Pink Story: Cancer

Monday was October 1st.  I had a long day ahead.  Parent/teacher conferences were supposed to begin on October 2nd, but the schedule only allows for twenty four 15 minute intervals to meet with parents during those 2 days.  I had 30 students.  I needed more time, so I stayed late on Monday to meet with a few parents.  I stayed until 6:00.  I was beginning to lose my voice. My cold after my biopsy had escalated a little since I hadn’t taken much of a break.  I know I sound awful when I am losing my voice, but I talk anyway.  Parents probably wondered why I wasn’t home in bed.  I sounded horrible.  I didn’t feel horrible, but I definitely sounded like I was on the verge of death.  If only parents knew how often I teach when I feel crappy.  I give 110% for their kids.  They may look at me and think I’m not doing enough.  They have no idea.  I put the education of their child higher than my own health.  

During the conferences I received a call.  When the last parent left, I returned the call.  I had no idea what I would hear on the other side of the line.  Her name was Jill, she began telling me what I could expect over the next few months.  Before she began detailing my timeline she asked if I wanted to hear the pathology report from my biopsy.  I told her that would be a good idea.  I hadn’t been told much that Friday before.  Jill explained that what I had was called “ductal carcinoma in situ, cancer of the ducts.  The in situ was the most important part.  It meant that this cancer was non-invasive.”  I felt like someone I loved had slapped me in the face.  I was in shock and snapped into reality at the same time. “So it is cancer?” I asked.  I had to quickly take in the fact that I had cancer because she was still talking.  I’m not sure how I did it, but I continued listening and writing down everything she said.  I was sitting alone in my classroom.  Except for the janitor, I was the only one in the building.  It was like a business meeting.  I had my place at the curve of the kidney bean table as if on an important business call.  I had my pen in hand.  Only I wasn’t taking notes on a student, I wasn’t recording what an important company would do.  I was taking notes on what the next year of my life was going to look like because I was diagnosed with cancer.

Jill said I would be put in contact with a surgeon.  I would probably have genetic testing because I’m so young.  After the surgery they will probably want me to go through radiation therapy, she told me.  It is unlikely that I will need chemotherapy, she assured.  I should write down everything, because even though I think I will remember all this and what day I did what, I won’t.  I need to make a medical timeline.  I need to get my family history of cancer.  I need to write down all the medications I take.  Amidst all this overwhelming news, I can tell you that Jill was wonderful.  She answered all my questions.  She gave me her cell number telling me I could call her anytime.  She was my advocate and was ready to help me in any way she could.  I didn’t contact her a lot over the next few months, but knowing I could was very helpful.  

I drove the 0.8 miles home in shock.  I kept repeating the sentence, “I have cancer” over and over trying to believe it because it didn’t make sense.  Periodically, I would pretend that this was all a mistake.  It was someone else’s mammogram they saw.  There wasn’t anything on my mammogram, they were just making this up so they could make more money.  It was that unreal.  I knew because of my family history that one day this might happen, I didn’t expect it to happen at 35.  I was going to have to call all those people I talked to on Friday and tell them that it was all wrong.  It was worse.  I didn’t have accurate information.  I really did have cancer.  I really did.

"What if" World

Avoid the "What if" World.  Nothing good ever comes from there.

Anyone who goes down the path of the "what if" finds bad results.  The worst always happens.  In the middle of our thoughts about an email, we imagine it's someone who is upset.  When we get a call from a boss, we imagine it is bad.  We might create a scenario where we have messed up our job even if we haven't.  The call from the doctor leads us down a path of "what ifs" that land us in the hospital.  The noise outside is not the wind, but someone lurking.  The person that makes us feel whole and complete might change their mind or suddenly start to see our faults.

Whenever the unknown comes upon us, we travel down the rocky, mountainous, negative path in our mind. There are two problems with this habit.

The first problem is that if the reality is not negative, we have traveled this difficult path unnecessarily.  The second problem is that if the reality is true, we have traveled the path twice.

It takes effort to avoid "What if" world.  It takes control and work.

My trick for avoiding that world is that I spend hours writing my thoughts and sorting through them.  Many people go through tough times, I've learned that writing gets these thoughts out of my head and helps me organize them.

Some might think that it is a good idea to begin a new "What if" world where the positive happens.  The email is a compliment, the boss is happy, the doctor is calling to say that all is fine. The wind picked up outside. That person isn't going anywhere.  There are just as many problems with this world.  Things may still not go the way our brain imagines.

Instead, let's just be here.  Let's enjoy each blessed moment and let's attack the others the best we can without traveling too far down the path so that we have to double back and do it again or simply be forced to change directions all together.

Flee the "What if" world.  Live today!

Pink Story: It's Not Exactly Cancer

Historically, I’m not very good at being sick.  Don’t get me wrong, I love laying around and watching television, sleeping all day and having people wait on me, but that’s not usually what happens.  Usually I get sick the day after I decided not to clean up the house, the day after I took a day off and the laundry has become a clothes volcano, the dishes look like skyscrapers on the counter, the dog hair is forming into new animals on the floor and my youngest daughter has begun to draw pictures in the dust.  I can’t do anything about it, but I sure would like someone to.  

So, I am sick and helpless, I stay away from the mess hoping that “out of sight, out of mind” really works, but it doesn’t.  I know the house is a mess.  I can’t solve that problem and my family has their own list of “to dos.”  They can’t help.  I close my eyes.  I change the channel.  I know it is more important for me to rest and be healthy, I know the housework isn’t that big of a deal, I know that I’m the only person it bothers. All that knowledge does little good for the battle inside me.  I change the channel and try not to think about it.  Maybe I can pay someone to clean it up.  

I stayed down most of the weekend.  Later, I would find out that my need to rest because I didn’t feel well had nothing to do with the biopsy.  Most people bounce right back from those biopsies, Fortunately, I wasn’t most people and I wouldn’t do anything the way most people do.

Friday afternoon I got a call from someone at the doctor’s office.  I don’t remember who it was or what their title was.  I thought I heard them say something about radiology.  I know it wasn’t a doctor or nurse and I know it was a male.  He told me that the biopsy results were in.  It was a precursor to cancer.  If I left it alone it would probably turn into cancer.  They will want to remove it.  I amazingly felt relieved.  I had a sense this wasn’t going to be nothing, but if it had to be something this is the best something it could be.  All they will need to do is remove it.  I will hear from my doctor and get more information next week, but it was nice to have some information for now.  

