Friday

Celebration of Death

This evening I've learned of the death of a friend. She "passed with grace and dignity" said her nurse. "She finally got her wings" her sister reported.

Digital Art by Elizabeth Munroz
Her name was Jill. She had Chondrosarcoma, a very rare form of bone cancer. It is not related to Leukemia. At least that's what the scientists say. Though it's proven there are a few genetic mutations in common.

I once had Chondrosarcoma more than forty years ago, and struggled with recurrences for many years before I was free of it. The fact that I have Leukemia now is just a coincidence. They say. I wonder if twenty years down the tunnel of time, they might say something different.

When I think of Jill, I cry. Of course. How is it I survived and she didn't? I had a lot of major surgeries to remove bones from my body, including partial amputation of the pelvis. Jill had a lot of major surgeries, that removed bones from her body, which included removal of an arm and her scapula.

As a child, I always thought the scapula bones were indicative of where we would grow our wings out when we became angels.When Jill's sister said she finally got her wings, I imagined her Chondrosarcoma cancer ridden scapula suddenly free of disease and back in her body all healthy and glowing as her wings formed. And she flew away free with great joy, celebrating her death.

Digital Art by Elizabeth Munroz
Perhaps it's a childish  whim of me to think that way. But, I don't care. It comforts me.

It also reinforces my belief that life is precious and should be enjoyed to the best of our abilities.

As a society, in general, we don't celebrate death. But when those who stare death in the face with cancer suddenly it hits home to those of us who love them, to celebrate life, at least for their sake.

So, tonight, though I cry with sadness knowing that Jill suffered the last stages of Chondrosarcoma metastasized to her lungs, I'm grateful to know she was able to die with grace and dignity. And so, I will celebrate life with appreciation and in Jill's memory.

If my Chronic Myelogenous Leukemia brings upon the cause of my own death, may I handle it with grace and dignity. Let me go quietly and peacefully. Whether alone or with someone holding my hand, it doesn't matter to me. Those who have gone before me will be there to take my hand. I believe in that possibility because of two previous Near Death Experiences.

Wednesday

Trying to Stay Positive with Pills

For the most part, I think of myself as handling the fact that I have leukemia just fine. I don't give it much thought. It's not always on my mind. But, today is a different story.

I have "forgotten" to take my pills regularly lately. I know part of it is stress. When I get stressed I can't think straight. First, I am focused on the problem at hand and I forget to eat, therefore I forget to take my seizure medicine. Then I end up with a seizure or two.

Don't worry, I don't have the kind where you fall crashing to the floor. But, just spacing out can knock down my ability to follow through on things. So, once I have the seizure, I forget that there is anything important to do. (like take my meds!) It's actually nice in a way. I just feel so pleasantly spaced out and unaware... kind of dreamy... sort of like a short trip to LaLaLand. Even after the "trip" is over, it's not over, because I don't just return to whatever it was I was doing with the same intent of purpose as before. Oh, I'm not mindless. I just don't care. If someone reminds me, "did you eat? did you take pills?" I'm on track.

To complicate matters is the ongoing nausea from the chemo pill... Dasatinib/Sprycel. So, if I am feeling nauseated, I don't eat. If I don't eat, I don't want to take pills, any pills, on an empty stomach. Because of the chemo pill, I can't take the typical tummy relief pills other people take. So, basically I just have to live with it and do what millions of people have done forever. Live with it the best I can. It's obvious to me that this is part of the problem of why I "forget" to take my pills.

Seems to me there is a subconscious aversion to taking the chemo pill, because the resulting nausea is unpleasant. But, here I am without adequate intake of my seizure med, which triggers more issues. Part of the problem has been recently resolved, though. I now have a prescription for a dissolvable version of my seizure med.

But, here I sit today, feeling sorry for myself. I know I MUST take the seizure medicine. It's in my hand but just the idea of putting that sweet thing on my tongue to suck on it until it is absorbed makes me want to hurl. Hmm... I wonder if there's a suppository.

Needless to say, it's hard to stay positive today.

Friday

Thank You, Cancer

Chondrosarcoma a rare form of bone cancer
Thank you Cancer, for changing my life for the better. Ha ha! Bet you thought you couldn't do that. But, you did. Oh yes, you made me suffer. But, you know what Cancer? I learned a lot about compassion and caring and humanity because of that. I learned to recognize when other people were hurting and needing help. That changed me for the better for sure, because I care about others so much more than before you came along trying to frighten me. You terrified me, in fact. But, because of that, I learned I am stronger than I thought I was. I learned I'm stronger than you, Cancer. Nyah! Nyah!

Thank you Cancer for giving me patience and fortitude, and gratitude. Thank you for teaching me how to be humble and brave at the same time, for teaching me how to cry out loud and not be ashamed. Thank you for helping me to understand that it is okay to ask for what I need, to not feel a burden to others, especially if they have said, "if there is anything I can do..." I understand it's okay to lean on others when I need to, and I can offer kindness in return, too, whenever they need it. And, hopefully, understanding.

