As promised, part deux of the wedding/Vegas saga. I’m not quite as angry as I was yesterday about the two people faking cancer, but still disappointed in people in general. So to lighten my mood, it’s time to reminisce and continue the story of a very, very good weekend. But yes, I still want them to be hit by a bus and/or kicked in the crotch by karma. That will never change. I’m kinda bitchy that way. Surprise! 

So there we were – someplace I never pictured myself being – at a wedding chapel in Las Vegas. Lots of hugs, then as more people showed up, more hugs. I was amazed that when all was said and done, we had probably 40 or 50 people show up. And it was fabulous. It was both beautiful and casual. We kept with tradition and had my dad walk me down the aisle and give me away, but it was relaxed and stress-free. All we cared about was that a lot of people who loved us had showed up, and that we were making things official. The ceremony was perfect – just enough traditional talk of love and vows to get people teary-eyed, and just Vegasy enough to have some laughs as well. I wasn’t concerned with pretty pictures or getting my vows right or how my hair looked – all I was concerned with for that time was how damn happy we were.

Once we said the words and did the smooching, we headed outside into the entirely too bright sunshine. More picture taking, more hugs. After the milling about and mass confusion that only occurs when large families gather was done, we had our plan for the rest of the day. We kidnapped my parents and Kris and went back to Fremont Street. Rudy and I zipped up to the room to change (that’s all, honest!) and met back downstairs. Next up? Ziplining! Yay! So we meandered down to the end of the street to buy our tickets and then head upstairs a few levels to the launch platform. My loving husband was starting to get a little uneasy though. And when I say a little uneasy, I mean sweaty palms and telling me how much I was going to owe him if he lived. This was all before we had even bought the tickets.

Tickets were finally purchased, and we headed up the elevator a few stories to get to the launch platform. I knew it was over when he stepped out onto the scaffolding, got his harness on and then looked down as the scaffolding swayed in the wind a bit. Yup. Done. He apologized profusely and bolted. *sigh* And I, being the loving, concerned wife, did what any good woman would do and continued on my way across the scaffolding to get hooked on to the line. I’ll admit, it was a little scary up there, but in a good get-the-adrenaline-pumping way. And on the bright side, I met a great couple (you go 4 at a time) who were going at the same time. They were a hoot – he was dying to do the zipline, and she was terrified. But she still went. And yes, I pointed that out to Rudy repeatedly for a few days. Because that’s how I roll. Needless to say, it was a blast. I’ve ziplined in the jungle in Honduras, but this was totally different. There was so much to look at as you were flying down the wire – people below you, the canopy above you, the buildings flying by – that it seemed very surreal. And now I can’t wait until they build the bigger, better zipline down Fremont later this year. I’ll be there. Ziplining solo.

After my brief flight, I found my parents, Kris, and my earthbound husband. More mockery ensued, then we proceeded to meander around Fremont Street for a while and then head back to the hotel for some lunch. Or the lunch may have been before the ziplining…it’s a blur I tell you! But as usual, all good things must end and we had to get my parents back to their hotel to pack and check out. Unfortunately, they had to be at the airport by about 10:00pm for a late flight home, and we still had a party to get to.

Luckily, Rudy’s aunt who was hosting the reception/party lived not too terribly far from the airport, so we headed there in the afternoon for what was a rockin’ reception. I am still touched by everything that his family did for us. There was food everywhere, bottles of champagne, new champagne glasses for Rudy and I to toast with, cupcakes, a wedding cake and last but not least, the most welcoming group of folks I’ve ever met. I thought my parents might be a little overwhelmed at the sheer volume of Rudy’s family, but they were welcomed and pulled in to the fold as if they’d part of the family for years. I loved seeing some of my favorite cousins chatting up my folks, and my folks chatting right back and having a ball. Toasts were made, more hugs were given, and it was a perfect night. I love that 6 months later, my parents still ask about the Vegas clan every time we talk.

