Six of one, three of another

Just six months ago, I heard the three words that changed my life.

Invasive Ductal Carcinoma.

Translation - breast cancer.

Six months.

Seems longer and shorter, both at the same time.

I was in school, I was teaching, I was just beginning this relationship with the Filmmaker. I won't rehash. Read through the previous blogs if you're that interested - or that bored.

Six months.

I've had two surgeries, three chemotherapy sessions and have become an avid researcher of my disease. I have had countless hours of advice from well-meaning people about everything from enemas to experimental treatments about how to deal with my cancer. I've been terrified by what I've learned and I've learned that not all of it applies to me. I've learned to live with losing two weeks out of every month to almost crippling exhaustion from chemo, battling it as best I can by just simply refusing to give in to it. I've learned to live without my tastebuds after chemo and I've learned how to tie a headscarf.

Six months.

I haven't learned to accept the bald head staring back at me from my mirror. I still have trouble believing that all of this has happened to me and that it's still happening. And that there is still more to come in front of me.

Six months.

I have three more months minimum to go in my treatment. That's three more rounds of chemo, a month of "rest", and then approximately five weeks of radiation. Woo-hoo.

Three months.

Trying to think of where my life will be in three months. With my life, things change so quickly and suddenly that I have almost given up trying to plan, trying to figure out what's going on.

Three months.

I do have a plan, mainly to keep myself occupied since I am now on disability and not teaching. I have endless days to fill, which is challenging for me. But I'm hoping to put my focus on several art projects and make that my job for the next three months. Draw, paint, create while I have the time.

Three months.

Hoping in three months to still find myself waking up the Filmmaker's arms. Snuggled up and nuzzled the other morning, his hand wrapped around the back of my shaved head, gently caressing it, I had to keep from crying. This is all I want. And I wish I weren't sick so I could be more. But he's still here.

Three months.

But will he still be here? Three months is both long and short. End of October will be a year together, most of which has been spent with me sick. But he nuzzles into me and I can't imagine him being anywhere else.

Three months.

The world will turn and life will change. And I'll go through chemo and I'll go through radiation. And I'll keep fighting, because I don't know what else to do. And I'll choose how I move through these three months, trying to stay positive, trying to not become my disease, trying to hang on to my life. And I choose to believe that the Filmmaker will be here in those three months and beyond, holding me and smiling at me and caressing my bald head.

Three months.

And then...

I will begin... Again...