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The NHS is pretty rad so far…

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I really like my doctor. She’s pretty rad. I went and saw her again today. We talked about anxiety, sleep, cancer follow up, exercise, and diet recommendations. She is dancing around the hint that she thinks it might improve my general health if I lost some weight but she has not said it directly and I appreciate that. She thinks that heading in a vegan direction has the strong likelihood of improving general inflammation so it might improve pain stuff but she sees no point in it for cancer prevention in my case. She also implied it might make managing my weight easier but she is just hinting.

In this country they don’t like giving Lorazepam for sleep the way I take it, they prefer Diazepam and she stressed that in general any doctor here is going to be very hesitant to give it to me on a long-term basis. Here they dislike any sleep aid for longer than a 2 week period. But given that my problem isn’t staying asleep it is getting my racing thoughts to calm down enough to go to sleep… she sees why I like Lorazepam and she is comfortable bending the rules somewhat in my case. She said “If I had had your life I would have trouble going to sleep too.” (For the Americans, she wants me off Ativan and on to Valium instead.)

She wants to see me again when my medical records arrive so we can discuss my specific drug history and what she might like to try for anti-anxiety going forward. I told her I would be happy to trial drugs that are available here and not in the US once we are able to go over the gene testing report together so we can have a solid idea of what I am likely to have a strong negative reaction to. So far I am really impressed with her. I have gotten far less push back than I do from US doctors. After our next visit she would like me to meet a psychiatrist here but she assumes I won’t be seeing them on a regular basis.

She asked how much I exercise already and said, “That’s really great! It sounds like it might be nice to do some of that in a group so you make friends but you don’t really have to stress about upping the amount.” She has already given me a list of places/organisations for group exercise so I can work on general fitness stuff and community building at the same time. That’s pretty rad. This area has a pretty big focus on trying to increase exercise for general health. She even said she doesn’t think I need to eliminate alcohol. She told me that depriving myself of things is going to super negatively impact my mental health and that will probably be a bigger problem than what damage I will do to my body with alcohol/sugar/meat products. She stressed moderation.

For a 15 minute visit I felt that was about as good as it gets. She gave me a ‘scrip for Diazepam that will probably last me 6 months. She said that if I only need a new ‘scrip every 6-8 months she thinks the NHS will deal with the fact that it is usage that doesn’t follow their general recommendations because I am clearly not abusing it. I just have severe long-term mental health concerns where I do require a level of usage than is different from the “norm”.

I will be calling for an appointment in January because hopefully my records will arrive by them. I see the dermatologist on the 2nd of December. That’s really not a long wait…

Finally paid off.

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I have a lot of “loyalty” points for various travel websites. Tonight I booked two nights in a place in Edinburgh in December for $38. I’m excited. We have to renew kid passports (turns out I couldn’t get it done in the states because [insert long story that isn’t interesting] and now we have to get it done remotely) and get a document notarized so we can sell our Disney time share property. We are getting not quite twice what we paid for it back.

I’m having approximately 9,382 feelings about various things going on in my life. I was thinking, while out walking tonight, how I no longer have the freedom to word-vomit them on my blog without fear of consequences. I wonder if this is a sign I am getting old. Maybe my super-ego is too developed. I fear the consequences of talking about my feelings.

I have been giving just about everyone I meet a little pop quiz, “Do you find it offensive if someone tells you that they are having a terrible day when you ask ‘how are you?'” So far the overwhelming majority says, “If I didn’t want to hear that I shouldn’t have asked.” My faith in humanity is restored. I take it too seriously when someone on the internet says “90% of people who say that will think you are rude if you answer honestly.” My on-the-street pop quiz is finding more like 10%-15% would find it rude. And I am never going to please everyone. That’s alright.

We continue to settle in. I am trying to rest more, with mixed success. What that means is I bought a 1,000 piece puzzle and put together 75% of it in 24 hours. I’m trying to savor the last bit.

The boat stuff isn’t arriving until mid-December. We are going to Edinburgh in mid-December.

I’m still having a lot of feelings about the cancer stuff. I don’t know how much changing my whole life I should do. The majority of cancer risk is genetic and if I went 100% vegan, gave up drinking and sugar entirely, and exercised like a triathlete… I wouldn’t change my risk profile by very much. If I did squeeze out a slight increase in quantity of life it would be at what sort of cost?

