Today is my birthday. I had a friend ask me if I had stopped counting the years yet, and if I was just 'hanging out' at 29 or some other number. My answer was a resounding - "no way - every year is a reason to celebrate!"
I didn't always feel this way, I used to keep my birthday quiet, not really celebrating the day, but letting it slip by, hopefully unnoticed by those around me.
But I know now, that each year, in fact each day, is something to acknowledge and commemorate.
I am 54. Awesome, and amazing 54. I know things now that I had no clue about at 24, or even 44. I am more confident, more content, and ever more calm than I was 10, 20 or 30 years ago. I may not be in the best shape of my lifetime, but I am continuing to learn to love the shape I am in - scars and all. I have earned every gray hair on my head...and those lines on my face? Well they tell the story of my life - lines from worrying about those I love and lines from years of laughter and joy. There is the scar I got from falling off my bike, and the slight bump on my nose from breaking it 4 different times. All chiseled in as evidence of a life lived. Evidence of the ups and downs that are a normal part of being alive.
What a privilege it is to grow old. To get to see life through the many lenses of age and time. And I feel I am only just beginning to learn and understand the amazing nuances of life and relationships - why would I ever want to hang out at 29?
Don't get me wrong - 29 is awesome, when you are 29. But when you are 54 - 54 is awesome, and I believe if I am so fortunate as to live to 64, 74 or beyond - that each of those ages will be awesome too.
To embrace change; to live for the opportunity to learn and feel something new; to find purpose and peace in the little things that make life so wonderful - and challenging - and sometimes frustrating - but always, always, so worth the living - this is what birthdays are about, and this is my birthday wish for you.
Peace and Love
-barb
Monday, May 28, 2018
Saturday, May 12, 2018
memories are more than things
Memories are funny things - they can be triggered by a song, a scent, a story or a place. They can make us laugh, or cry, and they can instantly bring back whatever emotion they elicited at the time they were formed. They are something we take for granted will be there when we need and want to recall them, until they are not.
As we get older, we are given glimpses of what it might be like to be memory-impaired: losing our keys and, after much looking, finding them in the refrigerator; getting a warm greeting from someone at the grocery store and having no idea who they are; going downstairs (or to the garage, or the bedroom) and forgetting what we went down to do or get. And we realize how much we depend on our memory.
Then, as our parents get older, we experience, through them, the pain and frustration of losing one's memories.
Watching someone move through the stages of dementia is something many of us will experience if we are fortunate enough to grow old along side those we love. Dementia can take the memory quickly, or slowly. It can result in confusion over what year or decade it is, erasing some experiences completely from the memory; or, it can result in a rewriting of the most stressful times in life allowing for a different outcome, if only in the mind. It can leave the memories somewhat intact, but create fear and confusion as the individual struggles to differentiate between reality and dreams or takes on the belief that something read or seen on tv has occurred to them. Dementia reminds us of the pivotal role our memories play in our well-being.
As I worked over the last few months to get my house ready to sell, I've come across so many things that have triggered memories - both good and bad, but mainly good. And I've understood more completely why simplifying our lives and clearing out the "things" we've accumulated increases in difficulty as we grow older. We worry if we don't have the "things" to trigger our memories, we will forget those people that have been most important to us. We cling to the scarf with the lingering scent of perfume, or the card with the instantly recognizable handwriting. We believe that those things will have even greater value to us as we age, and our memories become a little less sharp. And we fear that somehow, freeing ourself of the object is, in someway, dishonoring the memory of the person.
I'm not sure if this is why my parents held on to so much "stuff", or if they were concerned that they might be discarding something of value. I'm not clear if it was the "depression era" frame of mind, or the concern over losing the history of what had come before. All I know is that, at the end of their days, the memories were not tied to "things", they were tied to people; and when the memories, started to fade, it was the people who brought them back out of the fog.
There are so many things I could hold onto that would, I'm sure, continue to trigger memories of my parents and my childhood, but in my heart I hold the most important thing - the love. It wells up in me when I recall sitting on my mother's lap as she rocked me, or remember watching my father teach my daughter to ride a bike. And that love is not something that the presence or absence of any item, big or small, can ever take away.
If I have the privilege of growing old, I'm sure at some point I will forget many things - but the love will always be there. I may not carry with me the memory of a face or a name, or of something I did or said, but I will carry with me the love. And even if I become angry because I am confused by the faces and places I do not recognize and the words I cannot recall, deep down, the love will linger on - the love I feel for my daughter, the love I've shared with family and friends.
The memories fade, but the love endures.
So this mother's day, hug the people you love, call someone you haven't talked to in awhile, drop a card to a friend or family member - and let them know you love them. You will give them a memory that will endure far longer than any bouquet or bauble ever could.
As we get older, we are given glimpses of what it might be like to be memory-impaired: losing our keys and, after much looking, finding them in the refrigerator; getting a warm greeting from someone at the grocery store and having no idea who they are; going downstairs (or to the garage, or the bedroom) and forgetting what we went down to do or get. And we realize how much we depend on our memory.
Then, as our parents get older, we experience, through them, the pain and frustration of losing one's memories.
Watching someone move through the stages of dementia is something many of us will experience if we are fortunate enough to grow old along side those we love. Dementia can take the memory quickly, or slowly. It can result in confusion over what year or decade it is, erasing some experiences completely from the memory; or, it can result in a rewriting of the most stressful times in life allowing for a different outcome, if only in the mind. It can leave the memories somewhat intact, but create fear and confusion as the individual struggles to differentiate between reality and dreams or takes on the belief that something read or seen on tv has occurred to them. Dementia reminds us of the pivotal role our memories play in our well-being.
As I worked over the last few months to get my house ready to sell, I've come across so many things that have triggered memories - both good and bad, but mainly good. And I've understood more completely why simplifying our lives and clearing out the "things" we've accumulated increases in difficulty as we grow older. We worry if we don't have the "things" to trigger our memories, we will forget those people that have been most important to us. We cling to the scarf with the lingering scent of perfume, or the card with the instantly recognizable handwriting. We believe that those things will have even greater value to us as we age, and our memories become a little less sharp. And we fear that somehow, freeing ourself of the object is, in someway, dishonoring the memory of the person.
I'm not sure if this is why my parents held on to so much "stuff", or if they were concerned that they might be discarding something of value. I'm not clear if it was the "depression era" frame of mind, or the concern over losing the history of what had come before. All I know is that, at the end of their days, the memories were not tied to "things", they were tied to people; and when the memories, started to fade, it was the people who brought them back out of the fog.
There are so many things I could hold onto that would, I'm sure, continue to trigger memories of my parents and my childhood, but in my heart I hold the most important thing - the love. It wells up in me when I recall sitting on my mother's lap as she rocked me, or remember watching my father teach my daughter to ride a bike. And that love is not something that the presence or absence of any item, big or small, can ever take away.
If I have the privilege of growing old, I'm sure at some point I will forget many things - but the love will always be there. I may not carry with me the memory of a face or a name, or of something I did or said, but I will carry with me the love. And even if I become angry because I am confused by the faces and places I do not recognize and the words I cannot recall, deep down, the love will linger on - the love I feel for my daughter, the love I've shared with family and friends.
The memories fade, but the love endures.
So this mother's day, hug the people you love, call someone you haven't talked to in awhile, drop a card to a friend or family member - and let them know you love them. You will give them a memory that will endure far longer than any bouquet or bauble ever could.
Saturday, March 3, 2018
A new chapter
It has been over 6 years since I started this blog about my journey with breast cancer, and 2 years since I last posted. I have cleared all my oncology check-ins, and achieved my goals of walking in the Komen 3 day and I now volunteer weekly with cancer patients.
In the 5 years since my final surgery, life has moved on and I have moved on with it...mostly.
I have struggled with holding onto all the "mementos" of that experience. Holding onto the medical records and notes on my diagnosis and treatment might be justifiable, but I have held on to every card, every letter, every gift that I received during that time. They are reminders of the immense kindness of friends, co-workers and even people who I had never met but who still reached out with words of encouragement and love.