I was sharing with a friend that my greatest emotions came with the unknown.  This was known, there was a plan of attack.  I was nervous about surgery and recovery, but not as scared as I was before.  The unknown is terrifying.  It plays with your mind and it takes all your energy to keep your mind under control.  

I called everyone and told them what the mysterious person said.  I told people at church.  I texted family and friends that were looking for a quick answer.  We all breathed easier.  It wasn’t cancer.  It was something that happens before cancer, but it wasn’t cancer.  I relaxed that weekend.  I felt a heavy weight lift from my shoulders.  It was going to be okay.  I finally started to breathe again.

Contribute

My 15 year old daughter cleaned up the kitchen and offered to make dinner all while feeling exhausted.  She said she felt like she needed to contribute.  Where did she get that?

I appreciate and am amazed by her responsibility and willingness to be helpful, but she was doing it while not taking care of herself.  I was thankful for the opportunity to tell her that she has to make sure she is healthy. She has her own list of things to do each day.  Among them is listening to her body and taking care of herself. It won't hurt if the dishes don't get done because you don't feel well.

I didn't hear the phrase, "take care of yourself" enough at her age to believe it was really what I was supposed to do.  It was what people said, but they meant, "work harder." I'm thankful I can speak these words to her.  Even though it will still probably take her many years to practice them, I'm glad these are the things she is hearing now.

Pink Story: Needles and More Pictures

“The doctor is going out of town on Friday.  Can we reschedule your biopsy for Wednesday?” asked the nurse on Tuesday afternoon.

“Tomorrow?” I confirmed.

I asked for Wednesday afternoon off with a note that I might need Thursday off.  I wouldn’t have to wait until Friday.  I would get it over with.”  I finally told the people I work with what was going on.  It’s amazing how letting people in on your life actually relieves a lot of the weight.  I am no longer walking around carrying this heavy secret.  I stayed late Tuesday night preparing for a substitute.  

 I went to school Wednesday morning.  Right before lunch I informed my students they would have a sub for the afternoon.  Of course they asked where I was going, I just told them I had an appointment.  Then I remembered to breathe.

I walked into the special breast imaging center, the same one where I had my second mammogram.  They took me back where I changed into my favorite shirt.  I went to the back room where they did another mammogram.  They needed to make sure they knew where everything was and that nothing had moved.  After they were pleased with the picture, they took me into the room where the biopsy would take place.  I was terrified and cold.  I tried to hide my terror behind a calm demeanor.  The nurse got me a warm blanket.  Oh, the pleasure of a heated blanket!  I may start putting blankets in my oven at home just to have a warm blanket to sit under.  The nurse talked with me a little about what they were going to do.  She had me sign a consent form.  As we were waiting for the doctor and technician to join us we began talking about books.  She had read some amazing books.  Every good book I mentioned she had read, every good book she mentioned I hadn’t heard of.  I tried to place them somewhere in my head where I would remember their titles or authors, but in my state of mind I couldn’t even remember the nurse's name.  We chatted for a while.  I began to relax, then the doctor came in.  He explained, again, what would happen.  I had to tell them my name and birthday.  They made a green mark on my left collar bone so they would be sure they are working on the correct side, they officially stated what they would do, then I signed again.

The next step was to get onto the table.  I had to lie on my stomach.  My left arm was out of my sleeve, my left breast literally fell through the hole in the table.  They placed a pillow by my head.  My left arm was straight down at my side.  My right arm was curled up by my face.  They tried to ease up the pressure on my hips by putting a pillow there.  The person who created this table never had to lie on it.  It was a table.  There was no cushion.  It was contoured slightly, I might as well have been lying on a board.  I was uncomfortable physically and emotionally.  I don’t know if that is the right category to put how you feel when your body is in a strange and vulnerable position, its the only word I can think of.  The nice nurse who told me about the books stood on the side of the table I was facing which was the side facing the wall.  She had about two feet of space to squat down so she could look at my face. She tried to talk to me and keep me somewhat distracted.  I kept getting more tired and uncomfortable.  I just wanted to close my eyes and wait for it to be over, but I would open my eyes when she came over and try to have a conversation with her, nodding at her words and trying to add a few of mine. Even in this state, I was trying to be polite to this nice lady rather than doing what I really wanted to do. 

Because of the location of the calcifications, it took them a long time to get my breast in position. The technician would clamp my breast, take a picture to see if she was in the right spot, unclamp, readjust, take another picture and repeat.  She repeated this series at least 10 times.  They had to find the correct spot for the needle to go in.  They couldn’t move the needle, but they thought they could move me.  Finally, she got it in the right spot.  It was time for the numbing needle.  I love that in order to be numb to pain that we know is coming we must have a little pain.  The doctor stuck me with the local anesthetic many times.  Fortunately I only felt it the first time.  Then it was time for the biopsy.  The machine was set up so the needle would enter my breast in a certain spot and take out a piece of tissue, then it would come out and go in another spot.  It would move in a circle like a clock going in and out 12 times.  I felt a slight vibration on the table, but felt no pain.  The nurse kept chatting with me, the needle was doing its job and now my right arm was falling asleep.  I couldn’t move.  They had me in the perfect place.  If I moved they would have to redo what they had done, so I lay still.  Finally, the biopsy was complete, but the poking wasn’t.  As the anesthesia was wearing off it was time to insert the clip.  Because the biopsy often removes some or all of the calcifications and future doctors need to know the location that all this occurred, they insert this metal clip which will only show up on x-rays.  The doctor had to inject me with more anesthesia, then one more needle would insert this clip. The clip was like a small flag saying “I have conquered!”  Not unlike what soldiers do when they take a territory.  My breast had been taken, it had been conquered with 12 deadly sword attacks.  I was defeated.  They took a few more pictures.  Then I was released from the clamp.  The nurse who had been talking to me had to put pressure on the hole they created for 5 minutes to stop the bleeding.  She cleaned it up, taped on some gauze then sent me off for another set of pictures. I went back to the mammogram machine that I had begun with that day.  The technician squeezed and took pictures.  She needed to be sure the clip was there and in the right place.  The squeezing restarted the blood flow.  I was embarrassed when I realized I had gotten blood all over me and the machine.  I wouldn’t have gotten it on myself if someone had told me what to do with my arms.  I folded them and squeezed the blood right onto my arms.

