Pink

Cancer has touched most people in some way.

My world turned pink on October 1, 2012.  The previous two years my maternal and paternal grandmothers had both been diagnosed with breast cancer.  My maternal grandmother was enduring it for the second time. It's incredible the conversations you can have when you have a deep, secret connection.  

Cancer reminds you of your mortality and your life.  Cancer tries to steal.  It steals your day, your thoughts, your plans, your energy.  My diagnosis was all consuming.  I like calling it "my diagnosis" because it reminds me that it came and went.  I am cancer free today, but the season while it was upon me was like carrying a too heavy pack up a mountain.  

I stood tall and kept walking during that time, until I was alone. It was during the aloneness that I would breath and rest.  

Now, I remember.  I remember what it felt like, I remember the heaviness of the days, I remember the weariness.  I remember that even after the treatment was over I expected to begin feeling better, but I didn't. I couldn't figure out why.  I later learned that the chemicals in my body had changed.  

It has taken some work, but I don't have to fight those anymore.  Pink means a lot to me.  Pink reminds me of that journey, pink reminds me of that victory.  

I wear and enjoy pink proudly to celebrate my journey.  It has become a secret code to me.  I see pink and have a little celebration and know that I can have victory over anything.

Peace

Peace is my favorite.

I took a personality test about a year ago and discovered I am a peacemaker.  Since then, I've noticed all the ways that I seek out peace.  I will surrender an argument in order to have peace.  I will stop trying to make my point clear even when I am certain I am right.  I will concoct the perfect phrase to get my point across, but not create unnecessary waves.  I will hold my tongue, guard and choose every word for peace to rule the moment.

Sitting by the fire with my coffee in the morning creates peace in my soul.  In order to have this moment everyday, I give up an hour of sleep.  I take every precaution to make sure that I am not rushing in the morning.  The moment that any one in my home begins rushing and fretting about getting out the door on time, the peace flies out the door before we leave.

I find myself breathing deeply in situations lacking peace.    It's a lot of work, but for me, peace must rule.

Not everyone is built like me, but I have learned that everyone needs to find their moment of peace.  It may just be a moment to breathe, to enjoy nature, or to drink that favorite cup of coffee.  If we are constantly moving as though we are chasing the lights, we will miss the view and forget to enjoy the gifts of each day. We'll miss the blessings in our family, the gifts of our careers and the joys that are present around us, found with every breath and in each step.

Listen

Today is a down day. I worked all week and exhausted my mind and body.  I changed my original plans and have stayed down all day.

Today illustrates the importance of listening to yourself.  I used to push through all fatigue and exhaustion and do what was on my list no matter what.

Now, I listen.  I listen to my body.  When it wants to slow down and gather strength, I ignore the dishes, the laundry and the pile of papers and I rest until I have the energy to take up the tasks again.

There are no awards for driving oneself to exhaustion.  There is weariness and wondering why there is so much.

However, there are personal rewards for listening to yourself, taking care of yourself and putting yourself first.  Whether its a disease, a young family, or a busy schedule that makes you weary, those things that are requiring of you will benefit from your rest and your health.  You will heal faster, your family will rejoice that you are present and not too exhausted to enjoy them, your schedule will adapt and wait for you.

As a teacher, I have never performed poorly at my job because I went home and rested.  My family has never gone without clothing because the laundry waited a day.  As much as I dislike it, the dirty dishes on the counter never caused a bad day.

Listen to your muscles, listen to your thoughts, listen to your heart, listen to your capabilities or lack there of.  They will tell you when it is time to stop and breathe, they will tell you when you need to recharge.  Don't ignore the voices because you think you "should" be doing something.  You are more important than all that.

Hope

Daily, I come across difficulties.  I often wonder if I can meet the challenge.  I look at my schedule.  I feel the lack of sleep.  Work is draining me.  The laundry list of challenges try to beat me.  These are simply the daily challenges.  Never mind the challenges that rock my world and change the way I see.

I noticed that when these moments come I remember the last time they came.  I remember how I made it through the long week.  I remember how I accomplished the tasks before the deadline.  I remember I already overcame enough for a couple of lifetimes so there is no reason that I won't win again this time.

Breast cancer came, I beat it.  MS came, I overcome it everyday that I keep moving and keep living fully.  I exercise regularly, sometimes accomplishing things I never dreamed I could do.  There was a day last spring when I decided to go for a run.  I was at the last quarter of my 2 mile run when I stopped pushing and starting celebrating.  I was rejoicing the fact that I was capable of running.  I had the strength and ability to go out and run.

I'm wishing this week was over.  I'm wishing I could turn off the "to do" list and recover.  Then I remember I've done it before.  I know how to conquer so I'll put my head down and finish.

I have hope when its tough because I've beaten the odds before.  There is no reason why I won't do it again.
We can learn from the past what not to do.  We can also learn from the past what we are capable of doing.

Damage

 One Friday night, my two girls and I were playing "Just Dance" on the Wii.  The three of us laughed, danced and sweated in the basement going through song after song.  I may not have remembered that night as vividly as I do today except the next day my world changed.  I became damaged.

