May 7

A couple weeks ago, I had a GNO with two of my favorite people ever (Whitney and Lizzie) and the not-so-recent ban of comments on my blog came up in our dinner conversation.

What exactly brought it up in the first place, I don't recall... but the reason that they thought I should reinstate the comment function has stayed with me.

They missed Genevra.

It turns out that my favorite new-agey friend has enjoyed quite a following here at Razzzberries for her unique style of communication. (I'm not kidding. These are not my only two friends who've told me they enjoy (and miss) G.)

So, for those of you who may be needing a little more Genevra in your life... I give you the contents of the latest and greatest package to come my way.

Dear ladies,



A few months ago I was meditating and something completely unrelated to what had been my meditation intention popped into my mind. So I contacted a woman I know who makes jewelry. I asked her to create a bracelet that incorporated the colors white and yellow and had a sun charm on it.

The last two years have brought some challenges and trials to my favorite Central Bank girls. In my meditation I saw a bracelet being a symbol of a strong energetic circle of love, faith and hope. A symbol to remind us that there was a group of people that loved us and was holding in trust for us, faith and hope when our own was fading.

The yellow is for remembering the fun times in our lives. The white is for healing and connecting with our spiritual source. The sun charm is a reminder that no matter what dark and stormy clouds or horrible storms are upon us, the sun is always shining behind them, waiting to shine down upon us once again as the storms of life pass over us.

Love to love to you all, Genevra

Oh, and the WTF stands for all the times you get blindsided in life and want to say, "What the ..." ;-)

Don't mind my freckly arm there, folks, but I had to show you my new favorite accessory. It's bright. It's sun-shiny. It's a little bit sparkly. ... And it's borderline swearing, which always makes me feel a little sassy.

I heart my bracelet, as I heart all of my CB gals... I do love knowing that we all have matchy-matchy bracelets. And I love Genevra, for following her heart when her meditation was interrupted with a thought to have these made. Truly, this custom WTF bracelet trumps any pre-fabbed BFF bracelet out there.

Thanks, G! You're the best!

May 6

Ahhhh.... What a weekend!

(I mean that in a good way.)

My sister and parents came down yesterday. It was super fun. Katie and I got to sing our Cinco de Mayo song - on actual Cinco de Mayo.

Kate and I were able to hang out all day, then we went to dinner at Chili's with the parentals. (I know, it's not Mexican, but we did go through two bowls of chips and salsa, so I feel like we paid appropriate homage.)

Here's a fun pic of my sister and me for your ocular enjoyment:

After dinner, I took Kate and Mom to Jester'Z. (We all know that I love that place!) Mom was laughing so hard that I thought she might fall off her chair. ... I'd consider that a successful night of entertaining my mother.

This morning, we headed over to Kirkey Turkey's. They blessed Baby Monson today, and it was an Evans Family Festival of Good Times. (All you can eat donuts, bagels & cream cheese and fruit salad galore back at Kirk & Mar's after church.) Ty did yoga and headstand poses with the little boys. I got to hold my new nephew to my heart's content. Kirk and I giggled like little kids. (I wish I had pics of all - or even some - of this, but I don't. I wasn't holding the camera and the pics haven't made the email rounds as yet.)

As Katie and I were leaving, Mary gifted me with this fabulous mug covered in pictures of my favorite little Evans kids.

How great is that mug? I freaking love it! ... I've said it before, and I'm sure that I'll say it again, but one of the serious (even if it is also one of the few) perks of having the cancer is the swag.

It was a fun weekend with family, full of laughs and good times (and bagels... lots and lots of bagels with varying flavors of cream cheese, depending on the time of day).

I love all of the people in my life, it is true, but I love my family most of all.

May 4

You know that mantra I've been chanting for, oh... months now? It seems to have paid off. At least a little bit.

So, far it's just one little bit of my life that's worked out. But hey, I'll take whatever I can get (even if it is only one little bit).

I had a call from the nice lady at the insurance company this morning that did not have an auspicious beginning. ... The first thing she told me that my request for Transition of Care had been denied. (Enter my heart beating rapidly. This was worst case scenario. Read: everything was not turning out okay.) As I'm not currently in a treatment cycle, it's automatic denial. (Fantastic.) I explained that I have a rare cancer and that I need to stay with Dr. H, as he's the only doctor I've ever had who'd seen a liposarcoma in his real life. I listed everything I could about my cancer and everything I know about Dr. H and why he simply must be my doctor. (I stopped short of telling her that I have designs on marrying the man. That seemed excessive. And probably not something that an insurance company would see as a medicinal reason to keep him as my provider.) She explained that the protocol at this point called for the insurance company doing a search in a 20 mile radius of me, to see if they could find a doctor who is contracted that would meet my needs. ... Again, I explained that I have a need for a specialized oncologist. She politely listened, then came back with a hard-line that she has to follow protocol.