I was instructed to get dressed.  They would let my husband know I was done.  I could go home and rest.  I needed to stay out of the shower for 24 hours.  I needed to refrain from lifting for 5 days.  I needed to leave the bandage on for 24 hours.  They gave me some pain medication and sent me home.  I quickly called the school and told them I wouldn’t be in on Thursday.  The anesthesia made me a little queasy that evening.   I ate very little.  The next day I began getting a cold or some sort of thing.  I was weak and tired.  I was pretty sure the biopsy hadn’t caused that.  It was just good timing.  Perhaps it was brought on by 2 weeks of stress.  I’ve learned over the years that stress will make me sick faster than any bug or germ.  Unfortunately, the stress was only beginning.  The results of the biopsy would come in 2-3 days.  I would rest and wait.

Accept Your Broken Parts

I've been broken and will probably be broken again.  I'm not talking about the parts you can see, but the ones that hide from the world and try to hide from me.

So much of what happens to us in our lives shapes us.  Beginning in childhood each event begins molding us and sometimes breaking us.  I don't feel like talking about my broken pieces because I don't like looking at them.  I don't like looking at the reasons I do things or don't do things.  I think it reminds me of the past's control over me.

I remember what happened last time and, like a child who got burned trying to retrieve the cookies out of the oven, I avoid the situation rather than confronting it or finding a way to rise above it.  In reality, a simple pot holder keeps away the burns and gets the cookies, but it's easier and sometimes feels safer to stop making cookies.

It's okay to be broken, it's okay to have things about you that may not be what you would design.  You are you.  You are amazing, broken pieces and all.

A broken person isn't like a broken dish.  We don't throw away broken people.  Broken people are more like a broken can of Pillsbury biscuits.  Once the can is broken, the biscuits find their way out.  After a little heat, they are the most useful they can be.

Pink Story: Normal

I tried not to make too big of a deal of this biopsy.  If it turned out to be nothing, I didn’t want to have over-dramatized the situation.  However, since I didn’t know the future and only knew the present, I still had to deal with every thought and feeling in the meantime.

So far, I’ve had a routine mammogram, had a follow-up mammogram and been told I needed a biopsy.  Nothing has really happened yet, nothing is really known yet, but I was a mess.  I went to work the day after my loving encounter with people at church.  

I went through all the motions.  I didn’t tell anyone what was going on.  I thought I was doing quite well until I got into my car to go home.  I broke.  I broke hard.  I cried all the way home.  The weight was back and it was getting heavier.  I immediately called my mom when I got home and asked her if I was normal.  

"This wasn’t a big deal." I told myself.  She had had biopsies.  She had never told me about crying all the way home.  I must be making a bigger deal out of this than it was.  I must be just worrying about nothing.  

My mom assured me I was normal.  We talked for a while.  She let me know it was okay to cry, it was okay to be worried.  I was ok.

Balloon

I used a balloon to demonstrate how the pressure in the balloon is higher than the pressure in the air around it.  I grabbed my red balloon and started blowing into it.  Once it was the size of a cantaloupe, it started immediately decreasing.  There was a hole in the other end.

I grabbed a green balloon, instead.  I was able to fill it up.  I asked what would happen when I released the balloon. The kids were giggling with excitement even before I let go.  We all watched as the green balloon sputtered in random circles and landed.

I felt like that green balloon today.  The minute I got to work, the stress and pressure built up inside of me.  It was more noticeable because of the contrast between my restful weekend.  I felt every email, every need, every item on my list filling my insides.

I had an amazing meeting that put much of my concerns at bay.  Then I came home to a cleaner house than I left.  The air sped out of me just like it sped out of that green balloon.  I felt lighter, I had been stretched, but I was back to being relaxed.  I was able to breathe, focus and do a bit of work.

Without those air releasing moments, I would have been paralyzed by my list and discouraged by my weariness.  Enjoy and be thankful for the little things.  Take advantage of the moments that lift you in the hopes that the heavy moments won't crush you.

I feel the weight most of the time, I am trying to learn how to live lighter, how to let the air go through me like the red balloon rather than holding it inside like the green balloon.  That hole on the other side didn't help for my science demonstration, but it did help for relieving the pressure.  I am learning, but oh, it takes so much time and way more practice than I would like.

Pink Story: Cracks

My husband was a youth pastor of a church for over 3 years.  Our oldest daughter was a baby and he didn’t want us to be stressed or busy so he asked me to stay home with her for most of the required attendance church events.  Because I wasn’t present, thee people talked about me behind my back.  One of the leaders attempted to turn the young women against me by telling me lies about how they were upset with me.  Fortunately, I met with the said accusers and cleared the air.  They had never said anything and relationships were made stronger despite the efforts of the person spreading lies.

During that time we had no family living nearby, the other church leaders never invited us for holidays, like Thanksgiving. They all got together, but left us out.  We actually were never invited to dinner or even coffee in the 3 years we worked with them.  We were taught that we needed to be examples to the people in the church and we needed to keep our problems to ourselves.  We should not share our problems with the people in the church because they might not respect us as leaders.  

Because of this, I felt badly if I had any problems.  I beat myself up over having a messy house or for watching television in the middle of the day when I should have been be working.  I held the highest standards for myself and had convinced myself that all these people had these standards as well and were daily judging me by those rigid standards.  

This experience made me doubt if I could really trust people in a church.  If I told them how I struggled, would they judge me?  What if I shared my doubts with them, would they tell me I was wrong?  Could I really trust these people with my true thoughts and feelings?  All this baggage came with me into this church full of people only desiring to be real, honest, and loving.  

This history explains why I was surprised by their compassion, their non-judgmental comments, their willingness to do whatever and to pray for me.  I appreciated them remembering that people are fragile, especially the ones that look like they are made of granite, like me.  They let me break and crack in front of them. They held me gently and didn’t even try to glue me back together.  They let me be and accepted me, cracks and all.