I don’t know what to do. I am feeling a little better about having written the book. I know I censored the shit out of myself and I don’t like that part. If I knew I was going to die in six months and I didn’t have to deal with the long-term consequences to some of my friendships… that chapter would be very different. Maybe just maybe I should write a “real one” and keep it in a drawer. Maybe. If I didn’t have to accept the consequences of my actions I would write a lot more about the cost of silencing yourself for the sake of a friendship.

I am a coward.

I don’t want to feel like I am letting other people down but I’m starting to think I need to focus way more on whether or not I am letting me down. Other people need to do what they have to do for their happiness and I need to stop worrying about their happiness over my own. I need to be happy too. I spend an awful lot of time being unhappy and sometimes that is absolutely the result of my choices and I could make different choices.

Recently someone said to me that they aren’t trying to conform to their new environment, they are looking for co-existence. I am not sure I will ever really be Scottish. But I would like to joyously co-exist. A friend likes to say that after living abroad she feels more “American” than she used to. I feel Californian in my bones. I don’t feel American. I have seen enough of the country that I really don’t identify with it as a whole. Part of what I love about the city of Inverness is how much it reminds me of California in some ways. There has been a massive amount of immigration and the basic culture has had to shift to tolerating co-existence in a way that feels good and natural to me.

I do love California. I will always miss California. The necklace you gave me of the state flag hangs on the wall in my room where I can see it every day. I will always miss you. I do love you. Yeah, I think you stalk me too. I haz data.

I don’t know how we will find our place here, but I think it will happen. Piece by piece. We will have to build a new network and we will. I am not complete just coming here with the small bit of threads I carried with me. I need to build a new web.

Sobonfu told me to build my own community. I have rarely had the privilege of knowing a wiser human being than her. I need to listen. That means I have to be brave. I have to put myself out there. I have to not be content with just what I already have. I have to keep trying and growing. Even though it is going to hurt. Even though I am afraid of the consequences of being me and speaking my mind.

Today I got to talk to a lady. After chatting for a while she laughed and said, “I feel like you are me, with children. I am so happy I got to talk to you today.”

When I have given people the pop quiz they always say some variation of, “You glow with wanting to know the real answer.”

I am broken, open.

I will always be a little too raw. A lot too judgmental. Way too intense. Extra. And that’s ok. Not everyone has to understand me or like me or want me.

I don’t have time for everyone anyway. I’m still trying to figure out how to carve out space for myself. I’m still trying to figure out what that means. I am still so very tired.

I am really enjoying watching my third child blossom. She is getting more intense and verbal by the day. She is going to have no trouble keeping up with my chatty little family. She names everything she sees all day long. If she has something she still cries because she wants it and why don’t you give it to her already. She’s passionate and organized. She knows her routines. If I haven’t scooped the kitty litter by bed time she tells me to go do it. She knows what needs to be done.

We are all settling in.

School… well… it turns out that schools in Scotland are schools. But hey, no guns!

I don’t identify as “American” in large part because when I think “America” I think of guns. California has guns but it is not defined by them.

It’s all so complicated.

And so it goes, on and on and on.

Third time, done.

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50,129. I wrote for 90 minutes today and now I need to stop before my wrists explode into flames.

I’m sure I will add more in the future. But I’m walking away from the higher word count goal for right now. There’s a lot more I want to flesh out in some of these chapters but I am declaring NaNo done for the year and I’m going to take another break.

Maybe it will be another multi-year break like the second break. Blurgh.

I love this part

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Whoa. Holy saucebuckets. The new upgrade of WordPress looks weird.

Today we sat down and divided up the weekend so that everyone gets to have one on one date time with each other. I get two hours to work on the book. I might finish NaNo this weekend, I’m close. Today I get to write the chapter on friendships. I may never publish this book if I want to keep my friends.

Procrastination and longing

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I hit 44,000 (and some) words then I haven’t written in two days. I feel overwhelmed and sad. When am I going to hit the point of feeling like “See! I am awesome! I have done all of the things! It’s amazing that I’ve done so well!”

I don’t know.

I feel sad and small and insufficient. I don’t think I should because I’m rather sufficient. Is there any advantage to being amazing or awesome? Sufficient is how I get through. Just barely good enough, that’s me.

