Shit Fuck Damn Vagina Vagina Vagina.

Ok, there!  Hopefully that made you sufficiently uncomfortable, and now what I am going to say will not seem so downright ickadocious.

Don’t get me wrong, it isn’t that I underestimate your compassion, it is just the reality that most people talk about seemingly more boring matters (not less important, just more normal-oh-my-aching-back-esque).  Me?  Cancer, tits, ovs, ut, hair (or lack of), and now ass…  Just doesn’t have the same cache as my favorite song from A Chorus Line, does it?  Anyway, I’m procrastinating – let’s get to it.

If you forced me to describe myself, I would readily confess that I am in fact afraid of my own shadow. The balance beam, the high diving board, a bigger stronger seemingly smarter opponent, the possibility of not succeeding in school, work, or life, and well we know how I feel about cancer.  But it turns out, and I shock myself in saying so, I have guts.  Serious ass-kicking-failure-is-not-an-option-in-your-face (with a smile) guts.  For another few hours anyway.

Back off the ledge, I promise- I am great, living every blessed day with happiness, contentment, and cancer-free health.  It is amazing.  Truly (even with the reality of my ever-present frienemy A-N-X-I-E-T-Y, whom I have even learned how to better stick her foolish ass in the corner a lot of the time)  But I have also been really sick (if you didn’t know…great…I’ve had many years of practice hiding my gross reality).  I have lived with ulcerative colitis for 37 of my 42 years.  And while people live with far worse ailments than this, it’s no great shakes either.  The course of my disease has been relatively kind to me with long(ish) periods of medically managed remission (hooray for my g-d of a doctor) where I am ok(ish).  Other times, not so much.  I will refrain from too many of the details here for fear that my ass should seem larger than my breasts…issues.

Ironically, many years ago, as I watched cancer so cruelly and unapologetically ravish my father’s body leaving no room for his soul to remain on this earth, I quipped, “I’d like to be gutted like a fish.” Not so funny anymore.  In the morning, I will have my entire large intestine and various other parts of the plumbing removed.  Remember Freida, the hot itchy mess?  Well, she is being replaced by Leroy Brown, her shitty cousin.  Fine, no more bad jokes.   But yes, this time tomorrow (hopefully with the aid of copious amounts of morphine), I will be learning about stomas and bags and other horrible nastiness.  Leroy is his name (there is just no way to refer to “my stoma” or reality that my insides will be outside and remain attractive in any way – though I am open to any suggestions including fabulous shoes and very short skirts to draw your eyes elsewhere (Lisa, you are in charge, I’m told pre-op has good Wi-Fi and Jimmy, Charles, and Christian take orders 24/7)).

This is a big bad scary surgical ordeal, but as with everything, there are blessings…  My family (who has to be utterly sick of my being sick) has jumped into action arranging to be by my side and nurture my babies where I can not (AGAIN); my friends have been both loving with just the right amount of reminding me to laugh at myself.  ELM and LMS, gems of the most valuable kind, have set beautiful examples for me and provide a never ending stream of information, love, and support.  RG, LMS, RN and ELM have discussed topics and issues with me that you would not believe, each with empathy and brutal honesty.  I am so grateful to them all. I know that all-in-all, I am lucky.  If it goes as planned, after a several month period, I can look forward to a much more normal, medication and pain-free life while keeping my cancer risks to a level I (sort of) can manage.  Here’s to the optimism that this is the final and missing link to my longevity and good health. Oh – and no cancer.

But being true to truth, it isn’t all good.  Aside from the physical misery, there is a myriad of emotional “mess” and also guilt to contend with.  I attended and have since left my pity party, but there is a lingering sadness at the thought I’ve become too much of a burden and not resembling fun carefree-Jodi to those around me.  I watch my boys play in the woods and rivers and struggle that they deserve better than this.  Too many hard knock lessons to have learned by 10 and 6.  I’d bore you with garbage like how it is not fair, but as I remind my sons about 10 times a day when they protest, fairness, in life, often has nothing to do with it.

While I am a resident of another hospital ward, Danny will start kindergarten.  He likely will not remember that I was not there for the first day, but my wounded heart may never forget.  Robbie will start the fifth grade again explaining the inexplicable for why his mom is not there.  My life is built from a position of strength, it is really very difficult to adapt to making excuses born of weakness.  And my husband, well the pope has nothing on him.  He is a saint, the true real deal.  But he married a certain girl who looked a certain way and lived a certain life.  I know he would love me no matter what, but he too deserves better.  These bitter pills have been too many in a short period of time and it is sometimes difficult to understand even where I ultimately accept.

This summer has been magical.  We’ve enjoyed our summer house with true and much needed reckless abandon.  We worked hard during the week and played harder on the weekends.  Before heading home we stole two nights and three days in the woods camping.  Like last year, I implore you to stop laughing.  Despite what you may think, I truly am the ultimate outdoor mountain girl.  Being out “there” is my place!  With only the quiet of the blowing wind (and utterly irritating rain storms) I am totally clear on what needs to happen next and what I must undertake to achieve it.  But being the mush that I am, I will tell you, I look at my boys in the tent (that took us several hours, many drinks, and a wee bit of yelling to put up) and tell you that whatever has happened to me, I am the freaking luckiest girl in the world.  Any struggle would be worth it to be with them.

While loving the unusually cold temperatures in North Carolina, listening to very loud moving tunes, and hanging out of the window cruising the mountain roads, I taught the boys to “ride the wave.”  Feel the wind around you.  Stick your hand up and the resistance of the wind seems too much.  Arch it down and the wind glides with you.  Know what I mean?  It is the best feeling.  Both are great and true signs of life.   In the resistance, if you dare, you find your true character.  And in the glide, your finest peace. I will be practicing my own wisdom in the coming days and months.

Sometimes to really live your only choice is to ride the wave…and hope you have the right kind of guts for the journey.

Much love,

jodi Alison