Fuel for the Journey

When our vehicles are low on fuel, the gas light comes on and we have about 15 - 20 miles before there is trouble.  We try to avoid waiting for the warning light, but sometimes it happens.  Wise people head right to the gas station.  People in a hurry will keep going, hoping the fumes won't run out before they reach their destination.  People with too much on their list will keep going, hoping the fumes will carry them home.  I coasted into the gas station once in high school and I ran out of gas once on the freeway with my 2 year old because I forgot to stop. Neither moment felt comfortable.

I caught a cold yesterday, I tried to complete two full work weeks of work.  Usually, I take the second Friday off to re-cooperate so I can have enough energy to do my job and to live a little rather than just going between work and bed.  This week, I tried to finish the week.  By 9:30 Friday morning the insides of my head felt like they were trying to get out.  I made it through the day on fumes.  I've parked myself on the couch today.  My eyes want to close, my head wants to explode.  I feel horrible.

So, it is back to listen to your body.  Listen to what it tells you.  Listen and take care of it.  There are people who can run themselves into the ground with their busy schedules and they seem to take pride in it.  But, why?  Why should we run ourselves into the ground?  Why should we be proud that every minute is taken with something on our list?  Why did I try to push myself farther than I know is good for me?

Now I can't focus on my homework because it makes my eyes tired.  A trip up the stairs wears me out.  If only I had listened.  If only I had done what I know is right for me and not gotten swayed by thinking I could handle it.

We have our own gas tanks, our energy stores.  So many of us run on fumes.  We walk through our days doing the bare minimum tasks because we only have a little fuel and we need to make sure that we don't run out of fuel before our list is finished.  Or, we speed through everything in the hopes that we will be coasting fast enough to finish before the tank runs dry.

I will watch my fuel guage, I will make sure I don't let my tank run dry.  I won't put my pedal to the metal when not necessary and wear out my car by trying to exceed its limits.  I will remember to listen.

Pink Story: Loved Ones Care

I had never had any kind of surgery before.  The most extensive of my hospital visits was stitches when I was 7 and birthing my children.  

I was going to have surgery.  I was terrified.  I struggled to envision how they were going to do it and even though I knew it would be fine.  I thought about and worried about it all the time. Of course I didn’t say anything about my thoughts and worries.  Sometimes speaking about them makes them more real.  If I didn’t say anything, I could pretend it would be okay.  

Sunday rolled around.  I didn’t want to go to church.  I didn’t want to talk to anyone.  I didn’t want to pretend all was okay and I didn’t want to make a big deal about the fact that it might not be.  I held it together until the music began and I attempted to sing.  Then I cried.  I cried and cried.  I couldn’t stop crying.  I wasn’t scared, I wasn’t sad.  I was just feeling the weight and had no choice but to let go.

Of course, my tears brought sincere questions from everyone who saw me and I answered honestly. I realized this place, this church, is a place where people care about me.  It's not pretend.  I need to learn to accept it.  I need to learn to let go and receive.  I’ve seemingly held myself up for so long that I have to practice letting go and letting others hold me up.  I stink at letting others help me.  

It could be because I think I’m strong enough.  I made it through my parents divorce, the miscarriage of my first baby, people attacking me with lies, financial struggles, sleepless nights. . . .  I had come to think I was unbreakable.  And if something was breaking me, I needed to keep it to myself because other people don’t really want to hear about it, they can’t or don’t want to help.  They have their own problems, why would they want to take on mine as well?  I had convinced myself that other people did’t want to hear about my problems and that I was strong enough to handle them by myself.  I didn’t want to burden anyone else.  What if they have their own problems and adding mine is just too much?  What if they don’t care and are only pretending?  What if one day they use this weakness against me?  

Unfortunately, I have not learned any of these lessons.  I don’t  speak my mind, I don’t ask for help, I don’t tell people when I don’t feel well.  I just put my head down and keep walking.  My tears gave me away in this instance and I felt comforted by loved ones.  If only I could learn to let go more often and let others in to comfort me, I would probably feel much more free.

Don't Apologize for a Lived in House

I went to a friend's house today and she was sitting by her fire, rocking her 2 month old son.  She has 4 kids and a full time job. One of her first sentences was, "I'm sorry for the mess."

When you come to my house, invited or by surprise, I will not apologize for the mess.

The dishes on the counter represent my loving husband's efforts to feed his girls dinner each night.  The dishes in the dishwasher are still there because my daughter's and I have been doing homework since we got home and now we are choosing to watch Jeopardy together and see who gets the most questions correct. My husband usually wins by thousands of dollars, I'm just not quick enough.

Our couch cushions are squished because we sit and lay on them.  The couch is covered with 5 blankets so we all can snuggle together under them in the evening while we are recovering from our day and preparing for the next.

You will find dog hair throughout the house because we love our dog and she loves to be with us.  She joins us wherever we are, wants to be pet and played with.  She greats us by wiggling her butt back and forth with the motion of her tail - the hair flies.

There are wood chips and ashes by the fire as a reminder that we use our wood burning stove to keep warm.  Dust is settling on surfaces we don't regularly touch, the windows are not clean.  I chose to be with my family today.

Each day we make decisions on how to spend our time. Each day, those decisions should create a better self.  I was busy this evening with things that make me happy and bring me joy even though I was tired enough to crawl in bed at 6:30.  I played a fun game that I love.  I visited friends that fill my spirit.  I chose joy.

The dishes, dust and dog hair will be there tomorrow.  Where will your family be?  Where will you be? There is a time to scrub and clean, but not when it will steal from you much needed joy and peace. You might as well wash your car instead of filling its empty tank.  It may look nice, but it won't get you anywhere.

When your friend or family member comes by, don't apologize for living in your house.  Welcome them, warn them that their socks may get hairy if they take off their shoes, offer them a drink, but don't apologize for the signs of life that are left in the tracks of you and your family.

Pink Story: Leaning on Someone other than Me

Between the second mammogram and the biopsy, I went for a walk with my Daddy (my God) and Shelby (my dog).  We talked.  I told Him I couldn’t pray for healing because I’m not currently broken.  I just kept telling Him that I trust Him.  Whatever comes or doesn’t come.  I trust Him.  I can fall backwards into His arms and know He’ll catch me.  I know how much He cares about and loves me and I trust Him fully.  After all my rambling about how much I trust Him, He said, “I am trustworthy.” Oh the peace and joy that washed over me!  That’s all I needed.

I believed everything about trusting my Daddy.  I believed it would be ok.  I believed that I would make it, but all that belief didn’t change reality.  All that belief didn’t take away the concern and fear lurking beneath the surface.  