I have the luminaries that my daughter made for each year she and I participated in the Relay for Life. I have pins, shoelaces and bracelets handed out on the 3-day walk, and the 3 pair of tennis shoes that got me through over 700 miles of training. I have every hat and scarf that was given as a gift so my bald little head wouldn't be cold but instead would be adorned with beauty, and sometimes even humor - as was the case with the "I'm too sexy for my hair" cap given by my friend who was also going through chemo. And I have every "fight like a girl", "don't let cancer steal 2nd base", "breast cancer warrior" and "survivor" shirt I was ever given.
In some dark part of my mind, I know I have been worried about putting those things in the past. It feels "risky" - like I am tempting the cancer demons to reappear.
But I've reached a turning point, a time beyond fear. A time to move forward and create change for the better. I'm simplifying my life, and simplifying means reducing my possessions and increasing my experiences.
So tonight, I read - for one last time- each and every letter, card and note that you sent. And it moved me to tears. Tears of gratitude and humility and awe. It truly amazes me the outpouring of support that was provided to my daughter and my father and to me. Words can never express how much your thoughtfulness has meant. In re-reading your words, I know that I do not need a piece of paper, or a t-shirt, a bracelet, or hat or scarf to remember each one of you. You are in my heart and in my mind, indelibly written there for all time.
There is little chance that anyone is following this blog anymore, so I acknowledge that I am writing this post mostly for myself. It is my commencement, my new beginning; and as I forge this new path, I carry the imprint you've left on me.
Tonight, for the first time in 6 years, the basket that has sat on the hearth, filled with your words and well wishes, is no longer there. The hearth is empty, but the heart is full.
Sending out my love to each and every one of you.
-bb
In the 5 years since my final surgery, life has moved on and I have moved on with it...mostly.
I have struggled with holding onto all the "mementos" of that experience. Holding onto the medical records and notes on my diagnosis and treatment might be justifiable, but I have held on to every card, every letter, every gift that I received during that time. They are reminders of the immense kindness of friends, co-workers and even people who I had never met but who still reached out with words of encouragement and love.
I have the luminaries that my daughter made for each year she and I participated in the Relay for Life. I have pins, shoelaces and bracelets handed out on the 3-day walk, and the 3 pair of tennis shoes that got me through over 700 miles of training. I have every hat and scarf that was given as a gift so my bald little head wouldn't be cold but instead would be adorned with beauty, and sometimes even humor - as was the case with the "I'm too sexy for my hair" cap given by my friend who was also going through chemo. And I have every "fight like a girl", "don't let cancer steal 2nd base", "breast cancer warrior" and "survivor" shirt I was ever given.
In some dark part of my mind, I know I have been worried about putting those things in the past. It feels "risky" - like I am tempting the cancer demons to reappear.
But I've reached a turning point, a time beyond fear. A time to move forward and create change for the better. I'm simplifying my life, and simplifying means reducing my possessions and increasing my experiences.
So tonight, I read - for one last time- each and every letter, card and note that you sent. And it moved me to tears. Tears of gratitude and humility and awe. It truly amazes me the outpouring of support that was provided to my daughter and my father and to me. Words can never express how much your thoughtfulness has meant. In re-reading your words, I know that I do not need a piece of paper, or a t-shirt, a bracelet, or hat or scarf to remember each one of you. You are in my heart and in my mind, indelibly written there for all time.
There is little chance that anyone is following this blog anymore, so I acknowledge that I am writing this post mostly for myself. It is my commencement, my new beginning; and as I forge this new path, I carry the imprint you've left on me.
Tonight, for the first time in 6 years, the basket that has sat on the hearth, filled with your words and well wishes, is no longer there. The hearth is empty, but the heart is full.
Sending out my love to each and every one of you.
-bb
Sunday, June 1, 2014
Another year stronger
This week marked the arrival of my 50th birthday, a milestone that I have long been anticipating. For nearly 12 months I've thought about how I would want to commemorate it. And today, I found the answer. Funny how it's been in front of me all along.
So, today I am taking time out to say "thank you" to all of you.
Thank you for reading this blog... when I started writing I wasn't sure that anyone else would read it, but I knew it would be instrumental in maintaining the attitude I wanted to have during my treatment. Writing has always been my emotional outlet, but I didn't realize how life affirming it would be. Pulling up the stats on how many people stopped at the page, read the blog, even commented - it was like having brief but very meaningful visits with you. Thank you.
Thank you for your cards, emails, your words of encouragement...your prayers. I wasn't able to see many of you for nearly a year after my diagnosis, but you were present in my home. Today I look across the room at a basket of cards and notes I have kept. They are from you, my friends, my family. They kept me going, provided me encouragement and let me know I hadn't been forgotten. Thank you.
Thank you for taking time away from your life, your schedule, your plans, to help me and my family get through my year of treatment. You took on the commitments I could no longer fulfill, you took me to appointments I could no longer drive myself to, you did my yard work, made meals, cleaned my home. You cared for my Dad, you visited him and brought him cookies when I couldn't be there with him. You watched over my daughter, made her life your priority, gave her your love and your time. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.
If I have another 50 years on this planet, there will never be sufficient words or actions to convey how very blessed I feel to have you all in my life.
So, for today, I will just say "thank you".
So, today I am taking time out to say "thank you" to all of you.
Thank you for reading this blog... when I started writing I wasn't sure that anyone else would read it, but I knew it would be instrumental in maintaining the attitude I wanted to have during my treatment. Writing has always been my emotional outlet, but I didn't realize how life affirming it would be. Pulling up the stats on how many people stopped at the page, read the blog, even commented - it was like having brief but very meaningful visits with you. Thank you.
Thank you for your cards, emails, your words of encouragement...your prayers. I wasn't able to see many of you for nearly a year after my diagnosis, but you were present in my home. Today I look across the room at a basket of cards and notes I have kept. They are from you, my friends, my family. They kept me going, provided me encouragement and let me know I hadn't been forgotten. Thank you.
Thank you for taking time away from your life, your schedule, your plans, to help me and my family get through my year of treatment. You took on the commitments I could no longer fulfill, you took me to appointments I could no longer drive myself to, you did my yard work, made meals, cleaned my home. You cared for my Dad, you visited him and brought him cookies when I couldn't be there with him. You watched over my daughter, made her life your priority, gave her your love and your time. From the bottom of my heart, I thank you.
If I have another 50 years on this planet, there will never be sufficient words or actions to convey how very blessed I feel to have you all in my life.
So, for today, I will just say "thank you".
Wednesday, April 23, 2014
Why 60 miles?
Since posting last week that I will be walking 60 miles in the Susan G Komen 3-day in August, the response has been so wonderful. We've raised $360 in this first week - thank you to everyone that has donated!
I've been asked why this walk is so long, wouldn't more people join if the walk was shorter? I can't speak for the founders, but my response has been - because walking 60 miles in a small way is like going through cancer treatment. You get up each day and push yourself to the limit, going to bed exhausted only to wake the next day, and push yourself to the limit again... after a few days you wonder if life will ever be normal again, after a few months you're having a hard time remembering what normal felt like. It is hard to imagine how the true warriors, those fighting cancer year after year, find the strength to keep fighting.
Why walk 60 miles? Because on day 4, we get to rest... but those who are still fighting cancer will not.
Wednesday, April 16, 2014
How to celebrate turning 50?.... walk 60
Hello family and friends!
It’s
been nearly 3 years since I received the diagnosis that would rock my world.
Today I am blessed to be healthy and strong. From the beginning of my journey, you have each been
there with your prayers, cards, visits, and help in so many forms. Asking for and accepting help has never
come easy for me, but it is one of the many lessons that came from these past 3
years. You made it easier. Thank you!
Now,
once again, I am asking for your help. From Aug 22nd – 24th I plan to walk 60
miles in the Komen 3-day for breast cancer. And I won’t be alone. My dear friend, Doreen, who was such an
amazing support for both Kate and I, has agreed to take this next leg of the
journey as well. As part of our
commitment, we each need to raise $2300 to participate. It’s a big number, but I hope the end
result will make it look small by comparison!
You
may be asking, “How will walking 60 miles help the fight against breast cancer?”
Three words: research, education, awareness.
