Pink Story: Stress Effects

On October 25th I had my first cancer dream, that’s pretty incredible considering this had been on my mind for over a month.  I was standing in line at the grocery store and a lady bought my groceries for me.  They cost $138.  (Why that number?  I don’t know.)  Somebody in my dream was talking about all the faults and messiness that come with the surgery.  They were relaying the horror stories.  I don’t know where any of it came from, I hadn't had any of those thoughts while I was awake.  I woke up feeling miserable.  

October 26, 2012 (journal entry)

I wrote: Can I really do this?  Can I really be strong enough to endure surgery, radiation, be a wife and mother, a friend and successful teacher?

I heard: “You can’t, but in Me you can.”

The initial stress of all this turned my cold into pneumonia.  Once the pneumonia began to subside I acquired 3 cold sores. (I always get cold sores during stressful times.)  On the outside I am calm, but this stress is obviously affecting me and my body refuses to conceal it.

Work Together

Before my grandma died she told me about how she wanted to write a story about her family when her children were growing up.  She lived on a dairy farm.  Among the many chores, there were cows to feed, fields to plow, hay to get in, calves to deliver and gardens to tend.  My grandma remembered that time as precious. Most people see working on a farm as work, but she found joy in it.  The greatest joy she had was in working together with her family.  She said they would work together and play together.

Her thoughts about this time in her life stayed with me.  Since the very beginning of my marriage life, I kept this in my mind.  When my girls were very young I made two containers.  In one container was a pile of note cards containing pictures of rooms in our home and what chores needed to be done in those rooms.  The other container had a pile of note cards containing pictures of fun things that we could do together: have a tea party, color, make cookies, play a game, watch a show, go for a walk, read a book and other fun ideas like that.  We would pick a card from the chore container and go to that room and clean it together.  Then we would pick a card from the fun container and go play together. We would go back and forth between the containers a few times each day we had an opportunity.

Now that my girls are older we still work together.  They are helpful around the house, they enjoy working with us and they have amazing attitudes about it.  They are willing to learn new things and have learned we are good teachers.  We can help them understand things sooner than if we let them flail on their own.  I'm so thankful for my grandma's words.  I'm thankful that I can pass on her legacy or good work ethic to my girls.

We will always work together and play together and I hope they remember to make time for play amidst the work.

Pink Story: Head Talk

One of the phenomenons of a situation like this (cancer) rising in one’s life is that time slows down.  As one day passed to the next I was amazed that only a day had passed.  The days were long, full of the normal activities, but also full of the millions of thoughts and questions and attempts to control the thoughts and questions.  On top of everything, I was also in the waiting game.  

What would the genetic test show?  What kind of surgery would I need?  Would I need to order new boobs?  I was in a state of limbo wondering what the future held and not wanting to know at the same time.  Knowing could be a relief, a simple surgery. . . radiation. . . done.  Knowing could also mean turning the familiar in my life on its head.  If the test returned positive I would need to get a bilateral mastectomy.  That means they would remove both of my breasts completely.  Fortunately the insurance companies pay for reconstructive surgery, but that means two surgeries and I had heard some horror stories.  It may still be my skin, but it wouldn’t be the same.  I’m not saying that I would chose against the surgery because of a loss of my personal boobs.  I’m saying I realized that I would have to deal with the loss.  I would have to adjust and cope and mentally walk myself through the journey.  That scared me.  These thoughts never escaped me.  This mental argument and pro and con list never left my mind except while I was teaching.  

Teaching is such an all consuming task that takes every sense, thought, and physical ability that thinking about anything else will knock you out and create an opportunity for the students to trample all over you.  I thought my thoughts in the quiet of the bathroom, walking down the hall, sitting in my home in front of the fire with my coffee, lying in bed in the morning and in the evening, driving in my car, riding my bike, walking my dog, watching television, eating, all the time. . . except when I was teaching.  

These thoughts, this battle, this argument consumed my days and made them long.  The tasks of the day were extended by every thought of "what if?"  I knew that I should trust, I knew that it would be ok.  That knowledge didn’t stop the conversation in my head, that conversation made the days long.  And, strangely, I was thankful for the long days.  I was thankful that time didn’t fly, I was thankful to pass each day in a spiritual peace even if my mind fought it every step of the way.

Unseen

Everyone has things that affect them.  Some of them are physical, some of them emotional, some things are a little of both and all those things can feel like a lot of everything.  Most of the time, those "things" we are dealing with are invisible to the people around us.

When I had breast cancer, I usually looked just fine.  People would sound surprised when they said, "You look good."  It may have been more of a question than a compliment.  I think they expected me to look poorly.  In the early days of my diagnosis, I would be driving down the road or walking somewhere and I would think, "None of these people have any idea what is going on with me."  I had radiation and not chemotherapy which is great news.  However, when you have cancer and your hair doesn't fall out, people seem confused.

People's reactions are innocent.  They have no idea what is happening.  They don't understand and they are doing the best they can. Thankfully, most of these people haven't had to deal with very many terrible things.

The thing to remember is that most of the time people are hiding whatever they are dealing with it.  They are trying to deal with it.  They are trying to move on and continue living so they don't "look" like anything is wrong.  The compliment should be, "Wow, I know you must be dealing with a lot, but you look amazing!" Then they should proceed to ask and listen to what is going on.

Simply because it is unseen doesn't mean it isn't real.  No one can see what my MS does to me on a daily basis.  Most of the time, I try to ignore it.  I try to continue as if nothing has changed.  Once in a while, I feel it, but no on sees it.  It is very real and completely invisible.