I felt like I was holding my breath.  The weight of the unknown was so heavy.  I felt pressed down by it. I felt like I needed to remember to breathe, breathe slowly to control the fast beating of my heart.  

I tried to keep my mind busy, but it kept going back to forbidden thoughts.  I had an unsettling dream about the surgery.  I woke feeling as though I had been in a wrestling match.  

My stomach was in so many knots, it was difficult to want to eat.  

I could cry in a second, but I willed myself out of it.  I had become stone.  If I let go, I may not get myself back.  

What if I travel so far down this path I can’t find my way back?  I was simply holding on.

Fire

Most people enjoy fires.  They enjoy sitting by a cozy fire on a cold winter day.  My favorite part of my day is sitting by the warn fire with my coffee in the morning.

Building a fire isn't difficult.  We crumple the newspaper, stack the kindling just so and take a match to ignite the paper.  As soon as the kindling is burning nicely we add larger pieces of wood.  From that point on, we simply add logs throughout the day and the fire will continue to burn.  Whether it's 5 degrees or 45 degrees, the fire works the same and warms us.

Imagine if the process didn't work that way.  What if we had to continually light the match every few minutes?  What if we had to monitor it and build it up with tiny pieces of wood all day instead of placing a large log on it and walking away?  We wouldn't enjoy the fire as much.  It would be too much work.  The pleasantness of the warm fire wouldn't be worth the work.  We enjoy the fire the most when we get to sit back and soak up it's heat and bask in the glow.  If we spend all of our time working on the fire we don't enjoy it.

The fire is like our relationships.  Today is Valentine's Day and it is a reminder that many people enjoy the fire that comes with new relationships.  They enjoy the butterflies in their stomachs and the unknown and mystery of discovering new things about someone else.  Some people enjoy this so much that once the newness and excitement of a relationship wears off, they go out and seek another one.  They are missing out on the best part of the fire.

It's the ability to sit back and enjoy the fire that makes it great.  The depth of a relationship where you can be you and enjoy one another is the best part.  Sitting back and having to relight the match over and over is exhausting.

I've been married for over 20 years.  This is my 21st Valentine's Day with my husband.  The first Valentine's Day he had a gift for me every time he saw me.  He gave me handmade cards, roses, a mix tape, piano sheet music, stuffed animals and  a song he wrote and recorded.  He's never matched that first Valentine's Day's gifts and creativity, but I've never been disappointed.  Each day we have together, I get to sit back and enjoy the fire of our marriage that burns and doesn't go out, keeps us warm and creates a wonderful and safe place.

Pink Story: Biopsy and a Road

They showed us the room where they would do the biopsy.  They told us it wouldn’t take very long, 90 minutes total, but the actual biopsy takes just a few minutes.  They explained how I would lie on the table on my stomach.  They explained that they would insert a needle to take a piece out so they could examine it.  They asked if we had any questions.  It’s difficult to have questions about something you know nothing about.  True, I knew nothing, but I also didn’t know what I didn’t know.  I couldn’t think of any questions.  We scheduled the biopsy for Friday, September 28th.  Again, I wouldn’t have to take the day off of school.

My brain knows this happens to women all the time.  My brain knows that much of the time it is nothing.  My mom had to have two biopsies, both times-nothing.  I know this.  I regularly remind myself of this.  It doesn’t matter what my brain knows though.  My mind is racing.  What is going to happen?  What if they find something bad?  Doctor’s tend to try to make things sound better than they are.  Do they know that this is something bad, but aren’t telling me because they don’t have proof yet?  I’ve never had surgery before.  I can’t believe I have to have surgery!  It will probably be fine, but it might not be fine.  Its no big deal, nothing’s wrong yet, but what if something is?

I had to reflect on what my life looked like at this point.  What was before me?  What was I going to do?  How was I going to convince myself that I could do this, that I could survive anything that may or may not be coming?   I began viewing our paths in life like highways and freeways with exits.

There are many paths before us in our lives.  Some we choose to go down, some we are

forced down.  When I went into the doctor for my yearly mammogram I was still on the freeway.  This is normal, nothing is unique about my actions.  When I was called in for the second mammogram I was forced off the freeway onto an exit that is used sometimes, but no one chooses that exit.  I was watching and waiting for a sign that would direct me back to the freeway.  Yesterday, I lost hope of that sign for now and was instead forced farther down the road no one chooses to travel.  The freeway is farther away now and I hold onto the hope that there still may be a sign showing me how to get back.  There is nothing wrong with this road as of now, but if I remain on it too long the pavement turns to gravel and makes the trip much more difficult.  Now, there is still hope of turning back.  I cling to that hope.

Church?

Imagine a place that you walk into and everyone you see smiles and greets you.  No one notices whether your attire is like theirs or not.  They remember what you said you were doing this week and ask you about it. They remember the issues you've shared and wonder if they've been resolved.  They celebrate joys with you and are thrilled to get together at a moment's notice.

Imagine that this group of people works together, struggles together, rejoices together and grows together. They don't judge each other.  When one is down, they all rally together.  If one is weak, they let them do what they can and don't expect too much of them.  It feels like no family that I've ever heard of.  It is the family that everyone wishes for.

This description is the place everyone must find.  They may find it in a building on Sunday morning or they may find it at their neighbor's house or perhaps in their own home on a daily basis.  The Bible says that Jesus is wherever two or more are gathered in his name.  He didn't say it had to be a building with a name.  He never said there needed to be hundreds or thousands of people there.

Your church is the place where you are loved and love in return even if you don't name that place.  If you go to judge and gossip together you are like everyone who gets together to judge and gossip.  If you go to lift each other up, you create a place where people can be safe to grow, fail, and succeed.

I don't go to your church.  In fact, because of my diseases church was not the safe place it was supposed to be.  I felt like a fish in a cloudy fishbowl, everyone looking in and not really knowing what they were looking at.  I was cared for more by the people who I worked with on a daily basis than the people who went to my "church" and were supposed to be full of love.

It doesn't matter what a person looks like, what they've done, where they go. . . .  At the end of the day, people are people and they want to be cared about and loved.  They want to know they are not alone in their journey.  They want to be remembered and not forgotten.  They want people to notice if they haven't been around rather than judge why they haven't been around.

