Tag Archives: life sucks

Chemo Round 1: Fight!

Posted on by
9

Today is Popi’s third dose of chemo, technically. On Sunday, he had to take six or so “horse sized” (in his words) chemo tablets. I guess they’re a sort of prep for the IV chemo, though I’m not entirely sure. Yesterday was his first IV dose. Noni said that he did really well. He didn’t even get nauseous. In fact, when he got back to his room, he was hungry and had something to eat.

Unfortunately, the doctors told him that when he comes home, he can’t come upstairs.

And I suppose that means it’s time for me to FINALLY explain my living situation, after all this time.

About five (maybe six) years ago, my parents, sister, and I lived in an apartment down the street from my grandparents. (We’ve actually always lived down the street, one way or another. We’ve always been lucky like that.) Without going into a super long explanation, we were unfairly evicted by our landlord (who later realized she was wrong and regretted the decision, but by then it was too late). Because we were given like zero time, we moved in with Noni and Popi, ideally for a couple of weeks until we could get another place.

Noni and Popi live in a three family home with my great-grandmother, Biz Noni, and Noni’s sister, my aunt Barbara. Biz Noni lives on the first floor, Aunt Barbara lives on the second floor, and my grandparents live on the third.

My parents moved in with Biz Noni, and Lauren and I moved in upstairs. We put most of our stuff into storage, because we were only supposed to be there for a few weeks.

Flash forward, five years later.

So, Noni, Popi, Lauren, Squirt (my cat), and I live on the third floor.

The doctors have told Popi that, because of the cancer in his hip and spine, he can’t make the stairs because they don’t want him to risk breaking anything. So, ideally, my grandparents will move downstairs and my parents will move upstairs.

EXCEPT.

These doctors clearly don’t know my grandfather. He wants to be upstairs for obvious reasons, and I can almost guarantee that when he gets home, he will still insist on coming up the stairs (three flights of them, to be exact.) I can hear him now: “I ain’t gonna break nothin’!” Then he’ll go up the stairs, no matter how long it takes him. And he won’t break nothin’, ’cause he’s Popi.

I’ve been all over the place with my emotions lately. They kind of progressed like this: shock, numb, pain, denial. Yesterday I couldn’t face the truth, stuffed everything down, and forced myself to go about my day — even though I just wanted to SCREAM. It wasn’t until last night, when I talked to Mike, that I let some of it out. Mostly I feel like a new bottle of Pepsi; twist my cap and all of the pressure will come out, but not until someone twists that cap. And right now, I’m not sure I want it to be twisted.

Mike and I got into a fight yesterday afternoon. When he got out of work, he called me and apologized, and that was when I was finally able to just let it out. I’ve been writing in a journal almost every day, because mostly I’m just a churning ocean of emotion (hey, that rhymed) inside, and I don’t know how to act or how to express how I’m feeling without looking like a crazy person.

I’ve been sorting through these emotions like the Sorting Hat — one at a time, thinking very hard about each. At least, when I write. Otherwise, I’ve just been focusing very hard on everything, while at the same time unable to concentrate. Does that make sense?

Today I am… I don’t know. I guess I’m pretty much just shoving it all away, not allowing myself to feel anything. Yesterday I floundered between anger and denial. Today I’m just.. nothing. I’m more concerned about the rest of my family than I am with myself. I’m concerned for my cousins, Vinny and Mindy, my sister Lauren, my mom, Dad, Noni, Biz Noni, Uncle Lonny, Aunt Wendy, and of course Popi. We’ve all become this ball lately, sort of clinging to each other and uniting. We’ve always been a tightly knit family, but physical distance has always kept most of us away from each other. Suddenly, to me anyway, that distance feels so far. I just want everyone with me.

Actually, I just want this to not be at all.

So today, while I go about my day, Popi is still at the VA hospital, getting his chemo.

I just want him to come home.

December 2009 Goals

Posted on by
4

I’m VERY goal-oriented, but I tend to take on HUGE things and pile myself with too much to do. Recently, I’ve tried to break that habit by setting smaller goals at smaller intervals. Every month I set a few small goals that are more achievable and less stressful.

Last month, I tried to:

  • Write a novel — and FINISH it, dammit!
  • Finish designing Freaking Bookworm.
  • Give Perpetual Smile a face lift with a customized design.

I managed to write about 60% of Secondhand Mom, my NaNoWriMo novel. I also started working on Freaking Bookworm. With a whole lot of life thrown at me all at once (chronic pain/disease getting worse, work, and finding out that my Popi has cancer), I got pretty slowed down on these goals. BUT — and I say “but” very loud and proud — I did accomplish a lot. I got very close to two of my three goals, so I can’t complain.

