Thanks and don't forget---

After my last lovely rant, I just wanted to say thanks so much to all of you that have commented and emailed. You ROCK my world. It's been so awesome and inspiring hearing from all of you old friends and new! I'm still taking names for the drawing, so don't forget to comment or email me and let me know you want in. Word?

You guys are great- thanks for checking in and for helping to raise awareness! You are going to totally dig this Too Faced stuff. No, seriously.

Now if I can get Nine West to donate some quality shoes that somehow help prevent UV exposure, we will be SO SET!

-MM

You're not going to effin believe this.

Dear idiot,





Let's not even go into what a spit in my face this postcard is.
I could go into the facts, but I have a feeling you're not reading this blog.

I will say hope that you are very, very young and naive. Otherwise you could be throwing a year of your life away to a horrible, painful treatment. Or you could be throwing your entire life away for --- wait for it--- a trend.
That's right.
The equivalent of dieing for a mullet.
Or a slap bracelet.
Or any number of other bad fads.

It's called spray-on, and you'll live if it's uneven.

-MM

What a sad, simple life you must lead.



And for those of you who do pride yourself on being more informed, I'll present the facts. Tell your friends! And even idiots you despise like the one above who made the postcard.

The facts:
*Skin cancer is the #1 diagnosed cancer, and the third most commonly diagnosed cancer among women 2o-39 years of age.
*More than 90% of skin cancer is caused by sun and tanning bed exposure.
*Each hour, one person dies from skin cancer.
*One in 5 people will be diagnosed with it.
*One in 41 men and one in 61 women will develop melanoma in their lifetime.
*The rate of melanoma, the deadliest form of skin cancer, has more than doubled between 1973 and 1996.
*Melanoma is more common than any non-skin cancer among people between 25 and 29 years old.
*An estimated 7,400 deaths from melanoma and 2,200 from other skin cancers were expected in 2002 and more than 7,800 died from melanoma alone.
*The death rate from melanoma for men is almost twice that of women due to late detection *Melanoma is now the fastest growing cancer in the U.S. here have been no significant advances in the medical treatment or survival rate in the last 30 years.
* One blistering sunburn in childhood or adolescence more than doubles a person's chances of developing melanoma later in life.
* Exposure to tanning beds before age 35 increases melanoma risk by 75 percent.
* On an average day, more than one million Americans use tanning salons.
* New high-pressure sunlamps emit doses of UVR that can be as much as 12 times that of the sun.

And for our finale....
*In women 25-29, melanoma is the primary cause of cancer death, and in women 30-34 it is the second most common cause of cancer death.
*In the U.S. your chance of getting melanoma in 1940 was 1 in 1500. By 2004, it was 1 in 67. By 2010, scientists predict it will be 1 in 50.
*The incidence of melanoma has increased 690 percent from 1950 to 2001, and the overall mortality rate increased 165 percent during this same period.
*If caught in the earliest stages, melanoma is entirely treatable with a survival rate of nearly 100%. If untreated and allowed to spread, there is no known treatment or cure.

Doctors don't regularly screen for melanoma and patients often find their own so go to our "Examine Your Skin" page to do yours NOW!

What to watch for: A change in size, shape or color. The features of change to watch for in moles are the A, B, C, D and E’s of detection.

Asymmetry — Two halves of a lesion that are not the same
Border — Borders of a lesion are irregular, scalloped or vague
Color — Color varies from one area to another, including shades of tan or brown as well as black, blue, red and white
Diameter — A lesion that is greater than 6 millimeters in diameter, about the size of a pencil eraser
Evolution — Lesions that change or evolve, or is ELEVATED or raised above the skin and has a rough surface

You should also watch for the following skin changes:
A mole that bleeds
A fast-growing mole
A scaly or crusted growth on the skin
A sore that won't heal
A mole that itches
A place on your skin that feels rough, like sandpaper

Let's be safe out there, people.

-MM

HCB! DYSWIS? Free stuff?!?

