Home   >   Feature   >   Vladimir and the Cauliflower Garden: A cancer story.

Vladimir and the Cauliflower Garden: A cancer story.

By on June 4, 2018
vlad good

By Catherine Porter

Introducing Vladimir!

Vlad is my bladder and right now, of all of my internal organs, this handsome devil is the star, the name on the marquees, the one with the spotlight on him, though perhaps for all the wrong reasons.

Lately, Vlad has not quite been getting his job right, not for lack of trying. I equate him to a well intentioned organic farmer, who tried to be mindful of the environment, but somehow mistakenly sprinkled “Roundup” on his crops. Vlad actually reminds me a lot of my Grandmother who, on my 11th Birthday, bought me a t-shirt that said “Pot Luck” on it with a picture of a giant marijuana plant. She innocently thought it was just a flower. Vlad is that naive Grandma who had no idea it was weed.

Confused? Me too. Let’s walk through it together. If you’ve been following along here, back in August of 2017, I was diagnosed with Non-invasive Papillary Urothelial Carcinoma, translation, a bladder (insert “C word”) that ended up in my left kidney. “Kiki” (my left kidney) and the story of her launch into the vacation of a lifetime, followed by “Dexter,” my right kidney and his super hero filtration takeover, is in a previous article, if you need to be caught up, (https://www.elephantjournal.com/2017/12/i-aint-kidneying-around-a-cancer-story/ Go ahead and read. I’ll wait).

Typical post-surgery protocol is to get a scan every three months to have a little “look-see” to hopefully give it the all-clear. The scan, more specifically, the cystoscopy, is one that involves a tiny camera that goes in through the urethra to explore the bladder. Sounds like fun, huh? Well, compared to having a kidney removed (see *nephrectomy), it’s a walk in the park. There is a special unspoken awkwardness in these types of exams, no matter how you try to chit chat around it, there’s no denying the fact that you are spread eagle in stirrups, nekkid from the waste down and your Doctor’s head is between your legs. By the way, if this is verging on pornographic for you, you are reading the wrong article. There is nothing sexy about this (and no offense to Cris Karr, but there is nothing sexy about the “C” word. “Crazy,” yes, but so far, NOT SEXY).

So, Doc and I were making casual conversation about music, if you can believe, specifically my music and, he interrupted to say, “Uh oh, looks like we have some stuff in there.” (Cue: sound of a car screeching to a halt). “What? Wait. Stuff? WHAT STUFF?”

“Stuff” immediately got defined as tumors. I can tell you there’s only one word as bad as the “C” word and that’s the “T” word. And just like that, it came out of his mouth. I glanced over to the screen and, in Vlad, I saw this beautiful array of what looked to me like a garden of blooming cauliflower. Quite striking. How could something so mesmerizing be so menacing? How did they get there? When did they get there? Unfortunately, I was unable to look these T’s in the eye and get an answer and, even if I could confront them, they probably would’ve just shrugged their shoulders and said, “Listen lady, we don’t want to be here either, but this is where they told us to go…”

***************

My mind whirled back to my first post-nephrectomy appointment months before when my Doctor said those sweet words that made me dissolve into a heap of tears. “You are cured.” Everything had happened so fast, from diagnosis to surgery, that I didn’t really have time to process it all until that very moment. I was cured. I hugged him. He saved my life.

*CURE (verb);

1. relieve (a person or animal) of the symptoms of a disease or condition.

2. preserve (meat, fish, tobacco, or an animal skin) by various methods such as salting, drying, or smoking.

Here’s what I’ve learned about being “cured.” When the words come out of your Doctor’s mouth, in that very moment he means it. In that second, I was indeed cured. They don’t mince words. The cure was for THAT moment, THAT day. The next day, however, is pretty much up for grabs. Perhaps when the Doctor said I was “cured” he was referring to the second definition? Maybe I was salted and dried instead?

But, wait, rewind, he said “cured,” so I immediately threw a surprise party for my new cancer-free self and invited all of my cells. I had the BeeGees “Staying Alive” on repeat, followed by “Best Day of my Life,” Elton John’s “I’m Still Standing” and ok , I’ll admit to “U Can’t Touch This” by MC Hammer, don’t laugh. I put this organ snatching illness behind me with a one-woman dance party, shakin’ my groove thing to the sound of my healthy heart beating strong like the triumphant rhythm in Queen’s, “We Will Rock You.”

***********

So, you could have crowned me winner of the “Most Dumfounded Face in the Universe” award when I looked on that screen to see Vladimir innocently sitting there covered in a garden of cauliflower T’s. “Oopsie,” he might’ve innocently said, just like Grandma did when she realized that pretty flower was actually pot.

The thing is, Vlad isn’t really supposed to be growing anything. His job is to receive the urine that the kidneys filter and store it until it’s ready to be voided. He’ll send a signal to the brain and, like that (whoosh), out it goes. Easy pee-sy (see what I did there?). But, grow stuff? Not on your job description, Vlad. #youhadonejob.