After a really lovely day, the time had come to get my parents to the airport. Boooooooooo! I’m sure they were looking forward to getting on the plane and sleeping on the long flight home, especially considering that they’d pretty much been running for 2 days straight. But they didn’t let it show as we got to security and they gave me hugs that seemed to be both unending and entirely too short. There were more tears and more hugs, then I had to let them go. I am still, to this day, astounded that they went through all of that effort, time and money to spend less than 24 hours in Vegas for us. But I really shouldn’t be surprised – that is who they are. An amazingly supportive, incredible and loving couple. I couldn’t ask for better parents.

Party over, parents heading home, 10:30 on a Saturday night in Vegas. What to do, what to do. Oh, I know! Head back to the hotel and meet up with friends for a few adult beverages and people watching! As we sat in the indoor/outdoor bar at the Golden Nugget, we realized what all the noise from Fremont Street was – Skid Row and Warrant in concert to celebrate our marriage. Orrrrr just to try to make some money with the vague remnants of their 80’s bands that were still alive. Either way, it made for some fabulous people watching as we sat and chatted (ok, screamed back and forth) with our friends. It made for a great end to a truly great weekend.

We may have gambled a bit more after that, we may have gone back upstairs. I have no idea, and really – the details and order of events don’t matter. All I know is that the ‘one last party’ weekend had turned into something amazing and beautiful and joyous. It’s what every wedding weekend should be – low stress, full of love and laughter, and simply happy. That’s all. And when it comes down to it, we accomplished the actual goal of the weekend – I got 3 days where I completely forgot I had cancer. And it was perfect.

I think that what infuriates me so much about people who pretend to have cancer for various reasons is that anyone who has ever been given a cancer diagnosis honestly just wishes they had never heard those words – that they could just forget for one day. It shakes you to your soul. Your own body is doing its best to kill you, your mind goes places that are truly frightening, and you feel more alone than you ever dreamed you could. It is an awful, awful thing – and for someone to pretend…it boggles the mind. If they only understood that a cancer diagnosis, no matter what stage, is horrifying and all-consuming. At least for a little while. It’s been 6 months for me, and I still have days where it’s all I think about. Every time I start to forget about it, I remember I need to make my next 3-month follow up appointment with my oncologist. Or I get random pains that make my mind race and wonder if it’s back. I know that someday it will fade and not be so front and center – probably in about 4 and a half years (but who’s counting) when I get my official ‘cancer-free’ from the doctor. *fingers crossed* But for now…all I can do is shake my head and wish that people who pretend to have cancer could walk in a real cancer patient’s shoes for one day.

HOLY COW! 1500 views from 25 countries? Fine…I’ll keep writing. I’m a sucker for peer pressure.

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Well hello there. Remember me? I’m baaaaaaaack. It’s been a rough couple of days for me. As it turns out, a cervical cancer support group I’m a member of is currently tearing itself apart. Turns out 2 very popular ladies with stage 4 cervical cancer, who got a large amount of attention from the rest of us, were frauds. One was simply looking to defraud actual cancer patients out of money (and the FBI is now involved) and one has serious mental issues. I am angry and disgusted. Luckily, I wasn’t extremely close to either of them unlike a lot of the girls. But it still infuriates me that someone would pretend to have this horrible disease. And the fact that they befriended a 3rd girl with actual stage 4 cancer and broke her heart…I want a bus to plow them both down right now. Or for karma to give them a swift cancer-kick in the crotch. So since I’m on the verge of losing all hope in humanity, I’m going to get back to writing about happy things. For a change. 

