De-limbed, Enflamed, and Very Sexy

I never thought I would see E.T the Extraterrestrial in person. But I have! I walked into the bathroom and in the big mirrors I saw him staring back at me. Swollen belly, skinny tone-less arms and chest, flat butt, flat chest, and the tomato.

That was me?

Cue the 1:25 mark:

Before all this, I was a bit overweight. It was such a huge deal to me, not fitting into the same jeans I wore during my "prime". I got depressed thinking about it. My husband would tell me how gorgeous I was and I would smile shyly- half believe it, half not. When weight started to drop, it seemed like my wish had come true! If only I had known that my wish came at a steep price. Now, I would kill to get those 40 pounds back, and with it my muscle tone, a healthy liver, and the ability to shit from the orifice that God intended.

We all have something we hate about our bodies. The lesson here is love your body. Appreciate it. It could be worst...

...I kinda hate "it could be worst" though. Sure, I can be limbless and on fire right now. That thought isn't very comforting to me. "It could be worst" feels like it negates my feelings, while simultaneously insulting the de-limbed and enflamed individuals of the world.

Have I not really learned anything then? What can I take away from this?

The truth is that we don't like not having control over our bodies. Doesn't matter if that is being too skinny / fat / slow / flabby / weak / insert your insecurity here. It's not the thing so much, its how insurmountable changing it feels at that moment. I think that is what weighs on us, lowers us, and causes little stretch marks in our confidence.

So...where does that leave me? I wish I could end this with some sweeping, wonderful message of self-love. It would be hypocritical though- I see E.T. when I look in the mirror. I can't change that right now, and I doubt cancer will be kind to my body moving forward. All I can hope for is that someday I will be able to heal it, change it, and go back to hating "the small things".

Maybe, being E.T. is not so bad...?



 

Presenting...the Woman with Two Assholes

The Surgery

I was hoping to put up some of the comics I have been working on but life has a way of turning itself upside down. Two weeks ago, Sunday night, I woke up to an excruciating pain in my stomach. It was unbearable and I left for the ER without even putting on my glasses. Once I was there, they gave me morphine and, oh my, that shit works. Turns out I had a perforated colon - near my primary tumor site. I was transported to another hospital and admitted.

At first, I was told it was a micro-perforation and antibiotics could help while my body healed itself. Unfortunately, I woke up the next day in excruciating pain again. An X-ray revealed that it had opened more, air was accumulating under my diaphragm, and unless I was rushed into surgery I was in serious danger of sepsis.

I don't even remember going in now, but I woke up to near immobility. I was there for a week and a half, waiting for my digestive system to "wake up" (a side effect of anesthesia I never knew about). It's like, your organs forget their functions, and its weird. Never before in my life did I go almost a full 9 days without eating anything.  I wont go into a full recap, but let's say that week and a half were hands down the hardest of my life.

The Tomato

When I was diagnosed with colon cancer I said, "I got this, I can deal with this - as long as I don't end up with a colostomy bag." Everyone told me "...well, its better than the alternative" (a nice way to say biting the dust). To me, death and pooping out a hole in my stomach were pretty close to each other. Vanity? I don't know, but no ones ever heard good things about colostomy bags. ("Did you hear about Tina's new ostomy?" "Oh, yes! I hear they are the rage in Paris this year.")

But, as they say, speak of the devil and he shall appear. I woke up from surgery with a new friend. A big, red, burping stoma on my left side. (Let's do this collectively...1...2...3...Ewww). You can google stoma to see what they look like if your brave.

If your not, let me tell you, it looks like someone threw a tomato real hard at my stomach and it stuck there. Or maybe, I was an experiment gone wrong, where woman and tomato DNA were unsuccessfully fused together.

I've hit a wall. A big emotional wall. Stage IV Cancer didn't scare me - but this does. Maybe because it is so tangible, so physically ever-present,...and it hurts. I feel like a big wimp. This thing saved my life and yet, I hate it with all my heart. I have no idea how to dress, no idea how to manage it, I am getting help but I remained bewildered. Maybe it's my prejudice and fear of judgement- telling someone you have cancer is so much more elegant than letting them know your pooping uncontrollably as you speak. Scatology is simply not polite. No one celebrates it with races and high-fives. Being open about it might even turn a few people off.

My stoma "talks". LOUDLY. In moments of silence, you can hear a tremendous gurgling erupt from it that can be heard across the room. It makes me jump, and my brother and husband laugh sweetly. They likened the sound to a vine called "Goats Just Want to Eat" (Warning: It's hilarious.)


I hear that, and I vibrate with laughter. Hard not to when your home- but imagine that you had to bring that goat in with you on your next client meeting, presentation, blind date, etc. Try to imagine that goat goes everywhere with you from now on. It is terrifying as it can be funny.

Still, I can't be deterred. If this was the worst possible outcome for me...well, I am still standing. I still feel joy, I still laugh. I will just have  to learn to live around this until the day, that maybe, I can get it reversed. Or not. All you can do is find humor in it, be open, and know you will still be loved by those that matter. I haven't named it yet, but if you got ideas leave a comment. Stu the Stoma?

Hi, my name is Cecilia and I have two assholes. I guess I can work that into a cocktail party conversation someday...

My Friend, Chemo

I got a friend. He's a real great guy but he's a terrible house guest. He comes over and tries to throw a party...keeps me up, gets me sick...he's kinda a jerk. But you know what? He's a real friend when the going gets tough. I know I can count on him.

My uncle went through colon cancer too. He hated going to chemo. You feel gross, your body does weird things, and its a little bit of hell. But my aunt, the smart women that she is, reminded him that he should not fight the chemo. Chemo was making sure you stay alive. She told him "Accept it into every cell of your body and let it do what it needs to." I thought this was good advice.

So now, I tell my husband I am going to visit my friend, Chemo. Us two sit in infusion and we chill out, drink a lukewarm Coke, and Chemo does what he is good at.

I know people who declare "It's POISON! They are killing you!!!" Those people think eating lots of carrots and peas is gonna fix this. Personally, I don't buy into the cynicism and paranoia of people who tell you all doctors are hiding the cure to cancer, and (baking soda / coffee enemas / vegetables) are gonna cure you. Yes, I know what chemo is doing to me, but through all the unpleasentness- I am being given a chance.

The reality is, there is no panacea. No perfect solution. No painless cure. That's hard for some people to accept.

The way I first envisioned it was like the story of the Phoenix.
The Phoenix is set on fire, is consumed, and rises from the ashes anew.

Chemo sets me on fire...it hurts, drags me down, tires me out- healthy cells and all...but at the end, I get the chance to be reborn.