Now, I understand the need for protocol. I really do. ... I have to follow it in my job, and I really do believe that most rules were written for a reason and we need to follow them. But ARE YOU FREAKING KIDDING ME with how badly this call was going?!

A few deep breaths later, I was able to regroup and I had a thought. A totally wild, out-of-the-blue and seemingly random thought. (Thank you, Heavenly Father, for that moment of mental clarity. I love you!) I asked if she could do me one small favor before she initiated the search for another doctor. ... I asked if she could check their system to see if Dr. H was listed internally. She didn't understand what I meant, so I went on to explain that I couldn't find him online in the public list of providers, but that maybe (just maybe) he actually WAS a contracted provider, but was only showing on their internal system. She agreed to look, but told me that it was unlikely that she'd find him. I thanked her.

Drum roll please...

He was in their internal system, showing as a contracted provider as of January 2012. She was shocked. I was thrilled. (And humbled. And grateful.)

Dr. H can still be my doctor. Halle-freakin-lujah!

My shrink, on the other hand, not so much. (I had them look for her, too, on the off chance that she'd be in the same situation. No dice.) But I'm okay with that. As much as I'd like to keep all my medical care under the MD Anderson roof, I can't help who's contracted with my new insurance and who isn't. And of all the doctors that the insurance will or won't cover, the two doctors that I cannot lose (the surgeon and the oncologist) are covered.

I. Am. Thrilled.

I'm not quite to the "everything" part of "everything will be okay" chapter of my life, but I'm a whole heck of a lot closer than I've been in ... well, a month. And for that, I am incredibly grateful.

May 3

I got a call from the HR department today to let me know that my Transition of Care paperwork had been escalated on up the chain at the insurance company.

Wish me luck that my I (and my doctors, of course) get approval. ... These forms would allow me to stay with my current oncologist while the insurance paper trail catches up with us. As is, I don't know what I'm going to do. If Dr. H isn't an in-network provider, my maximum out-of-pocket literally doubles (and it's not like it's cheap in the first place). I need him to be in-network. Or, in this case, covered by the Transition of Care clause. I'm a little worried, because, technically, a cancer patient has to be in a radiation or chemo treatment cycle to get approval for this program - and I'm not currently recieving treatment. I did add an addendum to my application explaining that, while I'm not currently in a treatment cycle, I am being followed by a specialist within oncology and will most likely be given radiation treatments prior to surgery. Dr. H, bless his sweet little heart, wrote something very similar. (And he didn't even know that I'd added an addendum - he just added a special note that he was monitoring my tumor growth and would order radiation prior to surgery. Isn't it awesome that we're thinking along the same lines? I'm pretty sure it's a sign that we'll both want to name our first born Margaret. ... Just kidding. Sort of.)

So, that's the latest there. As usual, there is no actual news. I'm still just hanging out, waiting for some resolution, chanting the ever present mantra.

"Somehow this will all work out. Somehow this will all work out. Somehow this will all work out..."

May 2

Here's the thing about liposarcoma: It's hard to find predictable or even consistent information on it. One site I read stated there are 100,000 cases reported a year (rare, right?); another site reported as many as 15,000 cases a year (rare, squared).

It is what it is, and there's not a darn thing I can do about how rare/uncommon this stupid tumor growing in my belly is, but some days it frustrates me to no end that no one can tell me what to expect.

The upside of today's reading was this lovely article. It was oddly empowering, and I have now officially declared myself CEO of Cancer Girl Enterprises. Given the amount of time I've spent on the phone - and how persistent I've had to be in determining what tactic to try (NEXT) in the great insurance debacle of 2012 - I feel that I've earned the right to both promote myself to CEO and christen my "company". Next up: selecting staff. ... I've always wanted staff. Always. (Of course, it would be even better if my staff were the kind that do the dishes and vacuums the floors, but I'll take Cancer Support Staff, too. Since, you know, I am in need of that more than I am in need of a dishwasher. Darn it.)

May 1

It is May.

Finally, May.

There's a Federal holiday in May. I'll have a three day weekend this month. ... I think I'll survive.

The End.

April 30

Tonight, I am tense. I have been all day.

I'm not sure why.

Okay, that's a lie. I may not be sure, but I think I know why. At least part of it. ... I didn't sleep well last night. At all. I had a hard time falling asleep. I woke up at 1:00 and had a hard time falling back asleep. I tossed and turned all night and finally fell into a hard sleep at about 4:00. ... And then I woke up at 6:30 and it was Monday.