But there’s always one in every bunch, isn’t there? One bad apple. Listen, I don’t want to say derogatory things about Vladimir, but I have to admit to being disappointed in him. I thought I treated him well. I hydrated him, kept his PH in good stats with tons of greens, hell, I’ve even been talking to him encouragingly every day just like I do with all of my internal organs. And what does he do in return? He gives me a garden of nasty big T’s! Now, how is that fair?!?

Luckily, I have a crack team of landscapers to sweep up the mess! My Doctor went in and basically “hoed” Vlad’s garden; weeded it, if you will. Then, Doc took the weeds down to the shed and had a closer look and noticed that they were some bad mamba jambas that had to be weeded out again. (Two times a charm?). What was I saying? Something about a one-woman dance party? Freeze frame on the celebrations.

Just when I thought I had learned all I needed to learn about facing adversity, the list just got bigger:

1) If there’s good in here, I’ll find it. I instinctively try to make lemonade out of the very worst of the rotten bunch of lemons. Just when I think I’m going to break, I can actually take just a bit more. I learned I am made of some tough teflon, rubber type of bouncing back substance with an added dash of helium to help me not sink. Don’t get me wrong, I often cry like a baby, but then I breathe deeply. I write. I write badly. Then I write some more. I know there are lessons everywhere. Sometimes you gotta hold your head up, take a deep breath and dig for them.

2) I learned that self care is of the utmost importance. It’s all body, mind, spirit, folks, ain’t no doubt about it. Take care of your emotional health because it directly effects your physical health. I changed my dialogue with myself. Out with bad juju, in with joy. There are tons of books out there and free youtubey stuff to be had to help you reframe if you are stuck. Get a therapist, a healer, a God, pray to angels, your guides, get some crystals, take a walk in the park, hug a tree, get your feet in the sand. And, whatever you do, do not believe that a cancer diagnosis is the end of your story. Period.

3) I learned that, for myself, personifying my organs is not the craziest idea I’ve ever had. It’s actually a thing. Since naming my left kidney, “Kiki” and my right kidney “Dexter,” I have named all the organs in my body, oh yes I have. I speak to them daily, encouragingly and with love. “Hey, (insert organ name here), you are doing a great job! I am taking care of you! I love you! Thank you!” I do this with “Dexter,” my hero Kidney, “Olivia” the Liver, “Pam” the Pancreas, “Bella” the Heart, “Luna” the lungs, “Galileo” the Gall Bladder, “Zane” the Brain, “Uta,” my Uterus, “Vee” and “Bee,” my Ovaries and, of course, my needy child, “Vlad” the Bladder. He’s a bit beat up right now, but, watch this space, he’s going to be AOK. I tell him so every day.

This “C” word stuff is tough biz, I’ll admit. There are a thousand things I’d rather do than be a cancer patient, but I refuse to wallow in it. I’m no Doctor, nor do I play one on TV, so I can only speculate how the girl voted “Most Likely To NOT Get Cancer,” got cancer. From my perspective, I am the healthiest person I know. I make green smoothies, I exercise, I don’t smoke, I eat solely organic, I own yoga pants. So, how did this happen? Was it caused by a virus? Stress? Simply bad luck? Can this be a multiple choice question?

According to my 23andme (highly recommend for those wanting to be informed), I was born with a gene that inhibits my ability to detoxify well, actually making me a superb candidate for this type of “C” word, so, I do things to help that: (can you say spa vacation?), infra-red saunas, epsom salt baths, diatomaceous earth and the list goes on. I have also begun my journey into an all plant-based diet, (baby steps, kids), aware that certain foods (dairy, meat, fish, chicken) can feed cancer cells. (Look up “low methionine diet”).

And I weed. In my meditation, I visualize physically taking that bad cauliflower garden, root by root and pulling them out, promising Vlad I’ll help him to not let them grow there ever again. I replace the weeds with love, joy, music, turn up the volume and…I keep dancing.

********

cpCatherine Porter is a mother/singer/songwriter/dreamer/cancer-kicker living in New Jersey. She has traveled the world as a performer, singing with diverse and notable artists such as Hugh Jackman, Michael Crawford, Brian May from Queen, Guns-N-Roses, Kiki Dee, Mel B, and Sam Moore, to name a few. She has appeared on Broadway, in London’s West End, in Australia and has toured the world with concerts, musical theater productions, and rock-n-roll gigs. Having been diagnosed with kidney cancer, Catherine found a unique perspective on her experience that she hopes will be helpful to others. Mother of Ruby and lead female singer of New York City Country band, SHOTGUN WEDDING, she highly recommends checking out her band’s CD on any digital outlet. Connect with Catherine on her blog— catherineportersings.blogspot.com

Social media handles are:

TWITTER: cathporter
INSTAGRAM: cathporter1
FACEBOOK: www.facebook.com/catherineportersings
www.shotgunweddingnyc.com
www.catherineporter.com (under construction)

About simply...woman!

We encourage spreading the message of knowledge and wisdom. We appreciate and thank our featured partners for their articles. All information provided on Simply…Woman online magazine is for reference only; the content is based on the authors’ experiences and therefore is not intended as a substitute to the services of a fully qualified professional. Although every reasonable effort is made to present current and accurate information, Simply…Woman makes no claims, promises or guarantees about the accuracy, completeness or adequacy of the information.