Last I left off (yeah, yeah, I know…it’s been a while – quit nagging), I was reeling from my official cancer diagnosis. Rudy and I decided that since I was going to be laid up for heaven knows how long, that one last party trip was in order. There really wasn’t any debate about where since we only had one weekend available to go and only a few days to plan – Vegas was the perfect choice. We made a groveling phone call to our favorite casino host and asked if there were rooms available with our fingers crossed. Chances were slim since we only gave him 3 days notice, but he happily responded with a free room in our favorite tower for 3 nights, food and beverages comped, and a few hundred dollars to play with. Thank you Golden Nugget! So with that secured, we started trying to figure out what we wanted to do while we were there. Besides the obvious drink, gamble, eat, people watch and repeat. I decided on doing the Fremont Street zip-line, and talked my wonderful man (who is terrified of heights) into trying it. Victory! Then my wonderful man brought up what he wanted to do in Vegas. That’s right – mawwage. (Sorry, Princess Bride speak is the only way I can say it.) We’d batted the idea around for a while, but it was always later. Next year. Some other time. Suddenly we were facing the possibility that there wouldn’t be a next year. And it was sobering. It wasn’t just the idea that the cancer could be further along than we thought. There was also the very real possibility that something could go wrong in surgery, and Rudy would have zero say in life or death decisions for me. Then there was just the simple fact that we really, really love each other and it just seemed right.

So like a bad daughter, I called some Vegas chapels first to see if it was even a possibility. No sense in telling the family we were getting married if we simply couldn’t do it. Or at least that was the rationale at the time. Now I realize I’m just a big dork, and should have called them first. Luckily for us, after some googling, the exact chapel I wanted (and by wanted, I mean non-cheesy and pretty) was available for Saturday, July 21. But we only had 2 options – the first time slot of the day at noon, or 10:30pm. As much as I didn’t want to have to wake up early (and yes, being dressed up and driving somewhere before noon in Vegas IS early, dammit!), we were hoping some friends and family might be able to make it. So we went with noon. And THEN I called my parents and told them the good news. It felt really good to have something happy to tell them for a change. And they were perfectly, wonderfully excited for us. I told them that I picked a place that would let them watch the wedding on-line because I knew they (among others) would kick our butts if we didn’t. I told them I would call them before the wedding, and leave my phone on speaker if I was allowed so they could hear. I wanted them there so badly, but considering the wedding was now 4 days away, I knew there was absolutely no way they would be able to make it. And it meant the world to me that as much as they wanted to be there, they completely understood us going ahead with it without them.

So more friends and family were let in on our big plans, and the outpouring of love and support was lovely and touching. What came next was both unexpected and wonderful. First, a very good friend who lives in Vegas told us he would do his very best to take off work that day and come to the wedding. And he did. With the added bonus of his quietly charming husband coming with him. Second, Rudy has a very large and very incredible branch of his family who live in Vegas – and they were adamant about both coming to the wedding and putting together a reception. (Side note – they all told me in case of divorce, they’re keeping me. I’m awesome.) Third, Rudy’s best friend in the world who lives a ways from Vegas, dropped everything to drive the 500+ miles for the weekend. Fourth, my loving and very energetic future mother-in-law and her husband also dropped everything to drive up from LA for the weekend. As did Rudy’s lovely aunt and uncle. I was a little overwhelmed with the amount of folks who were willing to spend precious time and money to come up for our quickie ceremony. It was both touching and heartwarming. Little did I know the best surprise was yet to come.

Of course, focus next turned to what we would both wear. Neither of us had the time nor the desire to hunt down formal wedding attire. On our list of concerns, it was at the very bottom – we just aren’t those people. We both wanted something nice but casual, and comfortable. That was pretty much it. I pulled a little white summery dress out of my closet, and he found a pair of khaki dress slacks and a pale blue button down. Done. And damn if we didn’t look gooooood!

Fast forward a few days, and we were off to Vegas on an early Thursday morning. We dropped the pooch off at his favorite doggie day care in Vegas, and made it to the hotel. Everyone from out of town was arriving Friday or Saturday morning, so we had Thursday night to ourselves. We had some drinks, did some gambling, did some people watching, had a lovely dinner and generally just had a fantastic night. (Some details omitted to protect the innocent.)

