When it Rains it Pours

It's almost the end of August.  I have had another two radiation sessions.  Every other week on Tuesdays, I have to go into Sunrise Hospital and see my radiologist for a check-up.  My stomach is so upset I am not even sure if I can make it to his office without stopping at every McDonald's along the way for a pit stop.  I make it in, they put me in a room but my stomach won't wait.  I dash across the hall.  The nurse comes in to tell me he is going to want to do a pelvic exam.   I tell her this is not a good day but we can try.  The doctor comes in and we talk about my progress.  I ask him if he can hear my stomach gurgling from where he is standing and he says yes.  I have been complaining about this for some time but they said to just take massive amounts of Immodium and I'll be fine.  I told him I've already taken 3 this morning and nothing is stopping it.  He finally says he is going to write a prescription for me.  Finally - relief is on the way!

He sits down with the miner's hat with the light on and takes a look.  He tells me that the second tumor is still gone and that the first is now the size of the head of a matchstick.  What great news.  He tells me to get dressed and comes back in the room.   "Just want to let you know that you have still one month to go.  You'll get 3 days off with the Labor Day holiday, then only four more external treatments left.  Then we will start the internal treatments."   My heart just sinks.  I don't want another day of radiation.  I know it's for my own good and for my future health but I just feel I can't take any more.  Enough with the non-stop annoying symptoms tearing at my positive attitude. We talk a bit about it and he says that it would be best if when we get to the internal treatments to take the time off from work, the less stress the better.  I explain to him that in the mix of all of this, I have gotten approval for the short sale on my house and I am going to have to be out of my house by the end of September.  How am I ever going to find the energy to be able to pack up my house and get it ready for the new owners?  I find a solution for one problem only to find another challenge. 

My friend Susan recently sent me a private message and I am going to use her words just to keep me going:
"It seems like perfect symmetry; the end of radiation and the move to a new home (beginning). One day at a time."  She's right.  Still, there is one more month to go and it will be the hardest challenge yet.

Gifted by an Angel

People going through pelvic radiation, let me give you a warning:  Never eat spicy food!  Resist the temptation to go for Indian, Mexican, Cajun anything that has the word spicy or hot in it.  Do not use the Tabasco or cayenne pepper or even the little packets of sauce they give you with tacos on your food.  I am your friend and I warn you, do not eat SPICY food!  There is my public service announcement for the day.

Another week of radiation came and went.  I made it through another 5 days although I was thinking the entire week I was going to play hooky on Friday, I went anyway.  Monday I almost made it through the entire day at work.  The fatigue really got to me and I left a half hour early.  Tuesday, I left by 3:30pm.  Again the fatigue took me down hard.  On Wednesday, the smells overcame me and I started to get so nauseated.  It was a helacious schedule at work and the worst possible time for me to go but I had to.  I almost puked in public.  I could smell every one's soap, the hazelnut creamer by the coffee machine, the carpet, the smell of rain in the air.....  I wasn't sick until the smells overpowered me.  I left for my radiation appointment that day with it raining so hard the windshield wipers could barely clear it off for me.  I was driving the freeway at 35mph.  Every intersection was flooded.  Hadn't seen monsoon rain like that in a decade.  I know we desperately need it.  By the time I made it to the building, I could have used a kayak to get to the front door.  Opened the umbrella over the open door to step out only to get drenched, stepped into ankle deep water and my shoes filled.  Didn't see the elderly lady that comes in right after me.  I got a little worried and hoped she was okay.  So hard to see someone so frail doing radiation at her age.  Went right home and never returned to work.  Instead, I slept all day.  Thursday I made it to my appointment again and then never made it back to work.  It's getting harder and harder to make it in to work each day.  I keep coming like a faithful dog because I am afraid that no one will be able to make it without my help, not know where I am at with things I have left in mid-stream.   I know the day is coming soon.   I am just going to need to take the entire time off and just stay home and heal.  I made it through Friday's appointment without playing hooky only because of this delicious carrot dangling over my head.

 

I mentioned in an earlier post about the woman that was paired up with me by the Imerman Angels who started the non-profit, Heavens Door Open.  Well, she sent me an email on my birthday (she didn't know it was my birthday!) saying she would like to arrange to send me to a spa.  She looked at a few and settled on this beautiful spa in Lake Las Vegas in Henderson called the Ravella Spa.  It was just the Ritz-Carlton a few years ago.  Lake Las Vegas is fashioned after Tuscany without the grape fields.  It's just beautiful out there and one of my favorite places to hang out for a day, grab lunch, and window shop.  I pull in to the front of the hotel and the valet's take my car.  I ask where the spa is located and they point to this building a distance away closer to the entrance.  I'm thinking about asking them to drive me there but off I go, past the beautiful fountain in the center (See photo above)to the spa entrance and go in.  It also houses the gym and the entrance to the outdoor pool and beach area. 

I approach the front desk, the girl is on her cellphone.  She tells me their computers are down and it takes a moment to find someone that can pull up the appointment, take me downstairs to the Ladies Spa, get me a robe and show me how to use the lockers.  I go to the Relaxation Room to wait.  They have honeydew melon water, so hydrating!  I drink two glasses.  A few minutes later my attendant comes in to let me know that because I am late she can give me a massage but will not have time to do my entire treatment. I am feeling that if someone else paid for me to have a special spa treatment, I doubt she would want me to settle for a massage I usually get every month anyway.  I ask her to reschedule me, I'm local, I can come back anytime.  She checks and says there is an opening at 5pm.  She tells me if I'd like to wait and use the beach, pool, or spa amenities, I can stay here.  I wasn't prepared with a suit or towel to partake in the beach so I tell her I'll go home, get some things done and return later. 

So glad I did.  I'm there in plenty of time to use the wet sauna and open my pores.  I take a nice shower with all of their lovely skin products and rinse the toxins off.   When I go to the treatment room I lay face down, and she gets started with exfoliating my skin with this chocolate oil and coffee grounds, scrubbing every part of me well.  She leaves and I get up to use the shower.  Grounds are behind my ears and between my toes!  I am face down again as she starts in with the warm shea butter made from goats milk and rubs it into my skin leaving what feels like a quarter inch of it on the surface.  Then she covers my feet with wet warm towels, my legs, my torso and bundles me up into a cocoon.  I cook this way for another twenty minutes with a warm towel over my eyes.  This is the one time my nose serves me well and allows all this wonderful aroma to delight me.  I feel like a tamale!  She comes back and unwraps me, I put on my robe and go back upstairs to the Healing Waters.  I am thinking the dry sauna is the best way to end the day, take a hot tub, the cold plunge and take another shower.  The dry sauna is probably off due to me being the last customer.  It's almost 7pm.  We take some photos together and I head upstairs to the front desk.  The girl up there was checking on the concert tonight in the ampitheatre for me.  She told me my bill was completely take care of - even the tip!   I take a quick cruise around the gift shop and go outside and head to valet.  The sky is a wonderful orange sunset and I can hear the mc announcing the jazz concert about to start.  What an amazing day.  I wish I could treat everyone to a day like this. 

