Herschel Encounters of the First Kind - 10.25.10

What you're about to read is a true story. The names of the innocent have not been changed. What has changed in the last few weeks is, well, ... everything. My life is not about caterpillar whiskers or chicken poo on the deck any more. Well, it is, but it is also about Herschel. You'll read more about him in a bit.

What you're about to read is intensely personal and my gut reaction to the roller coaster of emotions I've experienced in the last five days. I can't apologize or make excuses .. I can only say that I am remaining true to who I am: a open book. Sometimes I will over react. And I am definitely going to cuss and snort and sprinkle all that snorting and cussing with feeble attempts at sarcastic humor. Because it's who I am.

I promise not to make Dirt Road Heaven all about Herschel. In fact, I refuse to allow him that much exposure. In the scheme of things, he doesn't deserve that much of your rapt attention. But forgive me while I obsess over him for just a little while?

I really did break my camera. And it really is traveling (as I type) to California for surgery. But I know that I am irritatingly transparent and I couldn't keep this from you .. but I needed a little time before I shared it. Then I felt as if I would explode if I didn't.

Dirt Road Heaven is my release valve. You know how the folks who go to see Gallegher wear rain coats and don plastic drop cloths in the first few rows? Well .. you might want to think about getting yourself a plastic drop cloth. It might get messy and I really don't want to get any on you. But a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. Peace out, hermits. God bless us, every one.

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10.25.10

I've never been much of a girlie girl. I played with BB guns and rode horses and played Tarzan. I had dolls but they didn't mean much to me. And I've never really enjoyed the kinds of female gatherings that most women do. The jewelry parties and such that left me wishing I was home in my jammies and out of my shoes watching "Hatari" or something.

Don't get me wrong - I have a circle of female friends I deeply cherish. But they are the friends who accept me as I am with all my weirdness and ungirly behavior. I love to sleep on the ground. I love the smell of cordite. I love the sound of engines. I'm not afraid of the things most women fear. Except for spiders. I hate spiders.

But today I experienced a level of kinship with women who were complete strangers that bordered on spiritual.

Today I had my first mammogram.

When I walked into the waiting area there were two couples and two ladies there. One lady was Oriental. One was Black. One was Hispanic. And one was Caucasian. The ages ranged from mid-thirties to probably seventy. No one spoke. All seemed tense.

Because I am deaf I avoid having conversations in waiting rooms. Most people in waiting rooms whisper and I can't hear whispers. So, in an effort to make myself invisible, I don't usually make eye contact. But yesterday I looked at each of these women and silently posed these questions to each one:

"Do you have a lump?"

"Is this your first time?"

"Are you scared?"

But I kept to my seat and only smiled. And I hoped that in that smile they realized that I was their sister. That, yes, I do have a lump, this is my first time and I am scared.

I am scared.

I'm scared of being sick. I have always been a very healthy, strong person who is independent, not by nature, but first by circumstance and now by choice. My lack of hearing has made me depend on others and I detest it. How on earth will I handle being sick and weak?

But we won't go there until we have a pretty engraved invitation. Until then, we will trust that this is just an bump in the boobie road. I wasn't going to share any of this until I had an answer. But God may have given me this journey to inspire another to action.

I believe that everything happens for a reason. And as special and unique (and weird) as I think myself .. I know that I am more like you than I am different.

I know. You hate spiders too. But please, just because we're sisters on this path together, that does not give you permission to invite me to any tupperware parties.

10.26.10

Today is a day of rest. A day to become acquainted with Herschel.

Herschel is my lump. He is residing in my left breast. The one nobody likes. Both my kids preferred my right one. And the right one is a perfect arm's length away from Dave while riding in the truck. No wonder the left breast is sick. It felt neglected and welcomed the attention of anyone - even Herschel.

I don't mean to offend anyone -- but I purposely gave the lump a wimpy name. (If you have an uncle Herschel, I am so sorry ...) He's only a temporary resident and I'll be damned if he changes my life in significant ways.

He made me cry yesterday and I am not a crier. I've known of his existence for a couple of weeks and, if I am truthful, intuitively for longer than that. But yesterday he became real.