OMG! Have you heard of Too Faced Cosmetics? Well, if you haven't, you are just SO lucky to hear about them today. First, let me say this: any cosmetic company that develops a kit with Good Girl/Bad Girl palettes is right up my alley. They have INCREDIBLE products like Lash Injections, Eye Gems, Glamour Shadow, the Hopeless Romantic Quickie kit, and Extreme Lip Injection, that will make you poop your pants- for real- and coming from a girl who listed mascara as the #1 item she would take with her to a desert island, that is serious. But, get this, more importantly, this company rocks my socks because it has given over 1 Million dollars in donated funds for research to the Melanoma Research Foundation! (Tell me the last time you heard about Covergirl doing that sh*t. )

That's right- and I quote "Inspired by Lisa Blandino, Too Faced creator Jerrod Blandino’s sister, who is battling skin cancer comes this beauty kit with a heart of golden pink. A gorgeous collection of four exclusive eye shadows two lip glosses and one big ol’ duo face shimmer all in shades of pink and gold. And did we mention a fat chunk of the proceeds benefit the Melanoma Research Foundation? See you can be pretty and thoughtful!"

How completely fabulous is that? You KNOW you want it! And the good news is, a lovely and talented friend of mine who actually works for Too Faced has donated these cute little items just to help raise awareness! So tell your friends! And your friends' friends! Just comment here today or email me and I will put your name in the hat for these 2 free adorable, fabulous kits that I will totally send to you if you win the drawing! It's just here on Miss Melanoma kids- don't miss out! Enter today! Just a few more exclamation points!!! I'm so freakin' perky about all this it's like I'm Skin Cancer Awareness Barbie! But I can't help myself! Yay!

-MM!!!!!

Silence is golden. And duct tape is silver.

My life in movies:

I sit down to write, and the truth is- it's difficult to.
I think to myself, why is this so difficult? You love to write. You write all the time.
Except, my voice says, you really don't. You only REALLY write when you feel connected.

And the big ball drops in my stomach.
And the guilt wells up in my chest.

Haven't we been over this already? We figured this out already. It's already ready already.

It's like all those movies we love: Jerry McGuire and Pretty Woman and Bridget Jones, but in all those movies it's a traditional 3 parts: the set up, the conflict, the nice and neat wrap up. Nice and neat with no strings left dangling, 2 hours and everything is resolved.
And I don't have to say that life isn't really like that, because we all know that already.

I heard someone say today that the love we hold back in this life is the only pain that follows you when it's over and you pass to the other side. It's tough to think that- that in those moments when I think, "just say it," and I'm fighting the instinct to be vulnerable- that all those moments are the ones that will follow me after death.

Allow me to just state the obvious here: life is messy and just like my day today, never wrapped up nice and neat. And the truth is, as much as I hate to admit it, I face my fears every time I sit down to write this blog, because to write it is to revisit what I thought I was already over.

I'm not over it.

I revisit cancer fears, and fears of morality, and the hatred I have that my body is so vulnerable, and the pain that I feel whenever I think about how my leg will never be the same. I refuse to work out most days because it's so hard for me to mentally deal with the physical pain that I fear will be there for the rest of my life. The limits that I don't want to be there.

And then, like American Beauty, I tell myself to just breathe. And to stop fighting. And to just realize how awesome this one little tiny moment right now is.

And right now is a good moment.

I have so few free moments these days- but there are 11 school days left so there is hope that I'll get back to posting regularly.

But instead of getting all wrapped up in that, let me just throw out the old adage that every moment is the most important moment of our lives, so as I write you and bid you goodnight, I send out gratitude that there are those of you still hanging in there and reading this blog and that I can share that gratitude with you.

For now, goodnight.

-MM

"One good thing to remember is that giving thanks- expressing gratitude- generates growth. And one way to ensure that your growth is easy, effortless, touched by grace, is to be grateful for the difficult circumstances and situations in your life. The harder it gets, the more grateful you should become. The more painful you believe it is, the more grateful you can become. And one way is to simply affirm in the midst of your difficulty and darkness I can hardly wait to see the good that will come forth from this experience, and for the strength to endure to the end, I am so grateful." - Iyanla Vanzant

A clear conscious is just the sign of a bad memory.