The next day, we lazed about in bed and ordered room service and then napped some more. Late in the afternoon, Rudy told me I needed to get out of bed at some point. I knew he was right, but I still gave him a snarl. Then went back to sleep. Finally he couldn’t keep his secret to himself another second. He leaned over and told me we had to pick up my parents at the airport. I told him to stop being a jerk – he wasn’t funny. It took him a few minutes to convince me that he wasn’t joking. That my amazing, incredible, wonderful, sneaky parents had been plotting with him for days and were flying out for the wedding. From Ohio, on 3 days notice. I still don’t think I believed it until I saw them at the airport. After a few delays, they finally made it to Vegas (they spent more time traveling to and fro than they did in Vegas) and my heart was happy. Between the reality of them moving heaven and earth to be at our wedding and the simple fact that I hadn’t seen them since months before the cancer diagnosis, there were a lot of very long hugs and not a few tears at the airport that night.

As they were exhausted from a long day of travel, we dropped them off in their hotel room and let them get some rest. We zipped back to our hotel and met up with Rudy’s best friend, Kristen. I think. At this point, the weekend is a blur. Oops. But I’m fairly sure we had some drinks and gambled a bit with her before scooting off too bed entirely too late. All I know is that we had a lot of fun.

The next morning came entirely too quickly. We got ourselves all pretty and met up with Kris downstairs, then drove over to the chapel. My parents were waiting for us, having gotten there early enough to walk next door to the ‘Pawn Stars’ pawn shop and look around first. And no, they did not meet Chumley or any of the other dudes. By the time we got there, there was a line out the pawn shop door around the building, a DJ setting up in the parking lot, and a food tent getting set up. Apparently it’s quite the tourist destination now. Who knew? We had other things on our mind at the time, so we quickly got around to giving more hugs as more people showed up and started getting down to the business at hand.

And with that, I will leave you for tonight. But I’ll be back in a day or two to finish the tale of our wedding weekend. Honest. Typing this tale (oooooh kinda sorta alliteration!) has brightened my mood. I still want 2 particular people to be hit by a bus (ok, maybe two or three others as long as I’m wishing…), but at least I can still vaguely see a glimmer of hope for humanity again. And a glimmer is all I need for now.

“I can’t seem to find my new normal.” I read that a lot on a few cancer chat-boards that I frequent and I can’t get it out of my head. You see, there seems to be an assumption that after treatment/surgery and the ‘all-clear,’ that I should be dancing a jig to be cancer-free and that everything should just fall right back into place. News flash – I’m not and it doesn’t. Some people in my life sort of get it, and some have no idea – and the rest fall somewhere in the middle.

New reality #1 – I’m only kinda sorta cancer-free. Yes, the surgery technically got it all. But the kicker is I’m not officially cancer-free for 5 more years. I have 5 more years of constantly looking over my shoulder waiting to see if this bastard is coming back. 5 more years of worrying about every ache and twinge. 5 more years of getting poked, prodded, scanned and checked out every few months, and then waiting anxiously for each appointment and test result. Because the reality is, the rare bastard of cancers that I got has about a 35% chance of coming back in the near future – and if it does, it comes back much bigger and badder than before. If it comes back, I will definitely need radiation and chemo, and will most likely lose some more body parts that I’m kind of fond of. So yep – while I’m currently NED (No Evidence of Disease), I’ve still got a long road ahead of me before I can really and truly celebrate. So for now, I am still trying to find the right amount of happy dance to do to that will allow me to celebrate, and yet keep the cancer-gods from smiting me for celebrating too soon.