The next chapter I write has to be about the screaming. It has to be an abject apology to my children. An admission that it has absolutely never been their fault when I lose control and I am so terribly sorry. I didn’t know how to create better boundaries so that I would have enough space for me so that I would have a more adequate amount to give to you. That was a huge failure on my part and it is entirely my fault. It is never ever ever ever your fault when I scream.

I love you and I am sorry I have failed you. I have.

This is going to be a rough chapter. I’m not writing it for you the readers of the blog; I write it because someday when my children struggle with feeling like the bad parts were all their fault I want them to be able to read it again. No, my darlings. It was not your fault. It was mine. I am deficient and that is a horrible burden you have had to bear.

It was never because I didn’t love you. It was always because I ran out of cope and that is a terrible, horrible truth.

Today Youngest Child demanded outside time as we waited for yet another package to be delivered so we went out in the yard. I took advantage of this time and got about 1/3 of the grass cut. I am a hippy so of course I have a push mower instead of an electric or gas one. I am having fun with it but I’m not sure the lawn looks “neat”. It would not pass muster if one were intent on a uniform lawn. To be fair I think this is either my very first or my second time ever cutting grass and the previous time might have been more than twenty years ago. Learning curves are real. I will improve, but it will take some time.

I am trying to figure out what I am going to do with the yard as I look outside the window. On one hand, I want to put up large trellises to block view and on the other hand, I worry about making the yard feel more closed off. I think that before I am allowed to plant anything I want to get some string and try to limit the walkways through the grass to start playing with how much grass I want to leave for running on. I want to be able to plant food in the yard. I sort of want to put planter boxes covering the driveway area, we don’t want a car after all, but I think I might regret that. I don’t know yet. It will take me a while. I don’t have to decide today. Or even in the next year.

I’m trying to put boundaries in place so I don’t fuck things up in the same way I have in the past. In the process I might just fuck things up in a whole new way.

Life is thrilling.

Ten days till I go in for my next doctor appointment. She probably won’t be the one to cut more out of me, but it’s still important.

Our boat stuff won’t arrive for another month. I am feeling pretty upset. Our Christmas decorations aren’t going to arrive until a week before Christmas. I may leave stuff up until February.

I’m drinking too much. By which I mean I’m having a drink a day. Well, somehow I need to find the self control and never buy another bottle of whisky. Because alcohol contributes to nine kinds of cancer and I have to be here for people.

All the mother fucking feelings. Oh well. Shut up.

Why?

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A few people have asked me what is the point in writing the book given that it increases my stress level and it makes me feel bad about myself in the writing process. Rehashing ones mistakes rarely improves ones self esteem.

Last night my daughter told me that she worries about whether she will be able to find a job when she is older. I said, “Hang on.” I read through the chapter on my work history. Her eyes bugged out. She said, “You’ve done all that! Really?!” Yes. I have.

I may not always have the ability to tell my children about who I am. Frankly, I am extraordinary despite the fact that I am “only a housewife”. It is good for my kids to know it.

Do I feel bad as I rehash my mistakes? Yes. But by the time I am done I will understand myself better. I will understand the arc of my life better. I’m actually at a remarkably good point for examining the past few decades. I am at the dawn of a whole new era.

Yes. It is worth doing.

In this process I look not at what happened to me so much as what I did. I place myself in my story as a character of great changeability and potential and worth.

Yes. It is worth doing.

44,748 words in so far.

I need grace for me too.

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I will definitely finish the 50K words for NaNoWriMo, but my hands hurt a lot. I am not going to die of cancer in the next year. I don’t need to finish the whole book this month. I don’t think trying to do that is good for my mental or physical health right now.

I’m struggling with vulnerability and emotional stability. When I lived in California I struggled with this. These are things I don’t handle well. I am having a hard time with the lack of pot, the knowledge that I really should stop drinking entirely (linked to 9 kinds of cancer), and I’m on duty around the clock with a lot of stress.

The house is a money pit. Once we get everything fixed (it feels like fucking everything) hopefully it will get easier, but it’s really stressful. Getting things here is super stressful. I’ve been waiting ALL FUCKING DAY for the delivery of baby gates to help with boundaries for multiple days but the company just isn’t getting around to me and they tell me I have to be available from 7:30am-9pm just in case they feel like getting to me that day.