People often feel alone.  Those that look confident may not feel it.  Those who look happy may actually be sad.  Those who look successful may be searching for peace.  Simply be there for people and love, create a safe place for your neighbor and you to grow.

Pink Story: More Mammograms

They only needed to get a picture of the left side this time.  That is where they saw something.  They took a couple pictures with a much fancier machine than I had the previous week.  Then they took a blown up picture.  They enlarged the picture so they could see it up closer.  The technician showed the doctor the images.  As soon as he was okay with them, I got to get dressed again.  The nurse went to get Jason from the waiting room and the two of us went into the “viewing room” with the doctor.  

The room was small.  The doctor sat in a chair facing multiple computer screens, I don’t remember how many.  We sat in two chairs behind him.  There was another desk or table on the far wall with more screens.  When we arrived the room was full.  The doctor with the funny name showed us the images.  On my left breast there were small white dots.  These dots were what they call calcifications.  On the enlarged picture the dots look like grains of salt.  On the regular sized picture, you can barely see them.  “These calcifications could be nothing, but we are not sure.  We recommend a biopsy to find out what they are. I have already spoken with your doctor and she agrees with that recommendation.  What would you like to do?”

I was in shock.  I didn’t really feel like I had a choice.  Those calcifications were a sign of something. It is possible that the something was nothing, but without a biopsy I wouldn’t know for sure.  I would be continuously wondering if I was ok.  What were those things?  The wondering would be horrible.  I had to do the biopsy just to know what was going on.

“We’ll do the biopsy.”

Listen!

In all my 40 years, I have met only three truly amazing listeners, Kobie, Eliza and Shelby, my dogs.  We all know that dogs are the greatest listeners.  They sense our mood and celebrate with us, let us cry or know it's time to be quiet.  When we ask a million questions they don't try to answer.  When we shout in agony they don't take offense.  They know our shout is not for them, it is to release the pain and pressure trying to drown us.  It's time we should take a few lessons from our best friends.

I was the shy quiet girl in school.  You all went to school with her or you are her. I did what I was expected. I always did my best.  I wanted to please people.  I didn't understand another way.  People rarely noticed I had a lot to say.  When I started to speak, I would be interrupted by someone who had a louder voice.  No one would notice.  I would speak of my profound observations and my friends would look at me as if I had spoken in tongues; teenagers don't think like that let alone talk like that.  I was afraid to be teased or misunderstood or interrupted or simply ignored.  I was teased, misunderstood, interrupted and ignored so I stopped talking.  I became the quiet shy girl.

Today, my words are precious to me.  The energy it takes to speak is valuable, I won't waste it.  I will only share with those who want to hear.  I'm not the type who tells everyone everything or demands that you hear. There is nothing wrong with that.  I love many people who do that, but I can't be that person.  My story is precious.  If you won't hear me, I'll save it for someone who will.

However, because of my speaking precautions I tend to be a good listener.  I will hear you.  I will listen as you explain your day for the third or fourth time.  I will say the correct words and listen to you without interrupting.  I know you want to talk and, if I interrupt with my own story, you will feel hurt and unimportant because I just trampolined off your story into mine.  Since I'm still talking, I must believe that my story is more important than yours.

Perhaps we could all be better listeners than our favorite pets.  What if, instead of simply listening to you, I asked questions to know more?  When you tell me about that great award, I ask what exactly it was for, who gave it to you, how did they present it?  Perhaps I look you straight in the eye and feel your excitement like Shelby feels mine.  On that bad day, when your boss made you feel like nothing, I see you and your pain and am sorry in my soul.  I don't tell you it will be fine.  I don't get mad with you.  I just hear and you know you are not alone.

A family member of mine is skilled at asking those questions.  I remember when he did it in a conversation. At first, I was in awe. He didn't just hear the story, he wanted to know more.  He wanted to understand. There was no pretending he knew what we were talking about, he made us say it all and he listened to every word.  I want to do that better.

I would be pleased if it was said of me, I was a better listener than my dog.

Pink Story: They found something

September 18th, 2012, the phone rings.  “We found an unidentified cluster on your breast that we want to look at again.  It’s not a big deal,” they say, “nothing to worry about,” they say, “but could you come in for a follow up mammogram?  We want to double check something.” All they said may be true, nothing to worry about, no big deal, but whatever the outcome no one wants to hear there is something in their body that wasn’t there before.

Initially, I wasn’t going to tell my husband.  He had been so stressed over school, the one he taught and the classes he was taking, I didn’t want to stress him out more.  This could be no big deal.  Lots of people are called in for a second mammogram.  My mom has been called in many times, it's usually nothing.  

I told him.  I know it added to his stress, but he needed to know.  We both went into town on September 22nd for a second mammogram.  I couldn’t believe I had to do this again.

Just You

Everyday you see the people around you.  You see their clothes, their hair, their cars, and whatever else they decorate themselves with.  You might think about whether you fit.  You might judge them or think they are judging you.

Ultimately, your eyes should be on you.  Did you wear what makes you feel awesome today?  Did you say hello because you want to and not because you think you must.  Did you go to a job that makes you shows off your skills and talents?  Did you think about you?  Not is a vain or selfish way, but in the way where you make sure you are healthy so that you can be there for others.

Pink Story: Second Mammogram

I was scheduled to repeat the mammogram episode on September 14th, 2012.

September 14th came quickly.  The secretary asked if I took the day off of school.  

“We have 4-day school weeks, we don’t have school on Fridays.”  

Her jealousy was evident.  Everyone dreams of 4-day work weeks, 3-day work weeks. . . .  I filled out my forms, answered my questions and waited my turn.

This mammogram was much like the first one except for a few things.  They didn’t make me watch the video and the ladies were much less personable.  The first lady, the one who did my physical exam felt the need to point out that I was the same age as her daughter. I heard, “My daughter doesn’t get mammograms, what the hell are YOU doing here.”

The second lady needed no interpretation.  She informed me I was young to be getting a mammogram, she was surprised this was my second, she proudly exclaimed, “I haven’t had a mammogram in 2 years.  I have a friend who has never had one, she just believes she won’t get cancer.  This is a lot a radiation to put into your body if you start at this age.”

