily, hopes more desperately, loves more openly and lives more passionately.  I wanted to take a moment to jot down the top 30 things off the top of my head that cancer has taught me and share them, pass them along.  Some being more obvious than others, some being more simple as well.  It never hurts to be reminded from time to time that sometimes it can be the small stuff that can make us the upmost happiest.

Enjoy!

  1. Life isn’t fair, but it’s still good.
  2. Life is too short to waste time hating anyone.
  3. Don’t take yourself too seriously. No one else does.
  4. You don’t have to win every agreement. Agree to disagree.
  5. It’s okay to show your emotions. It’s okay to feel.
  6. Don’t compare yourself to others; you have no idea what their journey is all about.
  7. Don’t bother with pity parties.
  8. Burn the candles, use the nice stemware and wear the fancy dress. Every moment is a special occasion.
  9. Go with the flow.
  10. Be eccentric, who cares if people think you’re out of your mind.
  11. The most important sex organ is the brain.
  12. You cannot hold anyone else accountable for your happiness; it’s up to you.
  13. Forgive.
  14. What other people think of you is none of your business.
  15. Time heals.
  16. Your job won’t take care of you when you are sick. Your family and friends will.
  17. Believe in miracles.
  18. Whatever doesn’t kill you really does make you stronger.
  19. Listen to your body.
  20. Envy is a waste of time.
  21. Deep breaths calm the mind.
  22. Yield.
  23. Make your intentions pure.
  24. Turn wounds into wisdom.
  25. Peace will always be there for you in your darkest moments.
  26. How you feel is always more important than how you look.
  27. The big questions are worth asking.
  28. Love will always win.
  29. Always make self-care a priority.
  30. Life isn’t tied with a bow, but it’s still a gift.

Love,

Britt x

Alternative Perspective: Cancer Update

c3e53bd414afd33598432884f003101aAt times I feel I have such a casual approach to cancer and other times I’m in complete hysteria, where it plagues my every thought. Tonight is one of those nights.

When I had my hysterectomy in December I was supposed to be completely gutted, at least from a gynecological perspective.  Yet, due to the surgeon that performed my hysterectomy (not the GI surgeon, whom I loved) unbeknownst to me, until recently, he made the decision not to remove my cervix.  With my history of colorectal cancer, it tends to be attracted as far as metastasis to the gynecological areas; therefore the cervix should have been included when I had the hysterectomy.  In my humble opinion, I believe that it was left in an effort to have another operation down the line, thus requiring another insurance claim, leading to more money for the Doctor.  Simply disgusting, if you ask me.  It’s not fact, but simply an opinion.

With this, I consulted with my current Oncologist at Mayo who respectfully agreed towards the subject matter.  From there I was referred to a Gynecology Oncologist to determine if a surgery would even be applicable being that I am currently undergoing my third round of chemotherapy treatment.  An operation could mean a number of things, causing high risk and putting me in danger of not being able to administer treatment as needed. Expressing my concerns to the Doctor for the fact that my cancer seems to be attracted to those areas of my body, as well as having my worst nightmare in December and never wanting to be in that situation again.

The thing is, prior to December, I knew something was wrong.  I pushed and pushed and kept telling my previous Doctor that something was wrong and that I should have been on treatment only to be told I was practically insane.  No one knows your body better than you and that is a lesson I have come to learn all too well.  Always trust your gut.  But with that, this time around I wasn’t about to be dismissed.  I wanted to be heard and I actually felt that they were listening.

When I met with the Gynecology Oncologist, he confirmed that indeed my cervix was left and to his surprise, given his expertise.  Yet, he confirmed that any kind of surgery would not be wise given that going off of chemotherapy at this point in the game would be “life ending”. I have three tumors at this point that the chemo is trying to zap.

No matter how many times I hear that death could be that close never gets easy.  In fact, it gets more and more difficult.  How many times does a thirty year old have to hear she could be so close to death?