Having
breast cancer gave me a serious education on cancer, and what I know is that we
are all united in our fight against this invasive and destructive disease,
whether we have breast cancer, or colon cancer, or uterine, or ovarian, or
leukemia, or any of the many, many forms this monster takes. Research will mean advancements in
cancer treatment and detection, and early detection can make all the
difference. If you do get cancer, becoming educated on your cancer
enables you to be an active participant in your care; and access to reliable
information on treatment options, side effects and prognoses is an important
part of that education. But a big part of what Komen provides is
continued awareness of the growing epidemic that is cancer, the huge number of
men, women and children that are affected and the significant progress that is
still needed.
So
I'm walking...60 miles:
•
20 miles for those who have lost
their fight and for the people who have loved them: for Laurel, and
Cathy, lost to breast cancer; for Wendy, lost to colon cancer, and for too many
others to list.
•
20 miles for the brave warriors who
continue to fight, because the battle never ends. For Julie who is
fighting now; for Laurie and for me and the countless family and friends who
have been there, because cancer can rear its ugly head at any time so we are
constantly vigilant.
•
20 miles for the future – for my
daughter, for all our children, and for the hope of a cure...of a day when
cancer no longer causes fear of death or even invasive and devastating
treatments.
for PEACE for LOVE for HOPE
Why
am I walking 60 miles? Because, after 9 months of cancer treatment, 4
surgeries, 3 days in the ICU and many, many trips to the hospital…after losing
my breasts and losing my hair, and even losing my sanity to the medication that
was intended to keep me from losing my lunch… after all this… I am walking 60
miles for 1 reason above all others:
Because
I can
And for that, I am eternally
grateful.
Please help us in our journey! Each donation, big or small, helps us reach our goal. The web address for my 3-Day page is
below, a link in the top left corner will take you to a secure donation site:
If you prefer, you can print off a donation form from
the bottom of the page and mail your donation into the address listed on the
form – the donation will be credited to our team.
Friday, October 4, 2013
731 days
Two years ago I received a phone call that would start me on a journey that would change my life and have a profound affect on my family and friends. Today, I'm 731 days closer to living the rest of my life cancer free.
It's been 731 days since I was diagnosed with cancer.
I've had 3 surgeries
15 rounds of chemo (and 16 months of chemoprevention with 32 to go)
I've taken a leave of absence from work and returned to full time
Saw my daughter graduate high school, and complete her first year of college.
Lost 25 pounds and gained it back again.
Lost my hair and grew it back again.
Lost my father
Lost my friend
Found a friend I thought I'd lost
Had my basement remodeled
Had my breasts remodeled
Strengthened my body
Strengthened my mind
Strengthened my relationship with my daughter
Strengthened my body
Strengthened my mind
Strengthened my relationship with my daughter
Written 45 blog posts
Said countless prayers
And been immensely grateful for each day that I am here.
In our lives we will have good days, and bad days;
tough times and easy times;
peace and chaos.
And we can find purpose in all of it, if we seek to find it.
2 years ago I received a phone call that would start me on a journey that would change my life ... and today my life is the better for it.
Said countless prayers
And been immensely grateful for each day that I am here.
In our lives we will have good days, and bad days;
tough times and easy times;
peace and chaos.
And we can find purpose in all of it, if we seek to find it.
2 years ago I received a phone call that would start me on a journey that would change my life ... and today my life is the better for it.
Monday, September 30, 2013
October is upon us
Short and sweet - October is upon us, and October is Breast Cancer Awareness month.
1 in 8 women will develop breast cancer in her lifetime, but the good news is that today breast cancer, when caught in the early stages, is highly treatable and no longer has to be a death sentence.
The problem is, you can't catch breast cancer in the early stages if you aren't having your regular screenings.
Two years ago I went in for a regular (albeit a few months late) mammogram, just as I had done for the last 10 years. And it is because I had gone in regularly, that the radiologist was able to detect the subtle changes in the breast tissue that led to my diagnosis. Did you catch that last part? "Subtle changes" - not glaringly huge mass or lump, but subtle changes in the image on the mammogram. The cancer was actually 3 cm in diameter, but was so deep into my chest that it was only detectable as subtle changes in the density of the tissue. It would have gone unnoticed by me for many months - long enough to further invade my lymphatic system and spread to other areas of my body. Long enough to become stage 4 and give me only a 15% chance at a 5 year survival.
But I'm here today... and I plan on being here for many many years to come. And each year as October begins I will ask you the same question: Ladies - have you had your mammograms?
Sunday, September 22, 2013
In memory
On Sept 23rd 2010, my childhood friend Laurel Maki, forever Laurie to me, died from breast cancer. It's been 3 years and a lifetime ago.
Laurie lost her mother to breast cancer when we were seniors in high school, and when she died she left 3 boys - the youngest still in high school.
Laurie was a warrior - a true fighter in the war against breast cancer. She battled, survived, battled, survived and finally, ever so finally, lost her battle.
Over 230,000 people will be diagnosed with breast cancer in 2013; that's second only to prostate cancer. But thanks to the high visibility which organizations like Susan G Komen, and warriors like Laurie have brought to this disease, breast cancer is caught earlier, treated more effectively and survived far more often.
And for that, I am eternally grateful.
Laurie lost her mother to breast cancer when we were seniors in high school, and when she died she left 3 boys - the youngest still in high school.
Laurie was a warrior - a true fighter in the war against breast cancer. She battled, survived, battled, survived and finally, ever so finally, lost her battle.
Over 230,000 people will be diagnosed with breast cancer in 2013; that's second only to prostate cancer. But thanks to the high visibility which organizations like Susan G Komen, and warriors like Laurie have brought to this disease, breast cancer is caught earlier, treated more effectively and survived far more often.
And for that, I am eternally grateful.
Wednesday, August 7, 2013
No excuses
I spent the weekend in Grand Marais, where I met a number of people who were living in different extremes of being "off the grid".
One woman took "off the grid" to new heights. She lives in a small cabin in the woods with no electricity or running water. She uses propane for lights, which sounds like the most modern thing she has. Not living on a lake, she hauls water and washes using a traditional wash basin.
Another man left the cities 20 years ago to pursue his passion - drawing. He makes absolutely beautiful pen and ink drawings - some on paper, some on birch bark. He has a small home, works making signs for local shops, and sells his drawings and occasional water colors every weekend with other town artists and craftsman in the town square.
What struck me with both of these individuals was the sense that I was talking to someone completely content with their life. I was impressed with their dedication to living the life they truly wanted. In awe of their willingness to take that leap. And curious about the days and years leading up to the point when they just made the move.
Did they have a plan, or did they just leap? Did they set their sights on other goals, that would position them for this complete departure from our 20th century fast-paced life or did they throw caution to the wind, letting the chips... and their future... fall where they may?
And does it mean because I am laying the groundwork, working the plan that will take me into the next phase of my life where I can do more of the things I've dreamt of doing, that I'm not living the life I want?
I don't think so. I think that I am living the life I want to live. The life my choices have led me to.
Like everyone else, I don't get to chose all the things that life throws my way, but I do chose my response. I chose to be a mother, by far one of the best choices I made. I chose what kind of daughter I wanted to be, what kind of friend and what kind of person I wanted to be. And sometimes, those choices being most important to me, I chose to re-prioritize some of my goals, knowing that it was possible that being the kind of parent, daughter, friend, person I wanted to be might mean that some of those other goals might have to take a back-seat, or might never be realized at all.
But I'm okay with that - because at the end of the day, I am truly living the life I want to live. And I haven't let go of my dreams and my goals... I've just put them in the right priority for me.
I would like to write a book... or two. I would like to go back to school, become a therapist and use what I've experienced to help others. I would like to travel more with my daughter.
Too often we get in the mind set that if we haven't realized our goals, then we aren't living the life we want - but the truth is, each decision we make reflects the life we want. And when we really want to make something different happen in our lives, we will be willing to take the steps necessary to do so and we will prioritize doing them above other things that would otherwise stand in our way.
And there will be no excuses.
If you don't have the life you want or don't want the life you have - then the choice is all yours: you can change your mind, or change your life.
One woman took "off the grid" to new heights. She lives in a small cabin in the woods with no electricity or running water. She uses propane for lights, which sounds like the most modern thing she has. Not living on a lake, she hauls water and washes using a traditional wash basin.
Another man left the cities 20 years ago to pursue his passion - drawing. He makes absolutely beautiful pen and ink drawings - some on paper, some on birch bark. He has a small home, works making signs for local shops, and sells his drawings and occasional water colors every weekend with other town artists and craftsman in the town square.