So, now we are working on a plan of action. It becomes a little (a lot) more complicated because I am uninsured. I have some shame about that even though I know that I am not alone. So, I am pursuing treatment through a group that specializes in women like me: women without insurance or hefty trust funds.

Truthfully? The idea of having cancer doesn't frighten me nearly as much as having cancer bankrupt my family. I like to think of myself as the female Marlboro Man. Tough, strong, competent. I can deal with having cancer if that is the card I am dealt. But not being tough, strong and competent will be a big, nasty pill to swallow.

Pioneer women have always been an inspiration to me. How they lived their lives without all the conveniences we take for granted. How they raised babies without antibiotics or baby food or disposable diapers. How they survived blistering summers and winters of blizzards. How they lost husbands and babies along the way and continued putting one foot in front of the other.

I always liked to think of myself as a pioneer woman who just happened to land in the wrong generation. But I am fortunate that my generation has science and technology and medicine. Whatever Herschel is .. he can be removed, stomped on or shrunk by some means of today's medicine. I'm not afraid of Herschel.

But I am afraid. It's only Day Two .. I think it will get better as I know more.

I just wanted you to know.

10.27.10

I heard it today. The "M" word.

My doctor's nurse read the radiologist's report to me over the phone.

I also know the size and shape.

I'm sitting with all this information and willing my intellect to rule over my emotions. Damn it.

I'm an intellgient person who realizes that we still don't have the definitive word .. yet. And even if it is the "M" word, it's not the end of the world or of me.

So why the hell do i have tears in my eyes when no one is looking?

I feel such a sense of betrayal.

My boobie has turned on me.

10.28.10

Well it's done. I picked up my mammography films from the hospital yesterday and mailed them to The Rose. But before I put them in the envelope the lady a the hospital so kindly provided, I looked.

The pictures were on a CD Rom and I just happened to have brought my laptop.

Wow.

Ladies .. did you know that your boobie, when smushed between plates of plexiglass and zapped with some magical cosmic ray gun, looks similar in landscape to an orange? (Or maybe if you're a tiny girl .. a fig, a plum, a peach.) I have to admit I'm fascinated by my insides. Even that thing that reminds me of The Milky Way as it appears in a moonless sky over Big Bend. But starlight in your boobies is not a good thing.

So I copied and saved the images to my computer. And I went to Office Depot and made a copy of the radiologist's report. And I read it about ten times. And then I dropped the CD and the report off at the post office.

Action.

I'm on my way. But now we wait. The doctors at The Rose will review my film and then appoint me in a week or so for (probably) a biopsy to confirm the suspected malignancy. Then, we'll take it from there. One day at a time.

So, I'm off. Buckle up, baby .. it's a new journey!

10.29.10

I have so much to do today but, out of nowhere, the urge to cry keeps messing with me. So I decided to stop and write a bit in hopes it will dry that sloppy river that keeps toppling my no-cry zone levees.

I'm not a crier. Not that I don't - I do - and with gusto when it happens but it doesn't happen much. Weepy women irritate me. Sorry, but it's true.

I think if something makes you that unhappy, find it, fix it, remove it, divorce it, change it and move on. Life is too short to be anything but happy.

Not that you can be happy all the time. Life is filled with little snotballs of discontent, boogers of disappointment, phelmwads of anti-happiness but DISPELL the bastards, learn from whatever lessons their arrival imparts and get on with it!

SO. You can see why I'm so pissed off that I can't seem to shake this waste of saline. Big girls don't cry.

And I'm so gonna be a big girl about this. It's not the end of the world. Not a death sentence. But in some not-so-small way it is a death sentence of my 'healthy as a horse' persona. I like being a tough girl who has taken life's best shots on the chin, kept smilin' and kept rockin' on down the road. What if, at some point, I'm no longer a tough girl?

Pfffbt. What am I saying? The damn thing's name is HERSCHEL for God's sake. If he THINKS he's going to get the best of me .. he's seriously delusional!

I'm going to kick his ugly ass.

So there.

Mood swing.

I feel better now.

Talk amongst yourselves .. I have work to do.