'C' is for Change

The 'c' word cancer entered my life mid-January when my family doctor read me the radiologist's report. I heard "invasive carcinoma, hormone receptive."
My doc's exam room is blue and there's a picture, a boat tethered to a lake house porch. An Adirondack chair sits on the porch, a lap blanket thrown over its arm invites calm and rest. This serene image stood in stark contrast to the chaos in my soul. For that moment of time, Salvadore Dali's "Explosion" painting moved from surrealism to reality.
Change is the cancer effect. It brings both the ripple in the pond and the landslide. I'm changing in many ways. It's as though I've lost a filter between me and the outside world. My emotions hover on my skin, easily accessible, visible and vulnerable.
The other variable of change is accepting what cannot be changed. It's the hard place. Surgery looms. Will I ever get my life back on track, and which track is that?
And, after the treatment, will I feel like a whole woman or half? Even with physical reconstruction, will my self image remain whole or will I feel as splintered as a cubist painting?
Courage is the thing that I find most illusive. I see it in my very admirable USAF Thunderbirds friend Jack who bravely battles prostate cancer against the odds. What I've learned so far is that courage is showing up for the things that are scary, unpleasant or confrontational. Your spine will take you there.
It's also about showing up for the people you love. Being in the moment. Really listening to them. It's about having compassion for the people in your life who are also suffering. Compassion may be the most important 'c' word of all.

One Really Good Thing

I applied for and was awarded a fellowship to attend an invigorating spring writing retreat tucked away in a beautiful, spiritual place on the coast of Maine. I am so thankful to Maine Writers and Publishers Association and the Davis Family Foundation for believing in and investing in my writing. Maine Writers and Publishers is the most encouraging, inspiring group of writer advocates! I am eternally grateful for this once in a lifetime opportunity. I wish all of my readers one really good thing today.

Phase I Treatment Success!

To all the people in my life who are supporting me in many different ways, thank you. Without you, I couldn't have made it through phase I of the treatment protocol. The journey continues, but this is an important milestone.
Today's A/C treatment went well and the chemo is doing its job! Yea!
I'm grateful to my family and friends including my doctor and her unbelievably supportive staff.

Last Jumbo Chemo Treatment Jitters

It's Monday morning and I'm feeling great. I've had a great week and weekend. Wednesday, my friend Judy and I enjoyed a fashionista night at Talbot's spring collection showcase event. I left with a fabulous sun dress (on sale) despite local temps in the 30's and 40's! I imagine walking on the beach, barefoot, wearing the dress, carrying my sandals, feeling the sun on my shoulders and back.
I'll take this image with me to this afternoon's unpleasant chemo treatment.
Friday, my daughter came home from school for a visit. Yea! I love her company and hearing about her remarkably busy life. Each time I see her, I'm again reminded of how strikingly beautiful she is with her pretty dark hair. She's so smart, full of life and energy and boundless enthusiasm. Both of my kids are terrific.
I'm running out of feel good time. By this afternoon, I'll be shot down, exhausted, feeling awful--for the last damned time. Today is my last round of a load of the chemo drugs that make me feel like I've over-partied with Keith Richards. Only worse. Ugh.
The chemo is working and my oncologist is a diva!
Thanks for sharing this feel good moment with me while it lasts.

Never Going Back Again

The Fleetwood Mac concert experience still resonates as I go about my altered life. The refrain, "never going back again," sings to me.
So much of living with cancer and its treatment is processing, trying to make sense of why this is happening.
Is this really happening?
When I was initially diagnosed, I couldn't sleep, my brain churning out thoughts, trying to make sense, find balance, invent a solution, brace myself. Alcohol helped, but not much. I'd stepped onto an eerie path. The door closed and locked behind me. You cannot see the next step, only hope that it is there. It's this uncertain landscape that redefines my humanity.
This is where they keep the epiphanies.
I'll never be the Debra that I was before this happened.
While playing with the dogs, watching the birds at the feeder or looking for the first crocus, I am with her, but she is fading, her edges less defined.
Will I like this woman who waits for me at the end of this journey?
(pictured: Salvadore Dali's "Woman at the Window")