What struck me with both of these individuals was the sense that I was talking to someone completely content with their life. I was impressed with their dedication to living the life they truly wanted. In awe of their willingness to take that leap. And curious about the days and years leading up to the point when they just made the move.
Did they have a plan, or did they just leap? Did they set their sights on other goals, that would position them for this complete departure from our 20th century fast-paced life or did they throw caution to the wind, letting the chips... and their future... fall where they may?
And does it mean because I am laying the groundwork, working the plan that will take me into the next phase of my life where I can do more of the things I've dreamt of doing, that I'm not living the life I want?
I don't think so. I think that I am living the life I want to live. The life my choices have led me to.
Like everyone else, I don't get to chose all the things that life throws my way, but I do chose my response. I chose to be a mother, by far one of the best choices I made. I chose what kind of daughter I wanted to be, what kind of friend and what kind of person I wanted to be. And sometimes, those choices being most important to me, I chose to re-prioritize some of my goals, knowing that it was possible that being the kind of parent, daughter, friend, person I wanted to be might mean that some of those other goals might have to take a back-seat, or might never be realized at all.
But I'm okay with that - because at the end of the day, I am truly living the life I want to live. And I haven't let go of my dreams and my goals... I've just put them in the right priority for me.
I would like to write a book... or two. I would like to go back to school, become a therapist and use what I've experienced to help others. I would like to travel more with my daughter.
Too often we get in the mind set that if we haven't realized our goals, then we aren't living the life we want - but the truth is, each decision we make reflects the life we want. And when we really want to make something different happen in our lives, we will be willing to take the steps necessary to do so and we will prioritize doing them above other things that would otherwise stand in our way.
And there will be no excuses.
If you don't have the life you want or don't want the life you have - then the choice is all yours: you can change your mind, or change your life.
Tuesday, March 26, 2013
in a rut
It is fair to say that as humans we tend to be creatures of habit. In fact, I'd guess that 80% of my day is a near clone of the day before.
I get up, say good morning to the dog and start making her breakfast. I put the dog out and begin making a cup of tea while the dog, done doing what she was sent outside to do, begins her morning ritual of saying good morning to the neighborhood dogs. I whistle for the dog to come in, she ignores me until she gets at least one responding "woof" from a pal, then she comes in. I give her her breakfast, grab my cup of tea and go take a shower. I get dressed and begin the process of covering up the dark circles under my eyes with what can only be called skin-toned putty. If I'm lucky, I remember to dab on a little blush and mascara before the dog starts whining to go back outside. I let the dog out, make a fresh cup of tea, or coffee if the circles under my eyes are particularly dark. I put my phone in my bag, whistle for the dog to come in, give her a treat and head out the door.
I repeat that routine, and many others throughout the day, each and every day. Occasionally there's a variation, like I might skip the tea or more likely, the makeup, but for the most part, the routine stays intact.
And that, my dear ones, is the problem.
You would think after hitting the land mines I've hit over the last year that a permanent detour would be not only necessary, but easy to find and even easier to take, but that's just not the case. Despite the rather large impact this past year has had, I trudge right back onto the familiar road, as instinctually as though I were sleep walking.
Little changes, like waking up each day aware and grateful for another day, have been easy additions to my routine. But the big changes, the ones I promised myself I would make, the habits I promised myself I would break, those have not been so easy.
It's hard to change four decades of behavior in 12 months. I can change them for a day, a week, or even months... but under stress, things just bounce back to where they were like a well trained boomerang.
Stress not only etches lines in our faces, but it etches ruts into our daily life; and bad habits are as difficult to erase as the wrinkles across our face. But we have a choice about what we let cause us stress and what we chose to let bounce. And we have a choice about how we handle stress that we can't avoid, like the death of a loved one or the challenges of a serious illness. Stress is a part of life, and life, when you really live it, has its ups and downs. And we, we are either on the ride or we are off it.
This morning I woke up and jumped on the treadmill, something I've been pushing myself to do regularly since my last surgery at the end of January. Before all the craziness began in January, I was exercising daily, and was up to an hour of walking. But after these last few months, exercising at night just wasn't working for me. By the time I get home I'm exhausted (who'd have thought sitting in a chair all day would wear me out!) and when I'm tired it's hard to be motivated to exercise, so I fall back into my old routines.
I need to change things up. Since my energy is highest in the morning, I decided I would attempt to get up early and exercise. I had to find the motivation though, because I know that when the alarm goes off I will want to curl up in my comforter and hit snooze. So I gave myself a visual to focus on.
The visual I use is a photo of my daughter with my friend Wendy. I took the photo last summer, when they were taking senior pictures and I was standing off to the side watching. It's a candid shot of two of the people who mean the most to me. When I think of this picture I am reminded how fortunate I am to be here, how easily my path could have followed Wendy's and how we never ever dreamed a year ago that one of us would be gone. But I am also reminded of the hope for the future that see when I look at my daughter and how I what I want more than anything is to be on this earth long enough to see my daughter grow old, to be there to support her as she raises her family and charts her own path in this world. I want to be here to cheer her successes, support her in the tough times, and to be an active participant in her life, but I know that won't happen if I don't attend to my health. And when I fall back on old habits, I'm not attending to my health.
So I'll push a little harder and a whole lot longer, and I'll do my best to get out of the rut. And maybe, just maybe, that will mean less wrinkles on my face - and won't that be nice too.
I get up, say good morning to the dog and start making her breakfast. I put the dog out and begin making a cup of tea while the dog, done doing what she was sent outside to do, begins her morning ritual of saying good morning to the neighborhood dogs. I whistle for the dog to come in, she ignores me until she gets at least one responding "woof" from a pal, then she comes in. I give her her breakfast, grab my cup of tea and go take a shower. I get dressed and begin the process of covering up the dark circles under my eyes with what can only be called skin-toned putty. If I'm lucky, I remember to dab on a little blush and mascara before the dog starts whining to go back outside. I let the dog out, make a fresh cup of tea, or coffee if the circles under my eyes are particularly dark. I put my phone in my bag, whistle for the dog to come in, give her a treat and head out the door.
I repeat that routine, and many others throughout the day, each and every day. Occasionally there's a variation, like I might skip the tea or more likely, the makeup, but for the most part, the routine stays intact.
And that, my dear ones, is the problem.
You would think after hitting the land mines I've hit over the last year that a permanent detour would be not only necessary, but easy to find and even easier to take, but that's just not the case. Despite the rather large impact this past year has had, I trudge right back onto the familiar road, as instinctually as though I were sleep walking.
Little changes, like waking up each day aware and grateful for another day, have been easy additions to my routine. But the big changes, the ones I promised myself I would make, the habits I promised myself I would break, those have not been so easy.
It's hard to change four decades of behavior in 12 months. I can change them for a day, a week, or even months... but under stress, things just bounce back to where they were like a well trained boomerang.
Stress not only etches lines in our faces, but it etches ruts into our daily life; and bad habits are as difficult to erase as the wrinkles across our face. But we have a choice about what we let cause us stress and what we chose to let bounce. And we have a choice about how we handle stress that we can't avoid, like the death of a loved one or the challenges of a serious illness. Stress is a part of life, and life, when you really live it, has its ups and downs. And we, we are either on the ride or we are off it.
This morning I woke up and jumped on the treadmill, something I've been pushing myself to do regularly since my last surgery at the end of January. Before all the craziness began in January, I was exercising daily, and was up to an hour of walking. But after these last few months, exercising at night just wasn't working for me. By the time I get home I'm exhausted (who'd have thought sitting in a chair all day would wear me out!) and when I'm tired it's hard to be motivated to exercise, so I fall back into my old routines.
I need to change things up. Since my energy is highest in the morning, I decided I would attempt to get up early and exercise. I had to find the motivation though, because I know that when the alarm goes off I will want to curl up in my comforter and hit snooze. So I gave myself a visual to focus on.