New reality #2 – I’ve had to re-evaluate a lot of people in my life – and what I found surprised me. I get it – people (myself included) normally just aren’t sure what to say or do when someone they know gets bad news. There’s a lot of ‘let me know if you need anything’ and ‘I’ll be praying for you’ type stuff – and that is perfectly fine. What surprised me was the complete randomness of responses from people I thought I knew, and people I’ve still never met. I had friends I’ve known for a long, long time just kind of bow out after an initial ‘hope everything works out’ – and that sucks. I’m still trying to wrap my head around a few of those. I had friends tell me that all that matters is that I’m alive – which by the way, is right up there with ‘it could be worse!’ (Rant following…Having a friend brush off how you feel is kind of shitty. By that ridiculous logic, any random person spending time say…recovering in a burn unit in a hospital after just having lost their entire family in a horrible fire should just be told to suck it up, brush off the pain and mental distress and par-tay, because hey – they’re alive! Whee hoo! Annnnnd end rant.) So yeah – if you’ve never heard the words ‘you have cancer’ said directly to you, even if you mean well, you just don’t get it. You don’t. And you can’t. Which is ok. It happens. Which brings me to my next friend experience – I have a new wonderful friend who I met on-line who is practically a twin to me. (Hi Frodo! Miss you!) And we still haven’t met face to face. She and I had the exact same rare cancers at the exact same time and seem to have a freakishly large amount of things in common. Ridiculously, freakishly large. Books, tv shows, comic strips, movies, sense of humor, all of it. As a joke I asked her what kind of OJ she drinks – turns out, the exact same one as me. Freakish, I tell you. And if it weren’t for this cancer crap, we never would have gotten to bounce catheter jokes off of each other – and that would be a shame. Another good thing – I had friends that I haven’t talked to in years come out of the woodwork and offer so much love and support that it’s amazing. And then some of my friends and most of my family responded exactly as I thought/hoped they would. Because they’re totally awesome. So yep – I learned that some of my friends suck, and most of them are awesome. It just kind of shook things up learning which was which.

New reality #3 –  7 weeks after surgery, I am still a potato. Oh sorry – a pet rock – because a potato serves a purpose. When I was awaiting my surgery date, my lovely new friend was just going through her surgery. And she suddenly became much less witty. I had to use small words when I e-mailed. I had to explain jokes. It was like her brain had decided to drop to 50% capacity. Hmmm. She told me to just wait – it would happen to me. And then she planned on mocking me relentlessly. Sure, I said. Not gonna happen. Except it did. When I first got home, I blamed it on the pain meds. Then lack of sleep. 7 weeks post-surgery, I don’t have anything to blame it on. I forget words. A lot. I stare at walls. A lot. I mix up words when I talk. A lot. I forget stuff. A lot. And I’ve just discovered I’m not completely mental. It’s called postoperative cognitive dysfunction – and it’s fairly common after the type of major surgery I had. It has to do with the levels of and length of time you’re under anesthesia. And I’ve just learned it can last for months. Possibly years. Yay me! I’m keeping my fingers crossed that it goes away soon, because it’s getting ridiculous. Ah well, at least I provide entertainment value occasionally. Like tonight, when I almost tossed the used coffee filter full of grinds into the dishwasher instead of the trash can. Good times.

New reality #4 – Constant pain and/or discomfort really, really sucks. Nothing terribly amusing or clever to add to this one. I just wish someone would have explained all the potential owies I would have after this surgery. Doctors everywhere are touting the wonders of this magical machine that is the Da Vinci robot used for my surgery. Even my surgeon happily explained that I would be up and about in 2 weeks and all better in 4 weeks. Testimonials on-line from women gleefully exclaim that they experienced zero pain after surgery and were back to work in 5 days. (Seriously. These are apparently the same women who in olden days would deliver a baby while working in the fields and just keep going.) Well apparently whatever magical little fairy that was supposed to swing by and sprinkle her ‘pain-free/fast recovery’ fairy dust all over the robot used on me, forgot. Because 7 weeks out, I’m still in pain and still tired. Which led me to do a little research. Surprise, surprise, it appears I’m not alone in the least. Most women who have the same surgery I had get a minimum of 6 weeks off work – most get 8. I initially got 4 weeks off and had to beg for 5. (Thankfully, I have an awesome boss who is letting me work what hours I can. He gets it.) Did going back to work too soon slow down my recovery? Who knows. But it sure didn’t help, I know that. The reality is that even with the magical robot machine, the surgery is what it is – a major surgery that takes women a year to fully recover from. The removal of several organs and loads of connective and soft tissue, the stripping of arteries, veins and nerves, the severing of some of those same arteries, veins and nerves, the ‘we’ll just move this over here while we work on that’ jostling of the innards, the hunt for and removal of 20-ish lymph nodes and oh yeah, the hundreds of internal, and some external, stitches isn’t a freaking walk in the park. There’s no getting around that, no matter how modern and snazzy the shiny new machine is. And I kind of wish doctors acknowledged that.

