Time to Give Thanks

I’m long overdue in sending blogratitude out to my besties, homies, friends, posse, and all the good people around me who are making my journey through hell a bit more cheery. I feel the need to change the names of the not-so-innocent to protect the SUPER amazing, but you know who you are.

First, allow me shout out to all of you who text, send cards in the mail, email, send Facebook messages, and comment on my blog. Just knowing people care and are thinking of me, means a lot. It really does. Small (or big) messages of love from a few miles away or across the country are seriously sometimes all I need to keep my head up and feel loved. Thank you.

From the very beginning of this reality, my lovely friend Em was there—took me to my first testing appointment and cried with me in the parking lot after. Since then, she’s been right next to me though all my fears, anger, newly-found-but-definitely-tardy strength, encouraging news, rough lows, and everyday “you can get through this”-es. Em and Blue happily joined my husband in forming my transport trio (or carcinoma carpool, tumor troopers, mammary marshals…..I could keep going). This is a tremendous help to both me and my husband, and is no easy favor. My treatments are at least 6 hours long, in a town outside Seattle—so when you factor in the long drive through rush-hour traffic, sitting bedside in a standard comfort-lacking waiting room chair all day, surrounded by patients with various stages of cancer, and intermittent conversations with me around the IV Benadryl slumber—you’ve got a less than ideal day trip that only a real friend would see you through. All this, in addition to hours of tedious ‘how are you today’ communication filled with ugly treatment grievances and symptom complaints, AND finding MM’s special ginger brew, makes for a true friend hero. Em still seems to see a strong vegan activist in me, which always helps to remind me that this is all very temporary. I can’t thank you enough, from the bottom of my heart.

Blue is the kind of drop-everything-for-a-friend, kind of friend and I am damn lucky to have landed in her life and neighborhood. There’s nothing better than a good friend who also lives 30 seconds away. Blue escorted me to my first MRI and CT scan appointment, waited patiently among the waiting patients, and comforted me through every minute (even texting with me from the waiting room between scans). Her humor and call-it-like-it-is approach to all this is invaluable, especially given how close we’ve become. She sees the real hardship of this for me, yet never hides behind rainbow and sunflower sentiments. From loving and relieving my dogs while the mister and I are in Satan’s infusion playhouse (I mean ‘treatment’), and bringing us healthful comfort food, to wrangling dog-fur tumbleweeds from our home, and lending sincerity in long cancer-centered discussions—Blue is very important to me. Her words, “the only way to get through this is to GO through it” have boosted me during rough moments.

At the first news of my diagnosis, my amazing friend Spiderman, hopped on a plane to Seattle to be with me. For the record, this is not some easy feat for her either—just back to work after a badly broken leg, with debt sky-high, times have been tough for Spidey. But she made her way here; celebrated my last chemo-free week, sacrificed Thanksgiving with her family to be with me and mine, escorted me to my first ever surgery (port placement), and all the while—made me laugh more than I ever have. Seattle could really use a good Spiderman, so get back here soon!

My fast friend at work V3, wasted no time in making me the most savory homemade vegan soups—perfect for someone who feels close to death but needs wholesome nourishment, just in case. Not only has V3 continued to bring me flavorful blends of the best ingredients in soup form, but also brought me the best comfort package a lifetime-Grover-loving-girl could ask for. A handmade soft-as-hell Grover blanket, a reusable Grover shopping bag, and….[drum roll]…a never opened, vintage, collectable Super Grover figure (with phone booth for changing from mild-mannered Grover to Super Grover, naturally). Since I cannot take my 3 foot, 36-year-old, plush, eye-less Grover with me to treatments for comfort, this ‘travel size’ figurine has brought much security during each trip to hell’s torture chamber (I mean ‘treatment’).

Niagara, my BFF in Michigan has spent many hours talking me through this new set of worry and concern, and sent a loving care package. Dob has continued to send messages of strength and encouragement via email and in comments to my blog (love you!), my mom sent handmade hats for my newly bare head, CDT brought a much needed bottle of wine and trendy pink gloves, and J-Walker left a delicious plate of vegan goodies on my doorstep and has offered to walk the dogs (which I will likely humbly take you up on). Weetzie brought us the best sweet potato pie I’ve ever tasted for our Thanksgiving feast and continues to invite us along for fun puppy-love walks. Finnamon was a remarkable help in online research for me when I got completely overwhelmed by all there is to read, Choopina gave some real advice early on about dealing with everything from helping friends help me to being a patient, Yobama gave me a sweet gift package, and Pepsimily assembled a thoughtful PETA care package with a card signed by old friends, including my animal hero Ingrid (oh my god…..I’m either really important or really sick, because she signed my card….oh my god).   

My greatest gratitude goes out to my husband. Without him, I’d be a complete pessimistic-joyless-humorless-cry-baby-who’s-lost-all-faith-in-the-world mess. R2, as I’ll call him, has impressively stepped up to the plate, when faced with having a once-spunky and very healthy spouse who now deals with the awful effects of the toxins surging through her veins in a fight to prevent a disease from becoming terminal. This isn’t what he signed up for and certainly not how we pictured our second year of marriage and first year in our dream city Seattle to be. Nonetheless, R2 has risen unconditionally to my side—he’s my comfort, my shield, my logical counterpart, my care giver, my chef (can you call someone who’s culinary skills stop with boiling pasta, a chef?), my nurse, and my medical manager. Never complaining, he cares for me when I'd rather die than let anyone else see me, he gives in when I play the ‘I’ve got cancer card’ (as in, “Can’t we watch The Grinch since, you know….I have cancer?”), and most recently, spent his Saturday night shaving my head in the bathtub while keeping me from crying by telling jokes. He is the most amazing man I know, whose abundant strength is seen each day. I am continuously reminded of how fortunate I am to have him, and will never forget.

To all of you—mentioned above specifically or not—who have helped in big or small ways to see me through this, I couldn’t do it without you. Well, I guess I could, but I’d be much sadder and lonelier (and hungry). Not everyone has this band of friends, and I need you all to know how very much you mean to me.

Thank you for all you’ve done for me and for allowing me to step aside from being the friend, co-worker, sister, and wife you once had to conquer my enemies within. I promise to reenter our relationship with strong purpose and appreciative joy (and baked goods!) when the battle is won.