Pink Story: Cancer Analogy

My journey began like many other’s journeys.  I traveled on small, safe roads until I learned enough to venture onto the busy freeway.  Once I made it onto the highways, I felt powerful, free, and successful.  I traveled long distances on the freeway.  I watched others struggle, but the largest struggle I had was a poorly managed road with potholes that made the drive uncomfortable and sometimes beat up my car more than I would have liked, but I always made it through in a short amount of time and was cruising at top speeds again.  I noticed all the exits along the way, but I had a destination I was focused on.  Those exits would only slow me down.  Besides, the towns they led to weren’t places anyone chooses to go.  Most people were forced onto those exits and off the ultimate path to their chosen destination.  

On September 18, 2012 I began to be pushed towards one of these exits.  It’s name was Cancer.  I began to imagine what the town might look like if I went that way and fought turning off my safe freeway.  On September 21, 2012 I was forced off the freeway to the exit whose name had been hidden.  As I slowed down my car to stop at the light I thought I got a glimpse of the town.  I still didn’t want to go there.  I didn’t see a place to eat or rest.  I was again forced to turn the opposite way I had planned and found myself on a 2-lane road that hadn’t seen many cars.  This road led away from the freeway.  I kept straining my neck, looking for a sign that would direct me back knowing that with every minute that passed that sign was less likely to appear.  I thought about the people on the freeway.  They had no idea what this little road was like.  Some tried to imagine and understand, but this is a road that can only be experienced.  I kept driving, slowly and cautiously looking for any sign that might take me back to the freeway. I finally spotted the sign.  On October 1, 2012 I read the sign welcoming me to the city of Breast Cancer.  I wanted to turn around, but it was impossible.  I was now so far from the freeway that the only way to get back was to travel on this one-way street through the town.   

I found a hotel to stay in called “Wait and See.”  I ate daily at the restaurant of “Hope.”  I took my coffee from a cafe called “Faith.”  I would have multiple cups a day.  I found maps telling me how to get through the town.  They gave great directions, but always required the slowest movement.  

My world slowed down in this town.  The freeway was fast with everyone focusing on their destination.  But, this town was filled with moments.  Each moment was precious, each moment was lived.  As much as I didn’t want to be in this town, I enjoyed the pace.  I enjoyed not being in a hurry.  I enjoyed seeing the path in front of my feet.  I noticed, rock, dirt, flowers, sunsets, and trees that I had never seen on the ever-moving freeway.  The days inched by like a slug looking for rare food he smells. Each day had value.  Each person I spoke with had value, their time was worth gold to me, their words like sweet balm, their touch was a boost of energy helping me see my way through the town.  

No one chooses to stay in the city of Breast Cancer.  Everyone keeps moving, sometimes more slowly than others, but they move nonetheless.  I know that on the outskirts of town signs will lead me back to the freeway, but I might begin taking the hidden roads and enjoying the sights and the people more.  I know I’ll eventually make it to my destination, I might as well enjoy the trip.

Simplify

For the last few years my family and I have been trying to simplify our lives.  We have gotten rid of things that sit and don't improve our daily living.  We've eliminated the collections that sit and only collect dust.  We have minimal furniture and minimal decorative items.

We didn't choose to do this because it was a fad, we chose to do this because we wanted to choose how to spend our days.  We didn't want to be ruled by our "stuff."  We wanted to be able to walk away from it and live and do things that brought us joy.

As we make decisions about our future we weigh the things we want to do against the things we have to do. We try to minimize the "have to's" to make room for the "want to's."  We choose to be free from things and only attached to the people we care about rather than the material things that rarely bring anything extra into our lives.

It's ok to have things that are beautiful and that we enjoy, but it's a good idea to ask why we have them.  Do we have those things because of the joy they bring us or because we think we are supposed to own them. That "should" word comes back again.  Even when referring to the purchases we make, "should" needs to stay out of the equation.

We choose time with each other, freedom to travel, health and peace.  Everything else is extra.

Pink Story: Surviving the Difficult Days

Since I was beginning to feel better, (it takes a long time to recover from pneumonia) we decided to go to church for the first time in weeks.  At first I wanted to sneak in and sneak out, but instead I stayed present and was rewarded with gentle love, encouragement and support.  A friend of mine encouraged me and shared that the prayer group was praying for miraculous healing.  I assured her I’d take that prayer.  Being healed is always welcome.  I imagined miraculous healing to look like waking up cancer free.  As much as I appreciated the prayer, I didn’t exactly see God do that. I later wrote:

“I believe God will receive more glory from me going through this than from me being miraculously healed.  That doesn’t mean He won’t heal me, it doesn’t mean that I will have to venture down the worst path.  I just see a journey that will glorify Him and heal relationships.  He’s not making me sick.  He is using this opportunity, when people's hearts have been softened, to move.  He is using this opportunity, when people's eyes are opened, to reveal Himself.  If a person learns about Him from all this or leans closer to Him, He gets the glory.”  

As difficult as all this was, I knew that I would be okay.  I knew that I needed to record my thoughts and prayers so that I would stay sane.  If I had been left to my own devices, to think freely about all the "what ifs" or even to listen to some of the people around me I would have collapsed.  I had to stay focused on the now, stay focused on God, and keep my mind clear of garbage.  

My daily writing ritual that helped me focus was similar to the driver of an old car that only responds to the perfect actions of the driver:  before you start the car, pump the gas 3 times, put it in reverse then 1st gear, turn the wipers on and off once then turn the key twice.  On the second turn it will start.  If you neglect any step, the car just won’t run.  It was the same with my morning journal writing.  I had to begin by sharing my feelings, physically and emotionally, then my doubts, then my fears and finally a statement of faith that I trust my Daddy and it will be okay.  Those daily movements helped me to walk through each difficult day.