Up Your Nose…

Posted on March 16, 2016 by Carol Lacey

… With A Rubber Hose.

I spent five days in the hospital because apparently cancer is a real drama queen.

In the wee hours last Wednesday morning, Pete was trying to pry me off the bathroom floor as I clenched the porcelain goddess. My abdominal pain level and nausea were off the charts but thanks to Zofran I made the one-hour ride to the hospital barf-free.

The CT scan showed an intestinal blockage so they shoved a nasogastric tube THROUGH MY NOSE, down my throat and into my stomach. There it stayed for two days. Kids, don’t try this at home.

Why the blockage you ask? The theory is that with my pelvic surgeries (radical hysterectomy & exenteration), the Scar Tissue (That I Wish You Saw) from the radiation and my new tumor pushing things around down there, (shit) blockage happened.

I dislike being rushed to the hospital. It scares the people I love and it completely sucks. But during all of my hospital stays at El Camino’s 4B Cancer Unit, I received the most amazing care. The men and women who have chosen a caregiving profession here are some of the kindest.

Never has it been more apparent that I am living with cancer; a cancer that is no longer silent (“No one puts Baby in a corner!”). I have accepted that cancer has interrupted my so called normal life with things like lymphedema, doctor’s visits, blood draws, chemotherapy and managing ostomies.

I am living with cancer. Fact: Cancer looks and feels different on everybody. People tell me “you look so good” and “I’d never know you have cancer”. What do they think cancer should look like? I do a forehead slap to myself when these words come out of my own mouth. Perhaps it’s just human nature for some to want to say only kind things. I appreciate the kindness fer sur but please do not displace the struggles I, and all cancer patients and their caregivers face on a daily basis. If you don’t know what to say to us, a smile, a hug or “I care” speak volumes.

This is me on cancer, leaving the hospital.

Living the dash.

Posted on October 11, 2013 by Carol Lacey

Back to work. Working out (why did I start with a Bikram yoga class??). Not throwing up. Not being so tired I don’t leave my bed. Cooking dinner with my husband. Drinking some wine.

I prefer this daily life. You can call it ‘the grind’ but its heaven to me.

My first round of a solo flight of Avastin was a mere 30 minute infusion – I barely had time to admire the new PAMF Infusion Center. Remote controlled seat warmer and massage chair – I seriously wished my six hour sessions could have been here! Four days later I have only one side effect, dry nose. “Coke nose” as I unaffectionately call it.

My cancer has never been something I could feel. No pain. Nada. I will not label this a blessing or a curse, just a fact. It was the side effects from the chemo treatments that gave me ‘bad days’. And now that I wear the remission crown, will I be *more* anxious when my six month CT scan comes around in January? All I can say right now is ‘bring it on’. I want to hold on to that sentiment as long as I can.

Each person living with cancer is on a different journey. Even if you share the same cancer diagnosis, the cancer is different in every body. Because of this, cancer seems bigger than the word ‘disease’. Through my journey, I have met many people – some I know personally and some through blogs. I have sat beside their pain, I have peaked into their coping strategies and most of all I have head nodded to just about every word they have said or written. It’s a community that no one wishes they were a member of but grateful nonetheless.

Living the dash, the grind… we all just want to be here longer; to love, laugh, cry and witness the gifts.

“Life is what happens when you are busy making other plans” ~ John Lennon

Another sunny day.

Posted on September 5, 2013 by Carol Lacey

My CT scan results show ‘previous described hepatic lesions are no longer visualized. No suspicious osseous lesions.’ This means the chemo cocktail I’ve been on since April has done what it’s suppose to do and my oncologist has deemed me ‘in remission’. I have never heard these words before and let me tell you, it was music to my ears (I literally heard Jeff Buckley singing Hallelujah). I’ll take remission, thank you very much.

Given my reoccurrence and metastasis, my oncologist suggested I continue with Avastin (Bevacizumab) every three weeks. Since I like the idea of doing something instead of nothing, I’m signing up for this course of action. My life is joyous and I will do everything necessary for more days on this planet with the people I love.