If I write about my kids and what is going on with them there is potential judgment there that is a bigger problem than just shutting the fuck up and not getting support.

Boundaries are hard. Where do boundaries need to be placed to preserve relationships and where will boundaries mess up a relationship? I don’t know.

I don’t have a lot of adult contact in my life. There are a bunch of reasons for this and I’m not complaining about it–I’m just noticing that it’s part of the constellation of stress and anxious. I don’t feel very safe reaching out and that’s complicated. I am not blaming anyone else. I am not reaching out. I am not reaching out for eleventybillion reasons. I suspect that a bunch of my friends would be happy to talk to me more, but I feel like a needy burden and that means I need to just shut the fuck up and wait it out until I can listen and be a supportive friend again. I don’t feel ok in any way with needing support.

I found out yesterday that there is a family from Sacramento in our school; they moved here at Easter. We talked about live shooter drills and how much of a problem they were for her kids. She understands why I home schooled there. She said that in her experience there really is zero support or understanding for it here. All home schooling here is termed “interrupted learning”.

I’m feeling a lot of hostility towards the idea that home schooling means that kids are inevitably damaged. As if the fucking kids who go to school are all alright.

The longer period of darkness means my family is sleeping a lot more. That’s good. There is this well of existential exhaustion we are all trying to cope with. It’s good but it means there are fewer hours in the day for us to do our work and that causes anxiety too.

I’m going to start shooting for more like 1,000-1,500 words/day for the rest of the month. I won’t finish the book, but I will rest my hands more. I am so tired and I hurt and I feel bad about myself.

Writing the book is incredibly hard emotionally. It feels like a trip down Krissy-is-a-fuck-up-lane. I have fucked up a lot of relationships. I make a lot of bad decisions. I don’t feel good about myself almost at all. It is really hard to stay present with “I should be making choices that extend my longevity” when it feels like the world would be so much better if I were dead. I’m not feeling suicidal, but it’s hard to think about “I should cut back on meat, dairy, eggs, sugar, eliminate alcohol, watch my exercise very carefully, get frequent full body scans for cancer, cut back on stress (hahahahahaha), etc” all so I can… live longer and spend more time as a shitty person who fucks up all the god damn time.

And Noah is off for nine days. He’s visiting with his besties (this is a great thing!) and going to a conference (this… is important too). I know he needs to go. I support him going. Being alone with the kids is going to feel like a lot. Taking delivery of the boat stuff alone is going to feel like a lot.

Installing the baby gates alone (if I can ever get them delivered) is going to feel like a lot.

Today it is hard to feel hope.

In brighter, money-pit news, the lovely joiner dude who is helping us with stuff looked at my drawings for the book shelves and thinks they look fun to build. He was a little worried at first about cost “I wouldn’t even know how to estimate how long this will take and I’m nervous about the cost of materials.” I said, “Well let me tell you how I did my bathroom. (show pictures–watch eyes bug out) I bought all of the materials and I paid for hours every week. The construction company started out saying ‘It’ll take three months tops!’ I laughed and said it would take a minimum of six months. It took seven months. I paid wages every single week like clockwork. This is my project. I know it is huge and complicated and not something that can be estimated. I will pay for the time it takes. I would prefer if I can count on something like one or two days a week of dedicated labor (you have other clients to take care of on other days, I get that) and it takes how many weeks it takes.”

He said that sounds really neat and he’s looking forward to all the research he will have to do to put this together. He won’t start till the new year, which is great because I’d rather not have the mess during Christmas. We are talking about types of wood, both whether to use treated wood (lumber in the US, timber here), where to use untreated raw wood for aesthetic purposes, hard woods vs soft woods… this is going to be a really fun project.

But exhausting. Whyyyyyyyyy must I do this.

I don’t have forever. If I want to have time to enjoy things, get it done. I am not Pam. I won’t live till I am 100.

They are just mouth noises

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I asked in my online support group about “How are you” and why my child was told that she was rude when she said “terrible”. I was told it is just a substitute for “hello” and being negative in response is indeed rude. People don’t mean it, they are just going through social niceties and answering as if it is a real question is rude and will make people uncomfortable.