Over-radiated

The people at 21st Century Oncology are so good to me!   The techs really go out of their way to ensure I have a pleasant experience, which they know in my heart is not.  They are well aware of my resistance to the procedure, show genuine concern for me and always try to make me feel welcome and comfortable.  I endure the next 5 days of treatment, my first full week.  The doses increase daily but I'm still not sure I notice anything but the diarrhea.  That was the first indication and it came almost immediately after the first doses.  Thought it was just the change going from a raw diet to a meat based one again.  When I check in with my body, it tells me my back is out, it feels like my right hip joint feels off in the crotch area.  I tell one of the techs that if I was a Barbie doll, maybe we should take that leg off and put it back on again.  Maybe it will reset itself and I'll feel better again.  I feel this burning sensation when I pee.  It's not like a bladder infection.  It's more like if you got a very bad sunburn and your skin is on fire and you need to smother yourself in aloe vera - that kind of burn.  My butt burns too and I am very thankful I bought and installed a portable bidet and got lots of chemical safe wet wipes for my skin.  They can't seem to make soft, fluffy toilet paper to my liking.  Cotton balls would probably work better if they were larger and more absorbent.  Once I have my treatment and I head back to work, the first thing I notice is my hip aches.  Nothing much, but that maybe I need to see my chiropractor.  I make an appointment to see him.  It does make a difference. I have dull headaches and never had them much before.  I don't sleep that well anymore, sometimes I can't fall asleep, other times I fall right out only to wake a short time later and can't fall back to sleep.  I get that new zzzquil and it helps.

To add to the excitement of the weekend, it's also my birthday.  I'm having one of those years that I don't feel like celebrating.  I just want it low key, get me the gift I asked for and move on.  It's just another day.  I know I should be thankful I've lived another productive year, but seems that the cancer makes everything fun take a back seat.  My husband is not deterred.  He tells me to go to my appointment and come right back.  He worked the night before and came in late so he still needs to sleep.  I had the day planned to go get my hair done and get a pedicure.  Not sure of what he needed, I came right back.  He told me to change into something comfortable and we took off for the Mob Museum.  (I have only been asking for months for him to take me.)  We have to wait in line to get our tickets and it's so freaking hot outside - the hottest day of the summer so far - and it drags the energy out of me and there's a moment I'm not sure I can stand long enough to get the tickets.  The line moves quickly, we get them then have to wait while the guide puts our wristbands on and talks to us.  Little things like this take up energy I just don't have any more.  Don't want to be rude, just please point us to the elevator and move to the next group.  But I'm not like that, I suck it up and let him chat. You start at the top floor and move your way down.  As we enter and get our first photo op at the line up, I notice this smell.  My husband mentioned it too so I'm not completely crazy.  Don't know what it is but it's not Fabreeze.  My nose is in a hyper-sensitive state and I can smell everything like a super human. They could probably use me like a hound in a missing person's case.  Not sure if all this stuff is so old it carries that kind of smell, if someone around us didn't wash, or if the place is so new that you can still smell some kind of construction scent.  I can bear it the first hour but after that we start rushing through the exhibits.  I miss the Kennedy assassination video and a lot of the Hollywood and the mob connection.  It's definitely some kind of chemical smell and we leave quickly before I get nauseous.  We can always come back.

We leave and go to the Mirage to get tickets to the Beatles Love by Cirque du Soleil.  I still don't feel like I am going to have the energy to enjoy it so I arrange to have someone who would like to go come pick them up from us.  We go back home so I can nap.  There is still time before we head to the movies to see Bourne Legacy opening today.   After that we were supposed to head back downtown to the Wynn's La Cave.  I'm really not feeling like heading back down to the Strip, my energy is really draining fast.  I am still hungry so we settle on sushi and head over to a restaurant nearby with teppan cooking and tatami rooms called Osaka.  A wonderful dinner, beautiful surroundings, a piano bar and delicious food.  I come back home and open all my presents.  It's a wonderful night and just how I wanted to spend it, doing just as much as my body would allow.

The next day I am worse.  My husband leaves for work and I become a total couch potato, TV is on and I doze all day.  No energy to clean or get ready for another work week.  The pain I was feeling in my bladder and colon are worse, the burning is really bad.  I take the next two days off from work but continue to go to my radiation appointments.   On Tuesday, it's my doctor check-in day.  I tell the techs how I am feeling this day.  They tell me to go right to my appointment and let the doctor know.  I'm sure he could see the look on my face as I explain to him the pain is too much.  I am about to burst into tears and tell him I am going to bolt.  I've had enough.  Every time I sit down I can feel this huge mass, like a ball the size of my fist and it really hurts worst when I stand up again.  I can't take it anymore.  I tell him it feels like my bladder will fall right out of me.  He says he would like to examine me. 

He and the nurse come back in.  He puts on the mining hat that has the light in the center and takes a look.  I hear the surprise in his voice, "The smaller one is gone and the original tumor has shrunk by half!"  This is very good news.  He asks me to get dressed and he'll come back in.  He tells me that he is going to give me the next 3 days off and with the weekend that will be 5 days without radiation.  A sense of relief comes over me.  He says by next Monday I will be feeling like a million bucks.  Try a half dollar but okay, I'll take the reprieve from radiation.  He says that we can't lose what we've done thus far and he can't give me any longer than that.  Like a bad loan, I know he may have to tack the days I lost on the end but I don't ask.  I just want to leave and start my radiation vacation.

Radiation begins

I have a few more days of freedom before the radiation actually begins.  I plan out a wonderful weekend with my friend who is in town.  We go and catch a matinee of Moonrise Kingdom, what a delightful yet quirky movie packed with stars and nostalgia.  We were elbowing each other throughout the movie saying, "I remember that" or "my parents had that set in the house".  We go over to iHop and have lunch.  The doctor says that I should start eating a slab of meat once in a while along with some fish as it will help with the diarrhea and eating all fiber will not.  I take it this gives me permission to eat crappy once again and I go and have the big breakfast - buttermilk pancakes, eggs, hash browns.  Only a month ago I would have turned my nose up at food like this and today it's heavenly.

I bring my children's book in for her to read.  I have finally finished it after 35 years (yes, I don't do things on the fly you know) and it's ready to go to the Library of Congress to get registered and receive my ISBN number.  She gets to the dedication page and breaks into tears.  She loves it and turns every page reading and looking at the pictures like a child.  I was glowing.  So wonderful to share in a creation with a friend that loves it as much as you.  She has a bag of things to give to me, the most wonderful adult styled children's book called "The Guardians of Being" by Ekhardt Tolle, I will cherish forever.  We make plans to meet on Sunday for massages at the Nevada School of Massage. It's a two for one clinic and we both get the best massages of our lives!  It's off to Mimi's Cafe for lunch then to a girl's house on the other side of town to do my hair and make up for a photo shoot.  We get there late because she has slept in.  It takes way too long to get everything done, run out of time and we have to leave.  It's been a very special weekend and really takes my mind off of what I am going to be doing on Wednesday.

