A Trip to the Ocean

Last week, I took my first actual vacation in the past 3 years. For me, this is another sign that my life has returned to normality. Being able to "get away" from your home, your job, and to realize that there was a time when this literally wouldn't have been physically possible for me makes me feel very fortunate.

Going to a place which I have held in my heart for many years, and being able to return there with my beloved husband was like a gift. His devotion, care, and patience during my illness meant so much, and to have this special time with him was truly wonderful. Even though the weather was cloudy except for one day, this didn't really matter. We celebrated our 31st wedding anniversary during the trip, and I'm very proud that we have achieved this. Those two "20-somethings" in love are now two "50-somethings" in love, and I can honestly say that our challenges over the years have only brought us closer together. He is my reason for living; his unfailing support and encouragement in everything I do has been invaluable, and I think that he could say the same about me. We're partners for life, through whatever happens to us, or around us.

My vacations almost always involve the ocean; there is something so primal and restorative about seeing the waves, hearing them break and come onshore, the scent of the salt air, the feel of the soft sand. The ocean's sense of permanence is reassuring to us, and perhaps we do feel a connection because our bodies are composed of so much water. Or, just because it's impressive, powerful, and beautiful!

Growing up where the ocean was just a drive away, and now, living on a river which is an ocean estuary, I know that I would never be happy living somewhere far from the ocean. And of course, I dream about living in Maui, where your daily activities always involve communing with the magical waters surrounding the island. Maybe someday...

 

National Cancer Survivors' Day

Sunday was National Cancer Survivors' Day, which is held on the first Sunday in June. The first thought I have about this is how wonderful it is that there are so many people now considered "cancer survivors" (over 10 million). The second thought is that I still don't consider myself a "survivor" just yet, 23 months post-diagnosis. I think that passing the 5-year mark would meet my personal definition of the term. I won't be celebrating just yet, but I certainly hope to someday...

Can you recall when hearing that someone had "cancer", that you immediately thought they were going to die? I do; and I also remember as a child hearing people whisper the word in hushed tones, or calling it 'the big C". They were afraid to say it out loud, as if it was something shameful or secret.

The very word held immeasurable power over us. It no longer does, due to the advances in research and treatment for almost all types of cancer. Also, brave people in the public eye were not afraid to let the world know that they had cancer, so others could follow their example and seek treatment. Lifting the veil on cancer demystifies it, and diminishes its power to terrify us and paralyze us into inaction.

I will never forget my first experience with cancer. A childhood friend, several years older than me, died of leukemia when he was eleven years old. He had always watched out for me when I was around, helped me ride my bike, find my lost toys, and I'll never forget how he rescued me when I fell face-first into a rosebush. I really looked up to him; he was like my "big brother". It was so hard to understand why he got sick, and when he died, I couldn't imagine how this could happen. It was so unfair. Now, the 5-year survival rate for his type of leukemia is 80%. I sadly wish that Paul had been a survivor, but I'm happy that the disease no longer claims as many children as it did decades ago.

I think that the entire survivorship movement is valuable; some kind of framework is needed to support people with cancer facing other physical, emotional, financial, workplace, and societal issues. It's not just enough to get the person through treatment; each individual, including myself, will have additional challenges that they will have to face on an ongoing basis.

Some people are consumed with the fear that their cancer will return, which effectively prevents them from enjoying whatever days they indeed do have remaining; others experience side effects from the daily medications needed to prevent their cancer from recurring; patients who have finished their treatment experience now feel confused and alone as they face their future; families are financially and emotionally strained by the treatment and caregiving experience. Most cancer patients now will have to plan for their "post-cancer" life, which is a positive development in our continuing campaign against the disease.

May we not all just survive, but learn to thrive...

The Little Things

Many persons with cancer have written that their diagnosis caused them to focus on life as it happens; to "live in the now", to find great joy and wonderment in things that they normally wouldn't have even noticed before. I can attest that this is true.

I have always believed that life is all about "the little things", which in our busy, fast-paced, stressful schedules, frequently go unnoticed. If you become aware of life on this level, you will find that every day brings many sights, sounds, and experiences which make you aware of how wonderful it is to be you, and to be alive. You don't have to be a person with cancer or a life-threatening condition to see being alive in this way. Living in the present, and being open to these "little things" puts your life in perspective. If you're always in a hurry, overwhelmed by your schedule, your job, and whatever other responsibilities you have, try to view life at a much smaller level of detail for a change. This will truly change your life, if you let it happen.

For example: I love to go outside very early in the morning, when all that I can hear are the birds in my yard greeting the new day. To me, this is an almost magical time; everything is awakening, the light is beautiful, and the mood is truly peaceful. Several times throughout the day, I'm privileged to hear the mockingbird as he serenades the neighborhood, and my favorite is when he sings as the day is ending. His song is one of the most beautiful things that I have ever heard, and I'm always saddened when he leaves for the winter.

