Anybody Out There

Hello, is anybody out there?  Do you have the Pink Floyd song dancing in your head?  It's been a while.  I concede.  It's not that I haven't wanted to wanted to share my combination of mediocre writing skills, adorable kid photos and lovely handbag and overall crafty concoctions with you, the internets.  I have.  However,  this fall I found myself stunted, lost for voice. I'll admit even retreating into the perceived safeness of my home.   Over the last several months I've learned that my health is perfect.  This time has given me once again, after my cancer diagnosis eleven years ago the opportunity to step back and truly appreciate what it means to "have your health", and to be grateful.  Truly grateful to God and the Universe that everything is ok, because I also know what it feels like for things not to be so great.  What it feels like when you've had your nose pushed up against a brick wall until you almost can't take the pain anymore while there is a loud voice booming, "Life might not always turn out the way you have planned it. So, make something of what you've got." Deal with it or don't....your choice.

So, I'm dealing with it.  I am BRCA 1 positive.  I carry a DNA genetic mutation that makes it more difficult for my body to fight tumors in the breast and ovary areas.  This means my chances of another breast cancer by the time I turn 70 years old are somewhere between 60%-90%.  The chances of an ovarian cancer are somewhere around 40% give or take.    I suggested to my doctor one day that since I have already beaten one breast cancer that my chances for some other problems must be dramatically lower right?  I've already had it, for heaven's sake.  Take my dice off the table, woman!  "No", she said "Your body has shown you up close that people with this mutation do get cancer at a higher incidence than the general public." 

Oh, right.  What are my chances of buying a winning lottery ticket?  I'd seriously like to know.  Because it sort of feels like I won the crappiest lottery ever made.  Here is your bonus prize babe, surgery to remove tissue that might become cancerous and try to kill you.

In another odd twist I did win a lottery.  I know the answer because I got tested.  I'm in control.  I'm not a victim.  And, if I have the, forgive me here, balls to withstand a few surgeries, my chances of getting sick from breast or ovarian cancer plummet to almost nothing. Then, I can go back to enjoying mediocre writing, two adorable but somewhat ill behaved children who are incapable of picking up dirty underwear up off the floor and a  puggle who likes to snuggle.

In late August the ovaries went.  Broken little girlie bits tossed in an operating room bio-hazard waste basket.  It was relatively uneventful. Now I am a hot flashing mama wearing cotton tee shirts in the middle of winter, while keeping my house a crisp 64 degrees.  All in the interest of saving a few bucks on gas heat this season, I'm taking one for the team.   

And, I just bought this tee shirt.

 I'm planning on wearing it to my next surgery coming up in a week.  The old girls, well, they have to go.  But, no worries...I'm getting new ones.  Cancer proof ones, if you must know.  Does the thought of this make you squeamish?  It's ok if it does.  It makes me wiggy too.  I'll spare you the details and the meat grinder surgery I felt the need to watch on You Tube a few weeks ago, oy.

Ultimately, I feel good about my decisions.  I know they are the right ones for me and my family.  I have some serious graduations to attend, weddings to butt into and maybe grand kids to boss around in my long term future.  

Right at this very minute my kids are blasting Gloria Gaynor "I Will Survive" on their stereo while folding origami valentines for their classmates.  Coincidence?   I think not.  Here's some other things they've been up to in the last few months.

School play.  It was a part time job, for me and them.  But when you have a skunk and a blue good witch...what are you to do?

Two vampires and their bat minion.  They were rewarded with lots of peanut butter cups.  Then the bat minion barfed.  And we called it a night.

Six.  Death by chocolate.

An office Christmas party with the fam.  After this shot was taken, I started drinking heavily took my top off and proceeded to swing from the ceiling tiles while wearing a lampshade as a hat.  Nobody can rock a veggie tray like I can.

The annual feeding of the reindeer, Christmas Eve.  Don't ask me why my children chose this photo opportunity to dress like Russian peasants.  I have a hard time getting them to brush their teeth too.

Nothing like an event commemorating the birth of out Lord and Saviour as an opportunity to break out some lottery tickets.   I know, I know again with the lottery references. 

Oh, and Ava turned 10.  And I forgot to take any photos.  We ate Chinese and she got ipod speakers.  No photos of the milestone that had me choked up for 3 days straight?  This is mother of the year stuff. 

And that my friends is my life, the last 5 months.  See, you missed not one thing.  You are caught up in the riveting and unparallelled happenings of "These are the days of our lives."  

Perhaps 1 week from my mastectomy surgery I'm getting my voice back.  I'm seeing light at the end of the tunnel.  I'll try to blog a little bit more about how fun a mastectomy can be.  Actually, I have a fabulous Vegas story that shall be titled "How my boobs got us $300 in free drinks at the Paris Hotel." Now you are going to tune in right?  Some fools will do just about anything to improve their blogger stats.