I try not to think too much about it the next two days, no more searching for answers and cures.  I have to walk in bravely and just do it.  I get there in plenty of time, sign in and have a seat.  They have a huge Thomas Kincaid puzzle on a table in the corner.   I sit down over there and study the painting and the progress.  Gotta stop thinking about what's going to happen to me next.  One of the therapists opens the door and says, "Are you ready?"  My knee jerk reaction is to think silently, "Are you insane?  Ready?!  Really?  Who's ready for radiation?  It's not like I am next in line for a ride at Disneyland!"  I smile and say "Sure."  I follow her back.  There is some smell in the hallway.  I don't know what it is but I think it's burning flesh.  I get all the way to the back down long halls and I see Kevin from my mapping appointment and I feel a lot more relaxed when I see him.  He's this young, good looking Filipino guy with this overgrown semi mohawk.  Looks like every Asian, skater dude in the Bay Area wearing tight pants with the chain wallet in a hoodie carrying a skateboard.  But he's in scrubs but still has the legs akimbo stance. We greet each other and I immediately feel more comfortable.  He has the table ready with my blue leg holder pillow and a rubber head cradle on yet another huge machine in a dark, spa lit room.  They place a nice clean sheet down so the table isn't cold.  I pull down my pants, swing around onto the table and they cover my yoni with a small white square of paper.  They make a lot of adjustments using the marks on my dancing hips and sacred vessel.  I feel the table move here and there and I am all lined up. They have this small boombox playing some crappy radio station of music I don't really care for but at least I can try to focus on anything but what's coming next.  I tell Kevin that I know that the doctor said I would be getting very low doses and that they will be building up over the course of the next few weeks.  I ask if he could please cut that dose in half and it can be our little secret.  He smiles like he is going to give in to my request then says, "Ahhhhhh no" and shakes his head.

They give me a small comfort ring to hold to keep my hands still across my chest.  They let me know they can hear and see me and not to worry, to call out to them if I need to.  The sides of the machine close in next to me.  There is a top and bottom portion and all these things rotate around me.  "The Plan" knows exactly where to radiate me based on the mapping.   I hear whirring and movement and I go into a meditative state and start to pray.  Guide their hands and oversee their calculations, let the dose kill the cancer and leave the rest alone and undamaged.  I have my eyes closed but I hear the sound when the radiation is given.  Just like getting an x-ray, this sound goes off for 10 seconds four times, each time the machine rotates around me, stops and gives me another dose - from the back, the front, the sides.  Then one of the techs comes in and puts in this plate that angles the beam to the exact location and I get two more doses, each about 12 seconds.  I hear the door which is literally 12 inches thick, open and they come in.  It's all over.  They pull me out from the machine, help me to a sitting position, and Kevin says to me, "Hey are you crying?"  I pull up my pants and put on my shoes.  I explain that I could feel my son very strongly in the room with me.  I let them know he died recently and I'm still not over it.  I complain about the crappy music and Kevin says he will request another one for me and I can bring in my own music to play if I like.  I tell them I'll see them tomorrow and the next few days go just like that.  I don't notice much difference, just like getting a prolonged xray.  Three days are down out of the twenty-five external treatments.  Still feeling good, healthy, still doing Zumba.

Somebody get me a compass, I'm getting mapped!

Exactly one month from when I originally refused treatment, I am back at the radiologist's office.  It is also my 9 year American wedding anniversary.  (I was married in Morocco the year before this.)  My husband goes with me.  Such a romantic way to celebrate - not!  I see the doctor, we discuss all my fears once again so my husband can hear them first hand.  I want to know if we can still have sex, if the radiation will affect him and cause him to have two heads or if he will have glow-in-the-dark penis if we do, long term affects of radiation to my body, the short term affects, vaginal shrinking, nutrition, the damage to my bladder and colon, the duration of the entire treatment.  He tells me it will be 5 weeks of daily treatments and 3 weeks of internal, those being 2 hours or more each visit.  He goes out and gets this dildo looking thing with a tube on the end the radiation will go into.  He tries to make it all better by saying I can bring in a dvd of my favorite movie!  Great, how humiliating it is to be sitting with your pants off on a table, now I have to be observed with a radiation dildo in me for two hours also.  Why not bring in porn?!  We listened to his explanations to all my questions and his orders to have as much sex as possible - it's a "use it or lose it" situation.  If there is too much shrinkage, he will prescribe a vaginal stretching dildo to take home with me and use in the privacy of my own home.  So surprised to hear that isn't another task the technicians are going to do for me. I am given a gown and taken to the back.  I meet the technicians, Rina and Kevin. 

I am laying down in yet another Stargate looking machine while they move around the room doing this and that.  So many other things I wish I was doing at this very moment than this.  I don't want radiation, don't know how these thoughts effects the treatment if I am so negative about it.  Kevin comes in to explain he is going to "map" me so that they can radiate only the specific area they will be targeting.  He tells me he will be tattooing me with three little dots.  I tell him my son was one of the best tattoo artists on the West Coast and I wouldn't let him put one dot on me - let alone three - and now I am willingly submitting to these tattoos that will always be a reminder of this very day.  They mark my dancing hips and my sacred vessel with tiny black dots that look like moles.  Good thing I have freckles everywhere.  They blend right in.  They also bring in a large blue pillow and place it under my feet, ask me to get real comfy and they blow up the bag and it hardens.  It will hold my legs in place and keep me still during my treatments.  They lube up a tampon and let me know they will be inserting it to take measurements.  I'm laughing and joking with them the entire time as I am fully embarrassed by the process.  Little did I know they can hear and see everything outside the room and my husband is waiting behind this curtain in the hallway, listening to every word I say.  He tells me the doctor comes by and observes me behind the curtain in the hallway.  Fortunately no one can see me but they can hear every crazy comment I make.  Hey, why not make their job fun?  I'm sure they deal with freaked out patients all day long.  I'm not getting treated today, this is only the preliminary stuff and they assure me treatment will go much quicker than it took to map me.  I decide on a location and they check on a time for my daily appointment in an office location closer to my work.  I was hoping to do it around 4pm each day and go home from there, maybe take a little nap then get up and cook dinner.  The office closest to my job is only open until noon so I have to take a 10:30 appointment and would be back to work by 11am.  Oh well.   I'll take it as my lunch and still be back to cover my co-workers when they leave for lunch.  I'm all set.  I start next Wednesday with very low external doses building up over the next 5 weeks. 