At first it didn’t quite sink in. But either way, I’m stuck.  I’m stuck with a cervix that I’m terrified my cancer will spread to and I’m stuck on chemo because the alternative is most definitely life ending.

What’s strange about it all though is that I’ve never been happier.  Things have never been clearer.  I know who I am, I know who has my back, I know what I want, I know what I have to do to get through each day and most importantly I know how to love and be loved.  Life is not so bad after all.  I’ll live with my cervix, I’ll live with having chemo because the point is that with both of those things, at least I’ll be ALIVE and living. I’ll take both of those things over the alternative any day. Sometimes you just have to put things into perspective and it just takes a little while for things to shape and shift and mold itself into a beautiful sculpture, something that you can handle looking at day after day. Cancer is something I can handle looking at and the journey is becoming less and less ugly and rather more beautiful than ever. It’s all in how you look at it.

Happy Monday. Enjoy your week, friends.

PS- My next scan will be May 4th.  I will update as soon as I have results!

-Britt xx

 

Let Me Be Clear:

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When I was a child, maybe six or seven, I told my cousin that my favorite color was clear. He argued with me, exclaiming that clear was in fact not a color.   We pretty much grew up as brother and sister, loving and arguing as such. Rumor has it, I was an extremely bossy and demanding child, in which case not much has altered. Nevertheless, my beloved cousin and I made it through my dictator phase and recently reminisced over the phone about that brief, clear conversation during our adolescence. Cracking up at the transparent ridiculousness of it all, we ended the call. The urge to suddenly psycho analyze myself came over me.  

What was it about this quirky “favorite color” of mine and why would it make sense throughout the common theme of my life?

I was on it.

Clear.  Clear?  Clear!  Suddenly everything seemed clear as day.  Throughout my entire life I have craved clarity and even more so now that I am on a journey of finding my true self.  Understanding my story and the purpose of my set of circumstances, has become one of the driving forces that continues to keep up my resiliency.

Without going into too much detail, there were some befogging things about my youth.  An American with a British accent — Great Britt, my loved ones would call me.  My Mum was a teenager when she brought me into this world and just a short while later my biological father died at a very young age. Heartbreakingly, my Granddad soon followed, passing away from cancer that rapidly took him at forty-nine, leaving him to depart in a matter of months.

Cancer, son of a bitch.

Because I didn’t have a father in my younger years, before my Dad adopted me, my Granddad was my first love and his death was both devastating and confusing all at once. Many tragedies took place in the short amount of time I had been on earth and I didn’t realize at the time how much all of these events would shape me as a human.

Material items were abundantly gifted to me from the strong women that raised me; never leaving me without anything, especially love.  Even still, I always felt a pinch unclear about a lot.

Around the same time I had originally professed my favorite color to my cousin, I met my very best friend, Crystal.  Coincidence in her name? Perhaps. Or perhaps it was shimmering kismet.  My attraction to her from the very beginning was her ability to be completely transparent, even to this day.  She is the person that I can count on to tell me when I am making reckless decisions, or make me cry because she gives it to me straight instead of blowing smoke up my ass.  Tough love at its finest and as always, crystal clear.

Fast forward twenty plus years and my life’s mission is to expose myself; as open as the air.  Make the most out of myself, while welcoming people along for the ride.  I’m working everyday for a clear vision as to why I am here and a purpose as to how I have been blessed time and time again after coming so intensely close to death.

One thing is clear for certain; clarity comes from within, as well as the people you surround yourself with and exploring your core being. From there, life becomes as clear as the sunniest day you ever did see.
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Love,

Britt xx

PS:  Thanks for the memories, Aust.  Clear for life. xx

#BSMHB – 1st VLOG of 2016

Happy New Year!

The last month of 2015 proved to be crazy — to say the least.  Here’s a little re-cap of everything that went down with my operation and how I am recovering, as well as what’s up for 2016.


Always,

Britt x