The last few months of no blog postings exist in my mind as "negative space." There's content in the void. Much of the invisible discourse could be filed under "I don't want to talk." Introspection maybe.
I've been cancer free for a year. Every six months, I dance on the head of a pin, waiting for blood test results, tumor marker indications, CT scan results. Cancer check ups are difficult for most survivors. Our freedom, physical independence, future on the planet is either validated or threatened.
There's nothing like the validation of a CT scan. Throw away your crystal ball! The results are crystal clear.
Whew! Great sigh of relief!
Back home, I wake up. Instead of hitting the snooze, I move! There's a reason why I'm still here and I'd better get at it. There's a quiet joy to waking up early, writing before the day is fully lit. It's a sense of purpose. It's making conscious choices to spend my precious time doing life affirming things, living my life to its farthest flung edge!
Saturday, July 17, 2010
Well, here's a gorgeous Saturday, a sunshine-filled rodeo day and yet my world is clouded by my recurring "it's a crap shoot" thought: 86% chance of survival over five years. Sometimes I get hung up on this and, rational or irrational, the thought stays put. It's a counter-productive, energy sapping mood swinging thought that still has too much power in my life. Somehow, I've got to beat that thought. Sometimes the post-breast cancer pressure to be happy is overwhelming. Most of the pressure is self-created, partially due to that 86% survival thing. Maybe it's the Tamoxifen, that jagged little pill I take every day to ward off a recurrence. It's a hormone swinging, banana peel transition to Menopause, a mature woman's condition with side effects that no one really gives a shit about unless you have them. Oh, was that too cranky? Now I know that all of this whining makes me seem I'm ungrateful for the miracles my medical team and oncologists everywhere perform every day to take women like me from fighting for our lives to living our lives out loud. Believe me, I'm grateful. And, in honor of all of us who are fighting this dreaded disease, I will get out there in the sunshine and enjoy this beautiful day. I'm just sayin' it "ain't" easy.
I want to change up the subject a bit, to talk about healing, that thing people call, "survivorship." Survivorship is the journey. We're all survivors of something, maybe several things. I was a survivor before I turned pink. Resilience is key to survival. My friend Barbara survives breast cancer since the 1970's. She said, "Rather than asking "why me?" I ask, "why not me?"" None of us are immune from crisis. The crisis comes to test or teach. I joined a Jazzercise group, a choreographed exercise and now I'm dancing my way to fitness. It challenges my post-treatment body. Still, I'm determined to heal fully, to gain fitness. Bonus--I'm making new friends. Yoga is an important part of my personal plan for healing. It provides a meditative space, strength training and a good stretch. Too much time spent in silence isn't a good experience for me, rather, I find I prefer the Jazzercise classes with its pounding rhythms, musical talk and laughter. All of these activities demand energy, something I'm still building. I guess after almost a year of treatment with little physical activity, rebuilding strength and stamina takes time, determination and patience. Patience is a virtue but I hear the clock ticking. I don't want to miss anything! I've talked with a other cancer survivors and they agree, once touched by cancer, there's a footprint on your ass to live your life, every day, each moment. My friend Tammy says she feels like she has to "do it all" right now. I'm still writing my list, deciding where I want to go, what to see, not wanting to overlook anything and doing the physical work to make sure that, should I be lucky enough to do some more traveling, I'll have the stamina to enjoy it. Stay well!
Today I'm thinking of and sending my best wishes to a good friend who was just diagnosed with a non-invasive breast cancer.
The first week after diagnosis can be a scary time where uncertainty rules and fear runs rampant. It seems nothing prepares you for this crisis. When they say, "cancer" you think "death sentence." But, that's just the fear talking and fear is crazy. Don't listen to it!
Another thing I'd like to get off my chest is all of these darned daytime TV doctor shows that barrage us with disease prevention ideas, almost lead us to believe that, "if you eat your broccoli, you'll never get a scary diagnosis." None of these shows prepares us for that moment. Very few offer advice or information that benefits us when we are the next recipient of a breast cancer diagnosis (or any other health crisis).
It's a scared shitless minutes-long eternity.
