Busy day, and I still can't sleep.

First, as per yesterday's promise, a new picture for you all.











Onto today's events. As per usual, I found it difficult to sleep last night. While I was completely exhausted, the chemo cocktail pretty much prevented me from getting decent nights sleep. At about 3:30AM I finally went and got myself a second sleeping pill. I then went out on the deck for a half hour. The stars were only partially visible, but it was still pleasant. After about five minutes of sitting in silence I finally started talking to myself. Or, should anyone have happened upon me at the moment, that is what I appeared to be doing. Instead I started having a conversation with God. (Don't give me those looks. You all should realize by now that I am religious. And don’t worry, he wasn’t answering back. No psychosis here.) I sort of just talked through a whole bunch of things. Most of which had little impact on my life upon waking up later this morning, but it still felt good to just talk things out. Maybe I’ll come back to this later.
This morning I was awoken at 8:30 by Mom bringing me an English muffin, a glass of milk and my morning dose of prednisone and other fun drugs. (Nasty stuff) I would have gone back to bed until noon, like usual, but not only was I not sleepy (weird considering I had only had 4 ½ hours of sleep) but I was also headed off to Austin Road Elementary for a walk through of my nephews “Dinosaur Museum.”
Matthew’s teacher, Mrs. Daul, has been my mother’s friend forever, and her daughters and Erica and I practically all grew up together. (How are you doing, Susie?) She and Mr. Daul (I still can’t call them Marilyn and Bruce) came over to the house a few nights ago for dinner. She reminded us about the museum, and we made plans to see it. Then, I got even better news than an educational outing to my alma mater. Mrs. Daul had baby turtles. She gave one to Susie, and she was going to give one to me! I finally get a pet. Yeah me!

Sorry for the side track. My sleeping meds are yelling at the prednisone and they can’t seem to decide if I’m tired or wired. (ha. Tired or wired. Ha ha….(awkward pause)..yeah…sorry)

