Pink Story: Difficult Days

Each of us has good days and bad days.  

When I was about a month into my cancer treatment and it had been about 3 months since my diagnosis I reflected on my level of energy.  I went to a Christmas party and people were surprised and pleased to see me.  Surprise came from their thought that I wasn’t well enough to be there.  Pleased came from the fact they were encouraged to see me out.  Later, a friend called and told me I was strong and an encouragement to people around me.  

At the time that I was in the midst of all of this, I did not feel any of these things.  I felt a little slower, a little less energetic, a little more tired and a little more pain.  I simply walked forward through my life one step at a time.  The treatment for cancer and the idea of dealing with cancer took more from me than the actual cancer.

Back then, I imagined that on the day I became 100% myself again I would say, “Wow, I wasn’t feeling well all those days.”  However, I couldn’t compare how I felt then to feeling well.  I hadn’t felt well for over 3 months.  My new state of health and wholeness at the time was diminished from what it was the summer before.  I couldn’t feel how I felt that summer and how I felt that winter simultaneously.  I had no idea how this had really affected me.  I simply moved forward at the pace I could move and do what I could do.  I didn’t get down on myself for not being able to do something I used to be able to do, but I had a new normal I had to deal with on a daily basis.  

During this time, people kept telling me how strong I was and I felt anything but strong.  I wanted to be able to see myself through someone else’s eyes.  In most people’s eyes I saw compassion, but sometimes there was pity or fear.  I hoped being strong was a good thing and that people didn’t think I was milking something.  I’d rather be strong than be too weak and fall apart all the time and need people to carry me.  Most people didn’t know how to help me, so I got all my strength from my Daddy (God), they didn’t have to worry about it.  They could simply watch me walk.

We all have days when we don’t feel completely whole.  Sometimes we are ill, sometimes our mind is full or weary, sometimes our hearts ache.  We have to keep going.  We know that there will come a day when we feel better.  We simply need to keep moving and do our best during those difficult days.  We also need to remember that many people around us may be having difficult days.  Most of the time, we won’t be able to tell by looking at them.  They are trying to keep moving in the midst of their difficult days.  We have a choice to hinder them or help them.

Neighbors

We recently met our new neighbors.  Neighbors are a very special breed of people.

We lived in our former house for over 11 years.  For 6 of those years, I was a teacher at the local school. Local in this sense meant that the school was less than a mile from our house.  I spent 2 of those years riding my pink cruiser to and from school.  During that time my students were also my neighbors. I quickly got to know them and their parents.  I would wave at my neighbors as I rode through the neighborhood and often stop during walks to have visits.  I knew which kids I would find playing in their yards or riding bikes in the street.  I knew my neighbors.

Upon arriving at our new home about a month ago, I realized I would have to introduce myself to neighbors because I didn't have the luxury of getting to know them because I taught their children.  I did the only thing that I know to do.  I made my mom's prize winning lemon bars and we walked over to our neighbors to share them.  We visited with them for a few minutes and became acquainted.  I've also met a few other neighbors in our journeys around our neighborhood.

After our few encounters I realized how extremely special neighbors are.  Our neighbors are rarely people we would meet in our normal day to day experiences, yet they are people that we see almost daily.  If we don't see them, we see their homes and think of them.

Essentially, we live with our neighbors.  We see their comings and goings, we see what happens around our homes.  We are closest if there is trouble or a need.  We can always be the cheerful greeting down the street.  I feel blessed to have nice neighbors.  I feel blessed to have neighbors.

Growing up our closest neighbor lived a half mile away.  We knew of their kids and their cats.  We didn't visit all the time, but we were there for each other if it was ever needed.  I still remember our special neighbor.  She let my brother and I play in the tree house on her property and always welcomed us in for a visit.

Neighbors aren't our friends.  They are our neighbors.  They are special and get to have their own category.  If neighbors become our friends or friends become our neighbors we are doubly blessed.

Pink Story: Being Still

“Thank Me for the conditions that are requiring you to be still. . . Instead of resenting the limitations of a weakened body, search for My way in the midst of these circumstances. .  . Quietness and trust enhance your awareness of My Presence with you.  Do not despise these simple ways of seeing Me. . . My strength and power show themselves most effective in weakness.”  - Jesus Calling

These words reminded me to find things to be thankful for while recovering from surgery and receiving radiation treatment.  I had to learn to slow down and enjoy the quiet, enjoy the moments of sitting, and soak in the moments of rest.  I had to learn to do what I could and be okay with not doing what I couldn’t.  One day towards the end of December, I sat with my youngest and helped her with her homework.  I didn’t rush away.  I was wholly present.  Most days I would have already gone to bed, but I found the energy to help her and was blessed with special time with my little one.