My oncologist told me that it's extremely important to receive treatment from a health care team. Notice I said TEAM. This team is made up of oncologist (she/he directs your care), oncology surgeon, plastic surgeon and radiology oncologist---and they all talk to each other. Then it's important to check what the big hospitals are doing (Dana Farber; M.D. Anderson) via their websites (and ask your oncologist). The place where I received great treatment is a sort of "sister" to Dana Farber and works like a university hospital. Specific breast cancer treatment information is available at Dana Farber's website: http://www.dana-farber.org/pat/adult/breast-cancer/
It's next to impossible to think rationally during the first week after diagnosis. It's best to surround yourself with your favorite people and animals (if applicable), those who love you most, and be kind to yourself. Be your own best friend! Then know that there is a first class medical team out there committed and ready to give you great care and a cure! One final note, I'm sharing my experience. I'm not a doc. Share any of this information with your physician. Go to the NCCS website listed on my blog and get your Cancer Survivor's Toolbox! Advocate for what's best for you! And enjoy your LIFE sentence!
So, I'm in my kayak and it's a sunny day, but suddenly, an unexpected rain comes. White caps form on the water. I must concentrate to stay afloat, unable to look up, putting all my energy into moving through this unsettling moment in my life, hoping to staying upright. My uncle passed away. One night he went to sleep and slipped into that state of peaceful grace. As a child, he was my favorite grown up. His quirky sense of humor, wise counsel, his love and care, I will miss. He's on another journey now, walking on that old road that leads us back to love's essence. But the sun returned and shone brilliantly as I traveled to my daughter's university graduation. She's a very bright young lady who will pursue her passion: studying marine life. My family spent a weekend basking in the warm yellow light of her honorable achievement. A few days later, choppy water. Unpredictable skies. A storm of my own making. My semi-annual check up. Is the cancer still gone? I worried. I allowed fear into my psyche. For a little while, I stopped believing in my oncologist's strong reach for "cure," in my surgeon's skill, my radiology oncologist's razor sharp accuracy, my family and friends' prayers and a benevolent god. I was scared shitless. Why is it so hard to believe in the possibility that everything is alright? Or maybe that everything is as it should be? In her article, "Slipping Past Borders," (Oprah mag, June 2010) Katherine Russell Rich writes, "When you're swamped with fear, ask yourself: How are you right now?" When uncertainty threatens she says the answer is, "Fine. Stay right here, in this day, stay right here in your mind." By the time I got to my appointment, I'd already begun to feel lighter. Apparently my own mantra, "good things can happen," had a sinking in affect in spite of my conscious disbelief. Good things happened. The sun is back. I'm snug and dry, kayaking this river, my journey, able to look up, way up, enjoying mountain peaks on the horizon. (photo by photographer Nelu Goia, Canada, can be seen at www.trekearth.com).
There is nothing more restorative than a warm, sunny vacation destination. I spent the past ten days sitting on the warm sand with my toes in the turquoise waters of the Caribbean Sea! Ten glorious days in Margaritaville (minus the tequila), the land where real coconuts grow on palm trees. My family, our fabulous four-some celebrated every moment of our togetherness. After a tumultuous year, we exhaled. It was very healing for all of us. Healing is not a passive process; you have to actively participate to receive it. We must take the time, make the decisions, set the priorities to make healing moments possible. I've never been adventurous when it comes to travel. I used to hate to fly (embarrassing to admit having spent almost ten years in the Air Force). But one day I got tired of feeling out of control every time I had to fly somewhere. I wanted to feel dignified, fly as freely as everyone else on the plane. I had to heal myself of that fear. With the help of a good therapist, I conquered my fear of flying. It took time. I had to work on my thinking (read: obsessing!). I learned to actively respond to fear messages so that fear did not control my life. I had good information and qualified help and I succeeded. I'm cured of cancer, but, again, I must work at healing myself. I hope to conquer my fear of the C-Monster's possible return. Again, I'm gathering accurate information, symptoms, guidelines for good health. My oncologist gave me a Cancer Survivorship Care Plan. In addition to summarizing my diagnosis and treatment, it provides doctor approved websites that carry accurate information to aid my transition from patient to survivor. Accurate information is empowering. I read a story in this month's Oprah magazine by Martha Beck. She uses this great metaphor of navigating in a kayak, rather than "being on track." This analogy resonates with me. Before the breast beast reared its ugly head, I was working my way through life on some kind of linear track, always focussed on the horizon, where I'm headed, rarely in the moment. I had to get off the train and get into a kayak in order to navigate my altered life. Yes, you do get your feet wet, but it's OK. It's realistic and more rewarding. I'm not a passive rider anymore, rather an active paddler, mindful of the present. I feel the current but can choose to move my sturdy vessel through deep or shallow waters. Yes, things could get bumpy and my kayak might get turned over, but I'm learning the skills to right myself so I can continue my life's journey. If you're kayaking through life like me, if you are a cancer survivor, know that you can find resources to keep yourself afloat through programs like: www.canceradvocacy.org and www.cancerversary.org
Thanks to the skilled hands of my plastic surgeon, I look normal in clothes again! My surgery was a success! We swapped BRICKS for PILLOWS! Aaaaaaahh.