I also love to see my plants coming up again, such as the hostas that my Father and I planted years ago around the base of the dogwood tree. After the harshness of Winter, I admire their ability to endure, persevere, and present us with such great beauty. It is truly cheering and comforting when my plants emerge again. Their return signifies that life does go on, even if my Father has been gone for almost eight years now...

Nothing makes me as happy as being near my husband. Just to quietly be in the same room with him brings me so much happiness. I love to hear him laugh, see his beautiful smile, wake him up each morning, greet him when he comes home. He makes me laugh every day, is my "rock" when everything else seems overwhelming, and he is the reason that I wanted to go on living. I truly hate to be away from him, because we enjoy being with each other so much. We have been fortunate enough to have some "milestone" experiences that people dream of, but I would trade them all for having him look into my eyes with the love that I see there each day.

There are so many overlooked opportunities for wonderful moments with other people on a daily basis: I get hugs everywhere I go, and believe me, they are great "medicine"! Take the time to say a kind word, give someone your smile, help others, and you will be contributing to their experience of "living in the now" as well. Life really is all about "the little things". Don't lose sight of this on your journey.

Another Disease That Changed My Life

I saw this morning that HBO is going to be broadcasting a series of documentaries called "The Alzheimer's Project": http://www.hbo.com/alzheimers/

My childhood was profoundly affected by this terrible disease, and more recently, my wonderful Mother-in-law succumbed to Alzheimer's after suffering from it for several years.

Anyone who has watched a loved one be stolen from them by this insidious, progressive, cruel disease knows how vitally important it is to prevent as many people as possible from ever being touched by it.

I'm planning to watch "The Alzheimer's Project", and I recommend that everyone do the same. As we "baby boomers" age, something must be done to ensure that as many of us as possible, and those of future generations, escape this fate.

I wrote a tribute today on The Alzheimer's Project site in memory of my beloved Grandfather, who died from Alzheimer's when I was ten years old. I have added it as part of this website.

"Poppa" was my Father until I was 10, and gave me so much love and adoration. To this day I realize how lucky I am to have had the love of such a wonderful, kind, and caring man like him. It made all the difference to a little girl who would have been damaged without a male role model's love and encouragement. Alzheimer's began taking him from me, little by little, when I was 5 years old. When he died, I was absolutely devastated.

Today, I may have cancer, but I am still fully and wholly myself. Alzheimer's steals your mind and your personality from yourself and from those who love you, which I believe is even more fundamentally tragic. We must eradicate it from our future, in the same way that we have been working to eliminate cancer.

Rebirth

Tomorrow is Easter, so our thoughts turn to the subject of rebirth. Some religions believe in reincarnation; that concept exists in many cultures throughout the centuries. In addition to the religious concept of rebirth, I have found that cancer does lead to your own personal "rebirth".

From the moment you are diagnosed, you assume a new identity: you are now a person with cancer. You have become part of a greater community which you never wanted to join; from this point on, your life is irrevocably changed. You will confront your own fragility and mortality; it will be thrust upon you, in a whirlwind of thoughts and fears.

If you can manage to see something negative as also having a positive aspect, you can see your treatment path as a kind of journey toward this "rebirth". The road to the end of treatment is challenging, scary, and exhausting: it will change you both physically and mentally. You will never see things the same way again.

When you reach the point when you're on your "maintenance" treatment path, you are experiencing a kind of rebirth. Your life, with the help and caring of so many wonderful and dedicated individuals, has literally been given back to you. It is up to you to find joy in yourself, cherish being alive, and concentrate on living the rest of your life as the person who you really are, not just a "cancer patient". You are now so much more than your disease, and you have a new life.

An Unlikely Source of Inspiration

When I was six, my Father moved out of State, and I didn't see him for the next 35 years. When he and my Mother separated, we lived with my maternal grandparents, who were rather well-off financially, owning their own business. So, when he left, there was no need to legally pursue him for child support. I'm sure that they all thought that there was nothing that my Father could ever really provide for me, and that I didn't need him in my life; but Fate had other plans.

Fast-forward to me at age 41; I had heard that my Father's second wife had died of cancer after a long illness. Shortly after this happened, he began writing to me, and I wanted absolutely nothing to do with him! He wrote that there had never been a single day in his life when he didn't think of me, and asked for my forgiveness.

I was adamant that he didn't deserve a chance to get to know the daughter he had so willfully neglected, but my husband made me realize that I should at least hear his side of the story. He said that if I turned my own Father away without giving him a chance, that I would most likely regret it later on: if my Father passed away without me knowing the answers to so many of my questions, how would I feel then?