I was thankful for the help I was getting from others and was learning how to sit back and accept the gifts of time and energy that those around me offered.  

I was aware then and am still aware now that I only operate and achieve anything by the grace of God.  I have no strength of my own.  God gives me everything I need to accomplish what I need to each day.  It is only through Him that I am victorious.  

Cloth Napkins

When you come to my home I will give you a cloth napkin.  The reason is not why you think.

Many years ago, when my girls were babies, we had very little money.  I was a creative grocery shopper.  I bought food to make very economical meals.  We had baked potatoes and canned chili, macaroni and cheese from a box, and anything else I could purchase with just a few dollars.  One day while calculating my budget and crossing items off my grocery list, I noticed I was out of money, but I still had napkins on the list.  A package of napkins cost about $1.50.  That may not seem like much, but it was too much at the time.  I didn't have $1.50.  I remembered my husband's grandma had given us some cloth napkins when we got married.  They were pink.  One set was designed like a picture frame: the light pink was on the inside and the dark pink on the outside.  The other set had 3 inch pink flowers on them.  I decided we would simply use those until I could afford paper ones again.

Twenty years later, I still can't bring myself to spend money on napkins even though we can now afford it.  We have a drawer of different colored cloth napkins, some are homemade, some are bought from a store, many are gifts, and I still have the original pink set from Grandma.  Some of the napkins match our home decor, but most don't.  I love that I simply wash them and use them again.  I don't have to pay for them, throw them away, then buy more.  Early on, my girls learned to fold by folding napkins.  Any 2-year old can easily fold a napkin.

So when you come to visit don't be surprised by my cloth napkins.  I didn't bring out the special decor. These colorful, well used cloth napkins are how we normally operate.  If I have them, I may as well use them. I don't want you to think I'm putting on a show for your visit.  This is how we live and it is how we have lived for as long as my girls can remember.

If I had fancy dishes, I would use those every day too.  I would want to see them and enjoy them and let others enjoy them.

Some people like paper plates, some people like paper napkins, some people like to use the special stuff on special days and the plain stuff the other days.  Whatever you use is wonderful.  It is more important who you are and how you welcome your guests than the material of your dishes and napkins.

I welcome you to come visit someday.  Whether you have dinner or simply a cup of coffee, I will share a cloth napkin with you and you can know I am treating you as one of my family, getting the very best every time.

Pink Story: A Day of Radiation Treatment

When I'm finished in the waiting room, the technicians come and get me for my radiation treatment.  I recorded every detail of what it was like to receive treatment.  No one explained the details of what it would be like to go through treatment.  It isn't something people talk about.  Few people know a lot about radiation treatment.  Here is my experience with it:

I follow the technician through the 12-inch thick door, the first sign that this treatment is dangerous.  This door keeps the radiation in the room.  The room is large, too large for the big machine, another sign of the danger.  The radiation needs plenty of space to disperse so it won’t affect the people coming in and out.  Now, begins the worst part.  I am getting used to it after 15 days, but not really.  I get to take off my shirt that already revealed too much.  Yep, take it off.  The machine, although very powerful can’t get through my shirt.  I take it off and use it to cover the right breast, the one that doesn’t need the radiation.  It is much more modest to only have one breast hanging out for all to see than two.  I know this isn’t true, but I do it anyway, the technician will even arrange the shirt over my right breast nicely so I am more fully covered.  My right breast is fully covered, my left breast is sitting all by itself completely revealed for all to see.  I sit on the table.  It’s probably supposed to be a bed, but it’s hard and flat like a table.  I lay down and place my head in the plastic head thing that has been adjusted just for me.  I raise up my knees so they can put a blue cushion, pillow thing under them.  Its supposed to make me more comfortable. They strap a blue rubber loop around my feet so I won’t cross them.  If I cross my feet, I will change position and that would be very bad because then the radiation will hit parts it is not supposed to hit.  I raise my arms, revealing my hairy armpits I’m not allowed to shave, I can shave the right side, but that would be weird, and grasp the handlebars also set just for me.  The technicians line up my tattoos with the lasers all around the room.  They set the table to the correct levels calling out numbers and watching the lighted ruler that displays on my chest.  I visit with the technicians a little, it makes the process and my lonely boob feel a little less horrible.  

