By now you’ve faced adversity in one form or another and if you’re reading this, you’ve won.  Whether it took the form of cancer, childhood abuse, domestic violence, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that you stood toe to toe, through the pain and the thoughts that almost convinced you that you couldn’t stand even one more second, and you stared your own personal adversity down until it was no more.

While I was blessed enough to attend Christian schools when I was younger,  I wasn’t crazy about them. I knew God existed and despite my own childhood abuse, I knew someone out there was always worse off than I was. Things haven’t changed as much as I once thought. I still face adversity. I still cling to my faith. I still believe that someone out there is much worse off than I am.

I don’t know why I’m still here. Right now, it isn’t for me to know. The pastors tell me it’s because God has a plan for me. Since it’s something that they know more about than I do and it sounds like something that will help to get me through, I’ll go with that. Why am I still here? Gods amazing grace.

If you’re looking for great cancer related inspirational stories, I encourage you to visit this site and believe. As for songs, simply because music is such a huge part of my life, I highly recommend that you treat yourself to Kenny Loggins’ Return To Pooh Corner and More Songs From Pooh Corner. They provide comfort, the kind I found in my oldest daughters angelic voice, my youngest daughters little hand holding tight to my shirt when she was little, and the kind I experienced as I watched my grandparents slow dancing to an AM radio on a cold January morning.

{Just as a general reminder- no matter how you found this site, remember that while you may think you know me because of the things I write (though they come from the heart), the fact is, you don’t know me at all. If you want to, feel free to email me and if you don’t, that’s okay too. I keep you in my thoughts and prayers regardless.}

Email this post

Tweet This Post

Email this post

Tweet This Post

Since starting this site I haven’t been around much. I apologize for that because it seems everyone else out there has been busy seeing me here at LiLoCa. If you have emailed or registered, I ask that you be patient as I am not where I once was in life or in love. However, I hope to be able to write more in the future.

Now, allow me to tell you a story, in this, the season of blessings, gifts, and magic.

He swept in, like a thief in the night. Normally a lady expects a call from guests, but this was no ordinary guest. This was a dear and true friend, a friend that had been her rock for years. So she jumped out of bed, desperately trying to find a bit of her old self for him to see, because we all know that cancer and chemo tend to rob us of everything we think is good in ourselves.

She quivered and shook, so afraid he’d turn away from her. Instead they met and wrapped their arms around one another. She smiled and blinked away the tears as she pulled away. Gone were the years and she reveled in his presence.

They talked for hours about everything and nothing. She asked a question and he responded as she closed her eyes and waited with bated breath. He kissed her forehead, brushed her hair aside then kissed her on the cheek before placing his manly hands in hers once more.

Time stood still as she closed her eyes and let him be the man he has always been. For a brief moment, in her mind, she was the woman she used to be. Gone was the cancer, the pain, and (almost) the fear of facing the rest of her life alone.

Eventually, it was time to face reality, time for that rolling stone to be on his way.

She hugged him and held tight. Then they said all they needed to say without saying a word. She waved until he drove out of sight, willing her tears not to fall. She failed and cried and prayed for his safe return, wishing she’d reminded him that he was never alone.

So, when you read this, if I don’t see you before you leave, thank you for being a blessing, a gift, my magic, and…

Please, Go Here

Email this post

Tweet This Post

I received a wonderful but formal letter in the mail today. My insurance company informed me that they would pay for my pain medication. Thank goodness for small miracles and answered prayers.

Email this post

Tweet This Post

I’d like to take a moment to welcome you to Life. Love. Cancer. As we’re settling in to our new home I ask that you forgive the mess and keep in mind that we are still under construction. In the near future we hope to bring you more of what you’re looking for regarding emotional and physical well-being, relationships, and the latest news in cancer treatments and therapies as well as valuable contact information for various community outreach programs.

Thank you for taking the time to visit. We look forward to seeing you again soon.

Email this post

Tweet This Post

I’m not the woman I used to be. Somewhere along the way I feel as if I have matured. Part of me thinks that I may have even chilled out a little bit when it comes to things that don’t make a difference in the big scheme of things.

Gone are the days that I jumped out of bed and made it immediately. No longer do I stress or flip out when there is laundry on the floor of the laundry room for more than a day. I’ve even relaxed enough to allow other people to load the dishwasher, clean the bathroom, and do the grocery shopping.

When I was first diagnosed and started treatments I tried valiantly to do it all. I made the meals, packed the lunches, cleaned the house, and tried like hell to be everything my husband and kids deserved. At the end of the night I was so exhausted that I couldn’t be bothered to walk up the stairs to go to bed. Still, I’d wake up and do it all again.

My husband and I would argue because I wouldn’t let him do anything. He struggled with watching the woman he loved pushing herself beyond her limits and I struggled to be the wife I thought he wanted and needed. It took a major argument and pneumonia for me to let go and let someone else.

In the six weeks that he has been home with me we’ve argued only twice. I really thought that we’d kill one another by the time a week had passed but he was convinced that this was just what we both needed. He knew better than I what a difference it would make for both of us as individuals and as a couple.