I hate the world. That makes me incredibly sad. That feels alienating and awful and it makes me feel like I should stop talking at all. Yes, I’m over reacting. But I’m in a new place with new mores and I just had people from three countries tell me that I am totally inappropriate if I take something as a real question that I have always answered honestly.

I feel horrible. I feel sick to my stomach. I feel like I should not try to make friends. I feel like I should maintain my video chats with people who actually want to talk to me and stop talking to anyone else and I feel so bad for my poor children who are going to have to learn how to navigate this minefield of lies and lack of caring.

If I ask how are you, I want to know the answer. That’s why I really knew my car mechanic and the lady at the dry cleaners and most of my neighbors and and and and.

But I’m wrong. And my behavior is rude, inappropriate, and alienating.

I cried myself to sleep and I am probably going to spend more time crying about this. I feel sick.

As usual I am doing everything wrong.

Deep in my feels.

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If you write about yourself you open yourself up for people interpreting your words however they want. Throwing them back at you however they want.

It’s a lot safer not to think about your behavior. It’s a lot safer not to write about your screw ups. Then you get to pretend you are awesome and you are always right.

It is hard being willing to admit that you fuck up, and not just “Yes of course everyone makes mistakes get over it” but “Oh dear me yes I screw up and let me list all of the ways and then go on to list everything I am trying to do to stop screwing up like that so I can instead make new mistakes.”

Vulnerability is a bitch.

People can love you and still be cruel to you. People judge each other left, right, and center. But what kinds of judgments are equivalent and what kinds are really awful?

What do you let into your life? When do you decide to change patterns? What is enough of a motivation? I don’t know.

I am so tired. I feel really sad and scared. I am not going to blog about all of why. I don’t feel safe enough to do so. I don’t want to face the consequences because I am a fucking chicken shit. So instead I ruminate and make no progress. Walking on eggshells, indeed.

25,040 words and counting.

Report is in.

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Final diagnosis of the original biopsy:

Malignant melanoma, superficial spreading type, invasive to level II and a measured thickness of 0.5mm arising in association with a compound nevus, margins free but close.

Final comment:

This lesion is indeed a fully evolved malignant melanoma, superficial spreading type, invasive multifocally to 0.5mm. The radical growth phase is composed of prominent melanoma cells both spindle and epithelioid. They are present in very large nests and show focal pagetold spread. There is evidence of a pre-existing nevus at the site. There is no evidence of regression, ulceration or mitoses. Re-excision is recommended with a 1.0cm margin. SOX-10 and HMB45 support the above interpretation.

Positive and negative controls for all immunohistochemical stains and/or special stains prepared by the outside laboratory were reviewed, and they are considered appropriate.

From the NHS website:

Around 7 out of 10 (70%) of all melanomas in the UK are superficial spreading melanomas.

They’re more common in people with pale skin and freckles, and much less common in darker skinned people.

They initially tend to grow outwards rather than downwards, so do not pose a problem.

But if they grow downwards into the deeper layers of skin, they can spread to other parts of the body.

From Melanoma International:

Here is an explanation of terms that may appear in your pathology report:

  1. Type: description of the particular variety of melanoma you have—superficial spreading melanoma, lentigo maligna melanoma, nodular melanoma, and so on. The superficial spreading type is the most common.
  2. Growth phase: designation that shows whether the melanoma has reached the step where it can grow as a lump below the epidermis. In the radial growth phase, as we have seen, it is unlikely that the cancer has begun to metastasize. With the vertical growth phase, there is at least some chance that the disease has spread elsewhere in the body.
  3. Mitotic count or mitosis: measure of how many melanoma cells are dividing below the epidermis. Only in the vertical growth phase do cells divide in the dermis. The higher the mitotic count, the more likely the tumor is to have spread.
  4. Tumor-infiltrating lymphocytes: immune system cells (lymphocytes) whose presence in the vertical growth phase are a positive sign. Presumably, lymphocytes show that the immune system has recognized the tumor and is attacking it.
  5. Greatest thickness: the Breslow thickness. A measurement of a millimeter or less is considered thin—and means a favorable prognosis.
  6. Site: location of the melanoma. Patients with a vertical growth phase melanoma located on an extremity have a relatively more favorable prognosis than those on the trunk or head and neck (a subtlety is that a rare subtype of melanoma that, unless the lesion appears on the palms, on the soles of the feet, or under the nails acts like trunk lesions).
  7. Sex: gender of the melanoma patient. For unexplained reasons, women have a better prognosis than men.
  8. Regression: An attribute that may be either absent or present in the radial growth phase (which is adjacent to the vertical growth phase). Regression is evidence of destruction (probably by immune factors) of some of the melanoma cells in the radial growth phase. Immunologically mediated regression of this sort is a weakly negative factor.
  9. Level of Invasion: the Clark level. Mine was a level IV tumor—that is, the melanoma had penetrated to just above the fatty layer of the skin.
  10. Precursor Lesion: Evidence of a pre-existing ordinary, dysplastic, or congenital mole from which the melanoma might have developed. My melanoma came from a dysplastic nevus. Although dysplastic nevi are the most common precursors, common moles and congenital moles may also be culprits. For many melanomas no evidence of a precursor shows up.

