give the gift of gratitude

There's a website that offers to find people from your past (or present, I assume) and help you give them a special thank-you message.  This could be the perfect gift for someone who has everything, someone who is hard to buy for, or someone who is a minimalist.  It doesn't add clutter, and it's always the right size.

now is the most important time

My own six-word memoir, to remind me to let go of the past and not count too much on the future.

big fat faker

Someone reached out to me who also has cancer.  And whenever that happens, I feel like I'm riding my tricycle in the Tour de France. Or maybe driving my go-kart in Formula One.  You get the idea.   My cancers are numerous, anxiety-provoking, and stressful, but they probably won't kill me.  So it's not quite the same as other cancers.

I like to say I'm immortal.  Only Wendy can kill me. With my stupid choices.  Try not to make any stupid choices today, Wendy.

 

However, the pain of healing is real.  I'm not faking about how much it hurts to get my flesh cut and burned off of me.  Or the traumas of watching my body get re-imaged by life.

I'm having another pity party as I'm treating my latest round of spots.  Ugh.   They hurt, and I'm anxious about how bad they'll look when I remove the bandages.

This is hard to type while Kitten is licking my arm.  First world problems.  

apprehensive

I'm starting my Sunday dreads even earlier today.  Because I have yet another skin cancer surgical procedure tomorrow.  This one is cutting, scraping, and burning, so probably no stitches.  Yay?

Part of me wants to postpone it because I'm tired of being wounded and in pain, with my body looking mangled.  And part of me just wants to get all of this shit over with.  I'll see how courageous I feel tomorrow.

surgery update

I had the first, more serious surgery 10 days ago.  The cancer itself (or defect as the surgeon called it) was itty bitty, a little larger than a freckle.  I was mentally prepared for another facial scar, albeit a small one.  They showed me a mirror of what they had inked on my face of tissue to remove.  It was pencil eraser sized.  I was still feeling okay,

Fast forward to numerous lidocaine shots later, two hours to wait to hear that they excised all of the cancer and wouldn't need to cut additional tissue, and then many, many more lidocaine shots to stitch me up.  And I went home with a much larger scar than anticipated.  Nine stitches.

I was crying and having all kinds of a pity party.  And again trying to come to terms that this was my new reality.  "Stop crying over spilt milk, Wendy."

Spoiler: I always cried when I spilled my milk as a kid, no matter how many times my father yelled at me to stop doing both.  Apparently, I still do.

I went in for suture removal a couple days ago and got up my courage to ask the surgeon why he cut so much when he clearly marked only a little.  This mofo was kinda awesome.   Not only didn't he throw his god-complex in my face to say "because it's your health" or some trite bullshit like that, but he pulled up photos to show me, drew diagrams on paper, and explained geometrical angles of best successes.  I felt a little better as I left there.

Also, wounds always look better when the dark stitches are gone.  Less Frankenstein-esque.

That night, I was relaxing and celebrating and about to fall asleep when I yawned and popped open the wound.

^e(&^(*@**@#SKH(*W&*&TW@^*W)(&)(!!!!

I called the emergency number for his office and had already made up my mind that I wasn't going to the ER that night.  I taped up the hole in my face and monitored it for bleeding.  It could wait until the morning.  He dutifully called back and told me to come in the morning.

I took a Xanax and went to sleep, trying not to think how hideous this would end up.

First thing in the morning, I canceled my massage appointment and instead went for more stitches.  That's self-care, right??

Eighteen motherfucking stitches later, I came home hurting and crying.

He still promised me that this scar would fade to nothing because of his geometrical angles.

At this point, I just want it to heal so I can eat properly again.  I miss that.

death by a thousand cuts

More fucking skin cancer.

Yes, I'm treating it, but wouldn't it be nice if I could change something in my life, diet, whatever to eliminate the need to get pieces of my skin cut or burned off of me?  Yes, I do wear sunscreen.  Yes, I do drink water.

I'm doing a much better job accepting my scars and appreciating my skin for how it helps me instead of resenting it for having weaknesses.  That's a new way to look at it for me.

I love my skin because it protects me

not-so-new creative endeavor

I've embraced my inner Zoomer and channeled my creativity into making YouTube videos instead of writing.  And being a Zoomer, I have the attention span of a gnat, so my videos are usually under two minutes.  Mostly I make inspirational morning coffee videos with a concrete action to promote happiness.  

 Sometimes, I read poetry whilst imbibing alcohol.  

 Kitten makes guest appearances, too.

Enjoy!

P.S. I swear a lot.  Skip these if you are easily offended.

anxiety is winning the war

It's fascinating how fast my brain can betray me.  One minute, I'm feeling pretty good and relatively content.  An hour later, I have severe anxiety and start wondering what's the fucking point as I spiral into an existential crisis.   None of the facts of my life have changed in that time.  I just look at them differently.

I suppose my goal is to figure out how to change my perspective from "FUCK EVERYTHING" to "Life is Good."  I used to be really good at re-framing and seeing alternate perspectives.  I'm not sure why my brain is going on strike about it now.  And why does it keep insisting to slant to a negative bias?

Jeepers Creepers, where'd ya get those peepers?