Oh, we still bicker. He tells me when I’m being a bitch. I tell him when he’s being an insensitive asshole. There are times when I’m sure we both could use a break but we hang in there. By the time the smoke clears we’re laughing like loons and enjoying one another once more.

He wants to do more. I curl up under the blankets and allow him. If I need a soda he brings me one. If I am sick he checks on me and helps me back to my chair. If I’m hungry but nothing in the house sounds appetizing (and we have two or three dollars) then he volunteers to run and get fries and sweet tea from McDonalds so that I have something in my system.

Our routine is simple, relaxed. We get up at the same time and head downstairs. He logs in and gets ready for work. I curl up in my comfortable chair and put my feet on the ottoman. He tucks my blankets in around me and brings me whatever I need before he heads back to his desk to work.

At some point during the day he helps me shower. I wash my hair and he washes my body. Then he washes himself before helping me out. He escorts me into the living room where my clothes are waiting for me before he heads back to his desk. (Showering and dressing seem to be the biggest energy drains for me but showering feels so good!) I dress slowly, piece of clothing by piece of clothing, then wait for him to help me back to my chair. If his schedule allows for it, we nap together. Otherwise, I sleep in my chair.

The days are the same. His love is the same. I thank him for taking care of me and he tells me that he loves taking care of me.

I never imagined finding a love like this. Someone who makes me laugh and smile is also the person who looks out for me, protects me. The person who drives me the most insane is the person I can’t imagine being without.

The man who kisses me gently in the morning is the same man that makes sweet passionate love to me at night. The man who is my warden is also my protector, my champion, and my guardian. The man who made me his wife has made me his life.

I’m convinced that when faced with a love like ours, cancer doesn’t stand a chance.

Email this post

Tweet This Post

We’re on the eighth part of Life. Love. Cancer. It seems odd to say it, but I’m kind of sad that we’re at this part already. Writing these posts has helped me in ways I hadn’t even realized.

They have been challenging but in a good way. Many times I have struggled and wondered where I would go with each installment, often to the point of tears. Now I realize that the tears weren’t tears of frustration, but my way of coming to terms with my diagnosis.

I believed I had dealt with all of it. In my heart of hearts I didn’t think there was anything left to confront. Well, anything short of death itself. I see now that I still had a lot of anger and frustration to work out. Writing this series has helped me to find a sort of internal peace that works well with my determination to not give up hope.

Before all of this, hope was just a word on a page. With every appointment, every scan, I sank deeper into the acceptance. I wrote letters and planned holidays that were over the top. Plans that I never had the energy to carry out, but the plans were there just the same. I focused all my energies on the end because that’s what I was told to do.

But it wasn’t me. I hated the feeling of waking up every day and going through the motions. I wasn’t living. I was waiting to die.

Waiting.

To die.

I started blogging about all the things that were happening and the response was overwhelming. People left comments and sent positive thoughts my way. They sent emails and offered encouragement. Perfect strangers brought to life a small glimmer of hope.

Today I write this and I know that I have made peace with the fact that I might die. I might die. My oncologists and varied physicians aren’t God. They do what they know to do in the best way they know how to do it. They give facts based on tests and labs and co-morbidities. I know the odds are against me. I know I might die.

The thing is, I also might live.

All the prayers, all the words of encouragement, and all the healing vibes might be just the thing to lead me to a miracle. I know that I don’t deserve one more than anyone else. There is nothing extraordinary about me that sets me apart from all the other people in the world who are fighting for their lives. I’m a girl in a world full of sadness and strife, in a world full of struggle and unfairness.

Am I wrong to hope? Is it selfish of me to watch my little girls and hope against all hope that I will beat the odds, that I’ll be there when they grow up? Maybe so; but holding them close and listening to them laugh only fuels the fire, the will and the desire to come through this on the other side.

Email this post

Tweet This Post

I don’t think that anyone can ever explain what happens to a person when they stand toe to toe with a terminal diagnosis. Unless you have been there and experienced it, there’s no way you can help someone else to understand. Yet, people ask all the time.

They want to know what it’s like to do something knowing it may or may not be the last time. They want to know how it changed your relationships with those you love. They ask if it feels weird to have sex knowing that you’re probably only going to be having sex for a little while longer.

I try to be understanding. I answer their questions to the best of my ability and I try to do it nicely. Especially when I know that they have read my blog, because they feel like they know me after reading my stuff for almost three years. I figure that I owe them a little common courtesy.

What no one realizes is that the entire cancer thing is completely subjective. My experience with it isn’t like anyone else’s. My thoughts and emotions might not sync with their grandmothers experience or their sisters experience.

Still, it’s sometimes easier to answer their questions than to answer the ones that they left unasked.

The questions just hang in the air. They want to know about HPV. They want to know if I ended up with HPV which led to cervical cancer because I was a slut (I wasn’t- Sperm Donor had it and passed it onto me while the repeated rapes and abuse were occurring.).