So what I’m getting is that I definitely need to have a larger chunk of skin removed, but it probably didn’t get very deep or spread to other areas.

Thank you, Noah for telling me I had to check this out.

I tell my kids….

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I tell my kids that if you say something intending it to be a joke and nobody laughs… it probably wasn’t a joke and instead you said an asshole thing. We all do it sometimes.

I tell my kids that if you assign people roles like “bully” or “victim” then you probably aren’t looking at the whole picture: people are more complex than that.

I tell my kids that if you blame other people for your problems then you are deciding you don’t want to fix things.

I tell my kids that if you eat shitty food you will be in a shitty mood.

I tell my kids that if you yuck someone else’s yum they may end up not liking you and they won’t want to spend time with you. You don’t have to like everything that someone else likes, you do have to not be an asshole about it.

I’m to about 8% of my NaNoWriMo goal the day before the event starts. I’m not good at waiting. And my personal goal is more like 100,000 words, not 50,000. This book is not going to be small. These are the lessons and the stories I want my kids to hear from me if I die. That’s a lot of words.

So it goes

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All four showers in the house are jacked up and need repair. That’s pissing me off. The boiler system needs to be replaced. Most of the sinks are draining slow and need to be snaked. So basically, all the plumbing is shit.

Slowly fixing all the electrical shit that’s fucked up.

I’m pretty annoyed about just how much needs to be fixed. And how expensive it is.

Don’t know the results of the biopsy on the melanoma. Results are being snail mailed from the US.

We are working on our diet to be more centered on general cancer prevention though. That’s going to matter if I want to be here for decades.

Working on the book already. Why bother waiting for November? I’m not shooting for 50,000 anyway. I think this will be over 100,000. I have a lot to say to the kids. It hurts.

“Risk Aware” Consensual Kink

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I’m having some feelings about how stupid I was as a young person. I consented to things I shouldn’t have consented to. I was coming from a background of really extreme trauma. My normal meter was so fucked up it politely can be described as not existing.

I made stupid choices like staying in a relationship with someone who broke my arm in the first two months. “It was an accident; he didn’t mean it. I can’t hold him responsible for accidents.”

I made stupid choices. Like choosing to fluid bond with someone who refused to get an STD test for years. When I was diagnosed with HPV I totally felt like it was because I was such a slut and I had slept with so many people. I apologized to him profusely for exposing him. His response? “Oh I knew I had warts.”

He. Knew.

But he didn’t bother to tell me. He didn’t think that was information I needed to know. It was “none of my business to know his private medical information.”

So instead I got to have cancer taken off my cervix with a laser at 21. Cheers.

And now, in the gift that keeps on giving I have a malignant melanoma on my back. In layman’s terms: I have fucking cancer again. Do you know what that partner used to do? Give me sun burns on purpose because it was funny to watch me be in pain that I couldn’t get away from.

Two sunburns in a lifetime greatly increase your risk of skin cancer. I chose to allow him to burn me. I was a stupid motherfucker.

So now I’m 38. I have three kids who are 11, 9, and 1 year old. I get to deal with cancer again. I probably need to change everything about how I live my life. I need to be so absolutely religious about skin exposure it isn’t funny. I will need to go in for full body checks for more cancer for the rest of my life. I will need to change my diet to decrease my risk of cancer.