Thank you, JayBee, for the sweet reminder to update.

I've been a bit thoughtful today and lately, thinking of work and if I want to keep the job I have, thinking about being blessed and about mere survival and about the past. And I have been thinking of the words of a very dear friend of mine (who is also a cancer survivor) that once said that melanoma is a scary thing but that we can find hope where dreams remain and where cancer cannot go.

And that's kinda what these last few weeks have been about- about looking around and seeing myself again, that inner resolve that I thought I'd never lose that just went into hiding for a bit, I guess. And the part of me that loved and allowed love in. I guess I thought I'd lost it, that the bitterness had completely replaced it. But it too just needed dusting off. About being open and vulnerable even in the midst of being scared to death that your vulnerability will come back to bite you. About the people that were there when I was so distant, knowing even then that all they wanted to do was help.

I've been reminded this week of who I really am and how I had lost some of myself with every diagnosis and treatment, and in the year of recovery after. Before that diagnosis in May of 2005, I would've said that there was nothing that could make me forget or compromise who I was. But knowing what I know now, I would say that illness can deplete you so that it is nearly impossible to not lose that. Would it be different if I had a recurrence now? God, I hope so. I hope that I have learned enough to know what to hold onto now and what the important things are. Even if not, I have learned the beauty of stillness and what it means to me. That I don't have to be afraid of it or be afraid to NOT be busy. I have learned what the pieces of myself are that will never change- my love for my dad and how I feel about my friends, how kids keep me grounded and that I love the way words can be strung together in a manner so amazing they can change the way a person feels. With all these realizations and all the questions, I can finally say that I have definitely found myself again, waiting in a place I never would've thought to look before. While I was busy trying to survive, I had wandered away. Everything was changing, and I couldn't figure out if I was even the same.

And while I was waiting to be found again, I was given a gift. It was the gift of support from people who helped carry me along, people who had once been where I now found myself. And I promised myself that if I made it through, that I would do the same for someone else- that I would do even more for them than was done for me, which was a lot. Believe it or not, the time has come, and I feel very graced by the opportunity. Because when you've been through it, you never want another person to do it alone for one tiny second.

And thus is life. I crave that time of year when I worry about nothing and instead roll thoughts and ideas around, but those days are still a few weeks away. For now, I have to make the best of what is chaotic and hectic- plans that were supposed to come through for the new warehouse are dragging along and I have been working harder than a sniffer dog in Amsterdam. Not to mention the buzz of regular life. I'm looking forward to vacation. Reading a book for Pete's sake. Taking a walk. Sleeping late and having a long lunch. I miss it. But I am also finding a really good feeling about all this limbo I've been in and just kind of enjoying these weird in-between stages. After all, when they're gone, they're gone, and then I'll be looking back saying, "I wish I just would've relaxed and enjoyed that time for what it was."

-MM

The Big Move

So, yes, we're moving... and I'm very excited about big, brand new "fixer upper" warehouse. Just as we finished the last one, we decided to move into this one:



Here's the view from kitchen end to the front door

And the view from the front door to the kitchen end

Here's one side of the bedroom

and the other side

... and like the most amazing bathroom ever.

Also, we met our neighbors today and they all have mohawks, so it seems like it's all meant to be!

-MM

I like kids, I just don't think I could eat a whole one

Well, I had hoped to post much more during this short break but it just hasn't turned out that way. Lucky for you there are only 11 weeks of school left and then I'll at least get back to posting regularly.

Yesterday was the first day of the break where I actually had a normal day- the first few days were spent mainly resting and getting better from a pretty rough bout of the common cold. I feel really lucky that I got sick just before break, believe it or not, because I never could've taken this much time to rest and stay home during the regular work weeks. I'm looking forward to getting back to school and finishing off the rest of this year. I'm not quite burned out but mighty crispy around the edges, and looking forward to doing nothing productive or even slightly intelligent for about 3 months. I've done a lot this year to establish myself as a teacher that can and does contribute to the team, but that has meant a ton of work on my part. The 2nd year is supposed to be so much easier! And it is, really, but I'm hoping the 3rd year is about 1/8 of the work this year was. Whew. I need a long summer break to rest and recoup and drink lots of wine and watch pointless, mind-numbingly bad tv and sleep way too late.