They want to know if they will one day be like me.

And I can’t answer that question for them.

There are too many variables; too many unknowns. I’m not a doctor. I don’t have the answers and I certainly am not in any place to offer any sort of reassurance.

So I tell them to see a doctor. Even if they’ve never had unprotected sex, ask for a full work-up. I remind them that they are their best advocate. If they don’t find the answers they’re looking for, go elsewhere. Doctors are human too.

If I’d argued with every gynecologist that told me that the results of my Pap smear were abnormal. If I’d made them read the family history section of my records. If I’d told them sooner that I was sexually abused repeatedly as a child. If I’d remained steadfast in my insistence that my age didn’t mean I was exempt from developing cancer.

If I would have taken my own advice, I might not be fighting for my life.

Email this post

Tweet This Post

I wrote it but it seems kind of silly. Still, it came from the heart, so I wanted to share it with those of you who are following Life.Love.Cancer.

Dear Cancer,

Let me begin by saying that I know that writing this will likely do absolutely nothing. I acknowledge that this is an exercise in futility. Still, I’d be lying if I said it didn’t feel damn good to be doing it anyway.

For far too long now you have had the power. You have invaded my space, my brain and my body. I’m not okay with that any more than I was okay with my biological father raping and abusing me for years. I am an independent woman with a life. I have no time nor any use for the things that you bring to the table.

I know you’re a stubborn bastard, or maybe you’re just a lazy bitch who refuses to leave because there isn’t a better gig elsewhere. However, I have news for you. This is MY life; this is MY body. I don’t want you here. I never did. No doubt this is all a little harsh to you, but if you’ll hear me out, I’m sure you will understand where I’m coming from.

You see, I’m a mother. I have two absolutely gorgeous little girls who need their Mama. You know the ones I’m talking about. Gorgeous with impish smiles and tinkling laughter that the angels themselves envy? Yeah. Those girls.

They need me. Maybe they don’t realize it yet. Maybe they don’t think they do right now but as their mother, I know that will change. And when it does, I fully expect to be here for them.

I’m also a wife. Finally, after all this time, he married me. He loves me. Sure, he’s a man and he has man tendencies but he’s MY man and he loves ME. Where I come from, that means something.

I love being married to him. For me, it’s the best thing going. No one loves me like he does. While this whole terminal routine seems to work for you, it doesn’t work for me. I don’t like it because it threatens my relationship with him. I’m not ready to have that be over yet.

So here is what I suggest-

Chemo. A whole lot of chemo. Maybe some radiation. Nuclear warfare developed just for you. I’ve asked nicely, so really, you have left me with no other choice.

I’d like to say that I’m sorry it had to end this way but I’m not. So, leave quietly. Pack what you can now because you won’t ever be welcome here again. Are we clear?

Good.

I’ll see you in remission.

Without apology,

Serenity

Email this post

Tweet This Post

I’m more in love with my husband now than I ever was before. I probably didn’t know or understand just what love really was until the oncologists told me that I might not have it. I was a stupid girl living in a make-believe world, full of romance novel misunderstandings and real world consequences.

Along with being in love with my husband, I find that my attraction to him has grown to gargantuan proportions. He smiles and I see his rakish charm. He laughs and I feel that tingle somewhere deep inside. He reaches out to caress my skin or hold my face in his hands and I am taken to a place most women only dream of being with their husbands.

I know that I’m one of the lucky ones. My husband is faithful and he is strong. My husband is gentle and sweet. He is everything I waited to find. Is it any wonder that being near him, being loved by him, makes me yearn for his touch?

Sometimes we just can’t. The day has been too long and the pain is just too much. The desire is there but the energy is not. On those nights we snuggle close, skin on skin, buried beneath the comforter in our perfectly sized bed. We talk and we laugh most days. Other days, we cry. With our arms wrapped tightly and our toes tangled ever so slightly.

Then there are the times that we can’t get enough. A look across the room, a smile or a wink is all it takes to urge us on. In our bedroom, the living room, or maybe in the shower as the water begins to turn cold. The where or the why doesn’t matter as much as the when, as much as the fact that right then we need to be one, without a thought to anything other than one another.

Cancer is cruelest to those who need their families and to those in love. Who will be there to hold the hand of the man who stole my heart? Who will be there to fix his dinner, to remember his birthday, or make sweet passionate oral love to him at the end of a long work day? I can’t help but cry when it plays out in my mind.

Who will hold him close and cherish him the way I do? Who will see through his bark and beyond his bite to know that he’s hurting and in need of a hug? That’s my job, that’s what I’m here for. Cancer doesn’t listen when I scream and cry, when I try to make it understand that I’m not finished yet.

By now I know that the best thing to do would be to let him go. I should encourage him to find someone now, to help make the transition easier. Instead, I’m more selfish than ever. I want him all to myself for as long as I have left. I want his hugs and kisses, his touches and his orgasms to be mine and mine alone.

I just want everything that is him to be wrapped up in everything that is us until the end of my time.

Email this post

Tweet This Post