I'm walking down the hallway with my folders of information, my appointment card, and wave goodbye.  I feel defeated that I have to do this and not fight it like I want and should on my own.  I feel I can beat this, it's two teensy, weensy tumors for goodness sake.  I settle in for a fight of a different kind.  I'm still anxious and scared of what's to come next week but for right now all I want is the next few hours with my husband at dinner, discussing our wonderful wedding and reception 9 years ago and the real reason I fight.  We have an Italian dinner close to home at a restaurant overlooking the Vegas Valley.  We watch the sunset and all the lights come up.  No more discussions tonight about cancer.

Changes

So along with the diet change and juicing, the cottage cheese and flax seed oil every morning, the baking soda protocol, I feel there must be more I can be doing.  Hmmmm, coffee enemas?  I've got to get serious about my health.  I start drinking only alkaline water.  My real estate agent even sells bottles of Real Water spray that will make filtered water alkaline for you and gifts me with a bottle that will last me for months or a month, if I only drank more water.  I drink my fair share, but my skin is still as dry as a lizard.  I always tell people that when I die you will be able to make belts and boots from my legs.

So I make some real changes.  I toss out all products in my entire household that has harmful chemicals -  my underarm deodorant, toothpaste, shampoo, conditioner, body lotions, make-up, cleaning products, laundry detergent.  I start reading the labels of everything in the house, not missing a single word I can't pronounce and it goes into the trash. 

It's a new day and a new beginning.  I'm going to start being more responsible with this body I am supposed to be taking care of.  Going to wake up and be more conscious of what I am doing to it.

Gotta face the music

I get a call from the radiologist over the weekend that he has spoken to my surgeon and it is imperative that I reschedule my appointment and come in.  It feels like a scare tactic.  I still feel great and make plans for my trip to UCLA.  I might even catch Dr. John and Joe Bonamassa at the Nokia Theatre and make it a fun weekend.  In the meantime, I drop off all of my medical results to the new gyn-oncologist I am going to see in a few days.  The surgeon tells me that there is no way she can just go in and remove the cancer with another surgery.  To do that she will have to remove my bladder and colon and I will be wearing two bags the rest of my life.

My son's birthday comes around.  My husband and I arrange with the International Star Registry to have a star in the Cancer Constellation dedicated to him.  It's a wonderful thing to know his star is shining down on all of us.  They send the coordinates and a beautiful colorful poster of the star that bears his name.  It's a small gesture to honor him and it makes us happy to remember him on his birthday this way.  No matter, it's the most emotional week I had to get through since Mother's Day.

I contact the Imerman Angels and asked to be paired up with another cancer survivor.  They have a bit of a problem trying to find someone who has the exact same cancer or even someone who has taken an alternative direction.  They call back, ask a few more questions, and they think they have someone in mind.  In 24 hours, I will get an introduction email from my "Angel" and we can arrange to speak on the phone or email, whichever is comfortable.  She emails me on a Sunday and I am reading her description, when the phone rings, it's her!  She has had cancer three times and beat it.  She lives in San Francisco and runs two non-profit houses for women in the latter stages of cancer.  She takes them to indulge in an oasis retreat and have a total pampering spa day away from the hospitals and cancer groups.  I am so inspired by her ability to find such an awesome gift to bestow on others to create a non-profit business while you are in the grip of your own cancer fight.  In our conversation, she validates all that I am doing for myself to fight with alternative methods as a warrior woman but understands that I may need to integrate them into my treatment.  She's made that journey and stands beside me in my struggle.  I am in awe that Imerman's found me someone so gifted and accomplished in life.  She tells me to call any time of the day or night and she will be there for me; she truly is an angel and a blessing to me.

The day comes to get my second opinion.  I make my way up to the office, sign in and wait.  They take some vital signs and put me into a room.  The doctor comes in and I immediately feel a connection with her.  We talk for a while about the timeline from November 5th until now.  Her smile makes me feel safe, like someone finally understands all of my efforts to make a difference in my situation.  She steps out while I get ready for yet another pelvic exam.  I'm totally hoping she will tell me it's gone, she sees nothing and I can Tweet the news to the world tonight.  But I'm wrong, it's just the opposite, I hear exactly what I am not hoping to hear, that the cancer has spread and now there is a second smaller tumor to the left of the original one.  She explains very gently and clearly that I do not have time to waste.  She knows and respects the radiologist I'll be working with and I need to get in there and get started on the treatment.  She does not feel another opinion with the head of oncology at UCLA will make any difference as they all come from the same school of thought and the opinion will be the same, to take the radiation.  I drive home thinking about the gaviola juice clinics in Mexico or the Budwig's Clinic in Malaga, Spain.  It only requires a nine hour flight, 10 days of treatment and $7,000.  But I don't have anymore sick or vacation time to take off from work.  I'm right in the middle of selling my house.  I knew that if I could not make a difference on my own it would come to this and here it is.  Gotta face the music.  My back is against the wall, I will have to take a conventional route and schedule radiation.

Juggling a "Sweep Feed"

So the therapist adds a laundry list of things to help center me that stresses an already exasperated situation.  It's like I'm juggling a complicated "sweep feed" only to have my pins passed back to me almost as quickly as I send them off.  Hey, God only gives you as much as you can handle, right?  Apparently all those dance shows I organized in the past were a walk in the park.  Now I have to find the time in my very full schedule to fit this new load in.  You know I'm up for a challenge. Gonna rely on my years of "can-do" attitude, so bring it on.

Ah, I failed to clarify the reason I told the therapist why I decided not to schedule with her for another 3-4 weeks.  One of the stressors I decided to eliminate was my mortgage.  I found the name of a short sale expert and went for a consultation only to actually start the process.  In 24 hours, my house had an MLS listing and was up for sale.  Suddenly, I had to have a spotless house, candles that smelled like apple pie burning all day and people traipsing through my house from Thursday to Sunday.  We could barely leave the house to get errands done before the next group would arrive.  We would often be woken by pushy real estate agents parked in our driveway that just had to get an out of town client in to see the property.  I took boxes home from work everyday.  Co-workers donated their boxes or saved delivery boxes for me.  Five times we got offers in on the house that fell through.  So many forms that had to be urgently signed, scanned and sent back by the morning.  I started a journal to help me organize the packing and prepare for the move.  I make files, labels and begin decluttering. It's an event in itself that could take up all of my time even without all the dr. appointments and working a full time job.

I make more appointments to talk to doctors.  I go and see my gyn and he asks why the surgeon just can't go back in and cut the cancer out where she took out the uterus and sew it back up again.  Now we're thinking, a do-over!  The area is so small it can't possibly take that much to do.  He suggests I take this new oxidation stress supplement for the next 120 days that he will try with me along with his own mother who is on high blood pressure meds.  It can only help.  His medical mentor is down three diabetes medications out of five after taking it.  I go back to work and excitedly tell a co-worker.  One of her family members is a distributor for the pills and will bring me in an extra bottle she has the very next day.  The first thing I notice is my mid-afternoon slump disappears, I have the energy to cook when I get home and even do a short Zumba workout.  I'm still feeling terrific.  I find another gynecological oncologist three miles from my house and make an appointment for a second opinion.  I call UCLA and get an appointment with the head of gyn-oncology the following month.  I figure I have time to knock it out with all the good things I am doing.  I am on every prayer circle from the west coast to the east coast.  I join the Guardian of the Grid, White Light Express,  and place myself on long distance reiki lists and pray for a miracle.  Make note to self:  Sharpen my juggling skills.