Rock On Gold Dust Woman

The side effects of chemo treatment did not stop me from attending Fleetwood Mac's Unleashed Hits Tour in Boston, Wednesday night. My BFF, Claudette, and I struck out on a girls road trip. Fleetwood Mac is amazing! I'm a long-time Stevie Nicks fan, but this performance was my first opportunity to see her in person. Stevie rocked "Gold Dust Woman" and Lindsey Buckingham's excellent guitar playing breathed fire into the tribal "Tusk." "Landslide" has been a long-time favorite song of mine. Stevie sang it soulfully, her voice giving the words power and deeper meaning. The whole experience was truly spiritual. In addition to great food (The Palm), 'Dette and I managed to sneak in a little shopping at Copley, too!
(pictured: Stevie Nicks singing at TD Bank's Garden Center, Boston)

It's All Attitude

I wore my cowboy boots to big guns treatment round #3, or Dante's third circle of hell. I have one more adrea/cytoxin treatment to go and then I switch to something a bit more tolerable. I've been told by a marathon runner that it's the 3/4 point in the race where runners really start to break down. It's where the rubber meets the road--you are committed or you fall behind. It's all mental. My body is tired, but I have to double up on positive thoughts and tell myself--I can do this. It's hard.
But, you know what? I'm learning to be my own best friend. I haven't done enough of this in the past. I've spent too much time doubting my abilities, a "perfectionista," operating from a place of fear, rather than power. Now, when I look back, I wonder how I accomplished so much while listening to a mantra of negative thoughts.
I've been really hard on myself.
Over the past couple of years, through working a high visibility, but stressful, event and with the help of therapy (yes, these two things are related), I learned to put less value on this internal negative dialogue that so many of us listen to, and start discounting its worth. Negative thoughts are not helpful. I try to place less importance on them. My therapist told me: "these are just thoughts. They may stay with you for a time, but remember, they are just thoughts." It's a work in progress. Too, it takes courage but is the definition of empowerment.
As women, our aim should be to operate from a place of power, not fear.
I try not to let fearful or insecure thoughts stand in my way. They'll prevent me from living my vibrant life. So, kick-ass friends, get out there, take chances. Live a juicy life!

Running with the Wolves

It's been 14 days since my last chemo treatment and I feel like me again, minus endurance and my usual exuberant energy. I feel good, good enough to go dancing!
I imagine myself running the treadmill, hiking a mountain trail, riding my road bike along Maine's rocky shores. I want to run with the wolves, all night, to drink and party.
I want to run wild.
Limits
I have no reserve energy. At the cellular level, I'm running a marathon. I'm a fan on the sidelines, cheering my body on, amazed by its ability to fall behind and then make a great comeback. I am my body's biggest fan and supporter.
In that role, I honor my soul's dwelling by eating the most healthy food I can (except for the occasional pizza and yesterday's delicious Junior Whopper w/Cheese). I don't drink any alcohol. OK, last night I had two sips of Claudette's red wine. I praised Bacchas for the wine's delicious, if forbidden, taste and ask forgiveness for this small sin.
End of the Road
I'll take my third chemo treatment tomorrow. There will be no running, only the dream of moving effortlessly, gracefully, always forward on the path to wellness. And then there will be dancing.

"That'll do Wig, that'll do."

My daughter's home from college (yea!) and together we restyled my long haired wig on its kind of creepy mannequin head. The wig is looking fabulous and I'm getting much better at styling it.
But it's taking on a life of its own ... in a way that worries my daughter about my mental health:
"Her hair looks better if it's smooth and soft looking."
"Mom, it's a wig, not a she."
"Yes, but, I'm going to put hot rollers in her hair and see how she looks."
"Mom, you called it a she again."
"She looks good with her hair half-up, half-down with this pretty claw clip, don't you think?"
"Mom!"
When I was a kid, I had the Crissie doll, the one with the hair that you could make long or short by turning a wheel mounted in her back (you could get her hair out faster if you just yanked on the pony tail at the top of her head, rather than that tedious wheel). And I had the head and shoulders Barbie doll which came with brush, comb, rollers and makeup. Oh, I might as well 'fess up that my mom was a career hair stylist; I'm working my DNA-inspired inner hair dresser!
My wigs are my new friends.