girl at large

I like to write about life when you have a job, some kids, a fixer upper and a fatal disease.

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  • Seeing Myself

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    I’ve been working with a therapist for the past year to deal with the fear, grief and upheaval of metastatic cancer life.

    Dealing with cancer now brings up a lot of stuff from back then. All your old messed up shit comes rising up to the surface when you think about your mortality. So we talk about now, and we talk about back then, and we talk about how they connect. And how to free myself from some of the old shit, so I can face this new shit. Oh the irony! Figuring yourself out just in time to die.

    In the spring, she suggested I may be ADHD, and recently we dug a little more in to that. I know it’s trending, I know everyone is TikTok-diagnosing, especially women and later-in-life diagnosis—-but hear me out!

    What if…

    What if my anxiety…

    What if my anxiety and depression…

    What if my anxiety and depression and crushing sense of perpetual

    failure…

    What if all this time, it’s been ADHD?

    I was skeptical. Another diagnosis feels like another burden. I have never once thought that ADHD might apply to me. I just don’t fit the stereotype I have in my mind. And no other therapist has ever mentioned it—however they have “diagnosed” me with social anxiety disorder (nope), panic attack disorder (nope), borderline personality disorder (big nope!), and more… So what is one more wrong label?

    But also, what if this is the right label?

    I made a list for Dr.B. I listed all my ADHD-like behaviors, my quirks and work-arounds, things I avoid, things that make me uncomfortable, memories of school and childhood that rang ADHD bells, my struggles at work and with emotions. I wrote it all down.

    It was six pages. Bullet-pointed, categorized and described in great detail (usually in parenthesis).

    At todays appointment she laughed conspiratorially and said “This was a joy to read. This is hyper focus. This is a rabbit hole”. Yes, she said, waving the six pages, THIS is ADHD!

    And it’s gonna be fine.

  • Island Time

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    Madeline Island was so beautiful. My paintings, however, were not. It was a glorious week all to myself, surrounded by magnificent views of prairie, woodlands, lagoons, bluffs, and mighty Lake Superior. The instructor was also superior, ahem, Mr. Superior. And that’s all I’ll say about that.

    So, the instruction wasn’t a good fit for me, but the classmates, food and painting locations were perfection. Though I didn’t produce any work to brag about, I did rekindle some dormant skills—

    Painting from life

    Value studies

    Bullshit detecting

    I’m beginning to really enjoy this Watercolor-Menapause-Yoga Pant-No BS phase of life.

  • Good Scrolling

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    Today was a Bed Day. For every three to four Doing Stuff days, I have one Bed Day. I’m working hard to suppress the bad feeling about staying in bed all day (thanks a lot capitalism, Lutheranism and midwestern mythology). I’m working on accepting my “new normal”.

    The best part about the new normal is Mama’s Bed Time. It’s my favorite time of day. 

    Tonight, I had them both laughing and squealing at cat videos I had saved for them. They LOST THIER SHIT. I haven’t heard them laugh like that in months. 

    So, now I’ll be staying up all night tonight saving stories and reels and TikTok’s of all the funny cat things. 

  • Trust Me, This Was Hilarious

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    Me: “Therapy was tough this week. She suggested I’m holding on to this grudge because it’s easier and less painful than facing my mortality.”

    Mom (aged 79): “Well, I’m having to come to terms with it too.”

    Me: “What is that like for you?”

    Mom: “Losing you is going to be hard.”

    Me: “Wait, who are we talking about? YOU or ME?! Do you think you're going to outlive me?!”

    Mom:  “Oops”

  • Little Moments

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    When I got home from the hospital, the first thing I did was take a long shower and do all the things—shampoo, fancy body wash, every lotion I own. The kids, who didn’t know I was out of the hospital, came home about an hour later and ran right up the steps to jump on me in bed. 

    “Mama’s home!!”

    “How did you know I was here?”

    ”We could smell you!” 

     

     

     

  • I’m So Sick of This

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    Cancer blew up my life, sepsis has blown up our summer. We’ve had to cancel two of our little summer adventure trips, reschedule our beloved Shaker Village trip, and I missed my painting retreat on Madeline Island.

    The Madeline Island art school was kind enough to let me roll over about half the cost to another session, so I’m going at the end of the month. But it’s not the same teacher or focus. It’s a bummer.

    The summer weekend trips have given me so much escape…I would guess most people can see the “bucket list” drive I’ve had for them. More than once I’ve pushed myself too hard to make a drive, or to do too many activities. There’s a frenzy behind the fun.

    I wanted another summer of making memories and getting out in beautiful landscapes…me walking behind the kids as they run on a beach or explore a new park, thinking of my death. Thinking of my absence in their lives and desperately trying to fill the time with fun and novel places. Hoping they remember us as an intact unit. Hoping they remember me.

    This  “Phase 2” of my cancer has been really hard. In some ways harder than Phase 1. Phase 2 started when they found the cancer cells in my ovaries in September. In a day, everything changed. I went from holy cow I think I might be ok for a long time and only having to take 1 cancer drug (with no side effects!) to crap this thing is never going away and all the chemo and complications since. My therapist said I haven’t even processed that yet. She’s right.

