Tag Archives: fears

Why Leaving Scares the Face Off of Me

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This blog.

When I look at the sidebar full of the years I’ve been writing on my own domain, writing about my life, my thoughts, and my feelings, I feel a little sad knowing I’m giving that up. My new blog won’t have that long sidebar going from July 2008 to October 2011 and beyond. It’s only been three years since I started blogging on perpetualsmile.net, and a little over a year since I started blogging on elizawhat.com, but it’s familiar. Going into the unfamiliar is scary, no matter what the situation. Essentially I am letting go of the ability to publicly express every thought and emotion, and replacing it with expressing only in the form of creative writing. I’m a good writer, because I can express myself using words. It’s always been my best form of communication. However, I’d much rather write and publicly share my stories. I know that to do so, I need to cut down on my distractions. I need to let go of my digital security blanket and open myself up to disciplined, daily creative writing.

I also know that in my new career of choice, no parent is going to want to find posts about depression and hemorrhoids when they Google my name before their child starts preschool.

What I know and what I feel are two different things, though.

I’m excited about this new adventure. I really am. And I know it’s okay to be scared, but that doesn’t make it any easier to let go.

Like I said, I’m a digital hoarder.

Still, I’ve made progress. I deleted — really deleted — my Facebook, deleted my Tumblr, deleted my Formspring, and deleted a couple of my extra Twitter accounts.

I’ve set up my new site (which I’ll be showing you soon). I’ve edited the first story I ever published. It was first published in a teeny, tiny publication called Fresh Ink at my community college, and I’m sure no more than one hundred people read it (probably even less than that, unfortunately). I’d like to share it with more people, because I’m proud of it. That story won a contest for me, a $100 gift card to Barnes and Noble, and a priceless compliment from a published writer. I read it yesterday before editing it and still felt proud of it (even though it needed a little more work). The ending still brought tears to my eyes. My own character broke my heart. (This is probably because I am overly sensitive.)

After my final round of edits, I created a cover for it. While I’m done with web design, I still love making graphics. Creating a digital book cover was a learning experience that I really enjoyed, even though it was literally a pain in the neck. (Thank goodness for Tylenol. I’ve been waking up every day with an achy neck.) Today I woke up without a sore neck, but still feel proud of what I accomplished yesterday. I know now that I can do it.

See, when ebooks first started becoming popular, I thought they were just a fad. I also thought they were a way for every man, woman, cat, and dog to put their unedited work out there. I cannot tell you how many technical ebooks I’ve read that, although helpful, were clearly thrown together the night before the writer posted them. I stayed away from most fiction ebooks, too, because I was a little afraid of what I might find.

But epublishing continued to become more popular, and slowly but surely, most people started to see that they needed to be a little more polished about it. De, a writer I met through Twitter, began to delve into epublishing about a year ago. I read as many of her posts on indie publishing as I could, and thought, That’s really cool. I watched her epublish her short stories and then publish a Choose Your Own Adventure type of book through a traditional publisher, and thought, Wow, I wish I could do that. Slowly, I began to see that epublishing could be a way to get your name out there, rather than waiting for someone to accept your story. Paired with traditional submissions, epublishing is just another way of getting your stories read and making people familiar with your name. In the last few weeks, I’ve been reading her posts and thinking, I wonder if I could do that. Now I want to try.

They say that everything happens for a reason. Things didn’t go well for me as a freelance or commercial web designer and social marketing consultant, but I learned a lot about online marketing. I learned enough to be able to market myself, which I’m going to need; indie epublishers don’t have big companies behind them to design their websites, design their book covers, set up book tours, and set up book reviews. It’s every woman or man for themselves, which is both frightening and exhilarating to me.

I think the reason I’m having such a hard time with walking away from this blog is because that means I have to face this scary and exciting thing without being able to run back. It’s been easy for me to write stories and novels and keep them to myself while putting my thoughts out there. I don’t know why I feel so vulnerable about my work but not about my feelings, but here we are.

I’m scared, but that’s okay. I’m only scared because this matters to me. My dream has always been to be a published writer, and this epublishing journey is the first step toward fulfilling that dream.

The C word again

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I walked into the house, carrying a soda, a Gatorade, and a bag of new clothes, talking to Mike about school systems that suck and make parents of special needs children more stressed than they need to be. The bad news that I’d just heard weighed heavily on me, and all I could do was shake my head and rant about how ridiculous it was that a school does not understand special needs childrens’ problems.

We spent a few minutes saying hello to my mom and sister, and then my mom looked at me and motioned for me to sit down. In barely above a whisper, she said she had to tell me something. (She has a sinus infection too, which always means no voice for her.)

“Not more bad news,” I said, joking. Then I saw the look on her face, and I sat down.

“Noni found a lump on one of her lymph nodes, where she had the tumors removed from before,” Mom said. “She had a biopsy, and…”

I barely heard the rest, because I didn’t need to. “No,” I choked, and buried my face in my hands.

Not again, not again, not again.

My grandmother is a breast cancer survivor. Several years ago, when Popi was still healthy, was still working, she was diagnosed. She went into chemotherapy. It was hard, but she beat it. In fact, I barely remember the details of the day to day stuff, because I was so young, and they caught it so early. In my memory, it was over before it really began. I didn’t have time to be scared. I was too young to be scared.

Cancer has already taken away one of my grandparents. Even though there’s no reason to jump to conclusions here, I have already been fighting the fear that the people I love are slipping away. It’s been eight months since we lost Popi. In those eight months, the pain has not even slightly diminished. I have realized that it will never be any easier without him. Each event or holiday will always make me think, We’re doing this without Popi. (Hell, sometimes I even think, Oh cool, I’ll get to see Popi there. It’s like my brain is handicapped.)