One thing I have really learned this year that has made a huge difference is what real teaching means. I know that sounds vague, and this probably won't make sense to anyone except the few other teachers out there that read this blog, but when you start out teaching, you have so many ideals about how your classroom will be. I know that I was convinced that I would be different from the teachers that I experienced growing up. I thought that I would do things in a totally new way and that old conventions would have no place in my classroom. 100!% of my students would pass the tests. I'd take the time to make sure every student learned in their own unique way. Blah blah blah.

Of course when you're thrown into a classroom situation you begin to realize that the reason so many teachers are the same is because they're working for sheer SURVIVAL. Of course so many kids slip through the cracks- the teachers are forced to move on and cover material and leave others behind so that they can get enough kids to pass so they can get their contract renewed. It really has so little to do with the kids, and so much to do with the system. I know that sounds so negative and you hear that over and over but until you're actually caught up in the bureaucracy, it's difficult to understand how so many teachers are set up to fail or set up so that just reaching status quo is already way more work than they are capable of doing. And thus explains the majority of my first 2 years.

What's made a difference to me recently is that I've had a mentor. Like a real mentor that works in the classroom and knows what she's doing and strives to create an incredible learning environment for her kids. A mentor that took me under her wing and showed me how she did things and little by little has cut me off things to try on my own without any help, even when I ask for it. So essentially, bit by bit she's raised the standard for my teaching and then forced me in tiny steps to do it on my own. It's amazing the difference this has made to me to 1.) have someone I can model myself after and 2.) have someone to work with very closely that is a master teacher and that can answer my 7 billion daily questions. But what this has really done (which is the most amazing thing of all) is shown me how to bring my classroom to life. My instruction has taken an amazing turn because I have not only learned the best way to know what to teach, but I have just now begun to understand the best way that kids learn. That means when the kids say, "this is boring..." then I need to take a step back and realize that if they are thinking that, then chances are that they AREN'T LEARNING ANYTHING. Whoa. What a slap in the face. And so I've started to read a lot about how the brain works and what kinds of learners there are and what that means for me. For instance, about 70% of all instruction is auditory and verbal, and about 70% of all learners are kinesthetic. Does that seem weird? Why are we forcing kids to learn material in a way they are naturally going to have a harder time doing so? The real reason, whether teachers want to admit it or not, is because it's easier to prepare a lesson where we lecture and take notes than one where we are forced to set up extensive hands-on materials. But in the long run, what a difference it makes.

And here's how I know things have changed: in every class, there are a few kids that will almost always make good grades on a test, a few kids that will almost always fail, and a bunch in the middle that will average around 70's or 80's. BUT when you begin teaching the right way, and working lessons in a totally new realm, those kids that almost always fail will begin to succeed. And not just by barely passing, either. I mean those kids will begin to ace it. And that is an amazing feeling. It's amazing not just because you're doing your job the right way, but it's amazing to see kids that have no confidence in their abilities begin to see how much they can do. It's an entire change in their consciousness. And that's when I take the opportunity to point out to them how smart they have been all this time, all these years when they were making bad grades- not because they couldn't do it, but because their teachers were the ones who were failing. Failing miserably. Failing in not only doing a good job teaching but failing in giving these students what they needed. And what they needed was to know that they could succeed.

So there you go. There's the huge (and I mean like life-altering huge [like Tom Cruise Scientology video huge]) awakening I've had regarding my job recently.

Whew.

That calls for a nap.

More to come (hopefully before June),

-MM

If I had more than just a moment

... I would tell you all about the amazing epiphany I've had about teaching these last few weeks.

... My story about recent boxing success would entertain and delight you.

... You'd get to read all about an encounter with my former self. Juicy.