WOW!  Last year, I was so proud of myself for obeying my doctor.  Thanks to these technicians, I was ready to call my doctor and ask, “Are you sure I should be doing this every year, perhaps it would be better if I went every other year?”  After I got home I realized I should have told that lady that I was obeying my doctor who knows infinitely more than you.  I don’t ever think of those things in the moment.  I felt miserable when I left and it had nothing to do with the dough kneading.  At least I didn’t have to do this again for another year.

Terrified

Two weeks ago I did something that terrified me.  I have often done things that terrify me, most of the time I have no choice.  I can think of two terrifying choices I have made in the past two years that I didn't have to make.

My first terrifying choice happened the day I decided to begin CrossFit.  I have exercised in some form all my life, but nothing I have done has been sustainable.  I would work for 8 weeks, get a cold and have a setback or I'd get bored or I didn't get the results I ultimately wanted.  After breast cancer and MS, I had lost most of my muscle.  A large amount of fat came on with no invitation. I felt weak and tired and needed help.

I stepped into a box (the name for a CrossFit gym) with my 14 year old daughter. After a couple of days I felt stronger and more energetic.  Today, when I walk into my box I am coming to see a part of my family. The people care about me.  They want me to succeed.  They want me to be the best I can.  I don't have to figure out what to do, the coaches tell me.  I don't work alone, we work as a class on our individual goals to reach our personal best.

CrossFit has made it possible for me to continue working.  Without the energy and strength I get from workouts, I wouldn't be able to make it through a work day.  It helps my brain act more efficiently.  I know that if I relapse, my current health will help me bounce back faster than I did before.

Walking into the box for the first time was terrifying.  I'd heard what others had heard, but I had also seen healthy people walk out the doors.  I didn't know if I could do it or what I would ultimately be able to do.  I didn't know if I would enjoy it.

It has been almost 2 years of consistently showing up to my favorite box. The terrifying turned into a blessing.

The second most terrifying thing I have chosen to do was to start this blog.  The first day I pressed "Post" my heart was racing like a wild mustang.  I quickly got confirmation that this was the right thing to do.

Both terrifying events could have been ignored.  I didn't have to do either, but I also wasn't going to be hurt by trying.  Both events have made me better and stronger.

Don't be afraid of the terrifying, it could be the best decision you make.

Pink Story: First Mammogram

I had heard all the horror stories from my mom.  I had heard about how they squish your breasts so flat it feels like they are forcing them to fit into an envelope, then they turn the machine the other way and squish the opposite direction.  I had heard my mother talking with her friends about the experience: the squeezing, the turning, the pain. I had read the jokes written about what a man would do if he had to stick himself into that mammogram machine.  It is an understatement to say that I was nervous for my first mammogram.  Being the obedient type, I went without question, but with trepidation.  

The lady walked me back to a little room where I could change into this flattering floral shirt resembling old curtains, I tied it in the front.  I placed my clothes in a locker and took the key with the purple plastic bungee bracelet.  Because this was my first mammogram, I had the privilege of watching a video explaining what they were going to do and why they were going to do it. I decided I would just get it over with and I turned the television off.  

The first lady I saw had short brown curly hair like someone from the 50's.  She had me sit on a table.  She was kind enough to talk to me for a little while explaining what she was looking for.  I know this is medical.  I know its no big deal, but for me, it was a little much.  I felt very self conscious.  I know what is happening, but that knowledge doesn’t automatically make me comfortable with sitting half naked in a cold room.  Finally, I layed down on the table and she conducted a physical breast exam explaining exactly what she was looking for.  The best part about this exam is that I knew immediately if she found something.  I passed the first test.

I put on my stylish shirt and waited for part two.  I walked into a 12X8 room.  There was the mammogram machine to the right.  Straight ahead was a computer with a big plastic screen blocking it from the machine.  This tall lady with long, brown hair who was probably 10 years older than me was very sweet, yet business-like.  We didn’t have much small talk.  She asked me to take my arm out of the sleeve of my shirt.  She controlled the machine that attempted to turn a melon into a pancake.  She walked behind her plastic shield, pushed a button that made a noise then released me from the clamp.
“You can relax now.” she said.

I relaxed the best I could.  I backed away from the machine, but the rest of me was anything but relaxed.  I am now awkwardly standing half naked not knowing what to do with myself.  Do I keep my back turned?  Do I put my shirt back on?  What do I have to do next?

She turned the machine sideways and re-clamped me from the side.  She repeated her steps, I repeated mine.  Finally she told me I could put my arm back into my sleeve and take the other arm out so she could make bread from my other breast.

The video would have been much more informative if it had told a person what to do with their arms, eyes, feet and thoughts during this procedure.  I knew what they were going to do and why.  I wanted to wrap right up in that fashionable shirt.  Perhaps their training should include telling people what they can do with their arms.  What does “you can relax now” really mean?

“You can relax now.”  She said, finally followed by, “you can put your shirt on, we are finished!”  I added the exclamation mark.  I used my key with the purple bracelet to unlock my clothes, got dressed in more acceptable fashions and left.  My first mammogram was finally behind me.

Just One Step

My family loves surfing.  The odd part of that reality is that we live in Idaho, a 10-hour drive from the nearest ocean.  We own 3 longboards and load them up each summer to spend 2 weeks surfing the cold, uncrowded waters of Central Oregon.

I have the same feeling each year I head out to catch my first wave of the year.  My heart all but stops as the first wave comes at me.  To ride a wave into the shore is the greatest feeling.  You are literally on top of the water.  It's power moves you.  There is nothing that compares to it.  Unfortunately, in order to enjoy the ride you must wade through a number of powerful waves that are trying to keep you on shore.

Each year, I step into the ocean, my heart starts racing as I see the curl of the wave crash and head towards me.  It's force knocks me back a bit, but I don't fall.  I breathe.  I wonder why I am taking this beating.  I keep walking.  Another wave hits me, then another.  For every 5 steps farther out, the waves push me back 3, but it feels like 10.  I can feel the current pulling at my legs the opposite direction the waves are pushing.  I can see a nice wave, one I know I could ride, but it's too far away.  I need to hurry to get out there.  Another one knocks into me.  There is no sense to what I am doing.

Finally, I get outside the crashing waves. I sit up on my board and enjoy the roll of the ocean and the peace. Everything stops.  A good wave comes, I paddle into it, jump my feet to my board and soar to the beach.  It only lasts a few seconds. I quickly grab my board, turn around and head back through the gauntlet of waves to do it again.

