Road

I often compared my journey through breast cancer like being forced onto a road I didn't plan on taking and traveling through a town I never wanted to visit.

Life is a road.  We can't always choose our path.  We are often forced on and off roads throughout our lives. What will we choose to do about these roads?  Will we constantly look in the rear view mirror wishing for what is past?  Will we be continuously looking around the corner, scared for what is next?  Will we be sad about where we are and quit while the world passes us by?

I never would have chosen the roads I have traveled, but I have made the best of them.  I have checked out the scenery, learned from my mistakes and let the journey be.  I haven't fought it, though at times I've wondered how I can keep going.  It is a journey.  The more I might complain, the longer it will be.  I might as well settle in and let life wash over me.

Today I am tired, but I'll keep walking down this road knowing that the tired will go away and something great will always make it's way to me.

Pink Story: Pink Room Too

Friday morning with my mom was a treasure.  My husband and my girls went to school while my mom and I had the day to spend together.  I still wasn’t feeling that great, but I was determined to enjoy my mom.  In the morning, we sat and had coffee together.  We visited about the recent events.  I thought her timing for her trip had been perfect.  She planned this trip over a month ago.  It was just lucky timing that it fell the weekend after my diagnosis.  My mom brought a few items she had been working on with her.  She had re-finished an old dresser that my grandma purchased over 60 years ago and painted it my youngest daughter's favorite turquoise/sea blue.  Unfortunately, in order to get the dresser into her room we would have to clean it, not the dresser, the room.  My daughter is a wonderful, full of energy and life, but she saves everything just in case she might need it.  She treasures every piece of trash as future art.  My mom understood, she does the same thing.  With all that treasure, we were going to have to dig to find the floor.  We spent at least 3 hours cleaning her room, hanging up clothes, throwing away 5 garbage bags of trash and preparing it for her new dresser.  I still didn’t feel well, so I gave about 30% and did all the sitting jobs.  She also brought a mirror for my oldest daughter.  She had painted the wood frame pink.  We rearranged a few items on her walls so we could hang it.

She brought me a desk she had re-finished for my office/sewing room downstairs.  When we had our basement finished, we intended to use the two rooms down there as rooms for our hobby things.  My husband would get one and I would get one.  It was a dream come true, a room for my sewing and a place to do bills and write without cluttering up the rest of the house, but I had no furniture in it.  My mom brought me a desk chair, a desk, some pictures she painted, a cork board and a lamp.  Everything was pink and sage green.  The chair has a light pink cushion with dragonflies with sage green wings and dark pink ladybugs on it.  All things I love.  I love dragon flies.  I’m not sure why.  I think its their name and their beauty.  Its like they are trying to be a butterfly with their pretty colors, but there are ferocious like a dragon, yet ordinary like a fly.  I know none of these things are scientific about a dragonfly, but its how I think of them.  The cork board and pictures were both bright pink.  Looking at my room now after a year has gone by and I have added a few more items, it is the pinkest room I have ever had.  It is not little girl pink, it is quite adult.  I have bright colors mixed in, but most things have a pink hue to them.  I didn’t realize it at the time, but now it is full of breast cancer reminders.  They are not bad, simply reminders of a season.

"Fine"

Why do we answer "fine" so often when asked how we are?  Why does the person who asked let us answer with such a nondescript response?

Fine doesn't mean anything.  Fine is the equivalent to "I'll give you an answer, but I don't really want to tell you how I am."  When I answer that I'm fine, I think, "I'm not really fine, but I don't know that you want to hear how I really am so this will do."

What do we do?  How do we become real with others and let them be real with us?  How do we set ourselves aside and care deeply about another's day?

I don't know the answer to those questions, but I have some thoughts.

 What would happen if we asked our neighbor how they were then heard their answer and didn't let them answer "fine."  Perhaps we could ask them to tell us more, they might believe we care and we wouldn't simply pass each other by pretending to be fine.

How many "fine" days could we improve by pausing just a bit?

Pink Story: Secret

In case I forgot to tell you, I was sick.  It started the day after the biopsy and, until the day I got the news, I thought I was getting better.  October 2nd came and with it a 13 hour day.  Seven of those hours would be spent teaching.  Four of the hours would be spent talking to parents.  Within the first hour of parent conversations I was losing my voice.  Historically, when I start losing my voice it is a sign of improvement.  Its like the last straw.  I didn’t think anything of it.  I conferenced with the parents of 28 students.  I told them the good and bad of their child's academics.  I smiled, I gave advice.  I never let them know that I just found out I had cancer.  I didn’t give them a hint, I didn’t even act like anything was wrong.  You may think this is amazing.  You may think that you would have been screaming it from the rooftops.  I’m not so sure.  It is not that simple to give people that news.  It feels really personal and it feels like you might become one of those downer people.  An old friend sees you and smiles.  They say, “Hi, how are you?” with their great to see you face.  For a moment you want to say,  “I’m good, I have breast cancer.”  Then you hear what that will sound like.  In your mind you see their face fall into a frown, you see that in your honesty you have put a huge damper on their day and essentially placed duct tape over their mouth.  They will probably ignore you the rest of the day, feel sorry for you and make you feel more alone than if you had kept your secret.  So, you keep your secret, at least that is what I did. I rarely told people with whom I didn’t already have an amazing daily relationship with what was going on.  It was the first time in my life I wished the gossip tree was working better.  People weren’t talking about me and they were forcing me to talk about myself.  I failed them.  I kept my secret.  I kept teaching as if nothing was wrong.  I would smile and greet people as if it was still the beginning of September before all of this began. I finished two 13 hour days of teaching and conferences while holding my breath, straining my voice, and keeping my secret.  Thursday night came.  The last conference went home and so did I.  

