Too much to tell

Too much has happened for me to convey. But, I feel that many people care, and there are options for how I live the rest of my life and still options to die with some dignity.

Last week,  I fought hard to be part of a support group that I couldn’t participate fully in. I didn’t know how to answer a direct message privately over Zoom, with my Chromebook.

Yesterday,  I packed up all my pills and every belonging I have to get what might be a pointless MRI. Because of the rules for getting this medical test.

Today,  I plan to restore my family as allies, because I really need their help to execute my will during the time I have left. I hope to fix that fracture before my independence is gone forever.

A Trip to California

There are rules that you cannot visit Europe with a passport that expires within 6 months, so instead of going to see Italy like I wanted, my mother and I set off on the road trip of a lifetime to San Francisco. We didn’t have a plan, we didn’t know how far we’d make it either. I bought insurance for 7 days in the case I’d need a medical visit. I didn’t because I toughed it out.

When we set off, I was strong and did not know yet that my cancer had spread over the summer. Summer 2024 was quite literally the best summer of my adult life, full of relaxation and appreciation for the place I grew up. A place I feel alienated from now in the recent turn of events for my diagnosis, but I digress.

We set off down the Oregon Coast, hitting The Dalles & Yachats, then into California, we hit Crescent City, Fort Bragg, Santa Rosa, Calistoga, then San Francisco. This was a lot to see in a short amount of time and during the trip my health declined. I went from feeling like I had minor muscle soreness to walking slower than most people in their 80s over the course of this trip. Still, I did not seek medical attention, so a second opinion was not initiated.

In San Francisco, we went on the cable cars, which is much like streetcars in the TTC and not something I would recommend to someone who has lived in Toronto other than it is cool to see the architecture in that city if you can get one of the outward facing seats. There is lots built at the turn of the century and in the 1920s and San Fran seems to be a city that relishes in its history.

On Our Way Home

We hit up a city called Weed as our only stop in California on the way back. By this time, I was having shooting spasms, intense awful pain down my legs. My mother, a former nurse, suggested sciatica. It felt like a slipped disk, but I hadn’t done anything physical. It felt like I’d been tackled by a 300 lb professional athlete, but I hadn’t. In fact, the most physical I’d been in the summer were walks on beaches, sometimes over uneven surfaces where balance and coordination were challenged. Mere, just merely physical challenges.

Weed was a cool place for my mom, because she likes marijuana. The puns on souvenirs from there were funny. A lot hackneyed too, but celebratory of a tiny little town where people sometimes stop just for the name alone.

Leaving Weed, we went all the way back to the border between Oregon and Washington. It wasn’t easy to find a hotel last minute. I unfortunately also got my final menstrual cycle that last night too… and sorry for the overshare, but my womanhood has been a curse on this journey. It was MacBeth all over again.

I was so happy that night after the Biggs Junction had no vacancy. I don’t remember where we stayed because I deleted all the review by Expedia emails recently because I shouldn’t be worried about leaving good reviews right now. Anyway, it was a small town on the border of Washington/Oregon. No clue what state it belongs to. I was just happy because I knew I’d be back in Canada soon. I knew my treatment would resume and that I could talk to a doctor about my symptoms.

Didn’t think it’d be so bad

I had been positive all summer. I believed the doctors would bother if there was a chance that metastisis could be so bad. Now I don’t know what I think. I just know oncologists like a challenge… they want to see what will happen. They probably love when there are opportunities to explore new treatments. The scientist in me can appreciate this. Now I’m stuck just feeling, very little doing, because no one wants me to die peacefully more than I do.

I have to trudge onwards, and fight. I do it for my dead dad more than anyone else.