Commitment to Alternative

For the past two weeks I find myself so emotional, I can barely function at work.  To make matters worse, my supervisor and co-workers are on some kind of witch-hunt to find fault in everything they task me with.  I can't tell if they are trying to pressure me to quit or just find it sport to hold my mistakes accountable so their own blunders don't seem so large.  It's hard enough to get up, shower, wash your face and get to work on time without knowing you have to do it and fight another day of cancer.  I probably am making mistakes and I will be the first to admit it.  I can barely walk down the hall at work because I can't even concentrate to remember what I am doing.  I am consumed with finding any way but radiation treatments.  I want to spend my every waking moment researching what this cancer is, what to do about it, and band together with those who have fought the fight before me and won it.  What did they do?  What made the difference that they survived it?  The one thing I know is that it's all about manifesting what you become as a human being and living a higher conscious life to become that very special, meaningful you.  This message I know like I know I am a woman but it's kind of dusty and hidden like some treasure you love but have forgotten to keep close.  I'm not emotional because of my illness; it's my son’s death.  I still can't handle him being gone.   I go to his room everyday hoping he comes back during the night, like he was just out with friends and it's all a bad dream.  I can be mad at him again for making me worry.  But I can't, he's not coming back and I hurt that I let him down as a mother.  I should have taken better care of him, I'm not honoring his life enough, and I ache that I will never see his wedding or hold his child in my arms.  I can't hold the tears back and all my thoughts are of him and every memory I ever had of his life with me.  

Through my job, I am allowed six free appointments to see a therapist when one goes through life changes.  I am given the names of 3 women to choose from.  I search online to see who they are and if we will be a good fit to share my deepest hidden thoughts with. I settle on one because she seems from her advertising and photo the most "normal" of the 3, plus she is close to where I live.  I would rather that she has a spiritual edge but what's more important at this moment is someone who has the insight to set me back on track. I'm listening to a program on PBS and I hear the speaker read Chapter 1 of this woman's life and it so sounds like me:  "I walk down the street.  I see a deep hole in the sidewalk.  I fall in.  I can't get out."  Well, eventually she gets out.  She just doesn't walk down that street anymore.  I need someone to tell me how to avoid that street altogether.  So I meet with the therapist.  She gives me a laundry list of things to do and I go off to tackle them and we agree to meet about 3-4 weeks later.  She tells me I am living from a place of fear. Fear from all the loss I've had in such a short period of time; fear of not living up to everyone’s expectations of me.  For the first time in my life I've learned how to say, "I can't".  I never did tolerate those two words in my vocabulary before; I’ve preached it to my students in every dance class I've taught for the last 40 years.  Now I can't do anything - right.  I am juggling 11 balls when my capacity to juggle effectively is about 6 max.  I've got to pass off a few of these balls without the possibility of fearing some kind of public breakdown.  I've got to find a way to keep smiling and not take to heart every single person who has never had cancer giving me his or her opinion on how to deal with it or cure it. 

In four days, I am to start radiation treatments.  I spend the weekend trying to knock out the therapist's laundry list.  I sign up for Tai Chi, make acupuncture appointments to get Chinese medicine, do hypnosis, start meditating, find a way to lessen my stress at work, continue to stay committed to eating raw and juicing more. I'm going to Guided Imagery classes at the Caring Place in Las Vegas, join in on the monthly reiki circle, search for information on how to start a blog, and look for an organized dance class, the therapist thinks I need one.  I might just let that one wait a while.  I'm happy to be doing Wii Zumba in my living room.  The other thing I am positive about is that I am feeling so fantastically healthy right now.  Maybe they have it all wrong.  Just maybe I don't have cancer at all, it doesn't show on the CAT scan, they can't do blood work on me to find it, it's so small that maybe I can just kill it on my own.  I spend the next 72 hours on the internet.  I find everything on Kindle I can order to read, I find the "cancer tutor" website, Never Fear Cancer Again and order his supplements, call Dr. Burzynski in Texas, find local alternative cancer doctors in town, look into Isaac’s Clinic, Gerson Institute, Budwig's protocol, baking soda cures.  On Monday, I call to cancel the radiation.  I’m going to lick this on my own.

I hear the lyrics for Steely Dan's chorus to "Deacon Blues" playing in my ear:  

"They got a name for the winners in the world 

I want a name when I lose 
They call Alabama the Crimson Tide 
Call me Deacon Blues"

I Get the News

Early in June, I get this message on my phone to call my oncologist, she urgently needed to speak with me.  It had been a month since my pap smear so I thought no news was good news.  I call them back and they won't tell me what's going on, only they had to get me in as soon as possible.  The only opening on the schedule is 4 days away.  I make the appointment and hang up.  I try to go back to what I was doing at work only to keep cycling on what she wanted to see me about.  When your oncologist calls urgently needing to see you, it can't be good news.  I call back and plead, "Can't you get me in any sooner?  I'm going to have an anxiety attack if you don't."   There is nothing available but she will call if there are any cancellations.  I wait all week and they call to say they can get me in at 9am instead of 4pm.  I take it and fly over there.  The doctor tells me that the pap smear showed squamous cells indicating the cancer had returned in the vaginal area where they took the uterus out and she was going to do a biopsy of the area and send me for a CAT scan to be sure.  In my mind I am thinking, "How can this be?  They took the uterus out, it's over and done with."  But it's so not over.

The following Monday I go for the CAT scan.  They take me into a room after making me drink a gallon of berry barium.  What the heck?  Is that some kind of cruel joke to make the stuff sound tasty?  I get inside and lay down inside the huge ring that looks like a Stargate entrance.  The medical assistant puts a pick line in me and says she is going to put this stuff in my vein.  It will make everything light up inside you.  She's moving around the room.  She comes over to me and bends over quickly close to my face to tell me the stuff is going to make me feel like I am peeing but I'm really not.  I ask "And when am I going to feel that? Oh god, I'm peeing!"  She laughs, leaves the room and in a few minutes it's over.  Tells me I can get the film before I leave.  A week later I am seeing the oncologist again.  I told her I looked at the film.  She asked me what I saw.  I told her I saw I needed several years at medical school to be able to determine what I was looking at.  She says there is nothing on the film, it's clear, but the biopsy definitely shows cancer and that she is recommending I go see a radiologist and she's already made an appointment for me to see one the next day.  It's happening all too fast.  The Summer Solstice is here.  Two days later, I am seeing a psychologist.  Think I am long overdue.