... I would beg and beg you to send positive vibes for my students on April 8th for the math TAKS. (You still have to do that, btw.)


But, since I don't have it, all you get is this:

I do love you though. Just one more week until spring break.


-MM

My Ego is My Amigo

What's the difference between God and a Doctor?
God doesn't think he's a Doctor.

That joke has nothing to do with this post but it's always good to get a jab in from Jump Street. It's February, one of those 4 months of the year when I'm constantly considering finding another job. I check the classifieds, I ask friends, I daydream of a job working with cancer survivors. I love the kids, but all the other stuff seems to get in the way of teaching this time of year and I'm hella ready for summer. Today I left work at 3:30 for a physical therapist appointment and by God if I wasn't amazed to see what it was like to drive around in the daylight. Crazy.

Work's been getting in the way of all the stuff I find so important- I've hardly had a chance to check in on my peeps and I haven't kept up with my message board. It's so difficult sometimes to make it balance. I feel like I've done well this school year up until now, so I guess it's true it gets a little easier every year. I'm just ready to win the lottery so that I can start working on advocacy full time. Ready to be living the dream.

So to everyone out there that I keep in touch with, all my friends that are enduring treatment right now or recovering from it, just know that you are in my heart and in my thoughts.

And to you, dream job offer, I am waiting patiently. But if you don't hurry up, I could potentially be working with a nametag and visor and a much more serious case of acne.

And you should never trust a woman in a visor.

Peace.

-MM

Slow down to speed up

I really want this to be an uplifting, positive post. I really do. I've been reading another cancer survivor's blog and I have been so apsolutely amazed by the support she is receiving from the circle of friends that surround her. She writes about what a blessing they are to her, and I can feel the love beaming from the page. I feel loved just reading it, having experienced that kind of love from my friends. I bask in that feeling, because it is so amazing to have the opportunity to see what the people who love you will do for you. It makes me so grateful for the friends I have and have had and the people that have supported me through my malignant melanoma journey.

And I'm sure that I'm like most people. I'm sure everyone wishes that they could go back to the way some things were before they had cancer. I get caught up in the pity. Because, even though I've made it through so much and I've made amazing friends along the way, I still get lonely when I think about old friends. I miss being able to talk to people that knew me from way back, and wouldn't be shocked by anything I did. And I could see so much of myself in them, listening to where they were in their discovery of themselves. I learned a lot about myself and about life just by really hearing their words. I miss being there for someone else. I miss my young friends, who I could always turn to when I just needed to be free for a while from all the ugly things in my life. Free to think about nothing but fun for one whole evening. But I'm so happy I'm starting to see that ME that was here before melanoma. I really liked that girl. She's finally coming back.

I started looking back through old posts, and found several drafts that I never published. This one was of particular interest and kindof hit on this topic. I think I finally have the guts to put it up here. Plus, it's got a positive message, so it's win-win. One less thing.

Enjoy. :)
--------------------------------------------------
In the beginning, I was surrounded by people who'd say, "We're gonna beat this thing!" and we'd rest assured knowing that I was tough and I'd never let cancer take me. And I think that's how it works: you actually believe in your heart of hearts for a while that your own strength and determination is all you need to survive cancer. And then you come to a point where you just pretend that it is. And then, as time went on, I think we all saw that it was not a fight to survive; rather, it was a war. Ongoing battles, one after the other, all deteriorating morale and forcing us to question our ability to go on.