The next morning I woke up to enjoy coffee by the fire.  I noticed that the toothpaste wouldn't stay in my mouth and my face felt funny.  The left side of my face wouldn't move.  It wasn't numb, it wasn't in pain, it just wouldn't move.  My eye and cheek sagged so that every facial expression was crooked.  As the day went on, my left arm lost all its feeling.  I would drop things because the connection between my brain and my hand were delayed.  It was like watching yourself in slow motion, but your mind thinks everything is regular speed.

The MRI showed a large mass in the right side of my brain.

After a week with steroids injected into my arm each evening to reduce the inflammation in my brain and try to relieve the damage, the damage was severe enough that some of it remained permanent.  People around me can't see that anything is different.  I can see it in my reflection and in each picture.  I can feel it almost every moment of the day.  Whenever I am tired or stressed it gets worse.  There is nothing I can do to make it feel better or to make it go away.

The worst part is how my brain connections have slowed.  I have always been extremely smart.  I can remember things and calculate and solve any problem.  There are moments, now, when I can't find the words.  I have to close my eyes and pause in the middle of my sentence to search for the word.  I'm afraid someone will interrupt while I'm thinking or assume I'm not intelligent because I have to try to remember the word I want to say.

All this is permanent.  These are symptoms of my damaged brain.

I'm trying to get to a point where I welcome the damage, the change. I try to welcome the new me and the fact that I can overcome the challenges.  First, I had to grieve the loss.  Sometimes I still grieve even after 2 years, but most of the time I keep moving.

Damage is unique.  It isn't just a story you remember because of that scar on your knee, its a new you.  It's rarely a new you that you would choose.  It becomes a part of who you are.  You become more amazing and more powerful when the damage doesn't slow you down or change you.  You become your own hero when you are victorious.

Scars

Scars tell a story.  Most people have a scar that immediately reminds them of how they got that mark.

I had surgery after my breast cancer diagnosis.  Every day there is a moment when my scars remind me of that difficult time.  Sometimes I see it and remember, but most of the time I feel it's reminder.

I feel the restriction in my arm movement.  I feel the scar tissue that still won't go away.  The scar is only noticeable only to me.  Others don't know.  Others don't feel what I feel.

Scars are a constant and silent reminder.  They are whispering in your ear, never running out of breath.

Scars can be a reminder of pain and hardship.  I remember the fear, I remember the unknown, I remember the weariness, and the months of healing.  I remember how, after that surgery, I was changed.  I wouldn't be able to go back to the way it was before.  My only choice was to move forward.

Scars can also remind us of what we have overcome.  A scar is the left over part of something that was hurt and healed. They remind us of the past, but most of the time we can move forward with them.  We can know they are there, yet walk stronger and more determined because we remember what they mean we have overcome and left in the past.

Scars show where life has tried to take us out and we have won the battle.  Celebrate your scars.

"Should" is a Bad Word

Since my breast cancer diagnosis, I have had many bad days.  Days where lying on the couch seemed to be the best way to get through the day.  I've had post surgery days, days where I was drained from radiation treatment.  More recently, I have had more bad days with MS than I ever had with cancer. I have days where my body screams that it will not be a productive day.

On these down days I have arguments with myself about what I "should" be doing.  

The list is always the same.  I should vacuum, do laundry, wash dishes, organize, and complete whatever other task would come to my mind.  Then the other half of me would remind myself that I didn't feel well.  My body and sometimes my mind was rejecting the idea of completing tasks of productivity.

I discovered the trick to win the argument.  

Instead of telling myself what I "should" do, I changed the verb to "could."  

I could complete that list or I could continue to lay on the couch and watch the show I was watching or take the nap I was taking or do the task that brought me joy and peace.   By changing the verb I gave myself the ability to choose and I removed the guilt.  I also added the task I really wanted to do to my list.  As that hard-working farm girl, I never would have said I "should" lay on the couch, but I "could" do it all day long if I chose.

When the argument starts now, I quickly change the word "should" to "could" and make my choice with no guilt or regret.

Why Colored Ribbons?

I've always been a strong and capable person.  I was raised on a small farm by parents who grew up on farms.  I was taught to work and when the work was finished, grab a broom and sweep the floor.  I never had a problem with the daily list that was presented to me.  I could do anything.  I stayed home and raised my girls.  I worked nights waiting tables.  I cleaned my house and made meals for my family.  I hauled, stacked and chopped wood.  There was nothing that could stop me.  People around me had health issues that held them back, but I was capable and able and couldn't be held back. One October day, all that changed.

On October 1, 2012 I was diagnosed with breast cancer.  For the month of October, I saw pink.  October is Breast Cancer Awareness month.  The school where I taught encouraged everyone to wear pink.  The football players in the NFL wore pink every Sunday.  Pink had filled my life in a new way, not just as a color I loved, but as a color that identified me.

Two years after my last radiation treatment, I went to the emergency room to find out why I was drooling out the side of my mouth like a baby.  The left side of my face wouldn't move.  It wasn't numb, it just wouldn't move.  The muscles acted as if they decided to go on vacation.  After a few hours, blood tests, and a brain MRI,  I was diagnosed with Multiple Sclerosis.  MS ribbons are orange.

It has been over 4 years since my breast cancer diagnosis.  Four years of learning that I can't do it all.  Four years of pink and orange colored ribbons that remind me I am not perfectly healthy.  Pink ribbons and orange ribbons have changed my life.  My life is full of colored ribbons.

I know other people have colored ribbons in their lives and I want to share my story in case someone can be encouraged or helped by my journey.