They say “here we go” and exit the room, being sure to fully close the mammoth door and leave me alone with the machine.  The machine moves into place.  There is a lit scene of mountains and streams covered with trees and a little snow on the wall, but it’s not exactly in my line of vision and I can’t find anything interesting or curious in the picture. Instead I look at the white tiles on the ceiling. The machine hovers over my right side angled at the right side of my left breast.  It makes static noises as the metal tube-looking things change position.  Then it makes a high pitched buzz as it zaps me with an invisible dose of radiation.  It gets static-y again then makes a lower pitched buzz as it zaps me with a different invisible dose of radiation.  I have counted the seconds.  The first dose takes 8 seconds.  The second dose takes 10 seconds.  The machine sings static again and shifts to the left side of my body.  It moves slightly below the table where I can’t see the metal tubes anymore.  The technician comes in and moves the table so I am in the correct position.  She leaves me alone and I wait for the static again.  The machine does its zapping again, this time zapping the left side of my left breast.  I count 10 seconds for the high and 8 seconds for the low.  The machine moves right over the center of my body.  I know that I am finished, but I stay in my awkward position waiting until the technician graciously says “you can put your arms down.”  I try to nonchalantly cover up with the pink shirt.  I wait for the table to lower. I was 5 feet up in the air, as much as I would love to jump off the table, I have to wait.  I lie there as she removes the pillow from under my knees and the rubber loop from my feet.  Once the table is lowered, I sit up, put my feet on the floor and dress in my pretty pink shirt.  Once again there is a little small talk followed by “I’ll see you tomorrow.”  I walk out of the bomb proof room into the small waiting room. No one is there because I am the last patient for the day.  I unlock my clothes, choose another dressing room and put myself back together.  The trip out is much like the trip in, I look for clues that I am heading in the right direction through the maze of doors and scenic mountain pictures.  Once I know I am heading the right way, I walk a little faster, slip out the doors and begin going home.  I will do this again tomorrow and the next day.  I have 18 days left.  The last day will have only one difference from all the others.  No one will say “I will see you tomorrow.”

Stand for Something

When I was 13 I had a bookmark with the "Teen's Creed" on it.  It had a list of wise things for a teenager to believe or follow.  I kept it by my mirror and read it often.  The only statement I remember from that bookmark came at the end: "Stand for something or you'll fall for anything."

As a teenager, I needed that statement.  I needed to be reminded to stand up for myself.  If I didn't, I would get trampled. If I gave in to one thing I didn't believe or didn't want to do, it would be easier to give in to another.  The worse part is that people know they won you over and they will be even more relentless in the battle in the future.  It was a good reminder that it was okay to stand up for what I believed in.

I still need that statement.  As an adult, I need to be reminded that I am my own advocate.  I am the only person who can communicate my needs or desires to those around me.  They can't read my mind. They can't see what I see.  They can't feel what I feel.  I have to communicate.  I have to speak my mind, hopefully in patience, kindness and love, and share what is going on with me or I get trampled. Those around me will begin to think they can say what they want and do what they want and I will lay down and be their door mat.

In some areas of my life, I acquired the strength to stand up for what I believe in and what I need.  In some areas of my life, I still have too much fear and I let people walk over me.  I want to be able to say that I always stand up for myself, that I always make my needs known.  I'm not worried about falling for things, I'm worried about falling and getting trampled.

Pink Story: Time to Enter the Radiation Room

Radiation treatment spanned from mid-December to the end of January.  During one of my visits, I payed close attention to every detail.  After my daily waiting area experience the nice technicians would come and get me.  They were always nice.  I actually missed them when it was all over, but I didn't miss the treatment.

Before long, I hear footsteps from down the hallway.  Its likely my turn since I’m the only one here.  They smile and tell me they are ready, as if this is going to be fun.  We walk beyond the sign that says “this is a treatment area, please don’t come back here” (my paraphrase).  This room, or enclave, has a long tall counter and 2 computer screens where they will monitor my treatment and watch me. They ask for my name and birthday.  They already know the answer.  It’s how they identify that I am the right person.  I think this is comical.  Who came up with this system.  Are there a lot of people trying to get radiation treatment under someone else’s name?  Is that why they started this protocol in the first place?  Are the technicians having difficulty with their memories in that they wouldn’t recognize a patient from one day to the next?  If these are really problems, is my recitation of my name and birthday really the best way of identification?  Couldn’t I easily tell another person the answer to that?  

I recite my name and birthday.  Sadly, it takes me a moment to remember, then it flows off my tongue quite easily as if I’ve always known the answer to that question.