The surgery was almost as easy as a teeth cleaning! So for those of you out there who might be dreading reconstruction surgeries - no worries! Relax. My surgery was performed at my plastic surgeons almost spa-like surgery suite. "Now we've warmed your bed, but you let us know if it's too warm or not warm enough." Wow. I was home by noon, ate lunch and took a long nap. Recovery involved a total intake of 3 pain pills. This is amazing because I have no tolerance for pain! I used and recommend Peggy Huddleston's audio-tape, "Prepare for Surgery, Heal Faster." It's relaxing and helps redirect thoughts to a place of health and healing. Somehow, putting this procedure behind me pushed me forward. I am taking my life back a bit at a time. I've started riding my bike again and plan hikes around a local park which features some rather steep terrain. I'm getting stronger, feeling safe enough to say out loud, "I beat the Breast Beast!" Eternal thanks to my fabulous medical team, family and friends. Happy Valentine's Day everyone! Get your hearts out there and be happy!! If you need more help getting in the mood please ready my column, "Recycle Your Heart" at this WOMAN Newspapers link: http://www.womannewspapers.com/articleDetail.aspx?id=2826
Check out Dr. Susan Love's (breast health researcher and oncologist) blog at: http://blog.armyofwomen.org part of her Army of Women website. Have a look at the number of women (almost 400,000) who have signed up so far to work with Dr. Love on the front lines battling the breast beast! Join this army of love for Valentine's Day; what better way to show the women in your life how much you care.
This just in via Jeff in Maine, a cancer survivor, speaking to a group from Maine about the role of the survivor: "Each of us has a responsibility as a survivor of this non-discriminating disease to be there for another that has just begun the journey."
To be the experienced eyes to see the journey that lies ahead
To be the attentive ears to listen non-judgmentally
To be the comforting shoulder to lean on as long as necessary
To be the understanding smile to brighten the cloudy days
To be the unwavering arms to hold until the day is done
To be the soothing voice to speak encouraging words
To be the steadfast feet to walk side by side every step of the journey
I have to take the tree down today and I've a melange of feelings about this annual task. The tree looks lovely, its still-fresh branches hefting our collection of ornaments, each one a memory of past family moments. My favorites are many. My daughter's picture on a red paper bell, cut, glued and decorated by her then tiny two year old hands; the dancing macaroni-dressed silver star fashioned by my son, kindergarten. A mouse sleeps in her lace covered matchbox, a gift from my Mom; a red wooden heart announces "our first Christmas together," our first ornament as a couple; a painted ceramic heart given us from my mom-in-law which says, "Christmas is Family." A coppery-gold ribbon winds its way through the tree, a glittery pathway to each memory. "Exit here to revisit Kay's ballerina days" or "here's a reminder of Matt's football days, summer practices and cheering his high school games!" A new ornament, a Radko designed celebration of Pat's home state, Missouri, hangs near the tree top. The essence of the Christmas tree, a personal expression, a celebration of life in all of it's brightly lit, red, green and golden silver sparkle resting on green feathered branches!
The title here, sage advice given me by my doc, Celine, when I'd asked her, "what do I do now?" Her clear directive, seemingly easy to understand, launches a million questions! First, what is my life? There are many parts of my life on which I'm crystal clear: my love for Pat, my kids, family and friends and my commitment to making moments, lots of memorable moments. Like yesterday, for instance, I went skiing! And I did so in spite of all of my neurotic thoughts (what if I'm not strong enough, what if I fall?, what if the driving conditions are bad, what if there are more "what ifs?"). And then it happened. The Great Moment. After my ski lesson and a couple of downhill runs, I realized, I'm really doing it!! I'm living my life! Photo Credit: Jamie Miller and Resorts of the Canadian Rockies (RCR).