The visual I use is a photo of my daughter with my friend Wendy. I took the photo last summer, when they were taking senior pictures and I was standing off to the side watching. It's a candid shot of two of the people who mean the most to me. When I think of this picture I am reminded how fortunate I am to be here, how easily my path could have followed Wendy's and how we never ever dreamed a year ago that one of us would be gone. But I am also reminded of the hope for the future that see when I look at my daughter and how I what I want more than anything is to be on this earth long enough to see my daughter grow old, to be there to support her as she raises her family and charts her own path in this world. I want to be here to cheer her successes, support her in the tough times, and to be an active participant in her life, but I know that won't happen if I don't attend to my health. And when I fall back on old habits, I'm not attending to my health.
So I'll push a little harder and a whole lot longer, and I'll do my best to get out of the rut. And maybe, just maybe, that will mean less wrinkles on my face - and won't that be nice too.
Tuesday, February 12, 2013
A Repost from Caring Bridge
The following is a repost from my last Caring Bridge journal entry; if you follow both my blog and my caringbridge, thank you, and my apologies for the redundancy:
I guess it took me a little more than a day to provide an update, rest assured, I am well. Surgery went smoothly as did my recovery and I will return to work shortly. Sadly though, my dear friend Wendy's health continued to deteriorate as I recovered.
I guess it took me a little more than a day to provide an update, rest assured, I am well. Surgery went smoothly as did my recovery and I will return to work shortly. Sadly though, my dear friend Wendy's health continued to deteriorate as I recovered.
Wendy left this world yesterday; she will be greatly missed.
Cancer is cruel, it swoops in like a tornado, taking one person and leaving the next, sometimes broken and battered, sometimes with all the appearance of being untouched on the outside, but still shaken to the core on the inside.
And it seems each week I learn of another friend, colleague or relative that has been diagnosed with some form of cancer. I suppose it's my age, and the fact that incidents of cancer spike during these "middle age" years, but it still seems that the prevalence is growing. And it makes me wonder .... what is all this cancer trying to tell us?
Pollution, processed foods, stress, obesity, smoking, lack of exercise, lack of sleep, lack of balance; we know that all these things contribute to our likelihood of getting cancer.
I don't think God intended for us to have cancer; but God gave us free will and the decisions we have made and the decisions made by those that came before us have led us to this place of rampant cancer.
But as with the rest of life's challenges, God is by our side when we engage in battle with cancer; and he stays by our side until the end. Wendy knew that, and it is in that knowledge that we find comfort. That those we love never really leave us, they have simply gone ahead and will greet us when it is our turn to walk, with Christ by our side, into eternal life.
For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son; that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life.
Tuesday, January 8, 2013
a new journey
I'm writing this post from my Dad's room, where I've been camped out since last friday when he went on hospice care. Dad's been growing steadily weaker over the last 3 years, but he surprised us all when he rallied in the face of my cancer.
I think it's fair to say he was frustrated and felt he wasn't able to be there for me, but he did the most important thing... he rallied.
It was as if my illness gave him the strength to stay healthy and strong, because he knew that it would be hard on me if he became sick or injured and I couldn't be there for him. So, he rallied.
This fall he began commenting on how long my hair was getting and that I was looking healthier and I think he knew then that the time had come when he could rest. That he didn't need to rally for me any more. And so, it began... the new journey.
Over the last few months he has become more and more weak. It became difficult for him to find the right words, difficult to talk, difficult to walk, difficult to eat. So, now it is my turn to rally.
He's not speaking any more, nor is he walking or eating. It's time for his body to rest.
But oh the journey his soul is embarking on. Even in my sadness, I find joy in thinking of the wonderful journey he is about to take. It's one he's planned for his whole life, and one for which he can leave all baggage behind.
And as I sit by his side, I become ready to see him set sail; sad, because I will miss him; but rejoicing in knowing that his burden will be lighter for the road ahead.
I think it's fair to say he was frustrated and felt he wasn't able to be there for me, but he did the most important thing... he rallied.
It was as if my illness gave him the strength to stay healthy and strong, because he knew that it would be hard on me if he became sick or injured and I couldn't be there for him. So, he rallied.
This fall he began commenting on how long my hair was getting and that I was looking healthier and I think he knew then that the time had come when he could rest. That he didn't need to rally for me any more. And so, it began... the new journey.
Over the last few months he has become more and more weak. It became difficult for him to find the right words, difficult to talk, difficult to walk, difficult to eat. So, now it is my turn to rally.
He's not speaking any more, nor is he walking or eating. It's time for his body to rest.
But oh the journey his soul is embarking on. Even in my sadness, I find joy in thinking of the wonderful journey he is about to take. It's one he's planned for his whole life, and one for which he can leave all baggage behind.
And as I sit by his side, I become ready to see him set sail; sad, because I will miss him; but rejoicing in knowing that his burden will be lighter for the road ahead.
Tuesday, October 30, 2012
Hitting the Wall
After 3 years of absolute chaos, I think I've hit the wall.
I'm tired and emotionally exhausted.
You know you are hitting the wall when you are watching tv and start crying over commercials and someone's singing.
What I don't know is whether I've hit this point because of the drugs I'm on, or simply because I'm human and at some point, enough is enough.
The good news is, the wall isn't hitting back.
Today wasn't an exceptional day. Nothing really went wrong, nor did it really go well. It just was. But still, I walked in the door, got the dog her dinner and then proceeded to completely fall apart. Maybe it's because there's nothing in the fridge for dinner. Maybe it's because I don't feel like getting on the treadmill, even though I know I should. Maybe it's nothing at all.
What I do know, what I have learned this past year, is that you need to let yourself feel what you are feeling if you have any hope at all of moving forward. You don't have to know why you are feeling a certain way to let yourself experience it. You just need to feel it, and then make a conscious choice to move forward; to move beyond the feelings that bring you down and onto the feelings that raise you up.
I'm not clueless about the stress of the last 3 years. Between my parent's health issues, my mother's death, my cancer and the health and relationship issues of others that I love and care about deeply, it's been a lot. But I'm also not foolish enough to forget that there are so many people that have it so much worse. I'm not foolish enough to ignore how unbelievably blessed I am and how lucky I am to have the relationships and the love I have in my life; how very fortunate I am to have a safe and warm place to live, the comforts of a secure job, and the advantages of a good education.
So when I hit the wall, I just count the bricks - the building blocks that are my life, my faith, my family, my friends; and I let them give me the strength I need to move beyond.
I'm tired and emotionally exhausted.
You know you are hitting the wall when you are watching tv and start crying over commercials and someone's singing.
What I don't know is whether I've hit this point because of the drugs I'm on, or simply because I'm human and at some point, enough is enough.
The good news is, the wall isn't hitting back.
Today wasn't an exceptional day. Nothing really went wrong, nor did it really go well. It just was. But still, I walked in the door, got the dog her dinner and then proceeded to completely fall apart. Maybe it's because there's nothing in the fridge for dinner. Maybe it's because I don't feel like getting on the treadmill, even though I know I should. Maybe it's nothing at all.
What I do know, what I have learned this past year, is that you need to let yourself feel what you are feeling if you have any hope at all of moving forward. You don't have to know why you are feeling a certain way to let yourself experience it. You just need to feel it, and then make a conscious choice to move forward; to move beyond the feelings that bring you down and onto the feelings that raise you up.
I'm not clueless about the stress of the last 3 years. Between my parent's health issues, my mother's death, my cancer and the health and relationship issues of others that I love and care about deeply, it's been a lot. But I'm also not foolish enough to forget that there are so many people that have it so much worse. I'm not foolish enough to ignore how unbelievably blessed I am and how lucky I am to have the relationships and the love I have in my life; how very fortunate I am to have a safe and warm place to live, the comforts of a secure job, and the advantages of a good education.
So when I hit the wall, I just count the bricks - the building blocks that are my life, my faith, my family, my friends; and I let them give me the strength I need to move beyond.
Friday, October 12, 2012
Cancer Sucks
I had my 5 month check-up and everything is looking good. My blood work is good. I'm having minimal side effects from the anti-estrogen drug I'm on, which is amazing considering so many women have really horrid side effects from it. Then again, I've had really nasty side effects from most of the rest of the drugs I've had so it's entirely possible that these just seem more tolerable as a result. Kind of like how you don't mind a 2 inch snow after you've shoveled the 2 foot snowfall - everything is relative.
I'm on my way toward reconstruction, with a couple surgeries coming up in the new year. All in all, I'm doing well.
Except that I'm starting to get really ticked off.
