What's my line?

It’s late, everyone is tucked into bed. Dylan has been home for a couple of days, in less than 5 hours he starts his trek back to college, ferry, plane, bus. Rainer’s snoring in bed next to me as I sit in my rocker. The girls have collapsed on their respective beds. In the recess of my brain, I wonder if Ashley is truly happy in Missouri. I look out of my window. It seems very dark out tonight, I don’t see any stars nor shadows cast from the distant moon. It’s so dark, I wonder if there is even a moon tonight. Time is ticking by. I can’t sleep; I have cancer on the brain tonight.

Now, stop worrying…..no, I don’t have a brain tumor (at least not yet – arh, arh). I’m thinking about my cancer and my mind is racing a million miles an hour. Someone recently asked me what my “marker” numbers are. For the life of me, I can’t remember. Another newbie cancer person was talking about her Oncotype DX number – and it’s a vast darkness in my brain. As I toss and turn in bed, I remember at 12:05 a.m. that its the anniversary of my initial diagnosis – I’m sorry the test shows that you have three lumps in your breast, plus it looks like its spread to your sternum and lymph nodes. I knew it was bad, the radiologist had given it away earlier……it was about 5:45 pm and he had to get to the airport……he snapped at me,”I don’t know why your surgeon is so interested in your breast, I’d be more concern about that large holes in your breast bone” as he inserted a needle into my lymph nodes playing darts with my underarm as he tried to hit the target. Why can’t I remember my marker…..troubles me? At first, I want to say……ah ha, it’s 8 – but that’s not it. That’s my cell differential, I scored an 8 out of 9. Two years, interesting…..I was only given 18 months and now it’s two years. Ain’t dead yet – ha!
Wow, so many friends and family have started their own little cancer journey since I started mine. Two mothers, a friend, a cousin, my father. There have been joyous outcomes, recent unknown starts and my own ever uphill crawl. I’ve made friends with others like me, we’ve sat next to each other waiting for our blood to be drawn, hoping to get a good chair, sharing our most embarrassing throw up for the week story – mine, throwing up green slime in the parking lot of Bank of America after a dear friend drove me to Seattle for treatment. Why is puke always green? While I’ve watched others being declared “cancer free”, I trod onward.

I still have cancer, I still go for treatments, I still wonder why me, I still wish that it would end. Two years ago, I worked 10 to 12 hours a day, could get groceries, pick up the dry cleaning, pick the children up from daycare, write a check with the best of them to keep my house clean, could sew, knit, read, run upstairs and down a million times at my girls bed time, make my children laugh, feed the dog and love my husband. Now, I don’t work. Walking is laborious - I shuffle along like Arte Johnson’s old man from his Laugh-In days. Running is out of the question. Grocery shopping is a stretch, dry cleaning is out. I can’t clean my house, I can do wash, but can’t fold it. My dogs starve.

But I still can make my children laugh and love my husband. Yep it’s bad. But it’s been 24 months not 18. Getting a little sleepy, but still can’t remember my marker…..darn it.