Noni is going to have a scan to make sure the cancer isn’t anywhere else, so that they can get an idea of how far it has or hasn’t advanced. Then they will start treatment. All I can think of is that, in the beginning, things looked really optimistic for Popi. I’m trying not to think like that, but it’s nearly impossible not to. The fear of losing the remaining half of my NoniandPopi is crippling.

I hope my dad is okay. He’s never one to say much. He didn’t say much when we lost Popi, and he didn’t say much when we lost Brian (who was his best friend years ago). Then again, I haven’t said much (out loud) either.

I hope Biz Noni is okay, too. She’s eighty-seven. Noni is her daughter.

I can’t believe this is happening again.

As I fall asleep

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As soon as I start getting ready for bed, my mind kicks into overdrive. Tonight is no exception. My mind races, thinking of my illness, how much I miss Popi, the things I need and want to do, the condo I wish we could afford… Tonight, right now, I’m going to let all of these thoughts just flow. It’s not like I can sleep right now anyway; I’m in too much pain.

I’ll be honest: for a little while, I started feeling like I didn’t miss Popi enough. I didn’t like that I wasn’t missing him as much as I was a couple of months ago. And now, out of nowhere, I miss him with an ache I can’t cure. Everything reminds me of him, for some reason. It being almost winter reminds me of him, and I don’t know why.

I’m also frustrated by my health. This flareup has not been easy. It’s interesting, though, that since starting the treatment for the rash on my face, the random, all-over itchiniess has gone away, too. On top of being constipated most of the time and having horrible stomach aches, my joints are hurting again. Every time I move my legs a certain way. My knees hurt. This has been happening more and more lately, with both my knees and my hips. It feels as if the bones are grinding against one another, which scares me… I mean, how do I know how much damage has been caused to my joints by this disease, whatever it is? I’ve never had any xrays on anything other than my upper chest (from when my chiropractor tgought I had TOS). It’s so scary, not knowing… Like, what if this disease is doing severe damage to my body, little by little, and I don’t even know it?

Oh my god, I guess I’m getting kind of cynical tonight. My mood — on the inside — hasn’t been that great lately. I feel happy, but I keep having moments of depression or cynicism. It’s probably a combination of the time of year, missing Popi, and the stress of this stupid Mystery Autoimmune Disease, as well as some work-related stress.

Speaking of work, I’d better go to bed. I need to get up early so I can finish a website. I’m scheduled to have it done Tuesday at the latest, but I want it out of the way so that I can spend more time writing. “Sade” is getting really good; after all, I am entertaining myself first and foremost. I want to involve Corey in the whole mess somehow… I’m still brainstorming how.

Anyway. Thank you for listening to me ramble. Sorry for the typos — I’m doing this on my phone and it’s too much a pain in the ass to go back and fix them. Maybe I’ll do it later.

I am not a big, brave dog

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Later today, I’m going to see a gastroenterologist to see if I have Crohn’s Disease. At first, I was amped up. But now, I’m pretty nervous.

I’m always on the edge of a nervous breakdown when seeing a new doctor. I wish I could say I had a braver face, but after seeing specialist after specialist, getting no answers and sometimes ridiculed, I’ve become this absolute mess when faced with seeing a new specialist.

The fact that I am going to see a gastroenterologist and that I know very well what I’m going to have to do to see if I have Crohn’s Disease is not helping.

I wish that I were brave enough to say why, but it’s still just too painful.

And, aside from all of that, there is a little voice inside that asks, “What if I put myself through all of this, and I still get no answers?”

I’m afraid of so much, and it’s only one little doctor visit.

I was going to see if Mike could go with me, but he has to work.

I don’t think I’ll be sleeping tonight.

Prognosis

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I’ve always taken the people I love for granted. When the thought of losing my grandparents — my Noni and Popi, and my Biz Noni — came up, I’d push the thought away. See, I grew up surrounded by these three, and they are still a strong presence in my life. (I live with them and see them all every day.) My grandparents and great-grandmother are an important part of me. Noni is 62, Popi is 70, and Biz Noni is 86.

“They’re all in decent health,” I’d tell myself. “No one’s going anywhere anytime soon. Stop being so morbid.”

The truth is, I’ve been jaded. Because a week ago today, I found out that my Popi has cancer. Before running additional tests, the doctors at the VA hospital said they thought it was stage three and that it was in his liver and maybe lungs.

I told myself, “That’s shitty, but he’ll be okay.” I just couldn’t think otherwise.

A week later, we are playing a new game. The stage three is actually stage four. The cancer is in his liver, lungs, most of his spine, and his left hip. They have diagnosed it as aggressive lung cancer, and have told us that they can just make him comfortable at this point, via Percocet and chemotherapy. The chemo will extend his prognosis; without the chemo, they were giving him a few weeks. I don’t want to say what the prognosis with the chemo is. I don’t want to think in numbers. I don’t want to think in time.

According to the (awesome) doctors at the VA, the cancer took root two months ago.

Two months.

It only took two months to spread that quickly.

Two fucking months.

I went to visit Popi again today. He looked good; still handsome, but very, very tired. He take a chemo tablet tomorrow morning, and starts his first round of aggressive chemo via IV on Monday. This particular kind of chemo could cause him hearing loss and kidney problems, as well as the usual nausea and possible hair loss (not that my Popi has a whole lot of hair left, anyway).

It still has not sunk in for me. It feels like this is happening to someone else. I cry, but the pain ebbs and turns to numbness and cold disbelief. I think, “No. Not my Popi.” I write pages and pages in my journal. I let Mike hold me tight. I let my mother, grandmother, and aunt hold me like I am a small child while I cry. I lay awake at night, unable to sleep. And still, it doesn’t sink in.

No. Not my Popi.