One week down... | 05.22.25

Today I am one week into my treatment plan. There are 7 zaps down, 30 to go.

I feel strong and calm still. No side effects yet from the chemo meds.

I am working on healing my spirit as I heal my cancer.

I feel enormous resistance to this modality of eating poison to kill the tumor.

But then I’m reminded how many years I regularly drank poison (booze) to kill my own pains…and I don’t know yet what the lesson is, but there’s something there.

I want to let go of whatever does not belong in my body now, cancer, fear, anger, sadness, resentment. All of it. Let it go.

I keep cracking weird jokes in my own head. A dark sense of humor has grown from this diagnosis.

I’m 171 lbs today.

I haven’t started exercising very solidly yet (I’m so tiiiiired) but I will soon. Yoga and walking. Cold plunges hopefully. Swimming, I dream of it. Running! Hah, I wish.

I want more than anything to grow stronger from this. More loving. More patient. Less judgemental. We truly never know what other people are carrying. Tread lightly. Tread lightly. Be kind.

I keep thinking maybe this is like the final phase of my Warrior training. These are hard times we are living in, and they require great strength from all of us. Let this dark tunnel make me stronger, less afraid, more graceful, more giving.

I am quiet, with myself, often, now.

I don’t have a lot of space for a lot of things. My heart and body want like a quiet silky cocoon, a warm bath. Hugs. Cuddles. An abundance of care. One of the deepest and most clear lessons from all of this, is that I need to learn to love myself, and care for myself, above all things, no matter what. As a single mom, it has been exceptionally hard to find time for myself, and so I kept letting myself slip to the bottom of the list. My sobriety, yoga, a workout or dinner with a friend - all the things that lift me up, I let them slide until I lost them all

Completely. I knew being a solo parent would be hard, but no one prepared me for the isolation. And I do NOT thrive in isolation. Who knows why…my social life mostly disappeared with my marriage. I’m not here complaining, though, only observing, especially now that I have so much time alone with my body - waiting, watching, praying, breathing.

Noticing the things I desperately miss, now that I am often quiet, and with my mortality on my mind.

I miss gatherings, live music, children, friends. I miss sunshine on my skin. The feeling of being held by the ocean. Eating whatever I want. Drinking wine with dinner. Dancing the night away. Live music. Boarding airplanes bound for adventure. Working. I can’t believe I miss working this much, but I do.

I am here, with myself, quietly growing a new purpose of my own making.

And also, here I am, writing to you. I’m going to make these words my job, for a while, and see what comes. Creativity, blossoming from inside this quiet, solitary cocoon of cancer.

First day of chemo radiation let’s go | 05.15.25

Today is my first day of radiation treatment for the tumor that has been growing slowly in my body for apparently sometime now. I kind of know what to expect, but the doctors have said so many things…I know the goal is that this phase of treatment may and hopefully will shrink or even destroy my tumor. 30-40% of people have a complete response to treatment and don’t end up needing surgery at all. That’s what we are hoping for with the treatment path I have chosen.  The choices all sucked, to be honest. There is like painful side effect after miserable bowel dysfunction rattling around my head - but I opted to try and avoid surgery for now.

So here I am, alone in the morning sun, preparing myself for my first zap.

It’s still super strange to wake up in my bed quietly whenever I naturally wake up, instead of being awoken by my five-year-olds sweaty little hands at the crack of dawn. I miss him terribly. There is a little pain of heartbreak every morning when I find myself awake without him here, waking up alone. and then follows a wave of something peaceful, a deep sense of relief, sort of a sweetness that I have this space to care for my body and this quiet time to think my thoughts and feel my feelings. I’m trying to use this strange tunnel of cancer treatment that I’m walking into as an opportunity to heal. Not just my cancer, but also my broken heart.  All the grief and rage that I’ve stored up all these 44 years feel like perhaps I can marry them to this tumor and get them all out of my system at once. So today there is a lightness of being - a sense of real hope - as I start this first treatment. Perhaps I’ll come out of this stronger, wiser, lighter than ever before. Perhaps all this time with myself is just what I needed.

I’m calling in my peace, my strength, and my angels today. All the people living or past some even future (like my older wiser self, like grown-up Gavin) standing around me with love wrapping their strong arms around me, lifting me up with a sense of courage, kindness, care. I can picture each person‘s special demeanor…

My sons wild loving spirit

Angus‘s humor

Ethan’s kindness

Yelena’s glorious golden heart

Marsha’s endless care

My Mom’s endless love

My sisters all around me, arms outstretched with care

Maile’s wise, fierce, strong wisdom

my Dad‘s unconditional love

Heather's warm inspiration

The strength of my stepdad, and my Brothers

Bek and Amy, Katie, Mayra, Kate, Kate Louise, Alice, Meri, Lauren, Ciara, Kristy, Meghann, Sara, Lena, Lisa, Sarah, Marsha, Joan, Lucy, the women the women the women.

Like big tall trees, they all wrap around me

A circle of support

the endless love of all my sisters, endless and buoyant as the ocean I love so much.  

All my ancestors, cheering me on.

I can see so much love around me when I close my eyes, and I wrap myself in it like a blanket.

I’m filling my heart with light.

There’s no room for fear today and no time anymore for doubt or questions. We just march forward now and take the medicine. Time to heal!

Day after diagnosis | 04.10.25

When I came to, they were talking about cancer.

The worst word to hear upon waking.

Their voices were soothing and confusing at the same time. Yes, I’m still here, coming back from the delightful fog of anesthesia….yes I’m still here, listening to the doctor tell my sister “Yes, it looks to me malignant. That’s CANCER.”

And also, “no, she can’t go anywhere. For now she needs to get a CT scan as soon as possible. Hopefully tomorrow...”

“She’s supposed to go on a retreat tomorrow…well, it’s rehab. 28 days. For alcohol. She was supposed to leave tomorrow morning." My sister sounds so brave and so scared all at once…this can’t be real. None of this can be about me. This can't be real. This is a nightmare. I’m swimming in surreal feelings of denial and fear all mixed in with the haze of the drugs they gave me….

This was supposed to be a routine check…I was headed to a treatment center on an island in Puget Sound tomorrow, to heal, to focus on healing. My bags were packed. My heart was set. I was headed in a powerful new direction. I finally admitted I need more support. I have things to do. I am a mom. I can’t have cancer right now. That makes no sense. THIS MAKES NO SENSE.

But on the car ride home, I check my PeaceHealth chart online. Post-appointment notes. Malignant tumor. Colorectal cancer. Substance abuse disorder. Wtf wtf wtf.

How did I get here?