This is not an auspicious way to start a day. (It being Monday, that is. Restless nights are not generally such a big deal, but when they're followed by a Monday morning, they're brutal.)

I survived the day. It's almost 9:00 PM and I'm still oddly tense. I'm pretty sure I'm gonna have to take an Ativan to be able to lie down and breathe at the same time. ... I haven't had this elephant-on-the-chest feeling in a long time. (Viva la walking meditation and the fact that my new sleep rules have resulted in me being more chill on a daily basis than I was without either of them!)

Tonight, I am super grateful for anti-anxiety medication that I know will cut the tension when nothing else will. And glory be and hallelujah for the knowledge that tonight I will sleep like a rock. For at least 6 hours. (Because that's how long the Ativan stays in my system. Whatever. I'll take it!)

April 27

The song Live Like You Were Dying always makes me feel like I should have a bucket list.

*Spoiler alert for anyone who hasn't seen the movie Bucket List, because this video is gonna tell you more than you want to know about the movie if you don't already know it like the back of your hand. You know, like I do.



I have to say it. I freaking LOVE this movie! And not just because Morgan Freeman reminds me of my grandad. (You know, if my grandad had been black. I think it's the eyes. And the posture.) Anyway, I love this movie and when I was looking for videos for this song and saw that someone had set it to scenes from this movie, I was thrilled. That first "sky-diving" reference before the video cuts back to the song was genius.

Anyway, what I was saying (before I went off on that Morgan Freeman/Russell Ball tangent) is... this song comes on the radio at work at least once a day (probably more like three times a day - we have a commercial free radio station and it loops a lot of the same songs through at the same time every day). At least once a week, when I hear this song come on, I stop whatever it is that I'm doing. I stop and I listen and I think for a minute and I wonder why I can't make a bucket list. This song makes it sound like a fun thing to have. For a girl who loves lists as much as I do (and... uh... a girl who has the cancer), you'd think I'd be all over this bucket list business. But I just can't make one. I probably could have before I had a diagnosis, but now it feels oddly final to even think about making this kind of list, so I don't.

But I still love the movie Bucket List. And I still love this song. Because I can relate on a lot of levels. Not that I want to go sky diving or Rocky Mountain climbing. (And we'll all know that there's something truly and deeply wrong with me if I ever talk about wanting to ride a bull named Fumanchu.) Oh, no. Having the cancer did not turn me into a daredevil. (Nor did it make me a sports fan. Sorry, Mich.) But it clarified what really matters in my life, and I can relate to a lot of the lyrics in this song. ... I can tell you is that the line "Someday, I hope you get the chance to live like you were dying" always makes me choke. Always. As does "I loved deeper and I spoke sweeter". Not that I've ever felt like I was dying per se, but I can tell you here and now that cancer changed my life. It changed me.

I've always made an effort to make and keep lasting relationships. People have always mattered to me. My friends and my family have always been at the top of my priority list and I've worked really hard to maintain relationships with those both near and far. And that work has paid off. In the last two years, those relationships have proved to be the most valuable thing I have. (Okay, so they're the ONLY valuable thing I have. The point is, I value them. A lot.) I'm grateful for the clarity that being sick can bring. I'm grateful for not only the amazing people in my life, but the awareness that I have of how incredibly blessed I am to have them.

Now, if I could just find a ridiculously wealthy person to fly me all over the world and buy me all kinds of stuff. (Maybe a little younger than Jack Nicholson? ... Maybe someone who looked like Nathan Fillion? Come on, Universe. I'm sending my messages out loud and clear here. Make it happen!)

April 25

I have an update on the insurance front.

Don't get all excited now... it is not great news.

I had a conference call with our sort of HR/liaison company this morning, who advised that the new STD policy has a 12 month exclusionary clause. (This is not a huge surprise, most insurance policies have a waiting period of some sort for disability insurance. Which is understandable, they don't want people to buy a policy one day and file a claim the next. I get it. It sort of stinks for someone in my situation, but I totally get it.)

Anyway, they have a 12 month exclusionary clause. Which means that I wouldn't be able to file a claim and receive any disability payouts until I'd been with them until May 2013. Translation: if I have to have surgery between now and May 1, 2013, I'm pretty much plumb out of luck when it comes to any income while I'm out of work.