Recovery

New Years Eve came.  My sister and I took out the fur coats, popped the champagne and grabbed glasses only to walk to the end of the block to watch all the fireworks on the Strip with other neighbors who had gathered there.  It had been 10 days since the surgery.  I had been laying down for so long healing, I was actually begging my boss to let me come back to work.  She told me I had to have the doctor's release.  I was getting up and moving around but not without pain or loss of energy.  I still pushed on.  My sister and I would do as many errands as I could stand - go for some lunchtime special at a nearby casino with a ridiculously cheap prices, clear out the pantry and garage, take some of my son's things to his friends and my own things to Goodwill, then nap.  Some of these things had been on my to-do list for years.  Got stacks of filing cleared away, the house was spotless, the dog was walked daily.  I worried that if I got everything on my to-do list done, would I expire? 

Time came for my sister to leave and I drove her to the airport.  I would now go back to work and be in the house alone.  It was very quiet and lonely.  I went back to work and my co-workers were relieved to have me back.   Although they did a great job of pitching in, they did leave me a backlog of things to close out that never got touched during my absence.  It will take months to get caught up.  I had to get to closing out 2011.  Still felt the daily aches and pains from the stitches.  Tried all kinds of skin remedies to make the scarring disappear but none worked. 

I noticed this ad for Run Away with Cirque du Soliel, a One Drop World Water Day Event happening the end of March.  I was determined to make that walk as a goal for myself to be feeling well enough to walk 3k.  Maybe I'd even feel enough energy to take up Zumba.  That was an ambitious idea.  I asked everyone in my department to join me and got 3 takers.  One brought her grandson, another her aunt and mother, and I brought my husband's supervisor.  We had a nice crowd, coordinated early morning breakfast, carpooling and where to meet.  It was a wonderful brisk walk I had no problem making.  I was elated.  There was free food, entertainment, lots of fun exhibits and I had never actually been to the Springs Preserve.  It was a great day.  I wanted to do it again so we planned for Walk for the Cure in May, two months later.

On May 3rd, I had my first cancer check up since the surgery.  Saw the nurse practitioner, told her that I had been having some spotting, nothing more and was healing quite nicely.  She said she saw some "proud tags" that may be the cause and she would put some medication on it.  The next day, my husband and I went for full executive physicals.  I hadn't had one in years.  They do it all.  The doctor told me I looked great and those many years of dance still had lingering effects.  I really felt good.  Energy was up, mood was great, I was on a healing path.  The next day is the Walk for the Cure and I get the doctor's exhuberant okay.  We meet in the morning for breakfast again, carpool over and join thousands of others walking and running.  Another great walk and Zumba here I come!  I buy the Wii version and start doing the short class version in my living room trying to make it to a full length class.  I'm now doing it 3 times a week - nothing short of a miracle!  I'm feeling good enough to take a 4 day vacation to Los Angeles to go to Venice Beach and Universal Studios.  I don't even notice any lack of energy.  I am looking good and feeling fine! 

The Surgery

Spent the next day getting the house ready for me being out of it.  Went for pre-op exams, x-rays, ekgs, blood work to be typed, and dropping off my portion of the pay to the hospital.  My longtime friend Bobby flew into town to see me before my surgery.  It meant a lot to me that he made the trek but I really wasn't up for much company.  I was still in a lot of pain and very exhausted.  I felt it must have been alarming to see me this way.  It was still good to pick him up at the airport and spend some time at the house before he went to his hotel.  He was with me when my son was very little and was a huge influence on his beach life and attitude.  I shared some of my son's photos with him that he kept in a photo album.  He found it touching Ethan had found a special place in his life for him through the years.  I'm nervous about the surgery and distracted.  Couldn't really focus on having quality friend time with him to catch up.  Still re-assuring he was going to stay through the week and check in on me.  Had a good team around me, near and far, cheering me on, wishing me well.

The morning comes too soon.  I am up and in the shower.  I just have to wipe myself down with the pre-op towels they gave me, get dressed and drive to the hospital.  I can't wipe my own back down so I ask my sister to come in and help.  She takes a moment to take shots at my body telling me that it's so sad I have no butt.  She may think she is teasing me to lighten the mood but it's an old jab well worn at and does not help to settle my nerves or put my edginess aside.  The ride seems unbearably long.  Summerlin Hospital is way on the other side of town from Henderson. We get to the hospital, find a place to park and go in.  I check in and we wait.  The nurses station will take me back first, then my husband and sister can see me before I go under.  I give my sister my phone and give her last minute instructions to keep my friends posted with updates on Facebook.  She's always got her nose buried in her laptop anyway so I thought it was the perfect task for her.  The nurse calls me back.  My husband looks scared.  My sister is looking at books in the free library unconcerned.  She tells my husband she is going outside to smoke.  I am in a bed with my sexy white thigh high stockings and hospital gown on.  They are explaining the procedure, how my legs will be hooked up to this machine that will massage them so I don't get dvt, put in a pickline iv, put my hair in a cheese cloth shower cap.  They are asking me questions about my meds and basic info that I already answered on all the forms. I am immediately wondering why they had insisted I do them at all.  The place is beginning to fill up around me with other patients.  I see beds being wheeled in here and there, curtains being drawn between beds.  I wonder why they haven't asked my family back, I've been here a while.  A tear rolls down my cheek as I call in my mind for my son to come be with me, I'm scared.  I don't want to be cut on and I don't really want to lose the one organ where I created and nourished his life.   Even that is being taken from me.

My husband is in the waiting room, they have called him to come in but my sister is not outside smoking.  She has decided that she would go and get breakfast in the hospital cafeteria.  He decided to take one more sweep before he left her and found her about to order.  They finally came in and I felt relieved, wish they had been able to come in sooner.  It seems like we barely had time to say goodbye, to take my things and they were wheeling me back to the operating room.

My normal reaction is to make light of the situation by making comical comments.  As we wheel into the operating room they have the music cranked up and the boombox is blaring "Do Me Baby"!!!  There seems to be about 6-7 people in the room.  I start yelling over the music, "There's a pahty going on up in heah!  Groovy!  Music is cranked up, ya'll have your party hats on, where's the cocktails?!"  Dr. Lee turns around and says, "I'm ready for you right over here."  They transfer me to the other table, I see the DiVinci machine taking up a third of the room.  It looks like something straight out of Star Wars.  They will place 4 little holes in me and operate from about 3 feet away from my body to take out my uterus.  The nurse asks if I could swing around and lean over on this side table with a pillow on top.  Everyone is smiling and happy I'm there.  I see this huge horse syringe and ask if they are going to use that on me and Dr. Lee says yes.  I tell him I pray I am knocked out when he does.  Then they put this oxygen mask on my face.  I pull it up long enough to say "May God guide your hands, I love each and everyone of you for being here for me, now party on!"  I take two breaths and I am out.