When treatment began, slowly, those people who were so gung-ho to fight this with you were reduced to bystanders while you lay in the hospital bed waiting out treatment or the side effects. And then you begin to understand that no matter how much they want to fight this with you and be there for you, YOU will be the one who has to do it. You and only you. You will have the i.v. in your arm, you will feel the all the aches and pains, you will be reduced to something you never imagined, and you will be the one sitting in the lead room waiting for the next test. And when the realization of how things really are comes to you, it will be you who will sit in that MRI for next two hours with just your thoughts.
And then they begin to realize it, too. And that's when the first big change takes place, and the ones who can't stand the helplessness that they feel begin to fade like the fog does at dawn: quickly, but in a way that no one notices at first, with it all suddenly becoming clear.
I look back at those times now, when I first began to feel lonely, when I was so confused and hurt by what was happening, and I wish the Me now could've been there to explain. Because now, with some time out from under the cancer cloud, now I feel so sad for them, to be faced with such a scary thing, and to feel so much terror that they didn't know what to do except pretend that it wasn't there. I don't blame them for pretending it wasn't there.
Then I think of the ones who didn't run, and how sticking it out beside me was rewarded by the anxiety of abnormal results of labs, regularly scheduled scans, more scares of recurrences, more tests and surgeries and terrible statistics. It's like melanoma was determined to punish them for sticking it out. And I know I didn't make it any easier, with my own depression and mood swings and inability to cope.
And then finally, when there was only those last few left standing, they had to live through the threat of moving to a stage IV, and they had to hear those words that meant "if certain things come about here, there will be no more choices." That was the finally agony, watching their faces go through that, and feeling the final, flat pull of distance. Like saying good-bye.
And now. Now, if I really wanted to, if I dedicated myself to it, I could actually pretend that none of this ever happened. I could actually go on with life and act like I never had to survive cancer, and that things like that could happen to other people, but could never happen to me. Some days I wish I could really do that, or at least, as a dear friend says, I wish I could "pretend to pretend."
However, once again, out from under that dark cloud of recurrence and the depression that comes from an incessant "what if," now I see everything so clearly, and most days I don't even wish that I had never heard the words "you have cancer." And that's when you know that you've truly made it through. Do you know what it feels like to finally say that and mean it? Boulders, mountains, continents off my shoulders.
I can't believe how much clarity I've achieved just over the last couple of months. It's amazing how much a little alone time has allowed me to heal and to really come to terms with big ol' melanoma. I won't say that things haven't been tough. But I will say that I am blessed to be alive today, blessed to have lived and blessed now to "have arrived." Blessed for the lessons. Blessed to have the knowledge that so many don't have. Blessed to be able to be there for so many people. Blessed to have seen every friend who was there and every one that wasn't. Blessed for my experiences.

I've made peace with my new life. And I've made peace with what my body has put my loved ones through. I never would have chosen it, but I'm glad it was chosen for me. What a blessing.

-MM

This t-shirt says it all

Besides science fair, and starting to teach Saturday school, and the new science program we're starting, and the petition that is now up to 262 signatures (that's right, fools!) and trying to keep up with the new influx of emails, not much has been going on. This is the part of the school year we like to call "Boot Camp." That's meant not only for the kids, but actually mostly for the teachers. From now till April, it's all about getting ready for TAKS, and that means I've been working at least 12 hour days since we got back from Christmas break. It's hell, but I'm trying to keep a positive attitude and say, hey, it's only 3 more months. And by "positive" I mean "lots of beer" and by "attitude" I mean "in the fridge."
The really crazy thing about all this is that after I wrote my last post about all the pain I've been in and the sorry state of my body, I did some serious impulse shopping from Amazon (like 4 books in 5 minutes) and what I've found out has really helped. I can't believe I put off admitting for so long the kind of pain I was experiencing. Looking back, if I just would've admitted it, I guess I could've moved forward with it a lot sooner. But nonetheless I'm excited because it seems like for the first time since I finished Interferon (which is I guess a year and a half ago) I've seen some improvement in how I feel. It's pretty astounding that changing a few simple things can make that kind of difference. I'm thrilled, though- like really thrilled- to be feeling better. The pain was making me crazy. Nick Nolte crazy. Brittney Spears crazy. Okay, not Brittney Spears crazy. Leave Brittney alone!

-MM

Light at the end of the tunnel

Hey kids,

Just a quick little post here. If you haven't checked my regular website lately, then you may not know that I've started a petition to require a Surgeon General's warning on all tanning beds (you can get there from HERE). If you agree with the cause, I'd appreciate your signature and ask you to pass the link on to as many people as possible.

That's all I got for now, but I'll post again real soon. I promise. Now stop being so clingy.