Truth be told, I had been expecting this news, so I'd had a back-up plan in mind of continuing the disability policy I currently have so I'd have some sort of coverage if anything should happen between now and a year from now. It would mean paying a double premium, but I figured it would be worth it for the peace of mind of knowing that I had something in place, should I need it. Unfortunately, upon doing a little research into my current disability insurance, it's not a guaranteed continuance. I'd have to answer a medical questionnaire and possibly pass a test to prove that I'm in good health to continue my plan privately once I lose the current group benefit. ... Uh, too bad I am not in good health. It's hard enough to qualify for insurance with a history of cancer (I've been told more than once that without a remission period of 5 years, it's better not to even apply), and I'm smack dab in the middle of dealing with this.

I am frustrated. I am unsure of what this means for my future. I am scared. ... And I'm trying with all of my heart to have faith that, somehow, this will all work out.

Today, I really, really, really hate the cancer. I don't have a lot of warm fuzzies for it on a regular basis, but today it's set me on edge in a major way. (And yeah, I know that I'm supposed to be focused on enjoying the moments and not be worried about the future. That's a great plan and all, but listen... it's just not reality today.) Today, I am worried about my future and I'm frustrated with the way this insurance thing has panned out. Or not panned out, as the case may be.

April 20

My second appointment with the psychologist was this afternoon, and it was... interesting. We went through a couple visualization exercises; a walking meditation and a sitting/visualization technique. (I so prefer the walking, btw. We all know that I love a long, slow walk around the block. That I now have permission to walk even slower is like Christmas came early. So much for any pressure to beat my personal best of walking 3 miles in an hour. I am now officially a tortoise, and I'm good with that.)

I did have some bizarre tension crop up during the sitting/visualization, which annoyed me to no end, because I so badly wanted to be zen...but since I'd also had some irrational and angry thoughts (I may or may not have thought (read: definitely did think) something along the lines of "Who are you to tell me that I need to learn how to live in the present and not worry about the future? I'm sorry, but have YOU ever been told that you have the cancer... THREE TIMES?! Try living with that kind of diagnosis and not worrying about the future!") during our little practice walking meditation, I knew that I needed to talk to her about it. I mean, she is my psychologist and all. I figure, if there's anyone I should be talking to about my sudden flares of anger/frustration, she'd be the girl! (Even if it was her who I'd been mentally swearing out during our "calming" stroll around the grounds.)

When I explained the odd mix I'd felt of complete relaxation in my limbs versus serious tension in my chest, she just nodded her head. She said she wasn't surprised. She told me that she'd worried that my head would have a hard time wrapping itself around how these exercises would help me. ... She went on to explain that everyone has a dominant side: cognitive (intellectual) vs. emotional, and that our dominant side determines how we see things and process what's going on in our world. It seems, my friends, that I am one of the lucky souls who was born with TWO dominant sides. (This revelation will not come as a surprise to anyone who truly knows me.) We talked for a while about how some decisions that I make are solely heart-based. Often, how I feel is the only thing that matters, and on a lot of levels I'm a huge proponent of the "follow your heart" adage. ... At the same time, I'm incredibly analytical and detail oriented. My mind rules my life as often, and as strongly, as my heart does. I'm totally fine with crying during a coffee commercial because it tugs at my heart strings, but at the same time, if something doesn't make perfect sense to my rational brain, I absolutely cannot let myself do it.

According to the shrink, there's nothing wrong with me. (I asked.) She told me that she doesn't see two dominant sides in a person often, esp with dominants as strong as mine are. (Again, anyone who truly knows me knows that I am both exceptionally analytical and super emotional.) We talked about how it can be difficult to fluctuate between the need to feel vs. think my way through my life, and how that could complicate my therapy with her. ... Half of me is all about finding a way to feel and sleep better, and I think this visualization therapy could be the ticket to both. The other half of me cannot rationalize how going somewhere in my imagination will help me deal with the reality of my life. She sat back in her chair and said that it must be exhausting to have two strong dominants. ... It. Is. Exhausting. I'll tell you, though, that it felt really great to have someone (a professional, at that) tell me that both my need to plan and prepare and think my way through things and my sudden emotional outbursts are valid and, at the very core of me, part of who I am.

The theory (and hope) is that the visualization practices will bring the two sides of my brain a little bit closer together. That is, if I can get over the fact that the thought of sitting (or lying) still and doing nothing except breathing makes me want to scream bloody murder. The good doc knows that I am going to be a bit of a challenge in this department. She sent me home with two cd's that I can use to practice visualization on my own. My assignment is to listen to each of them at least once and then report back what I like and what I don't. Her guess is that she's going to have to tweak her usual treatment to find something that will work for my "contrary self" (her words). My next appointment is in two weeks. Wish me luck in getting all of these relaxation/visualization audios listened to so I can get her headed in a direction of custom-creating a program for me...