I don't remember recovery at all.  I only woke up long enough to see my sister and husband bring flowers to me as they place me into my hospital room.  I am in a quarantined room alone.  I want to talk but have a strong urge to just sleep.  My husband wants to stay but my sister can see I am not up for company and doesn't see the need to stay.  I wake up some time in the morning with a nurse beside me.  She says my blood pressure is sky high, says something like I am almost in arrest.  I tell her I did not take my meds last night.  It should be on my chart that I take certain medication.  She asks me if I got up and went pee, she needs to measure it.  I told her no, I just woke up.  Then she discovers that I have a catheter.  A Catheter!  I didn't even know.  I saw the iv in my hand, felt my legs hooked up to some machine, a breathing tube in my nose but had no idea I also had a catheter.  Asks if I'm in pain and I said no so she goes off to get me a BP pill. Another nurse comes back a little while later and says she will be taking care of me today, gives me the pill.  Seems like its been hours since I saw the last nurse.  She unplugs my legs from the machine, takes off the breathing tube, eases out the catheter.  Then she tells me I am getting up and taking a little walk with her!  I remember them telling me I had to do this and go number two or I was not going home today.  I put on a robe, grabbed the iv and we went for a stroll!  She was so cute and perky for that time in the morning and we said hi to all the nurses as I went past them on the floor.  I was even amazed with myself that I was up and walking.  She told me if I felt I had pain to take something, not to try and suck it up and bear it.  I told her "Oh okay, I'll take something", then went back to sleep.  Had to remind them I was gluten free so they would tailor my breakfast, seems they didn't have much about me on their chart.  I was able to go home after seeing the Doctor at around noon.  I made it through the surgery.  I just had to go home and heal, if only I can make it up the stairs to my bedroom.

I stay in my bedroom for another few days and my sister is a very kind nursemaid.  I eventually start coming down and spending my days on the couch watching dvd's of a funny series my brother sent on British TV called "The I.T. Group"; he sent all four seasons.  My sister is bringing me liquid and making me food although the gluten free diet was never high on her priority list to find recipes for.  I know she felt I was acting like a princess on holiday but the fact was I had just gone through major surgery, not to mention losing my son.  This was no picnic to me.  My dance career was out the door, wasn't sure if I would ever have a sex life again, and these four little incisions were killing me!  I only find out two months later that one of those medical wraps would have done wonders those first few weeks.  What's important is the cancer in my uterus is gone.

The longest, darkest night

I go home and plop myself on the couch and put my feet up. My son came downstairs to go out back and smoke. I told him, "Guess what the doctor told me today? I have cancer!" He was leaning over the couch above me. "That is so f**ked up." I decided to make light of it and said, "If anything happens to me, I am going to leave everything I own to Louie." (Louie is my Boston Terrier) He gave me a Huh, and went outside. I watched MTV's 100 all time bands and really relived my life in music. Every single great song that came on was associated with a memory. It was wonderful. The music lifted my soul. When it ended; I continued to watch Saturday Night Live. Thought I would laugh myself happy. I already had my tears, no need for a pity party. It was a Jimmy Fallon Special and I laughed and laughed. It felt wonderful. Couldn't believe how talented he is.  Laughter is healing.

The problem still persisted that I didn't know what I was supposed to do. Who was I to talk to? Do I just sit here and wait until the surgeon calls me in for the hysterectomy? What do I do? I get on the computer and look for endometrial carcinoma. Okay, it's very common, women get it, get a hysterectomy and it is over and done with. Could be worse, I could have cancer in a life threatening place that wouldn’t require an operation but months of chemo and radiation. I just have to wait and see what comes. I look up the doctor and check out her report card. She has been doing this for quite a while but has poor beside manners. Make a mental note to see for myself what that means later.

Thanksgiving rolls around. My husband’s supervisor, Kabra, joins us for dinner. I am now eating gluten-free and plan on enjoying my dinner, so I find a complete gluten-free dinner recipe. It sounds fantastic. I get up early and make everything from scratch. Made gluten-free corn bread for the stuffing, fresh cranberries, put the gluten-free turkey in. Who knew there was gluten in turkeys? I didn't. My son had recently put a tattoo on Kabra of a Celtic cross with butterflies. It needed a little touch up but looked vibrant and fantastic. Everyone loved the dinner, especially my son. Never saw him eat a Thanksgiving dinner so fast and clean his plate. Thought he would lick it clean. He was really impressed. I haven't been able to impress him with my cooking for a long time so I was really happy.

Sunday night before my appointment, I am in pain. Feeling bad, I can't really cook dinner and ask my husband to just run and get something quick, it's already 8pm. He says he'll go to In 'n Out because I can have "protein style" without the bun. I go into my son's room to ask if that would be okay with him, ask him what he wants and apologize I don't feel that good. Later on that night, he comes into my room carrying the dog, Louie. He knows I always sleep better if I have the dog, I call for him every night but if he is with my son, he won't come to me. He puts him on the bed and I tell him "He won't stay; he'll go scratch to get out and be with you." He says, "He'll stay." He looks back at me, hesitates and smiles at me. I felt compelled to stop and talk with him, to tell him that I'm really gonna be okay, not to be afraid for me, and that I will really need his help through this surgery. But he's shut the door, I start to cry, I don't know why. I think it's just because I feel bad.

I finally get my appointment with Dr. Kowalski the Monday after Thanksgiving. I wake early and get ready for work. As I was leaving, I saw the light on in my son's room from under the door. Nothing unusual, he probably stayed up all night drawing again. Worked through the day and leave early to drive across town to my appointment. I sit in the waiting room surrounded by men and women. It's a cancer clinic so I know everyone has been touched by it somehow, whether for themselves or if they came with someone. Everybody looks worried like me. They call me in, take my vital signs and put me in a room. The doctor comes in, introduces herself, says she will be examining me, to take off everything from the waste down and she'll be back in. She takes a quick pelvic exam and then tells me about the procedure, what to expect. She leads me down the hall to the finance person and the surgery scheduler. We get the approvals, my schedule for pre-op tests and exams at the hospital and date for the surgery and I am off.

I call my husband before I pull away. I have to get home and tell my son he will probably have to drive me to and from the surgery. He will probably love being able to drive the Benz. I just got it in July and was still getting used to it myself. I get home, the dog is outside, I call him in and start looking in the fridge and pantry for what to cook for dinner. I figure it out and go upstairs to tell my son I'm home and is he okay with what I am cooking. I can hear the tv on, see the light on, no response. I listen to hear if he's on the phone, he never ignores me. Maybe he is sleeping? I knock a little harder on the door, nothing. I get that feeling in the pit of my stomach something is wrong, I pound on the door, I scream for him to answer me, I keep shouting his name. I run downstairs and get a butter knife to open the lock on his door. I see him lying back on the bed. He is holding a water bottle. I don't have to take two steps in to see he is gone. I touch his arm and he is really cold. I am too late. Nothing I can do at all to bring him back or revive him. I call 911, my husband and sister. go downstairs to wait for someone to arrive. A barrage of people start coming in, fire emergency, police, grief counselor, coroner, and finally the mortuary people. The take photos of the house, ask me questions about the timeline of when I saw him last until I found him. I'm numb.