With everything that is going on, I need something to focus on, WITHOUT OVERWHELMING MYSELF EVEN MORE. I have a hard time not overloading myself. The last thing I need right now is to send myself to the ER for a nervous breakdown. BUT — and I say “but” very loud again — I need goals like a junkie needs heroin. I’m a goal junkie. An overachiever, if you will. So, how to get my fix without overdosing?

There is a LOT that I want to do right now, a LOT that I need to get done, and a LOT going on in my personal life. The wants I need because I need to try to stay as happy as possible. This means satisfying the muse (writing the novel, working on personal side projects, etc). The needs, well, they need to get done because my clients want their shit done, rain or shine, whether my fingers and toes are attached or not. Plus, I’m broke and I need some money. The chaotic, shittiness of my personal life needs to fuck off, but it’s there nonetheless. That part of my life cannot be changed. I’m having a hard time with that, too.

So, goals. Right. Getting back on track.

  • Go to my writers’ group, every week. This will encourage me to keep writing, be it THE NOVEL or other stuff. It’ll also keep me sane.
  • Spend lots of time with Popi. Make him laugh.
  • Buy a camera and start taking tons of pictures of the people I love, because for some reason there are no recent pictures of anyone.

There. Simple enough, right?

Prognosis

Posted on by
4

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.

The C word

Posted on by
6

I slipped out the door and broke into the cold November air. I saw him, sitting in the Rav4 across the street. He sat perfectly still, smoking a cigarette and staring into the intersecting street ahead. For a moment I watched him, then forced myself to take the three short steps down and to walk across the street. As I walked around the front of the truck, I looked down at the ground, avoiding his eyes for fear of breaking down before I could even get the words out.

I slid into the truck and closed the passenger door behind me.

“What’s wrong?” He asked. “Is it Biz Noni?”

“No,” I said.

“Popi?”

I nodded, and the tears started sliding down my cheeks. I barely felt them. I thought I had exhausted my tear ducts but it appeared there was an unlimited supply.

“What is it?” He asked. Then: “Cancer?”

I nodded and lost it. I curled up in the seat and repeated what I had been told just hours earlier: “Liver. Lung. Third stage. Maybe bone.” Between sobs, I told him that the CAT-SCAN had shown a spot on his liver and a shadow on his lung. The doctors at the VA hospital were hoping that the shadow on his lung was just scar tissue from when he had pneumonia years ago, but had told my grandmother that it’s most likely cancer.

Noni and Popi found out Friday. Mom told Lauren and I Saturday night.

An MRI yesterday showed that the cancer is also in most of his spine, but not in the spinal cord. Noni said the PET-SCAN they did today will show everything and that they should get the results tomorrow.

I went to visit him earlier tonight with Mom and Dad. He looked good, and he was cracking jokes as usual, so there’s that. They were giving him morphine for the pain in his hip and legs, and are going to do physical therapy on his leg so that he can get around better when he comes home.

He’s probably not coming home until next week.

I can’t imagine Thanksgiving without him.

I can’t really wrap my head around the whole thing at all.

In between shock and numb

Posted on by
1

“Hi, can I speak to Mike C?” My voice sounded like it had been through one of those squeegee things that our ancestors used to dry laundry; it had no substance to it.

“Sure, hold on one second.” The girl at the service desk put me on hold. I listened to static for a few moments as I moved through the house, fixated on getting out onto the porch. The cold didn’t bother me at all.

“Thanks for calling Toys R Us, this is Mike speaking. How can I help you?” His voice, familiar and in professional mode, did nothing to soothe the storm inside of me. I felt broken. Completely and utterly broken.

“Hey,” I croaked. So much for my plan of sounding normal.

“Hey,” he said.

I didn’t know how much longer I could hold it together. I decided to just say it all at once. “I know you’re getting out at midnight, and I know you’re going to be really tired, but please, when you get out, can you please come hang out with me for a few minutes?”

“Are you okay?”

“No.”

“Is it about us?”

I could easily see what he thought: that I was calling so that I could tell him I’m pregnant. “No,” I said quickly, before he had a heart attack or something.

“Is it about family?”

“Yes,” I said, and I knew at any second I would lose it.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’d rather not say over the phone.” The words felt thick in my mouth, like putty that someone had stuffed in there. I didn’t taste the putty, though; since hearing the news, I didn’t taste much of anything.

He said, “Okay,” and promised to come over after work. After midnight, after working a nine-hour or more shift.

“Thank you,” I said. I went back inside the house and made myself do something to get my mind off of things. I thought of everything but it. I made myself work on a project for a client even though all I really wanted to do was explode; the pressure between my eyes and all over my body since the news had not entirely dissipated.

Not an hour later, he called me back. “I’m getting out early,” he said. “They offered to let one of us go and Kayla agreed to let me go. I have to stay until she counts down the registers,” he continued. “It’s completely dead. So I’ll call you when I’m on my way.”

I went back to what I was working on. Ten or so minutes later, he called again.

“I’m on my way.”

I held on.