But since I've had cancer I think most people just don't admit those things to me anymore. Seems a little silly to tell someone who's had a mastectomy that you're not getting a mammogram because "it hurts".
Just like it would feel wrong to tell someone who's lost a loved one to cancer that you haven't had your screening because you're afraid they'll find something, when you know they are thinking how they'd wished a screening would have caught their mother's/ father's/ spouse's/ child's cancer earlier.
Still, the fear is real. It exists because of how prevalent cancer is.
But more often the real reason we don't get our annual checkups is that we just don't prioritize it. In our busy "human-doing" lives, we just don't make time for taking care of ourselves. We don't take time to eat right. We don't take time to exercise regularly. We don't take time to rest. And we don't take time to get our screenings.
October is breast cancer awareness month, but let it be your Cancer Awareness month. Schedule your screenings and make sure those you love are doing the same. And if you won't do it for you, then do it for your children, for your parents, for your husband or wife or partner in life. Do it to bring purpose to what I've gone through.
And do it so that, if you should get cancer, you will live to pester someone else into getting their screenings.
And as my mother would say: "end of lecture".
I'm on my way toward reconstruction, with a couple surgeries coming up in the new year. All in all, I'm doing well.
Except that I'm starting to get really ticked off.
My friend's colon cancer is back already. Another friend was diagnosed with a different cancer in May. And just the other week the husband of yet another friend was diagnosed with yet another form of cancer.
My father had cancer, my father-in-law died from the same cancer that my father has survived. Multiple of my cousins have had cancer, so far everyone's made it through.
At my 30th high school reunion there were 4 of us there that had gone through breast cancer, and 1 that wasn't there because she lost her battle 2 years ago. We lost at least 4 others to cancer, and it may have been more, I got too depressed counting. One girl never even made it to graduation.
And all this cancer is making me angry.
Odd thing is, I wasn't angry when it was just me. I figured there's no good in being angry... no good in asking "why me" - because the real question to me was "why not?". There is nothing so special about me that would make me exempt from getting cancer, so it sure didn't seem productive or helpful to get angry about it.
But now, I'm getting angry. There is just too much cancer.
Is it our environment? Our diets? Do people all around the world have as much cancer as we do in the United States? Or do we just have better health care, so we are able to diagnose it correctly?
I know cancer has been around for a long time, but it sure seems like it's more and more prevalent. Perhaps we're just diagnosing it more often now... and I suppose that it's good that we can identify it, but seriously, this whole thing seems so out of control.
Cancer is the 2nd leading cause of death in the US, and the leading cause of death in people aged 45-64. It's also the 2nd leading cause of death in children 5-14. And although the incidence of cancer in children under 15 dropped by 10% from 2005-2009, there is still something horribly wrong with 1286 young children dying from cancer.
The cancer society says that in 2012 we will have averted over 1 million deaths from cancer - and that is good news. But we will also diagnose over 1.6 million new cases of cancer, for which about a quarter million will be breast cancer, a quarter million will be lung/bronchial and a quarter million will be prostate.
Cancer is the 2nd leading cause of death in the US, and the leading cause of death in people aged 45-64. It's also the 2nd leading cause of death in children 5-14. And although the incidence of cancer in children under 15 dropped by 10% from 2005-2009, there is still something horribly wrong with 1286 young children dying from cancer.
The cancer society says that in 2012 we will have averted over 1 million deaths from cancer - and that is good news. But we will also diagnose over 1.6 million new cases of cancer, for which about a quarter million will be breast cancer, a quarter million will be lung/bronchial and a quarter million will be prostate.
So we walk and run and relay to raise money to find a cure... but cancer keeps on coming.
For many cancers there is no reliable screening, like uterine and ovarian cancer. So the cancer sneaks up and takes hold and by the time you have symptoms it's too late.
For for some, like breast cancer and prostate cancer and colon cancer, there are screenings. They may not be perfect at detecting cancer, they may not be pleasant to go through, but they help many people catch their cancer in time.
Before I had cancer I would hear people talk about avoiding the doctor, avoiding the screenings because they were uncomfortable. I would hear about people not feeling well, having clear symptoms that something in their body wasn't right, but so afraid of hearing bad news that they postpone going in to the doctor, when the reality is if the news is bad they've just made it a whole lot worse by waiting.
For many cancers there is no reliable screening, like uterine and ovarian cancer. So the cancer sneaks up and takes hold and by the time you have symptoms it's too late.
For for some, like breast cancer and prostate cancer and colon cancer, there are screenings. They may not be perfect at detecting cancer, they may not be pleasant to go through, but they help many people catch their cancer in time.
Before I had cancer I would hear people talk about avoiding the doctor, avoiding the screenings because they were uncomfortable. I would hear about people not feeling well, having clear symptoms that something in their body wasn't right, but so afraid of hearing bad news that they postpone going in to the doctor, when the reality is if the news is bad they've just made it a whole lot worse by waiting.
But since I've had cancer I think most people just don't admit those things to me anymore. Seems a little silly to tell someone who's had a mastectomy that you're not getting a mammogram because "it hurts".
Just like it would feel wrong to tell someone who's lost a loved one to cancer that you haven't had your screening because you're afraid they'll find something, when you know they are thinking how they'd wished a screening would have caught their mother's/ father's/ spouse's/ child's cancer earlier.
Still, the fear is real. It exists because of how prevalent cancer is.
But more often the real reason we don't get our annual checkups is that we just don't prioritize it. In our busy "human-doing" lives, we just don't make time for taking care of ourselves. We don't take time to eat right. We don't take time to exercise regularly. We don't take time to rest. And we don't take time to get our screenings.
October is breast cancer awareness month, but let it be your Cancer Awareness month. Schedule your screenings and make sure those you love are doing the same. And if you won't do it for you, then do it for your children, for your parents, for your husband or wife or partner in life. Do it to bring purpose to what I've gone through.
And do it so that, if you should get cancer, you will live to pester someone else into getting their screenings.
And as my mother would say: "end of lecture".
Friday, September 21, 2012
The life I'm intended to live
Those of you that know me, know that I tend to analyze pretty much everything in my life, myself included. When you throw cancer into that mix you get a lot of introspection. I've always been a believer that we are the sum of our actions, not our beliefs. Believe all you want that you are a good person, but if you act like a heel, then you're a heel. And I believe that no matter how hard we try, and I've tried really hard in my life, we cannot control what happens; but we can choose how we respond to the things that happen in our lives.
And I believe that I am living the life I've chosen to live, not the one that "fate" threw at me.
I know there are things I wanted to do, which I haven't done yet, like go back to school, and write a book; but I believe I am doing what I was intended to do now, at this time in my life. And there is still time to do those things that I want to do, if I chose to make them a priority.
When I first graduated college I was going to teach, and I did for awhile. But I made a choice to move back to Minnesota from Colorado and to live in the Twin Cities, where teaching jobs were scarce. So I ended up back in retail part-time while I did substitute teaching; and part-time led to full-time and full-time eventually led to where I am today. I could look at my life and say, if only the economy had been better, I'd still be teaching, but the reality is, I made a choice. And it turns out it was a good choice; one that has allowed me to provide for myself and my daughter and for a while, when things were really tough, for my parents. Taking care of those I love is more important to me than anything else.
Once, when I was younger, I made a bunch of poor choices about money, and ended up greatly in debt. And then I lost my job. I didn't chose to lose my job, but I did realize that I could chose to look at it as an opportunity to find better employment. And the reality is that losing my job helped me find myself. In having to "sell" my worth to prospective employers, I had to find worth in myself which I had never been able to see before. In time, that grew into being content with who I was, and eventually even happy with who I was and where I was headed in life.
I can honestly say I don't regret any of the decisions I have made in my life, and when asked what I would change, the answer is "nothing." I don't believe in regret, I believe in learning. Which is not to say that I'm not remorseful for the times when my words or actions have hurt someone else, but still I would not change my past. Understanding that actions can be hurtful has taught me the importance of saying "I'm sorry" and accepting responsibility for the mistakes I make. Whether they were right or wrong, I've learned from the decisions I've made and what I've learned has influenced my life and my future choices.