Not only do I have to worry about what's happening to me but now I have to plan a funeral. I cried lying by his phone looking at the text messages coming in. Someone posted it on Facebook and it went out of control. I never saw so many unhappy people. I learned a lot about him in the next few days. He was really, really loved and admired. Cancer took a back seat. I had my date, a few days before Christmas. I had the funeral a week later in Las Vegas, then a wonderful memorial service in Santa Cruz with many of his childhood friends in his hometown. They raffled off many of his things that would be great mementos for his friends to be able to put a plaque at the Capitola wharf. They played songs in his honor at a little club across the street from City Hall called the Jury Room. The place was packed.

My sister drove back from California with me to Nevada so she could stay with me during the surgery. I had a full day on Monday of pre-op tests. We made it home around dinner time, got settled in and went to sleep.

You've got cancer

My dance mother is gone, we have celebrated her life. I still have all the clean-up, what to do with her costumes, contacting her family, writing her memoirs.  

 But there was something still wrong with me. I was starting to bleed for no good reason at any time of the day or night regardless of that time of the month. So many embarrassing situations when I had to rush out of work to go home and change my clothes or wash them and come back like nothing happened. I had an arsenal of menstrual products in every size from Barbie to Elephant. The amazing Doctor Wells, suggested an ablation. I didn't know such a thing existed.  They could go in, laser the inside of the uterus and everything would be fine again.  It would be an in and out procedure, I could be back to work on Monday. While he was doing the ablation, he did a D&C and got a scrapping of the tissue. Came out and told my husband that everything looked fine. We just have to wait for the pathology. I made my follow up appointment and couldn't wait to get there. Things were not fine; I was beginning to bleed again! Little miffed with him. He listens carefully to everything I had to complain about then he said, "Well, there's a reason for all of these things you're experiencing - You've got Cancer!" There was a huge silence. He continued to tell me that he suggests we go for a hysterectomy and the least invasive is the DiVinci method. The best gynecological surgeon in Vegas was Dr. Kowalski.  He had already contacted her and sent over my pathology reports. He assured me it would be a quick surgery, in the hospital overnight if that, and back to work in 3-4 weeks.

I had left for my appointment using my lunch break. I went back to work. Was still thinking of everything he said as I climbed the stairs and went in the back door to my department. My supervisor asked me how everything went and I told her, "Can you believe it? He told me I have ca-ca-cancer!" I started to sob in her office. She came around and hugged me and told me to go home, to go see my honey and process the information. It seemed so surreal. How does this happen to me? I just pulled off one of the most selfless acts of love for my mentor. I have taught dance classes for troubled teens at Juvenile Hall, worked with abused and neglect children as a camp counselor, started women's circles at my studio, did a Blessing Way for their babies before their births. I have given up every birthday, anniversary, special family event and holiday to teach, rehearse or perform for 40 years. I have been reliable and dependable when someone needs me. Back in the day I even picked up my fair share of hitch-hikers just because I believed it brought good karma and now I have cancer. I gotta cry to the heavens: why me? I nurture others through life changing events; this isn't supposed to happen to me.

Something is wrong

I stopped dancing and found someone else to replace me at my favorite place to teach in all the country, "Bellydancers of Color Festival" in Silver Springs, Maryland.  People would call and ask me to teach or perform and I would find someone else. I let the dance company do the Age of Chivalry Faire, which I loved.  I knew the calls would eventually stop.  I had noticed something was wrong with me. No energy, fatigued, felt odd, could barely recognize my face in the mirror.  Could barely get myself off the couch to cook dinner let alone a few simple stretches.   I was given Suzanne Somer's book "Knock Out" about her experience with her own alternative cancer research and was told I needed to read it. Couldn't relate to most of the cancer content but out of it I began to think maybe my hormones were not in balance.  A co-worker suggested an amazing gyn doctor in town right down the street from my work. Blessed be!  The doctor, Orlandis Wells, told me I had Hashimoto's thyroid condition and possiby the cause of my symptions.  We started working on balancing my thyroid, doing blood panels and workups for my hormones.

In May of 2011, my dance mentor, Marliza Pons passed away of an aneurysm.   I can't begin to tell you how devastated I was, she had replaced my mother for me.  She was an iconic figure in the bellydance world, especially here in Las Vegas.  She was a pioneer for the dance and had a dance career that would rival Cyd Charisse.  I was left her dance legacy and put myself in charge of arranging her cremation and funeral.  I was not letting a woman like this leave without gathering her friends and family.  I set-up a non-profit corporation to collect donations.  They poured in from all over the globe - from Belgium and Hong Kong.  In two months, I was able to pay for everything, including a niche for her ashes, her celebration party, even a tree planted in her honor in a park close to where her studio was.  Brought together all of her friends and past students at the Henderson Convention Center last August 11th.  It was the day after my birthday.  Her choreography was performed, along with dances from her students who have gone on to become some of the top teachers and dancers in the business today.  We had a live middle eastern band, food and drinks, everyone was up dancing.  I had one of her amazing handmade costumes on a mannequin and a table with photos of her illustrious career.  I was pulled up to dance that night and it was the last time I was seen in public.  It was a night to remember.  Two of my close childhood friends were also worked with her came to town and we party till the wee hours laughing and wishing she was here.  I know she was. 

My dance life

For over 40 years I have been a dancer.  Dance has gotten me through good times and bad times, fed and clothed me.  I started teaching bellydance in 1973 in Half Moon Bay, California.  I have lived and traveled up and down the west coast from Mexico to Canada, teaching, performing at various faires and nightclubs with my young son in tow.  I continued to research the music and village dances of Egypt, Turkey and North Africa.  Seems after all the glamour of bellydance and the stories that came with that period of my life, I really felt a calling for folkloric dance in it's purest form.  This began my crossover into solely teaching the village dances of the Maghreb, Turkey and Egypt along with the rhythms.  I settled in Capitola, owned a dance studio in Santa Cruz, had two performing dance companies, my classes were packed.  I gave up the studio on personal reasons, moved to Las Vegas in the year 2000 after my mother passed, went on to win for Favorite Ethnic Dancer and a Lifetime Achievement in Dance, amongst many awards in this next decade.   I taught for UNLV, performed at the annual Age of Chivalry Festival with  a newly formed dance company.  I did my best work.  I ate, drank, slept class plans, costumes, and choreography. All was good with me until the economy tanked in 2008.  All the dance teachers were swept from the dance department.  I taught for the community for a while and continued with performances with the dance company until just a few years ago.  It feels like a lifetime ago and now I am the dancer with cancer.  Let me assure you, cancer does not define me or any of the amazing things I have done or experienced in my life, it's just another thing along the journey of my life I will go through and come out on the other side to talk story about.