-MM

I just wanna go to the rooftops and scream I love my best friend Evan

Okay, so it's not my thyroid. Which is actually good news, right? Yes, it's definitely good news. Even though it does not necessarily feel like good news right now. Anywho. Everything's going to be fine. Just leave it to me. Or the Beaver. Whatever. I'm still searching for info, still trying to figure out where these symptoms are coming from. I guess it could be the Bubonic Plague. Cross your fingers for that. I hear you lose lots of weight if you have it. Of course, that's blood loss. But whatever. I'm not picky.

-MM

It sounds like a sexy hamburger

My mind is saying, "Just write," even though I don't quite know how to say what I want to say. I thought I'd start this post like most bloggers this time of year, writing about my resolutions and everything that happened in the last year that I learned. But what is really on my mind is faith. Faith not exactly in the religious sense, but more of in the confidence or trust sense. Like the way that I have faith that the sun will come up tomorrow. It's not something I question, and it has nothing to do with spirituality. I know it through and through without any doubt that the sun will be there when I wake up.

The question I suppose that you're asking yourself is why is faith on my mind today. Or, maybe that's just my question to myself. To be honest, I'm not sure. Even if I am thinking about it, I generally a.) am not religious or outwardly spiritual and b.) not open enough about it to post it on my blog. Yet lately, I can't get it out of my head. I've been thinking alot about what I know for sure and what I don't know. About the old me. About what I used to feel like I knew and what has changed. About how facing the possibility of death changed all that. About purpose and hope and about faith. I guess, also, I've been thinking about faith because of pain/health issues lately, and the way I feel like I am being tested by them. I know that sounds a little cheesy and confusing, but let me explain. If I was pre-cancer me, I would say that everything that has happened to me, everything good or bad that I have experienced up until this moment, had happened for a reason. Like fate. They were all experiences I needed to have in order to learn the lessons I learned to be the person that I am today. No regret or grief, just acceptance. And pre-cancer me would say that this very moment I am experiencing right now is the only moment I truly have. Even in this moment, anything could happen to me, but I can control how I react to whatever happens, and that is all I need to be concerned with for now. From this moment, I can go anywhere I need to go in life. And if my life were to end 2 minutes from now, well, then, at least I appreciated living in this moment up until my last breath.

I look back now and miss that peace that pre-cancer me had. I realize now that (perhaps stupidly) I feared so little then and I had so much faith in what I believed. I knew each moment was precious, and I tried to really soak it up and appreciate it for what it was. I remember a particularly good time in my life when I had a big window in my bedroom. I used to wake up in the morning and feel so lucky to be looking out of that window, to have the opportunity to appreciate the sun on the grass or the rain falling or whatever happened to be going on right then. I remember I used to say a silent little prayer of thanks for that opportunity before I even got out of bed and started my day. I felt happy just to be aware of what was going on outside that window.

That was pre-cancer me. I was a pretty content person back then, and I think a lot about my old thought patterns. See, the thing is, I've realized recently that there was nothing I had before cancer that I don't have now. All the possessions, all of the love, all of the friends, everything-- I have as much now (or, in actuality, more) than I did back then. I think about that and I know I need to get back to thinking that way. That was the only difference for me- the way I used to think about things. For that reason, I've been thinking about pain and illness in a new way, like, "what am I supposed to be taking from this? Is this supposed to be a lesson I'm learning?"

A funny thing happened a few weeks ago. I was telling a new friend about my cancer experience, and when I had finished telling her, she said to me that since I am still here today, I must be here for a purpose.


Now, to believe privately and personally that each of us is here for a reason is completely different from hearing it from someone you barely know. For one thing, it's frightening to hear it. It sets up an expectation that you have to achieve something grand, and yet you have no idea what that thing is. And, for another, to have the kind of courage to openly state such an intimate detail of one's personal beliefs without any reservation or fear, quite honestly took me aback. Even if I did know how I felt about it, I don't know if I would've had the nerve to have the conversation with her.