    I’m pissed. This is so unfair. I did everything I was supposed to do, I suffered stoically through it all. And I STILL am the loser.

    Stage 4 is a strange thing. It’s death and yet we keep living. It’s invisible yet we are being slowly murdered. The treatment saves your life but alters your life beyond recognition. How can I be grateful for that? I’m not. I’m really really pissed.

    I want my summer back. I want my life back.

  • Blackberries and Whiplash

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    My arms and hands are bruised from the many many blood draws and IV sticks. My veins became unruly by day two, my skin blooming with purple and green blackberry splotches after every failed attempt.

    There was never more than three hours of uninterrupted sleep. The second day, my plantar fasciitis erupted out of no where—-excruciating pain when I put any weight on my heels. Hobbling to the bathroom with an IV pole, a failing bladder and useless feet made a few nights almost unbearable.

    I had sepsis. Staph entered my blood stream most likely through my port; it’s not uncommon and one of the most dangerous complications of cancer treatment. It’s also awful. 

    Just two short days before I was admitted, I had my 3-month CT scan. It was completely clear!

    And again, we hardly had time to absorb and celebrate the (incredibly!) good news before this latest set back grabbed me by the collar. I feel like half of myself. Paul is full time parent, part time nurse, and somewhere in there he is also holding down his job. He doesn’t complain, but I know he feels the sting of the whiplash too, can’t we ever just get a break?

     

  • Pick Two

     

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    It’s been almost a week since we returned from our epic Nebraska road trip, but I’m not yet feeling back at home. We returned Tuesday evening and went right back to work and school, and for me, Chemo on Thursday.

    I’m having a hard time with this treatment, physically and emotionally. Steeling myself for bad side effects when the initial chemo had an end date was easier. This chemo has no end date, except when it fails me and the cancer spreads, which, hopefully, isn’t for a long time, as in years. So, we HOPE for YEARS of this…

    Here, have some steroids with your chemo to protect your GI tract and prevent shock. Don’t worry, after four days of insane hyperactivity you will crash into exhaustion and nausea. Also diarrhea.

    Nauseous? Take this. It might make you drowsy. DON’T OPERATE MACHINERY UNTIL YOU KNOW. 

    This medication is for your heart, very important, but it causes blurry vision.

    This medication, for something else entirely, can also cause drowsiness and blurry vision. Which one is the culprit? Who knows?!

    This medication causes dehydration. STAY HYDRATED AT ALL TIMES DURING CHEMO.

    But not too hydrated, because you know, diarrhea.

    This is another medication for the nausea that won’t get better, it will most certainly make you drowsy.

    Here are some progressives for your computer work. They could help or they could make your vision and headaches worse.

    Here is an anti diarrheal. Oops, constipation!

    This one should help more with the diarrhea but it causes dizziness. Good luck with the nausea. 

    WHAT DO YOU MEAN YOU'RE TIRED AND CAN’T SEE? 

     

    Can I just go back to where I could sleep in and only had to focus my vision on prairies?

  • Memory Gravel Road

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    Our trip to Nebraska is full of nostalgia, memories and memories being made. There’ll be more to write (and paint) later, but for now, this gem.

    Charlie: “Pioneer Village is the BESTEST thing I’ve done in my entire life! Well, almost”.

    Me: “Almost?”

    Charlie: “Yah, I don’t know yet”

    Me: “What do you mean?”

    Charlie, gesturing wide: “Well, I DO have MORE life”

  • Artist Statements

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    Bald Reality     

    I’m a middle aged, menopausal midwestern mom with a chip on her shoulder about unrealized artistic potential. I have deep-seated insecurities about my ability to create “real” art and be a “real” artist. So, I use self deprecating humor to dodge any real discussion about my goals or vision. Also, I hate the word vision. I don’t have one, I just like to paint. Somewhere along the line I learned to feel better about my own abilities (and lack of education) by internally judging other amateur artists work with snobbery. I did this the most when I wasn’t actually doing any drawing or painting at the time myself. Ick. I own more than one fancy camera and I pretend to know how they work. 

     

    What I Thought I Was Supposed To Achieve To Count As A Real Artist and Valuable Human Being

    I received my BFA from bladedah blah expensive art school and my MFA from another urban and urbane school far away from where I grew up. Though steeped in family artistic roots, I left my midwestern home for more exciting and interesting locales around the world. I have shown in NYC, Chicago, LA, and throughout Europe where I honed my skills in oil painting, photography and print making. Currently repped by gallery such-and-such in LA and fabulously dressed by so and so for every gallery opening. (That last part is all I really want).

     

    Where I Want To Be

    I like to paint. I’m growing my skills, and really enjoying watercolor. I grew up surrounded by creative art makers, hobbyists and doers that influenced my interest and knowledge of all sorts of art and crafts. Currently, I make paintings of open, natural places that I visit, landscapes and places that bring me mental peace. I use my photos for reference and my memory for expression. I make paintings in between raising two kids, working and having life-long treatments for stage 4 metastatic breast cancer. No, I don’t want to paint about that. I paint to escape that. I don’t want to sell a lot or have shows, not really, except to make people happy. I love to give paintings to people who enjoy them.