I am hoping the Avastin will continue to give me minimal side effects as I return to work soon. Work stress seems laughable compared to fighting cancer so I got that going for me, which is nice. I do like having something ‘normal’ to do each day but I honestly know that work will always be work and that the time I spend outside of work is where I thrive.

From day one, I have been armed with love and healing energy from countless souls who pray, meditate, email and telepathically send messages of hope my way. No one could be more grateful for these acts beyond kindness. My heart is full, my soul enriched and my body is strong.

I have shared these words from an unknown (to me) cancer patient before but they are worth saying again… “Cancer may take my life but it will not take my day.” Hell yeah.

The Art of Waiting.

Posted on August 6, 2013 by Carol Lacey

Waiting to continue treatment (or not). Waiting for scan and doctor visits. I have spent the past few days in a ‘waiting pool’ of despair. Okay, despair is way too dramatic – I had some blue moments.

I have not always been at ease with waiting. At my worst, I was an impatient single mom rushing my kids here and there, forgetting that time means nothing to little ones. Patience was not my virtue and the unknown just frustrated me.

Then yesterday I was reminded that life is the living we do in between (cancer patient or not). The dash between our birth and death is where we live, and what we do in that time either feeds our soul or sucks us dry.

How I face each day has changed. I no longer rush myself or anyone else about; I no longer carry the weight of things I cannot change and I no longer speak harshly. I do appreciate my gifts (visits from my son/daughter, a sunset, my husband’s smile); I listen closer and I love with reckless abandon. I also wade in the shallow end of uncertainty from time to time, because we all do and that’s okay.

Most days I will focus on the chapters of my story and not the ending. Enjoying the humor, adventure, love and heroic feats of happiness.

Closing time.

Posted on July 31, 2013 by Carol Lacey

Yesterday I closed out my fourteenth (cumulative over two years) chemo treatment.

After my third treatment in 2011, I declared that my last treatment was indeed my last. Then I found myself doing five more treatments and adding 28 rounds of radiation too.

I decided that this time I should choose a different word to mark the occasion. Closure. Closing a chapter. Closing time. Then my infusion nurse Shelley starts singing, “closing time, you don’t have to go home but ya can’t stay here.” Song lyrics have always spoken the words in my heart and those couldn’t have felt truer.

I do need to celebrate milestones. If I’ve learned something from cancer, it’s that every good day is meant to be cherished and celebrated. And the ‘bad days’ get held with love and compassion.

So I put away my chemo bag for now and since my insomnia kicks in heavily the night of treatment, I joined a couple girlfriends for dinner and a concert. We ate a delicious meal and danced a little salsa to the Gypsy Kings at a beautiful venue overlooking the valley below. I am happiest dancing to beautiful music with beautiful friends.

“… I still know quite certainly that just to be alive is a grand thing.” ~Agatha Christie

Relaying for a cause.

Posted on July 27, 2013 by Carol Lacey

I participated in my first Relay for Life with some of my favorite people by my side. As a team, we raised over $10k and our Santa Cruz event exceed $140k. We had very generous donors; some who sadly know too well how cancer can take a loved one.

If you are unfamiliar with Relay for Life, it is the American Cancer Society’s fundraising movement. Relays take place across the U.S. (and in other countries) as local, community events. People come together with a common goal of seeing an end to cancer. And we walk for 24-hours because cancer never stops.

For me, the event held so much hope and love. I met breast cancer survivors, colon cancer survivors, ovarian survivors – all with their own stories of compassion, pain and hope. It was the first time I stood with my cancer not in fear but in strength; as if my cancer were something I could physically manifest, wrap in a tight ball and drop kick to the moon.

I have always been grateful to have a supportive, loving village who rally together when the need arises. Since my diagnoses two years ago, these truly loving souls have showered me with love and kindness. It’s hard to be angry when you’re surrounded by so much goodness. Even though cancer is a bitch, I refuse to be one.

Relay for Life – Carol’s Cancer Avengers

cancer avenger

fighting for more sunny days

Tag Archives: Conditions and Diseases