So later, alone, I thought about it. Do I believe that, too? Are we all here for some divine purpose? And pre-cancer me answered, "yes." To which present day me said, "Oh, well that's friggin' great. Sorry, it's not my day to care."

I'm not sure what any of that has to do with my current health issues. I've been keeping a chart lately of my pain level just to see what it's really like. The chart has the hours listed throughout the day for each month, and when I'm in pain, I go to the chart and type it the level from 1-10. I think I have put this off for quite some time because I was hoping sort of foolishly and naively that maybe it would all just kinda disappear and I wouldn't have to deal with it anymore. But the results are in, the votes have been tallied, and I'm sad to say that the reality is I am in a good deal of pain and/or malaise on a regular basis. Bobby probably could've told you this months (or maybe even a year) ago, but hard-headed me has insisted on keeping up the pretense that "I'm fine" and/or "Everything is fine." That being said, I feel like now that I can admit that I'm experiencing this pain, maybe I can move forward with it. Maybe now I can deal with the reality and gain what I'm supposed to gain from it, which is, hopefully, the ability to live fully in spite of it.

I saw an endocrinologist on New Year's Eve (before the partying began, luckily) and although I am hopeful that all of my issues have been because of one little gland, in all actuality I think that I need to prepare myself if that is not be the case. I could be wrong, but she was very candid in telling me that Interferon has a way of causing "a syndrome of chronic fatigue for periods of time that are indeterminable." So, in other words, this may be an endocrine issue and I guess it may not be. And, if it's not, it may get labeled as depression (every doctors' favorite "I have no idea" answer) or chronic fatigue. I'm already being treated for depression, and although I know that chronic fatigue is finally being accepted as a real condition by doctors, I also know that treating it is still an art form that takes a lot of trial and error.

I guess what I'm trying to say though, is that either way, I'd like to be okay with this. I'd like to be able to say that I am mentally and emotionally going to be able to live my life fully, no matter the condition, even if I am not able to physically live fully. I want to be that way. I am hoping that my new goal to view things as more of an opportunity than a burden will help me get there.
Because in all honesty I'm not that cancer survivor that says they have learned so much from their experience and diagnosis. I still get mad in traffic, I still dread Mondays, I'm less "enlightened" now that I was before.
But I really WANT to be that happy cancer survivor. I've had my time to grieve and I'm ready now to be the person I want to be, to live each moment fully again. And I think that if I can do that, then maybe I'll remember what it was like to know that I had a purpose here. I want to feel that way again, to feel optimistic about my life and everything that has happened. To be OBSESSED with living. And to not only fulfill my purpose, but to appreciate all the moments in the quest to find it. And to wake up in the morning and say a silent prayer of thanks every day.

I'm just hoping that if I want it this badly, then maybe I can make it so. That's what the old me would've said, at least. So, for now, that's all I'm going to let myself believe.

-MM

Tardy doesn't even begin to describe it

Okay, I suck. I told Baldylocks I'd post 5 random facts about myself like a month ago, and I'm just now getting them here. But alas, my friends, here they are, in no particular order.

1. I love photographs. Even when I'm fat, (which is, by the way, right now). I'm not sure if it's that I love to pretend I'm famous or that I love to have particular moments captured or if it's that I'm a closet sentimentalist, but no matter, I'm obsessed with having pictures of me and the people I love. And, evidently, my cleavage, too.

2. I want at least 2 more tattoos. I've been stalling on this, but I'll have a koi tattoo before 2008 is over.


3. I think I might be the reincarnate of Eazy-E. I'm just sayin.

4. I miss my friends. Mandy, Kelly, Amanda. We've lost touch since I was diagnosed with cancer. Not sure why this happened, but I wish it wouldn't have.

5. I almost messed up the best thing in my life. That is, I almost missed my first date with Bobby. I was like an hour late, and he was on the brink of leaving, when I finally showed up. Lucky for me he was patient and sort-of forgiving. But he did stick around and we ended up having an amazing first date, which has led to me realizing I've met the man of my dreams. Aww.

That's it for me, folks. I'm here till Thursday. Try the veal.

-MM