Thankfully, my mom drove in on Thursday night.  We were both tired from our long days: my conferences, her drive.  We went to bed at decent hours looking forward to our weekend together. Her timing couldn’t have been more perfect. Here was someone from whom I didn't have to keep my secret.

Play

A few months after my final radiation treatment, I took my daughters back to the town where I grew up to visit my family.  We got into town too early to meet up with family.  We were on spring break, but they were still at work.  We went to a nearby park full of green grass dotted with tall old trees that two people could hid behind.  Even though my radiation had been complete for over a month, I still felt the effects of those treatments and still felt weak and tired much of the time.

At the park, I put on my tennis shoes and played tag and hide-and-go-seek with my girls.  At the time they were 8 and 11 years old.  We laughed, ran, tagged each other, hid behind old trees and fell on the ground enjoying the spring day. Today, my girls still remember that day.  They played their mom. 

One day last fall I played a different version of tag with my students.  They were thrilled to see their teacher running and trying to tag other students.  I became very cool that day.

Today, I went out to recess with my students again and ended up playing a little soccer.  I'm not very good, but I can kick the ball far.  They were impressed.  They squealed, "You are the coolest teacher!"

My girls and my students enjoyed and still remember those days because I, as an adult, played with them.  I put aside all those horrible adult things that they see grown-ups doing: giving orders, correcting, being serious, being still . . . and I ran and played.  I didn't play because I was really good and wanted to show off. I played to have fun and to make mistakes just like them.

It is a great stress reliever to play.  Being outside or taking a walk are all great things, but play is different. Chasing a ball, running from whoever is "it," hiding in a corner knowing they'll never find you are some of the best and most memorable times in my life.

Play doesn't cost any money or require you to be in a special place.  The only thing it costs is your time, but it will pay you back with joy and peace and moments that no one can take from you.  

Pink Story: Not Real

I walked into the house with a heaviness. I had to tell my husband what Jill, my advocate, had said.  I’m so glad I wrote it all down.  Telling him was more like sharing notes from a meeting than giving him the information I was actually giving him.  

I was okay.  It definitely didn’t seem real.  This kind of stuff doesn’t happen to me.  I am very healthy.  Of all of my family, I am the one without the health issues.  I always mark “no” on the long list of medical problems they ask about on the forms.  I never have questions or concerns for the doctor.  I knew my amazing health wouldn’t last forever, but I didn’t expect it to change at 35. It was surreal.  

I would tell people that this information came as a shock.  One person actually pointed out it would be a shock no matter when it happened.  She didn’t understand.  I figured at 60-something I might have an issue or two.  Nothing was supposed to happen at 35.  I am a doctor’s dream, this didn’t fit.  Even now, 4 years later, I am still extremely healthy except for the two boxes I have to check.

Sometimes, during these days after my diagnosis, I would wonder if there was a conspiracy.  Did the doctors really see what they said they saw?  Maybe they were just making all this up to support their businesses.  In the early days I was okay.  In the early days I moved forward like a determined horse leading his carriage.  My master was kind enough to put blinders on so I only had to see what was in front of me.  The carriage I was pulling was heavy because it carried 4 people that belonged on Biggest Loser (they weren’t real people, just representing the weight I carried).  The only thing I could do was focus on my next step.  I knew I might have a day when I broke and wanted to fling those people out of the carriage and let them walk on their own, God knows they needed the exercise.  I knew I wouldn’t do that to them, but I might want to.  Today was not that day.  Today I was okay.  Today I would put one foot in front of the other and finish the journey.

Today

After I talked about the "What if" world, I was thinking about why I flee so fast from that place like bees are chasing me and I'm covered with honey.

My chances of getting breast cancer again are statistically high and get higher every year.  My grandma got her first breast cancer diagnosis at 62 and her second at 84.  I have no idea when my brain will betray me and I will have another relapse.  I'm only 40, I have plenty of years left for these things to try to come after me again.  If I visited the "What if" world, I would be a wreck.

Instead, I enjoy my achievements and my moments.

I enjoy the fact that I can do my job and I'm good at it. Even on my bad days, I'm better than some on their good days.  I celebrate my ability to move.  I can run, lift weights and move myself wherever I need to go. The stairs don't stop me, the long hike doesn't stop me. My husband and I went hiking in Ireland.  I saw others around us get weary after a short trek up the hill; we were at the end of our 3 hour hike and still weren't worn out.  We finally had to quit because we were hungry, not weary.  I'm finishing my master's degree.  I'm still a good mom and wife, probably better than I used to be because I have a healthy perspective.

I am capable of just about anything right now.  My health doesn't stop me. I go slower sometimes, but a little slow moving is probably good for everyone.  One day my health may stop me from doing what I want, and visiting that thought is terrifying.  I have no power over the future, but I have power over today.  I can choose to live and be and grow today.  When I make those choices, I will have no regrets if tomorrow brings sad surprises.