"Aren't you scared for me?", I asked Hubster. "No. I know you'll smack it down like you did before." If I didn't know him better, I'd think he was just being brave, but I think that's what he believes. I don't think he can imagine me being completely unable to do anything, especially take care of him!
As we walked to the snow bubble shop in Alameda after signing our lives away on offer #8—a house in Martinez, CA…way, way out in the 'burbs, closer to Walnut Creek…where I'll be spending alot of time again— the weather was beautiful, I didn't get shortness of breath, I didn't feel horrible, I thought, well, maybe I'll die another day. I have eight more lives to go, and I'm not completely actualized, so I've got to go on. I have two more Harry Potter movies to see, and they better be worth waiting for (unlike the past two).
My latest CT scan is unnerving, if not downright scary. I almost cried, except I was on my way to the realtor's office and couldn't fall apart just then. Now I'm just in a daze. Maybe it'll hit me again later.
The enemy is back, the Death Eaters and Dementors, and they've set up shop in my right lung now too (or maybe they were there before, but not that I recall). Another PET scan (hopefully not more scary news), and after that, I go back on my old friend Tarceva. So all the hair growth and and smooth skin—well, it was fun for awhile, but I'd rather live and breathe. I'll have to get a haircut, a bunch of massages, a wax (TMI, I know), and eat piles of grapefruit in the next week. I've eaten enough BBQ meat in the last 4 months…I'm okay without it for a bit.
Now I admit I've "back slid" the last year or so. I haven't been the cancer avenger/activist I could be (not that I was ever, too much). I even missed the ACS Alameda Relay for Life this year. It's like praying only when one is desperate. Yup, Mea Culpa. I haven't been eating the asparagus wonder drink. Heh, YOU try eating two tablespoons of pureed asparagus every morning and every night. But I'm cooking asparagus now, eating cherries (helps with the pain), bitter melon, pineapple…call me fruity, I've read it helps. Anyone who knows where I can get guyabanos (cousin of the cherimoya)—speak up!
I don't know how to feel about embarking on the homebuying thing while winding up for another throwdown with lung cancer. A wise woman (Brenda Davis) once told me, do what you're going to do anyway—buy a house, travel the world, whatever. I guess NOT doing concedes defeat. On the other hand, what if I need the money for treatment? What if I'm too tired to negotiate a crappy interest rate?
At this point in time, owning a home seems to be what would make Hubs happy. Illness aside, I want Hubs to be happy. If I can't have my wish (be cured), then at least he should have his. It could be healing. If I can't travel, maybe finally attaching the idea of "Home" to a concrete reality would be some consolation. My nomadic lifestyle will truly come to an end, which saddens me, but all good things must come to an end. (Of course, he's not the one worrying about all the paperwork—homeowner's insurance and all that. Let's hope I'll be firing all cylinders by then.)
I read my friend Naomi's account of her brain metastasis. I wept and knew I hadn't even begun to feel fear. She is so brave and so stoic, it's amazing to behold. (Hubs took me to see Harry Potter and The Half-Blood Prince to distract me.) I've just met another Voxer from the Netherlands—another sister in Tarceva—barely 30 and standing at the front lines. Tomorrow is the 3 year anniversary of my first visit with Dr. Simmons. I'd like to see next year's anniversaries—wedding, diagnosis, whatever. We may never be cured, but we won't go down without a fight. So hang in there with us, will y'all?