Anyway, Mom, Dad and I made our way to the “Dinosaur Museum” at around 9:30. The second graders did a great job. They have to get shout-outs. They really knew their stuff. My friend Amy’s daughter, Susannah, was one of the presenters and she did an excellent job. And my Matt was awesome. I also learned that there are a lot of new dinosaurs out there. I don’t remember any of them from when I was in school. Of course Matt ended up having the Velociraptor. That’s my godson. Picking the highly intelligent killing machine. I’m so proud. He takes after me more and more. (Even down to his slightly klutzy tendencies. Remind me to tell you about the time he fell down a mountain.)
After completing our tour through the Jurassic and Cretaceous periods of the Earth’s history, I finally got to meet my turtle. He is adorable. Very tiny. Not so much with the coordination, but he’s learning. As I contemplated aloud what I should name him, Mrs. Daul informed me that Matt had already christened him. So, I went to ask Matt what he named my turtle. This is where you really see the similarities between godmother and godson. He named my turtle…Phil. That’s right. Phil. Not Pokey, or Shell or a dozen other silly little kid names for a small baby turtle. No, my turtle’s name is Phil. It’s perfect.
I had been walking around for awhile at this point and I had very little energy to spare, but as I made my way out of the classroom, I was swarmed by small children wanting to see the turtle and asking if they could pick it up. Now, normally, this wouldn’t be I problem. I am going to be a teacher after all. But I was really pushing it as far as remaining upright. Then Matt did something that I don’t think I will ever forget. My nephew came to my defense. He pushed the kids out of my way and said, “That’s my Aunt Liz and that’s her turtle and she needs to go home now.” I almost cried. For the longest time I was so worried about how my nephews would react to my having cancer. How would they take the fact that I was sick, …that I was bald and had to wear scarves? I never once thought that they would do or say something hurtful to me. But to hear Matt come out and say “That’s MY aunt Liz”. I just got choked up. There was no embarrassment at all. In fact the only thing I heard in Matt’s voice was pride that I was his Aunt, and annoyance that the other kids wouldn’t leave me alone. Can you tell how much I need sleep yet? I’m getting sentimental and mushy. Back to the story.
Once home, I found a suitable bowl for Phil. (Marta I stole one of the centerpieces from the wedding reception. Hope you don’t mind.) I put in some pond water and rocks. And then let Phil get adjusted to his new home. I think he likes it.
Shortly after that I made a trip down to Amy’s. I have come to think of it as my post chemo decompression. I head to Amy’s, give her all the details of my chemo, talk over all the recent issues I have been having, and let her reassure me that I am not insane. All the while she fixes me lunch, and I help her with her computer, or digital camera or children. Whichever happens to be giving her a hard time at the moment. I spent a few hours with her and then had to head to Westchester for my Nuelasta shot. It hurt like hell, then my bones ached. You’ve heard all this before.
When I got home Chuck (brother-in-law) was at the house. He was waiting for Steve (other-brother-in-law). I’m still not sure what was going on there. Something about Steve having a rental while his car was being fixed, and Chuck and he going to move stuff from the Lake Secor house. I really don’t know. I wasn’t actually paying attention. Chuck joined us for dinner, and then Steve arrived. (Somehow that boy managed to come back from the Bahamas just as pasty white as he was before he left. I’ll never understand it.)
After dinner I attempted to get my VCR to tape. My new TV addiction is “House”. It’s a doctor show and I love it. It’s usually on Tuesdays and doesn’t interfere with my schedule, but this week was a two parter – Tuesday and Wednesday. Now, it was interfering with choir. After spending a good 45 minutes yelling at the VCR, I finally gave up and started making desperate phone calls to friends and family to see who would tivo it for me. I swear, if I hadn’t have reached John (yet-another-brother-in-law) and he agreed to tape it, I probably would have skipped choir. Luckily, John and nephew Zach saved my butt.
Right before choir, Chuck and I went to the Goodwill store. Chuck, who is the cook in the Fitzpatrick household, is jonesing for a cast iron skillet and Dutch oven. He happened to see one, but hesitate to buy it because he wasn’t sure what the condition of it was. Sooo, he dragged me along for my expertise. Unfortunately, he waited to long and his skillet was gone. We checked out Homegoods as well, but no such luck.
After our brief shopping expedition, we went to choir. Not much there. We’re working on songs for the concert. I’d say that I want you all to come, because Katrina and our friend, Stacy are doing a duet from Vivaldi’s Gloria. (One of my favorite pieces of music.) And their voices are incredible. (I have always secretly envied Katrina’s voice. How I wished I could be an alto) However, if you came to hear that, you would also have to hear me screech my way through my piece, so on second thought…forget I said anything.
After choir I ran over to Carol’s and caught the tail end of American Idol with her and John. Then Carol and I watched House. I was trying to make a bet with her on the outcome, but she had insider information in the form of a certain nephew. (Honestly, I could make a ton of money off of betting on the outcomes of TV shows. It’s a science you know.) I came home right after the show was over, and then checked my blog. Debated with myself about whether or not to update, and then decided that since I couldn’t sleep anyway, I might as well.
So, where does that leave me, now? I’m tired. I most definitely need sleep. But I feel a sort of odd obligation to go back and revisit my original thoughts for the evening. (It’s weird how introspective I get late at night…or maybe that’s just the drugs.)
As I was saying early. I spent some time having a conversation with God. Some things I won’t share, because they are personal. Yet others, …I just think that they are important to put out there. I have gotten several comments on the blog telling me how brave and courageous I am. I’m not. I’m just really selfish. If I’m going through this, and I have no choice in that matter, then I’m taking you all with me. So. You get to be part of all the neurosis that comes with this. The first being…fear. I know. I have gotten the good news and I know I’m going to be fine. …So…why do I keep feeling like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop?
It’s stupid really. I have this wonderful news and I still have this feeling that it’s not over yet. And I’m not talking about the chemo. I don’t know if I’m just paranoid, or if after the fifty billion doctors I’ve been to, I just can’t accept good news. Or if I really am the pessimist that I pretend to be on this blog. (Yes people. It’s an act. I really am just an optimist with a twisted sense of humor, a tendency towards the ridiculous and a sarcastic snarkiness to most of my writings. The cat is out of the bag.) Amy says it’s normal. She still finds herself checking her body for lumps. I think that must be the real problem. Cancer is insidious. It can hide inside you for a long time with out you having any idea. Its symptoms can present as any number of other ailments. And by the time you catch on, it’s already taken hold.
I have scars. All over my body. My cancer first presented as a deep skin itch. I went to three different dermatologist over the course of …I don’t know how many months…10? I had so many different diagnoses. And yet none of the medications did a damn thing for the fact that I had the constant urge to scratch my flesh off. (You guys really need to stop listening to me. Honestly, people. Who wants to hear this stuff? What’s wrong with you?) The final consensus came back that it was an OCD. It was all in my head. A nervous/stress habit. They sent me to a shrink to discuss my “issues”. Don’t get me wrong. I have issues. But I really didn’t think they were manifesting as self mutilation.
Do you know how relieved I was to find out I had cancer? How is that for a twisted reaction? I’m not crazy. I really am sick. And now, that I no longer itch, that my skin has no new sores, …now that I am healing… NOW I start having doubts about my recovery? What is wrong with me?
I hope none of you ever have to go through this. It’s horrible. Not the chemo or even the cancer itself. The horror comes in not being able to trust your own body anymore. When we don’t like something or it makes us uncomfortable, we push it away and try to eliminate it from our lives. It’s human nature. But, how do I distance myself from me?
That’s what it is. For all of you who want to get the inside scoop on cancer. For everyone living this with me. This is what it comes down to - a betrayal of the body. And I don’t know how long it will take for it to earn back my trust.

Ok…(awkward pause).
That was a little emotional. (another pause)
On the upside it was so emotionally draining, that I’m finally ready to sleep. Sorry for dumping on you, but honestly people you can’t expect me to not abuse the power of the blog. It’s my outlet. Although interestingly enough, knowing that this will be read…makes me more honest in my own writings. So technically, the power of the blog belongs to you.
(This is actually just a sneaky way of asking for feedback.)
Later - Elizabeth