Our decisions are like our DNA, they create a string, a sequence that defines who we are. They tell the story of our life and if we were to go back in time and change one of those decisions, we would change the person we've become. Denying that our decisions were our own is like denying our DNA. Instead of wishing that we could change our decisions, or blaming someone else when we don't like the outcome of those decisions, we need to accept responsibility for and learn from our decisions.
When something bad happens in our life, we can choose to wallow in the unfortunate circumstance allowing our selves to become victim or we can choose to focus on what we are going to do to improve our circumstance, allowing ourselves to become victor.
There are two kinds of people in this world, those that believe the world happens to them and who believe their choices play only a small part in the life they live; and those who believe they happen to the world - that they can in fact affect the world, not control it, but influence it.
Which brings me to this: If you're not living the life you wanted, then how come your actions led you here?
If you're wanting something different out of life, you need to do something different with your life and your decisions. If you're not living the life you want, it's because you have prioritized something above those things that you believe you want. Perhaps you've made a choice to raise a family, and that means you put off your desire to be a rock star. Then you've prioritized raising a family over rising to fame, and that's okay. It's not that you "can't" pursue your dream, it's that your real dream has changed, at least temporarily. It's not that you "have to be responsible" - you don't, unless you chose to. No body makes your decisions for you, and that's the cool thing about free will. We all get to chose.
I believe God has a plan for me, and if I ask for His will to be done in my life, it will. And I will still make decisions that take me in the wrong direction, because I'm human and I have free will; but I will continue to ask for God's guidance and I know that when I prioritize God's will above my own, I am choosing to live the life I'm intended to live.
Tuesday, August 28, 2012
Is that a hot flash or is your AC just out?
It's been some of the hottest weather in recent history here in the Twin Cities, and my 40 year old air conditioner decided it had had enough and checked out once and for all. For 3 weeks I closed up the house during the hot hours and opened all the windows and turned on the fans during the "cooler" hours..."cooler" being relative in this case. I also purchased 2 new fans to join my existing 3 fans in blowing around the hot air.
Just moving around our house during July was enough to cause me to break out in a sweat, never mind turning on the oven or trying to run the clothes dryer or dishwasher. Even having the lights on would bring the temperature into the high 80's. It's no surprise with all that heat figuring out what was "hot hot" and what was "hot flash" was nearly impossible. So, in my heat induced haze, I blamed everything on the temperature and figured the frequency of hot flashes was slowing down. Alas, a few hours after the new AC was installed the house cooled down to a more comfortable temperature... I, on the other hand, did not.
Men-o-pause.
My mother's generation called it "the change of life". Those were the days when the stork delivered babies, cancer was called "the big C", and there was a long list of things, most things of substance really, that you just didn't discuss in polite, let alone mixed, company.
But in this day of Viagra commercials, and recurring ads for hormone replacement therapy ("it's not just for women anymore"), I figured talking about menopause was fair game. And to be honest, since half of the population is going to experience it first hand, and the other half is going to live with the "second hand smoke" of it, it's probably a good topic to put out there... so out there it goes.
To start, let me just say menopause would really suck if chemo hadn't set such a high standard for suckiness. But chemo has set the standard, and chemo launched me head over tail into menopause. And, what chemo started, the hysterectomy wrapped up in a tidy little package with a great big ugly bow on the top. Whoever said good things come in small packages never met my ovaries. Handy little buggers when you want to get pregnant, but time bombs when you have BRCA gene. So out they went, and in settled menopause.
To be fair, at my age... a robust 48 years old...I was driving in the menopause express lane anyway. But through the miracle of chemo meds - viola - menopause on speed; and there's probably something to be said for moving through the "peri" stage quickly. Many women trudge through "the change" for years, and the journey can be more irritating than political ads in October.
"The change" - what a phrase; like we're stepping into the fitting room at Neiman Marcus and coming out with a whole new outfit. Not quite that easy. Yet in some ways, maybe not that far off, either.
For many women, menopause can be the trigger for a fresh perspective on life. It can be the impetus for getting in shape, getting healthy - mentally and physically, and coming into not only an acceptance but an appreciation for the person they've become. I think the challenges that menopause brings physically and emotionally either knock you on your tail or force you to push back and become stronger.
Most women seem to gain weight once they've gone through menopause - and I can see why. Your metabolism grinds to a halt and your emotions are in an upheaval. Ben and Jerry become regular guests in your kitchen - their visits short but frequent. And while a Hallmark commercial can send you leaping for the kleenex, there are often times when you could and do cry for absolutely no reason at all. All this gets you to thinking that you must be going crazy, or maybe you're depressed - but you can't think of any reason why you would be depressed - so you must be crazy.
But you're not.
What you are is menopausal. Your hormones are going up and down like the stock market during an election year. Meanwhile Pfizer is pushing viagra and the TV ads are telling you that hormone replacement therapy will put the bounce back in your boudoir, but all you really want is a good night's sleep, a whole 8 hours without night sweats, or waking up at 1am... and 3am... and 5am, because being emotionally charged for the last 24 hours is exhausting. But what's really exhausting is keeping your cool and pretending like everything is perfectly normal while you're sweating like John Candy one minute and shivering as if hell froze over and you're in it the next; because while menopause sucks, being treated like an overly emotional woman who's about to explode is even worse.
So you're crying and gaining weight and you go into your doctor and she says "let's get a bone density baseline" and you do, and you find out that despite the pints of ice cream being succumbed to on a regular basis you're not getting enough calcium and it's time to start popping calcium pills, with vitamin D, and magnesium, and take a couple of B-complex while you're at it for the stress and don't forget the iron and probably a multi-vitamin too, because in order to get the nutrition you need you'd have to eat something in the vicinity of 2500 calories, but you're only burning 1000 every day because your metabolism has taken the slow boat to your hips to meet up with Ben and Jerry who have settled there indefinitely.
Ahhhhhhhhh...
And then you realize that exercise is the key- and the great thing is that exercise is actually key to a whole lot of things, like managing stress, and keeping a healthy weight both of which will reduce your risk of getting cancer, and those are all good things.
So you exercise and you become stronger physically and mentally, and the menopause symptoms come less and less until one day you look in the mirror and you don't see a 17 year old girl who's gotten really old, you see you. Older, wiser and better for the living. A few wrinkles, maybe some gray hair, but a whole lot of life left in you and a whole lot of will to go out and live it.
Menopause is not life-on-pause, it's life. And if you are lucky enough to live long enough to go through it, then you are truly lucky in life.
Just moving around our house during July was enough to cause me to break out in a sweat, never mind turning on the oven or trying to run the clothes dryer or dishwasher. Even having the lights on would bring the temperature into the high 80's. It's no surprise with all that heat figuring out what was "hot hot" and what was "hot flash" was nearly impossible. So, in my heat induced haze, I blamed everything on the temperature and figured the frequency of hot flashes was slowing down. Alas, a few hours after the new AC was installed the house cooled down to a more comfortable temperature... I, on the other hand, did not.
Men-o-pause.
My mother's generation called it "the change of life". Those were the days when the stork delivered babies, cancer was called "the big C", and there was a long list of things, most things of substance really, that you just didn't discuss in polite, let alone mixed, company.
But in this day of Viagra commercials, and recurring ads for hormone replacement therapy ("it's not just for women anymore"), I figured talking about menopause was fair game. And to be honest, since half of the population is going to experience it first hand, and the other half is going to live with the "second hand smoke" of it, it's probably a good topic to put out there... so out there it goes.
To start, let me just say menopause would really suck if chemo hadn't set such a high standard for suckiness. But chemo has set the standard, and chemo launched me head over tail into menopause. And, what chemo started, the hysterectomy wrapped up in a tidy little package with a great big ugly bow on the top. Whoever said good things come in small packages never met my ovaries. Handy little buggers when you want to get pregnant, but time bombs when you have BRCA gene. So out they went, and in settled menopause.
To be fair, at my age... a robust 48 years old...I was driving in the menopause express lane anyway. But through the miracle of chemo meds - viola - menopause on speed; and there's probably something to be said for moving through the "peri" stage quickly. Many women trudge through "the change" for years, and the journey can be more irritating than political ads in October.
"The change" - what a phrase; like we're stepping into the fitting room at Neiman Marcus and coming out with a whole new outfit. Not quite that easy. Yet in some ways, maybe not that far off, either.
