For all the YSC girls…

I have now officially wasted 24 hours creating both a Facebook and a MySpace page.  Yes, I am a bit behind the times.  I’ve spent years keeping myself away from the blogasphere, hoping certain people wouldn’t find me.  And my fears were well founded…… my first foray into blogging was my wedding website, and it definitely brought up a couple blasts from the past.  But here I am.  And now that I am here, I’m finding it odd that I have nothing to say.

A friend said something to me over this past weekend which was probably the most succinct and understanding comment anyone has said to me in all the conversations I’ve had with friends, family and co-workers since C was re-diagnosed.  It was a simple comment on not even being able to grasp what it meant to worry so much for people you care deeply about.  Most people our age don’t go through this.  And as my friend made clear, she has never lost anyone close to her or had to watch them suffer.

The reason why this comment touched me so much is that it is one of the first people to outwardly recognize how much I, as C’s friend, am going through.  Thank you ladybug!

Let’s start from the very beginning.  It’s a very good place to start.It starts at the University of Illinois in 1992.  In a place called FAR, an apt acronym, as  it was the farthest dorm from the center of campus.  More specifically, it started in the penthouse… well, not really.  But the top (12th) floor.  The elevator didn’t make it up that far.  It went to 11, then you had to walk to 12.  It was possibly the worst place you could be stuck as a freshman.  And to top it all off, it was ALL girls.I came in with quite the chip on my shoulder.  I was a CITY girl.  Surrounded by suburban girls.  I wanted nothing to do with the girls from the ‘burbs.  My roommate went to high school with me, so we went about life together and wanted nothing to do with all the other girls we were “forced” to live with.But sure enough, time goes by.  You run into those suburban girls in the showers, on campus, and in your classes.  And eventually the urban ice melts.  And you make friends with those you swore you would never be friends with.This is my introduction to C.  We are stuck on the private, secret dorm floor together.  We are both pre-med majors.  But I still don’t like her.  She is a suburbanite.  She is jock.  She is my antithesis.I wish I could tell you exactly how it was that we became friends.  But I can’t.  I don’t remember.  It probably wasn’t one thing.  It was being forced to be together day in and day out.  It was being in classes together.  Let’s chalk it up to fate.But friends we became.  And when it happened, it happened fast.Next thing I know, I’ve moved into a double room alone and, for all practical purposes, she has moved in.  My room became the make-out room for her and her freshman boyfriend.  It is where we watched Ferris Bueller EVERY day.  It is where our friendship solidified and never faltered.But it is also where things almost ended.  C didn’t want to commit to sophmore dorms with me, as I am a smoker.  If anyone should be plagued with cancer it should be me.  But I made promises not to smoke in our room (seems strange that I even had the option in today’s day and age).  And I was good with that promise.  Until Cathy relented and picked up a smoke every now and then.  Guiilt.  Yes, I have guilt.But off we go to live together for the rest of my years in college.  She stuck around an extra year for a double major.  I moved to NYC.  And there are a million stories.  Most are worth telling.  And every one of them changed my life in their own way.Usually I have a shit memory for specifics.  But lately the 3+ years I lived with Cathy have flooded my memory.  Most are silly.  Some are sad.  Some are inspiring, but none so inspiring as what came later in life.  Stay tuned.  Let’s start from the very beginning.

So I said I would tell you how I got perspective, then I disappeared. I think I am scared to start to write about it. That, and I have been busy as hell.I am one of those girls that has never been blessed with a plethora of good girl friends. But those that I have had have been the most amazing women you could ever meet. Finding 3 amazing women to stand up in my wedding stretched the limits of the good girl friends I have been blessed with. And I could not have asked for better women to stand by my side.Getting those 3 women to stand up with me was not an easy task. We are all over achievers a physicist, a clinical psychologist, and a physician’s assistant who specializes in neonatal cardiac care. We are all very busy women. But that wasn’t the problem. The physicist is my sister-in-law (S), and was the easiest to secure her spot of honor. The psychologist was diagnosed with melanoma before the wedding (E). But worst of all was my maid of honor, she had been battling breast cancer for about a year and a half (C). When the good girls are hard to come by, you hold them close.The melanoma was caught super early and should never be an issue again. The breast cancer on the other handC was diagnosed in April 2005. In May 2005, as soon as my exams were over, and before my new job started I rushed off to Texas to see her, soon after chemo had started. She battled through the chemo, the radiation, and a mastectomy. And we all cheered when she rang the bell and was pronounced NED (no evidence of disease). Still, committing to a wedding was a lot to ask. But one thing cancer teaches its victims is to live for today. And I could not, and would not want to, be married without her by my side.But back to the topic at hand. Perspective. In the whirlwind of wedding planning, perspective wasn’t there. But it smacked me dead in the face by the time 2007 got under way. The first smack in the face was when my husband got laid off. That was merely a bump in our road, new jobs can be (and have been) found. But the news of metastases floored me to a point that I couldn’t pick myself up off the floor for days. I was lucky for monotonous work, where I could put the headphones on and ignore the world around me because talking, even about the weather, would bring me to tears. Suddenly a core part of my being was devastated and I didn’t know how to function from day to day.The news that tore me down was the breast cancer returned. Returned to the lungs, liver and bones. And she is one of my bestest of bestest friends. And as she stood up strong, or at least put up a strong face, I fell down. And after picking myself up, perspective has completely changed.I can bitch about all the little things, but they mean nothing now. But, at the same time, I have never felt so helpless. And the helplessness is something that kills me a little bit more everyday. But feeling so helpless makes me feel guilty, because I know how helpless SHE feels on a daily basis.So here I am. Feeling a new perspective on day-to-day life. Learning about strength anew from someone who was so much stronger than anyone I knew well before the shit hit the fan. And trying to control my emotions on a day-to-day basis. My husband, my father, my friends”.. they don’t want to hear me bitch about cancer ALL the damn time. So my dad recommended I start to write. So I am trying. And the thing is, I don’t want to write about cancer. I want to write to my friend. But I don’t want to be the bothersome friend. She has enough BS to deal with. We all have enough to deal with. But she gots loads!!So here is my tribute to her. My release of thoughts and worries and memories. It is an outlet, that at least, for now, no one but me reads.Stay tuned. I have lots to say.

It’s amazing how horrible things suddenly put life in such perspective. But regardless of how much perspective one may have, horrible things are still damn hard to deal with. So, today, I start my first blog to share my perspective and also as an outlet for the ranting and raving that needs to be done from time to time. Stay tuned to hear the story of how I got perspective.