New reality #5 – Permanent health issues that no one warns you about really freaking suck…and the psychological ramifications of the shit you already know about suck even worse. Remember that nerve-severing I mentioned before? And the lymph node removal? Oddly enough, no one warns you about the permanent effects of that. I take that back – I was warned about the nerve they had to cut that went to my bladder. It just gets in the way of where they need to work, apparently. Luckily, that issue is vaguely kind of sort of fixed. But they don’t warn you that in order to find those pesky lymph nodes, they have to basically sift through a lot of stuff. And then strip down various nerves, tendons, arteries and veins to get to them. Which tends to up the chance of nerve damage, wouldn’t you say? I would, because I now have nerve damage in one leg and one arm. Permanent? Who knows. After much poking and prodding and visits from lots and lots of neurologists while I was at the hospital, I was told I *should* be better after 2 weeks, but there was a remote possibility it was permanent. Well, it’s been more than 2 weeks, so guess which way I’m leaning? *sigh* And if the shooting pains in my arm/hand and leg weren’t enough added fun, I have more to look forward to. Lymphedema, anyone? Who knew – if you remove lymph nodes, you stand a very good chance of screwing up the snazzy little lymphatic highway that runs through your body. Something to do with fluids not draining properly, increased risk of permanent damage and pain if not treated immediately, having a much higher risk of infection in the affected limb blah blah blah. I say blah blah blah because it takes a while to really kick in – usually a year or two after surgery. And I’m too damned tired to worry about yet another random health issue. Because I’m already emotionally exhausted with all the crap I already knew about. The no having kids part, the 5-years of checkups, the long recovery, the absolute emotional roller coaster that is a cancer diagnosis – I really did know all about all of that. And yet it’s still surprising to me the toll it takes. Every. Single. Day. It’s all more mentally exhausting than I ever dreamed.

New reality #6 – The apparently compulsory pervasive perkiness of cancer survivors makes me feel guilty for having bad days. It’s almost as if I’m supposed to suddenly be a better person – one who is cheerfully grateful every single second for every breath, every dawn, every moment and have a damn halo over my head while I’m at it. I’m supposed to re-evaluate everything and discover a new-found generosity of spirit, a wiseness, a battle-hardened survivor-type attitude where I’m above the day-to-day nonsense. Yeah. I’m not. I’m different – I don’t know how yet, but I am. I know that. But most days I just pray for the pain to stop and for the cancer to stay away, and hope that today is a good day where I don’t need to go to bed after 4 or 5 hours of work – which entails sitting at a desk. But I feel like even on a bad day, I should have that weary, good-natured, happy to be here attitude – all the while curled up with teddy bears with little pink ribbons tied on them. Guess what kids – cancer and recovery isn’t always rainbows, unicorns and kittens. Sometimes folks with cancer have really shitty days. And I’ve decided that I’m not feeling guilty about it any more. When you stop to think about it, it’s better this way anyway – hiding your feelings/fears/hurts is ridiculously dumb. And counter-productive. So suck it, rainbows and unicorns! We can’t all be warrior princesses every single day no matter how hard we try.

So what does all this rambling mean? (And by the way, it’s taken almost 4 days for me to type this little blog entry – thank you postoperative cognitive dysfunction!) I’m not sure entirely. It means I’m still needing to take things one day at a time and that I’m still sorting some things out and I’m still recovering. A few weeks ago I just needed a break – I needed to retreat and curl up in my own mind and think some things through. I’m still pondering and still not completely ready to step back into the real world yet. But I’m getting there. Slowly. So don’t you worry faithful readers – all 5 of you – I’ll get back to writing the rest of my story soon. As long as I don’t forget my log-in. Or password. Or blog name. Or my own name. Or where my computer is. Or…