Reluctantly, and fearful of being hurt even further, I began corresponding with him on a regular basis. This grew into weekly, lengthy telephone calls where we both learned a lot about each other. My Father never maligned my Mother; he just said, as she always had, that they loved each other, but the relationship didn't work out. I also found out the reason why he couldn't have stayed in the marriage, and realized that he was entirely justified in leaving. It was a very sad situation. I finally understood that their breakup wasn't my fault; children often blame themselves when a parent leaves the family.

Finally, the day came when my Father knocked on my door after 35 years, and it was as if a part of myself had been restored. Knowing him helped me to truly understand many aspects of my personality: my love of poetry and literature, singing and performing, history and architecture, and many other qualities that I could trace back to him. It was comparable to finding a "me" that I had never really known. I had been given a great gift, and I was very thankful for this second chance to love and be loved by my own Father. I had my "closure", and my life was so much richer for it.

Sadly, three years after our reunion, and 1 year after his marriage to a wonderful woman, he was diagnosed with terminal stomach cancer. From the beginning, he was stoic and pragmatic. He patently refused chemotherapy, and I remember being so angry at him about his decision. I had just found him again, and now, I was going to have to lose him, just like I had experienced at age 6. This time, it would be forever - how could he possibly justify making this choice?

My Father's reasoning was that he had known a very close friend with the same type of cancer. This friend was treated with chemotherapy and lived in excruciating pain, with no quality of life, until he died an agonizing death a few months later. So, although my Father was given a few months to live, he decided that as there was no hope of saving his life, that he would live "as fully as possible, for as long as humanly possible". He turned out to be absolutely right.

He remained his entertaining, larger-than-life self throughout, for almost the next two years. He romped and took naps with his beloved Boston Terrier, "Teddie" (a gift from my Stepmother on his return from the hospital following his cancer surgery). He gardened, traveled, danced weekly at his social club, wrote poetry, watched hours (and hours!) of boxing matches, growing more gaunt and haunted-looking each time I visited him. All of his food had to be put through the blender so he could even try to eat, and several procedures were done to stretch his esophagus, but nothing really helped. He became a shadow of my cute, dear, funny Daddy, and it truly broke my heart.

Whenever the tears would come, he would always say,"No crying!", and I obeyed. He really didn't allow anyone to be negative or depressed around him; it was his way, and we all respected that. You could tell that he was in pain, but he refused to acknowledge it, and never once did I hear him complain about his circumstance. If something couldn't be changed, you accepted it, and that was that. He always wanted to concentrate on what was still good about life, and that was a valuable lesson to me.

About a month before he died, I flew down to Florida for what was our last visit. He loved black raspberry ice cream, and we managed to get him in the car for the short drive to the ice cream shop. He was in his pajamas, looking terribly weak and unwell. He couldn't walk, so I brought the ice cream out to the car. I could tell that he really enjoyed it, and I wondered how many days he would have left...

When I was diagnosed with cancer, I decided to follow my Father's example, and not ever feel sorry for myself. His strength and his unfailing ability to see the good in every day gave me so much inspiration, and they still do. I never could have imagined that his cancer experience would be a source of strength for me several years later as I made my own journey through treatment. Thank you, Daddy; I love you today and always...

Body Image

One overriding concern, before and after breast surgery, is "What will I look like afterwards?"  I had already had surgery on the same breast with the cancer, in almost exactly the same area, almost 14 years before. The earlier surgery was an excisional biopsy to rule out cancer on a palpable mass, which turned out to be a cyst. I was left with a semi-circular scar about an inch long, which was barely noticeable.

Because breasts are such an important part of our feminine image, it's traumatic to think that in order to remain alive, we might have to relinquish a part of our body, or be left with a body that has been disfigured by surgery. Although, given the choice, naturally you would choose life. Reconstructive surgery post-mastectomy has been a mandated benefit for more than a decade, so at least women now don't have to experience what women of previous generations did. 

With my cancer treatment, I had two separate lumpectomy surgeries, so this was something I had to get myself through twice. My cosmetic result, 17 months post-surgeries, is wonderful, and I am very fortunate and grateful. My husband was, as always, incredibly supportive, and repeatedly told me that nothing could ever change his love for me.

One resource available on the Intranet which might dispel any patient's fears about being left "abnormal" post-surgery is called "The Normal Breasts Gallery" (the site is not suitable for the workplace or for children, of course). Personally, I haven't seen a lot of other women's breasts; and the breasts which are displayed via our print and electronic media are Photoshopped into our "ideal" images. This website serves to show women what "normal" women's breasts look like, and it has helped me immensely. I want to mention this resource for women who are wondering about their own body image, because I didn't find out about it until very recently (thanks, Jezebel!).