For many women, menopause can be the trigger for a fresh perspective on life. It can be the impetus for getting in shape, getting healthy - mentally and physically, and coming into not only an acceptance but an appreciation for the person they've become. I think the challenges that menopause brings physically and emotionally either knock you on your tail or force you to push back and become stronger.
Most women seem to gain weight once they've gone through menopause - and I can see why. Your metabolism grinds to a halt and your emotions are in an upheaval. Ben and Jerry become regular guests in your kitchen - their visits short but frequent. And while a Hallmark commercial can send you leaping for the kleenex, there are often times when you could and do cry for absolutely no reason at all. All this gets you to thinking that you must be going crazy, or maybe you're depressed - but you can't think of any reason why you would be depressed - so you must be crazy.
But you're not.
What you are is menopausal. Your hormones are going up and down like the stock market during an election year. Meanwhile Pfizer is pushing viagra and the TV ads are telling you that hormone replacement therapy will put the bounce back in your boudoir, but all you really want is a good night's sleep, a whole 8 hours without night sweats, or waking up at 1am... and 3am... and 5am, because being emotionally charged for the last 24 hours is exhausting. But what's really exhausting is keeping your cool and pretending like everything is perfectly normal while you're sweating like John Candy one minute and shivering as if hell froze over and you're in it the next; because while menopause sucks, being treated like an overly emotional woman who's about to explode is even worse.
So you're crying and gaining weight and you go into your doctor and she says "let's get a bone density baseline" and you do, and you find out that despite the pints of ice cream being succumbed to on a regular basis you're not getting enough calcium and it's time to start popping calcium pills, with vitamin D, and magnesium, and take a couple of B-complex while you're at it for the stress and don't forget the iron and probably a multi-vitamin too, because in order to get the nutrition you need you'd have to eat something in the vicinity of 2500 calories, but you're only burning 1000 every day because your metabolism has taken the slow boat to your hips to meet up with Ben and Jerry who have settled there indefinitely.
Ahhhhhhhhh...
And then you realize that exercise is the key- and the great thing is that exercise is actually key to a whole lot of things, like managing stress, and keeping a healthy weight both of which will reduce your risk of getting cancer, and those are all good things.
So you exercise and you become stronger physically and mentally, and the menopause symptoms come less and less until one day you look in the mirror and you don't see a 17 year old girl who's gotten really old, you see you. Older, wiser and better for the living. A few wrinkles, maybe some gray hair, but a whole lot of life left in you and a whole lot of will to go out and live it.
Menopause is not life-on-pause, it's life. And if you are lucky enough to live long enough to go through it, then you are truly lucky in life.
Monday, July 23, 2012
Room to Merge
Last week I had my first rush hour driving experience in many many months, and in my new found "calm" I found myself observing a behavior I've witnessed many times before with a new found philosophical tilt.
Have you ever noticed how cars coming down an on-ramp to the highway will line up, almost bumper to bumper, as they attempt to merge with vehicles already on the road? It's crazy to think that you'll be able to smoothly merge with moving traffic if you've failed to leave room for anyone else to take the place in front of you. It's just counter-intuitive. Then there's those yield signs - yield means to "give way", but on we go, bumper to bumper, only giving way at the last moment. Heaven forbid someone
gets in front of us.
And that made me think: life is like rush hour - we need to make room to merge and yield, otherwise we crash.
Right now I'm on that on-ramp from one road, my life before cancer, to the next, my life going forward; and I know it's going to be important to yield and merge. I know if I don't leave room, some space in my life and in each day, to practice new behaviors, that merging into my new life will be difficult. And chances are, if I continue to drive bumper to bumper through my life, leaving no room for change, or dodging in and out of new behaviors, I will crash and burn. But it takes time to create new habits and being in a state of "construction" may require a few detours now and then; like my recent surgery which put my exercise routine on temporary hiatus. And, I know there will be bumps in the road, some "overheating" and possibly a few "breakdowns" along the way - the new hormone therapy brings a lot of new adventures. But detours don't mean I end the journey or turn around and go back where I started. Focusing on the destination, a new healthier life, enables me to keep moving in a positive direction.
Merging into my new and improved, and heavily reconstructed life is going to take some time, and I'm thankful each day for all the people that are allowing me that room to merge.
Then there's yielding
Giving way. Letting go.
For me, this comes in the form of relinquishing control in some aspects of my life. Or, more accurately stated, accepting the fact that I never really had the control in the first place.
"Control" is like a rainbow, but not as pretty. We think we can see it, but it always alludes us. Cancer taught me that, no matter what you do, there are just some things you can't control. So we leave the rainbows to God; we yield, we let someone else take the lead, and we give way for change.
And change leads to letting go.
In 6 short weeks my daughter will leave for college. And as proud of her as I am, and excited for this new adventure for her as I am, I know it will be hard to see her go.
This year has taught us both so much, and if you had asked me last summer how I felt about her leaving for college this fall, I would have told you I was freaking out, terrified at how much I was going to miss her and worried about how she would handle so much change.
This last 8 months changed all that. Cancer reminded me:
“If ever there is tomorrow when we're not together.. there is something you must always remember. you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. but the most important thing is, even if we're apart.. i'll always be with you.”
Christopher Robin was one smart kid.
So, while I know I will miss her, I also know that living apart is not the same as living without her; and letting go and allowing her to grow, is different than letting her go - because she'll always be with me, and I will always be with her.
Merging and yielding...making way for the new, letting go and allowing change to happen. Sometimes we are our own biggest roadblocks. But all it takes to clear a jam is a little room to merge.
Have you ever noticed how cars coming down an on-ramp to the highway will line up, almost bumper to bumper, as they attempt to merge with vehicles already on the road? It's crazy to think that you'll be able to smoothly merge with moving traffic if you've failed to leave room for anyone else to take the place in front of you. It's just counter-intuitive. Then there's those yield signs - yield means to "give way", but on we go, bumper to bumper, only giving way at the last moment. Heaven forbid someone
gets in front of us.
And that made me think: life is like rush hour - we need to make room to merge and yield, otherwise we crash.
Right now I'm on that on-ramp from one road, my life before cancer, to the next, my life going forward; and I know it's going to be important to yield and merge. I know if I don't leave room, some space in my life and in each day, to practice new behaviors, that merging into my new life will be difficult. And chances are, if I continue to drive bumper to bumper through my life, leaving no room for change, or dodging in and out of new behaviors, I will crash and burn. But it takes time to create new habits and being in a state of "construction" may require a few detours now and then; like my recent surgery which put my exercise routine on temporary hiatus. And, I know there will be bumps in the road, some "overheating" and possibly a few "breakdowns" along the way - the new hormone therapy brings a lot of new adventures. But detours don't mean I end the journey or turn around and go back where I started. Focusing on the destination, a new healthier life, enables me to keep moving in a positive direction.
Merging into my new and improved, and heavily reconstructed life is going to take some time, and I'm thankful each day for all the people that are allowing me that room to merge.
Then there's yielding
Giving way. Letting go.
For me, this comes in the form of relinquishing control in some aspects of my life. Or, more accurately stated, accepting the fact that I never really had the control in the first place.
"Control" is like a rainbow, but not as pretty. We think we can see it, but it always alludes us. Cancer taught me that, no matter what you do, there are just some things you can't control. So we leave the rainbows to God; we yield, we let someone else take the lead, and we give way for change.
And change leads to letting go.
In 6 short weeks my daughter will leave for college. And as proud of her as I am, and excited for this new adventure for her as I am, I know it will be hard to see her go.
This year has taught us both so much, and if you had asked me last summer how I felt about her leaving for college this fall, I would have told you I was freaking out, terrified at how much I was going to miss her and worried about how she would handle so much change.
This last 8 months changed all that. Cancer reminded me:
“If ever there is tomorrow when we're not together.. there is something you must always remember. you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem, and smarter than you think. but the most important thing is, even if we're apart.. i'll always be with you.”
Christopher Robin was one smart kid.
So, while I know I will miss her, I also know that living apart is not the same as living without her; and letting go and allowing her to grow, is different than letting her go - because she'll always be with me, and I will always be with her.
Merging and yielding...making way for the new, letting go and allowing change to happen. Sometimes we are our own biggest roadblocks. But all it takes to clear a jam is a little room to merge.
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