I hit an aging milestone yesterday.  I bought my first readers.  For you youngbloods out there, those are the generic magnifying glasses to facilitate reading small print.  I bought a few pair because I hear my friends say they leave them in every room of the house.  I'll see how that works out.

I resisted buying them because I could struggle along.  But I finally asked myself why I was forcing myself to struggle.  Was it vanity?  Ego?  

SPOILER:  It was.

Which is silly, because I don't think any lesser of others who use them.  Sometimes they even look good/sexy/stylish depending on their whole vibe.

I think part of my answer to that question of why I resisted was also seeing this as the beginning of the end.  Another inevitability of my aging and eventually failing body. 

wrong universe

I woke up on the wrong side of my multiverse today.  I'm all discombobulated. 

I'm debating coffee or liquor this morning.  I can hear you thinking, why not both?  It's because the anxiety is strong today.  And the sadness.  Maybe I just want to lie in bed and wallow.

What tasty beverage is good for that?   SPOILER:  It's not tea.

Frankenstein's monster or gorgeous superhero?

It's all a matter of perspective.

At least that's what I'm telling myself after inflicting a new scar on my face.  I saw the monster, but my younger friend saw the superhero.

I know -- you're curious what caused the scar.  More skin cancer nonsense.  The numbing agent is wearing off, and the throbbing pain is starting.

I was so rattled when I left the office with my face bandaged up that I forgot to take off my mask until I was halfway home.  I became one of those people driving alone in my car on the highway wearing a mask.  Sigh.  And unfortunately the mask doesn't cover the bandage.

Off for a full day of self-care / Pity Party.

10 am isn't too early to start drinking, right?

wwwwhiiiiimmmsyyy

I picked my theme for this year.  Last year's was brave, although I can't remember if I wrote about it.  That turned out to be a fortuitous choice, as 2020 developed into a scarier year than most.  I seized my courage and tried not to live in fear of what-ifs.  

It wasn't perfect, but it was a helluva lot better than my previous self.  I took health precautions but was brave enough to go about my regular activities, including airplane travel, dining in restaurants, and gym use.  I'm not sure which of those prospects produced the most fear in the time of covid-19.

This year, I'm embracing the whimsical side of my personality.  Because it feels the world is getting too serious.  

A few times in the past, I had worn a feathered boa while traveling.  It soon became a fun travel ritual. When I traveled during the pandemic, I wasn't sure if that was appropriate because of the gravity of the situation.  However, that's when I realized people more than ever needed whimsy in their lives. They gave me fearful smiles when they saw me swaggering through airports in my feather boa, my silk mask, and the smile in my eyes. 

Playfulness is underrated, and I will do my part to intentionally spread more joy this year.

dread actualized

Big sigh.

My visit to the dermatologist wasn't as bad once I was there.  I only had a little 'day of' anxiety.  And my doc was as easy to work with as I remembered.  However, I had a couple suspicious spots, one of which got biopsied.  

The call came two days later saying I needed additional surgery because CANCER.  And surgery couldn't be scheduled for several weeks.

The biopsy wound will just about be healed by the time the specialist needs to re-open it.  Blah blah blah, there will be a plastic surgeon and whatevs, go fuck myself, it's only another small scar, right? 

It's probably not even necessary because I'm almost certain the biopsy took out all the cancerous tissue.  But almost certain isn't completely certain, so I got the fear talk from my doc, and I caved.  Another scar is worth eradicating future anxiety and worry, right?

Sure, whatevs, it's only another scar to decorate this warrior's body.

so much dread

I called and scheduled my dermatologist appointment before I could chicken out like I did yesterday.  Somehow it requires so much mental energy, that by yesterday afternoon, I just couldn't.  I have tears in my eyes.  Fuck, why am I so traumatized by it??  It's potentially only a couple more scars, right?

I need to redo my post-it note that says I love myself, scars and all.

blue gold

My new refrigerator (which I bought in August because my old one suddenly died) decided that it was time to change the water filter.  I dutifully ordered the replacement filter and was about to install it when I looked up to see if I could stretch it a couple more months.  I use it every day, but the water seems fine.

When I looked online for some guidance, I came across this website.  I'm guessing that applies to mine as well.  It's hard to believe that my filter didn't even last five months before prompting me to order one.  I don't drink THAT much water.

At least I have a replacement handy in case my water suddenly goes bad or stops dispensing.  Look at me being proactive!

21 for 21

 

Every year, I make a fun list of items I want to accomplish, not necessarily traditional New Year's resolutions.  And when I say fun list, the list is fun, but not everything on it is fun.    Last year's list had to be modified somewhat due to the global pandemic.  I never went to the dermatologist or bought my sundress.  I never went to my friend's wedding in Scotland either.

But I did visit my brother on his ranch BECAUSE of the pandemic, so that was a tradeoff.  I also finally fixed all of my dental nonsense I had going on.  And I bought a new Christmas dress, albeit still not a sundress.

The dermatologist and sundress have carried over to this year.  Most dressing rooms are open again, and sundresses are too hard for me to buy without trying on first.  I have no valid reason about the dermatologist except that I ran out of medical-needs emotional energy halfway through the year.

I'm still looking for more ideas for this year, especially fun ones, so chime in if you have suggestions.