My Marriage has Cancer.

I am not an easy person to be married to.  I'm difficult on a good day.  Add cancer to the mix and its a complete catastrophe.  I do that thing that most women are guilty of: Where I fantasize about what I want my husband to do, never communicate it to him and then get pissed when he doesn't do it.  In this case, I visualized Adam lifting me into his big arms and carrying me through this entire journey.  Protecting me and guiding me through.  Plowing through hurdles, lifting me up when I couldn't stand, wiping my tears and spinning me around in fields of daisy's.  Sounds perfect, doesn't it?  Just one problem, that didn't happen.  Sometimes he did exactly what I needed, sometimes he gave me pieces of what I needed, sometimes he did everything wrong, and sometimes he didn't do anything at all.  He is so overworked, he shoulders so much stress, and he doesn't know how to process it all.  At times, the ways he has chosen to cope have been hurtful to me.  Deal breakers.  The way that I have chosen to cope has, at times, been hurtful to him, and others for that matter.  It's a tough spot.  We are 29!  We have no freaking idea how to do this.  We have been together for 12 years and this last one has by far been our worst.  We fought harder then we have ever fought.  We crossed lines, boundaries, and lashed out in some the worst ways possible.  We are both already on the edge, it only takes the slightest nudge and we are at each others throats.  We've been mean, we've been stupid, and we have been unforgivably cruel to each other.  Because we are angry.  We are both so fucking angry.

teenagers

Feb 18th 2003.  Ayden Fox Ford was born.  We've all grown up together.

Our wedding.

2011

I have learned through this to curb my judgment when it comes to how people grieve and cope with my cancer.  Just because I need a certain level or manner of support doesn't always mean that person is capable of providing it.  I realized early on that each one of my people were handed their own personal bag of shit.  Adam was perhaps handed the biggest shit bag of all.  If there is one thing that I know for sure, it's that my husband loves me.  Cancer rocked my marriage and cancer almost ended it.  It's not always the way it looks in the movies.  People don't always do the right thing or know the perfect thing to say.  For somebody who likes things to be perfect, to feel perfect, and to look perfect it has been a difficult lesson to learn.  My husband loves me, he really does.  This is so much more then he bargained for and I know he would swing me around in fields of daisy's if he knew how.  Its honest, it's real, it's messy, and that's okay.  Because the beautiful part is-  I have never loved anyone else.  It's always been him.

Our anniversary was yesterday, the 23rd.  My brother drove me up to Stonebridge Manor, the place where Adam and I were married 8 years ago.  Waiting for me on one knee was my husband.  Tucked into our son's pocket was a dainty rose gold band that he handed to his dad.  Adam asked me to marry him again and then walked me to the same alter where we had once said "I Do".  Zoie sprinkled a basket full of rose petals down the isle before us.  This time it was my husband that walked me down the isle, our parents and siblings standing with us.  Adam read me beautifully humble vows that he had written and then my father-in-law, ordained by the world wide web, re-married us.  It was beautiful and thoughtful and planned completely by Adam.  It's not daisy's but I'll take it.  I know that I am going to survive cancer and hope that my marriage will be a cancer survivor too.  I am ready and eager to start a different and more evolved relationship with the man that was too shy to kiss me 12 years ago.

A fresh start.

Ringing Out.

I panicked.  I mean I really panicked.  We're talking ripping off all my restraints, jumping off the table, and running down the hallways with my butt cheeks hanging out.  Yeah, that bad.

Let me paint you a picture:  I am laying in a mold that is fitted for the exact position I am to lie perfectly still in for 40 minutes.  I am strapped to the table and told that if I move even one hair I could risk radiating my heart and/or lungs.  All I have to do is lay there and hold my breath.  I am told that I wont feel, hear, smell, or taste anything.  Completely alone.  Nobody can hold my hand, even the technicians are behind a protective wall.  I am feeling strong, ready, and completely terrified.  As the first blast of radiation goes into my body, my heart instantly palpitates.  My chest is on fire, I swear I can smell flesh burning.  I yell for help and the voice over the intercom quickly tells me to lay still.  I am screaming "STOP!"  "I FEEL IT!" and the voice again reminds me to lay still.  Another blast of radiation shoots into my chest and I am vibrating with fear.  I have no idea if they are going to blast me again but I am too afraid to find out.  I rip off all my restrains and fly off the table.  I'm sobbing, I can feel the crazy rising up in my belly.  I can't do it.  I won't.  I'm done.

I dart out of the treatment room, refusing to deliberate.  I know what I felt, I know my body, and I know that I have gone way too far into crazy town to be rational.  I couldn't get out of that place fast enough.  I had people literally chasing me, begging me to at least talk to the doctor.  I just left.

The next two days I went into a deep dark place.  I had to remove myself from my children because frankly, I was unfit to care for them.  I needed to scream at the top of my lungs, I needed to get mad, and I needed to cry hard.  I didn't need to reason, I needed to cleanse.  I contemplated not doing radiation at all.  I daydreamed about just throwing in the towel and going back to my old life.  Ultimately, it always comes down to one thing.  Life.  I want to live.  

After talking to my doctor and learning that although rare, it is absolutely normal to feel something, smell something, or even taste something, I felt better.  But, mostly it was the copious amounts of Xanax that finally got me through my first treatment.  I now have 3 full treatments under my belt, with 22 more to go.  And at the end, I hope to ring the bell that only the bravest of people get to ring. 

Topless Photo shoot - Look #2

I have no idea what I am doing here.  I just wanted to prove that without hair and boobs I am still worthy of all the same womanly ideals that I used to be privileged to.  I am in transition.  I am shedding skin.  Trusting someday there is a butterfly emerging from this cocoon.  I get that this is about embracing who I am, empowering woman, and breaking stereotypes.  So why wear the wig?  Because I feel better in it, I feel more like me, and I did this for me.  I hate the short hair.  HATE it.  But I get the importance of shedding the wig... and I did.
Look #2-Wigless.