Thank you for teaching me how to let go of fallacious beliefs, pettiness, and small minded thinking, for giving me the opportunity to disconnect myself from things unworthy of my attention. Thank you for teaching me what is important and "don't sweat the small stuff".

You taught me to research, to get serious about educating myself in every aspect of my diagnosis, of the condition of my health. I've learned a lot of things I never knew before, important things, useful things that have helped me on my way through life. I've been able to share that information, too. It was hard to learn all that awful stuff you do, but I learned too, how the body works, how science is always making improvements. I've learned there really is hope even in the face of darkness.

Aptos Beach, California
Storm is brewing at sundown 
Thank you Cancer for teaching me to respect my body, to listen to it, to take the best care of it as possible. I certainly wasn't doing a good job of that until you came along. Was I? And thank you for giving me the opportunity to explore the world of nutrition and educate myself, and enjoy food in a whole different way. I have such a large variety of foods I never would have thought about eating before. I've developed better shopping skills and become somewhat of a gourmet. Food is not just something I stuff in my face anymore. Food is something to enjoy fully. Thank you for that, Cancer.

You're not going to believe this one, Cancer! Thank you for helping me get more organized and focused. Oh, I know I will never be perfect at it. But, you know what? You taught me to put my life in order, to take care of business... the important business that I didn't want my family to have to deal with in case I... well you know better than anyone, Cancer, what I'm getting at.

Thank you, too, for teaching me about how to communicate with doctors and nurses and others who helped me. I learned so much about how to get my point across, how to listen, how to keep track of my medical appointments and most of all those very important papers. Yep, back to that organization thing again. And while we are on the subject, Cancer, thank you for showing me that nurses, medical technicians and doctors are human beings, too; that none of them are in the business of making money off me, for showing me that they have hearts and souls and work hard to help people heal.

Thank you Cancer for teaching me how to face my fear of death, my fear of mutilation, my fear of loss of self-identity. Thank you for giving me peace of mind once I learned to accept life with all it's beauty, and depth.

Thank you for teaching me to not get caught up in frivolities, teaching me that an immaculately clean house is not the  most important thing. Sometimes it's more important to rest perhaps even... a lot of time.

Elizabeth Munroz, Sterling Cridge,
Dar Parsons, Storm Cosby
in my messy house, Indianapolis Indiana.1994
Thanks for teaching me that my hair doesn't have to be "just so", that I don't have to be embarrassed about the imperfections of my body or the condition of my skin. It is what it is. I'm so grateful for that because now I don't judge others based upon their appearance either. And it's so much easier to see beyond that outer wrapping and discover a person for who they really are inside. It's so much easier and feels so good to be kind and loving. It takes so much energy to be hateful and mean spirited. I understand that now.

Thank you Cancer for showing me that sometimes it is necessary to stop what I'm doing and take inventory of my life to get my priorities in order. Did you know that, Cancer? You taught me how to simplify my life, to not take on more than I could handle, to not allow myself to be so overwhelmed trying to do too much. You taught me how to say "no" or "later" or "I'll think about it" before jumping in and committing to something I could not complete so I wouldn't be disappointed in myself for failing. You taught me to not make promises I couldn't keep. It lifted a great burden off my shoulders, that feeling of obligation that I was dragging around like a load of laundry. Wow! That's a lot! What a tremendous change for me. I'm not perfect at it, but I'm way better. Yes! Thanks for that!

Thank you, Cancer, for teaching me to be a daredevil. Really... I mean... I like to take chances now that I wouldn't before. Like stand up and walk when they said I couldn't. I might have fallen down. I might have not been able to walk. But it was worth trying. "If at first you don't succeed, try... Well, you know the phrase, I'm sure, Cancer. You've taught me to try new things I would have been too timid to do in the past. Like dance with abandon not caring what people think and have fun, every sweaty minute of it, even though I knew I might hurt in the morning. What did I have to lose? I would be in pain anyway. Might as well enjoy it. Eh, Cancer?

Elizabeth Munroz and son, Xavier Rodriguez
1979 Covina California
And thanks to you, even though I couldn't have a career, I dared to volunteer to teach children how to read and adults how to speak English. I could get up in front of people and give speeches about how to find their ancestors. I did things I never thought I would be brave enough to do, that one thing "they" swore I could never accomplish. I got pregnant and had a baby! Yes, Cancer, because of you I did things I never dreamed possible. Thank you, for that

But now, Cancer, you raised your ugly head to make me sick again after all these years of leaving you behind. I recognized you in your new disguise even though the doctors had not told me yet, and I'm not afraid of you anymore. Go ahead, Cancer, I know you are going to do your thing. But, I'm not cringing. I'm not wishing I could run away. I'm not giving up! I'm going to live my life as fully as possible whether you are in it or not. Because there's one thing I learned on my own Cancer. There's one thing I learned how to do by myself. And that is to face you down and take up the challenge, and fight the good fight and keep on going and do the best I can to cherish each moment, whether dark or light. Because they are MY moments and no one, not even you, Cancer, can take that away from me!

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Written and copyright by Elizabeth Munroz
Previous survivor of rare bone cancer called Chondrosarcoma
Presently living with Chronic Myelogenous Leukemia