It isn’t that partner’s “fault” for any of this now is it? I chose to take these risks. I will pay the price.

And he will pay nothing.

What do you mean second?

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Well, when I was about 21 I had cancer cells removed from my cervix. Thank you HPV. I caught it fast. I treated it fast. It hasn’t mattered.

But now that I have a second form of cancer… it matters. It is showing a pattern. A predisposition. And I’m very young for skin cancer. It’s a really bad sign that I’m getting it before 40 because even if this round is caught early and treated in a proactive manner… I’m very likely to get it again. It is more likely to spread to being other kinds of cancer in my body.

I am having big feelings about the fact that the man who gave me HPV (he knew he had it and he didn’t disclose it until after I came home sobbing about what a horrible person I was for having this disease and I’m so sorry I exposed you to this, I don’t know which one of my partners gave me this…) also used to enjoy giving me sunburns on my back because it was funny. He liked knowing I was in a kind of pain I couldn’t get away from.

So much for “risk aware consensual kink”. That relationship did a lot to harm my body permanently.

Oh, he’s also the partner who broke my arm.

I HAVE SPENT SO MANY YEARS TALKING ABOUT HOW GREAT HE WAS. Maybe just being better than my rapist/serial pedophile father isn’t a high enough bar.

Ok, it’s time.

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I am probably going to drop the blog entirely for a month or so. I need to write the next book and I am going to take advantage of NaNoWriMo again. Today my kids burst into tears because they realized they know so little about me. I need to tell all the stories from the next 20 years. It’s going to be another hard book to write but for very different reasons. And it’s going to be hell on my arms. I am going to drop the blog, not go on the forums, ignore my support group, avoid Slack, and all idle web browsing. I will be allowed to check email once a day but I will only respond to emergency stuff.

My personal goal is at least 4,000 words per day. This story is long and fucking complex. I will need every ounce of typing ability I have to tell it in a month.

Just in case I die. These are the stories I need my children to know. I hope they can learn from my mistakes and go on to make new mistakes.

Cancer. Again.

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I can’t sleep. Future will eat me.

It’s not a very aggressive form of cancer. Malignant melanoma. But I’m basically freaking out. I had cancer before, when I was 19. Then it was from HPV and on my cervix. It was burned off. This time it will be carved out with a knife and I get to pray I don’t have to undergo radiation.

I’m scared and sad. I don’t want more pain.

I’ve told myself for many years that if I get cancer… I get to just let go and stop trying. I get to die. It’s my right.

But I look at my little 20 month old baby and my 9 year old and my 11 year old… they are not ready for me to go. If it’s worse than expected… I have to fight. I have to fight with everything I am. And I’m told I am a whole lot of extra.

I promise that if I am fighting cancer I will hire house cleaners. Stop bugging me.

Tonight I miss my mother so much I feel like I could collapse under it. I’m crying on and off.

My baby is downstairs crying too. She wants me. I am being selfish. I need to look into my brain and at my feelings right now.

If I have to have radiation, we must wean. That would be hard on so many levels. She loves nursing so much. But she’d prefer to have me whole and alive than to nurse for a few extra months. I know.

It is hard knowing that I can’t give up because I have to keep supporting my kids. I mean, Noah would miss me and that would be terrible. I went to the doctor in the first place because Noah asked me to. Noah told me that I should keep hanging on because after all… he bought me my dream house… I haven’t even put art in it…

I CAN’T DIE WITHOUT KNOWING WHAT THE FUCK LUCREZIA IS DOING AND AT THIS RATE THE GOD DAMN FOGLIOS ARE GOING TO TAKE ANOTHER 20 YEARS TO WRAP UP THIS STORY LINE. (Girl Genius comic book reference.)

But Noah. I have to stay for Noah. He’s even treating his eczema so it can be more fun to rub on him. That’s a lot of effort on his part.

He is trying so hard to be pretty for me. I like the way his hair is growing out. I like how he is trimming his beard. He is working hard on exercise so he can be healthy and strong.

I’m just… really scared of more pain. I feel like I am a coward, a whiner, a pathetic person who just needs to suck it up. Everyone suffers, Buttercup.

Just… fuuuck. I could have used a break for a few years form bad things.