Why do I share this story?  We know that achieving our goals and dreams will be amazing.  We also know that the steps to get there may be fraught with difficulties.  With all this in mind, we freeze.  We don't take one step into the waves because we are afraid.  We are afraid of what the waves might do.  Instead of being afraid of failure, we should remember the flying.  We should remember that we don't get to fly unless we make it through the waves that threaten to push us back.

I experienced this recently.  I took my first step through the rising wave and wasn't knocked down.  I had a small victory that gave me strength to take the next step.  The ride is worth the work.

Pink Story: Missed Appointment

I knew I should have tried to call before today.  But I had no idea what the phone number was.  I kept hoping they would mail a reminder or call and remind me.  They usually remind you.  They don’t want you to miss, why didn’t they remind me?  I have a good memory.  I’m the champion at that game.  I’m pretty sure it was supposed to be today, maybe I’m remembering something else.

I spoke to someone at 2:00.  My appointment was 8:00 this morning.  I rescheduled it for September 14th.  It’s on a Friday so I don’t have to take a day off of school.  It’s so difficult to get a substitute. That’s not true, it easy to get a sub.  It’s difficult to take the necessary time to plan for a sub.  It sure would have been nice to get it over with today, but that’s what I get for waiting until the last minute.  

I’ve only had one other mammogram.  Last year I told my OB-GYN doctor about my maternal grandmother’s second bout with breast cancer and the breast cancer diagnosis for my paternal grandmother during my yearly checkup.   I’ve known for over twenty years that my chances of getting breast cancer were only at high risk if my mom got it.  It didn’t matter to the doctors that my grandma had breast cancer at 64.  They would only send me for an early mammogram if my mom had it, so I figured I would wait until I was 40 just like everyone else.  My doctor decided to be cautious.  Since it was showing up again in my grandma, I should get a baseline mammogram.  At 34, I had my first mammogram.  

Ask?

I don't ask for help well.  Actually, I don't ask for help.

I grew up on a farm.  If you see a job that needs to be done, you do it.  You pull the weeds, feed the cows, fix the fence, mow the lawn, and haul the wood.  After I turned 13, I usually came home and took care of the house.  It wasn't uncommon to come home, start a fire (our only source of heat), start dinner and do some laundry before my mom got home.  I didn't mind.  It's what you do when you are a family and things need to be done.

Unfortunately, that time taught me to get the work done.  It also taught me what I am capable of.

When my oldest daughter was 18 months old, my husband got strep throat which turned into mono. For six weeks I dealt with two 2-year old dogs, my own daughter and a friend of mine's 18 month old son, and a husband who couldn't get out of bed or feed himself.  He lost over 30 pounds while he drank Ensure to give him enough calories to somewhat sustain him.  At the time, he was a youth pastor at a church.  During the 6 weeks, the other pastors came once to pray for him.  No one called.  No one stopped by.  We were known by everyone in the church, yet I was alone and other than the mowing of the lawn everything was taken care of.  One nice lady the pastors didn't like called to see what she could do.  I was too young to understand that I should have let her help me.  I just handled it.

Cancer took me out in a much greater way than my husband's illness.  I didn't get anything done.  I tried to ask for help, but I didn't do a good job or people offered to help without meaning it. People would tell me to let them know how they could help.  When I told them I needed my house cleaned, they laughed like I was telling a joke.  I let it go.  I actually needed that help, but I failed to make that known.  My husband was making meals, my girls were doing extra chores on top of their school work.

MS threw me over the edge.  I finally asked for a little help.  I had some dear friends that jumped at the opportunity to vacuum for me.  It was difficult.  I had to watch them clean my house.  I felt miserable not able to take care of my home while others did it for me.

Did I feel shame at my weakness?  Did I feel less than because I couldn't handle everything?  I don't know the answer to any of these questions.  I know that I am terrible at asking for help.  I will hurt myself with overwork before I ask for help.  That sounds like pride.  I am the oldest.  I was always the quiet one, perhaps I need to prove myself, but to whom?

I'm taking the day off of work tomorrow because this week has beat me up.  Even that is difficult.  I feel badly that I took a day off.  I feel like I'm cheating.  I know I'm not, but it is difficult.  I want to explain it to everyone, but I realize that ultimately I am doing what I know is right for me.  I will fail at my job if I am exhausted and will be no good for anyone.  I am putting myself first and listening to myself, but it isn't easy.  I am fighting my nature to do this.

Seasons

I live in an area with four seasons and I love every bit of it.  I might enjoy the perfect temperatures of Southern California, but I would miss the diversity of seasons, not to mention the opportunity to wear different types of clothing.

During my oldest daughter's first days, I woke up repeatedly to feed her then I zombie walked through the day. I would remind myself that this was only for a season.  For a short amount of time, I can lose sleep knowing that there will be a day when she will sleep through the night.  I am familiar with that feeling of moving your feet when they have turned into bricks.

After 4 weeks of short naps, I had an opportunity to get together with other adults.  It was my turn to introduce myself to the group.  It took everything I had to remember my name.  Two weeks later she slept a solid 6 hours.  It wasn't long after that it turned to 8 hours. I made it through that season.

I could look back and remember.  I could look back and see that the season didn't make me weaker.  It was tough, but it ended.

All life is filled with seasons.  Some are short, some are long, and some seem to never end. Just like this winter season we are experiencing now, eventually the snow will melt and the flowers will bloom again.  It doesn't matter that the foot-deep snow is not melting now, I know it will.

I'm experiencing a tough season right now.  I enjoy my job, but it strips me of my energy by midweek.  I don't know if I'm exhausted because of my job or if my exhaustion is because I have a full time job, am trying to complete my master's degree, and do mom and wife things.  I'm wondering if I need to find a job that doesn't make me want to go to bed at 6:30.

I know this is a season.  I know that there will be a day when I find a schedule that doesn't tax me and steal away the energy that I might have spent enjoying my family instead of watching Netflix, waiting until the appropriate time to go to bed.  I take one step at a time, one day at time and know that my faithfulness will eventually bring me to the next season, not unlike shoveling the walk each time it snows will pass and the weeds and flowers will take their place.

I look forward to the next season.  I know I will survive this one.  I know it won't break me and might even make me stronger.