I don't think I'll ever get used this. Next week's the semi-annual check in at Sloan Kettering. Although I feel deep down that all will be ok, the idea that it might not be, is downright terrifying. I've given much thought to my ability to accept and be joyous. No matter what happens, one truth fundamentally belies my attitude: I am grateful for what I have. More and more, I am experiencing moments of happiness that just make my heart swell. I realize, this has always been there for me -- I am just choosing to take it at every opportunity now.
Every moment is a gift, people. Especially at this time of year, let's look around and celebrate with those we love. Don't just go through the motions. Own your happiness!
Saturday, December 5, 2009
Monday, November 16, 2009
Choosing happiness
No matter what we are experiencing we still have the ability to make choices- even though we may think we don't. I have observed this so clearly with cancer patients.
As for me, I have made a pact to always choose happiness. And peace. As I write this, I recall the many faces of cancer patients that I've met along the way. All remarkable human beings - but no different than you or I. We all have it in us. We just need to reach down and grab that strength.
- the young woman waiting for her catscan with me, her lovely, curly, long hair was starting to fall out on top. She'd already had two mastectomies and was told not bother with chemo as she was "not long for this world". She had traveled far and found a doctor who would help her keep fighting now. She was beaming from ear to ear as I mentioned to her that the new scarf she had purchased to cover her head was very pretty. Her sister was helping her tie it. We held hands briefly before she was called in for her tests.
- the young wife in the elevator. Bald and proud of it. She had just undergone chemo and told us that her husband hates it when she goes for chemo because she finds it's an aphrodisiac. He blushed and we all chuckled. I so blessed her happy spirit as they walked out the door.
- the peaceful woman waiting with me for pre-surgery evaluation. I noticed how weak she was and prayed for her. I was going in to surgery with a strong body and saw that in her case, she was so physically weak. But, I could see her spirit was strong. She patted her husband's hand every so often as he sat silently, eyes closed, shaking his head back and forth. The peacefulness and calmness she offered was so very beautiful. As her name was called, she stood up gracefully - tall and hauntingly lovely with her carefully wrapped turban headress.
Oh, how I would love to see these women again. I wish them each well. I hold them in my heart because they remind me that we all have choices.
Today, I know my father-in-law is melting down as he faces an exploratory view of his pancreas at the Mayo Clinic. We all react in different ways when we face our mortality.
As for me, I will always be grateful for what God has given me. Every moment is precious. I will surely build on the inspiration of these glimpses of peaceful acceptance when I go in to Sloan Kettering in a few weeks for my own semi-annual tests. Of course, I have fears just like we all do. But I will choose my happiness for every second that I am fortunate enough to be here.
-- Dedicated to Mert.. stay strong.
As for me, I have made a pact to always choose happiness. And peace. As I write this, I recall the many faces of cancer patients that I've met along the way. All remarkable human beings - but no different than you or I. We all have it in us. We just need to reach down and grab that strength.
- the young woman waiting for her catscan with me, her lovely, curly, long hair was starting to fall out on top. She'd already had two mastectomies and was told not bother with chemo as she was "not long for this world". She had traveled far and found a doctor who would help her keep fighting now. She was beaming from ear to ear as I mentioned to her that the new scarf she had purchased to cover her head was very pretty. Her sister was helping her tie it. We held hands briefly before she was called in for her tests.
- the young wife in the elevator. Bald and proud of it. She had just undergone chemo and told us that her husband hates it when she goes for chemo because she finds it's an aphrodisiac. He blushed and we all chuckled. I so blessed her happy spirit as they walked out the door.
- the peaceful woman waiting with me for pre-surgery evaluation. I noticed how weak she was and prayed for her. I was going in to surgery with a strong body and saw that in her case, she was so physically weak. But, I could see her spirit was strong. She patted her husband's hand every so often as he sat silently, eyes closed, shaking his head back and forth. The peacefulness and calmness she offered was so very beautiful. As her name was called, she stood up gracefully - tall and hauntingly lovely with her carefully wrapped turban headress.
Oh, how I would love to see these women again. I wish them each well. I hold them in my heart because they remind me that we all have choices.
Today, I know my father-in-law is melting down as he faces an exploratory view of his pancreas at the Mayo Clinic. We all react in different ways when we face our mortality.
As for me, I will always be grateful for what God has given me. Every moment is precious. I will surely build on the inspiration of these glimpses of peaceful acceptance when I go in to Sloan Kettering in a few weeks for my own semi-annual tests. Of course, I have fears just like we all do. But I will choose my happiness for every second that I am fortunate enough to be here.
-- Dedicated to Mert.. stay strong.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Pathways
For a few short hours I felt totally free from life's worries. Even though we had lost track of each other, we had a common and shared experience that somehow blended into all of our lives. I found solace in knowing that they have each been on their life path, as I have been on mine.
So I spent Friday night with my home girls - about 10 awesome women who went through high school with me. We hadn't seen each other in over 30 years. Between the laughter and a few (and I mean, very few) quiet moments, we were able to share everything that needed to be shared...just about everything and anything you would never even dream of telling someone else - but it was somehow ok to tell here!
I consider myself to have a good network of support - but this was different. I was among those who knew me when...and back then, we were just starting on our life paths. We were full of hopes and dreams.
So each of us has been on their own path, I found. Some of those paths were shorter. Unfortunately, we lost a few along the way. Some of those paths led to faraway places while others never left the old neighborhoods. We've brought many children into this world. We've worked many jobs. We've had our share of love, triumphs and disappointments.
But no matter what path we've been on, we were back together for a few short hours, in solidarity, and in celebration of what we learned during those formative years and what we learned along the way. In this group of remarkable women, it was clear that what we wanted most was more. More time to keep going.
So, my home girls, this blog entry is for you. A tribute to your hopes and dreams. May our paths lead us there. And may our paths cross again soon.
And for others who are reading here, consider this: look up a few names of people who knew you back when...friends with whom you can celebrate life's journey. It will work wonders and hopefully, like me, you can kick back, relax, take a break from life's worries - and share the hopes and dreams that are still ahead.
So I spent Friday night with my home girls - about 10 awesome women who went through high school with me. We hadn't seen each other in over 30 years. Between the laughter and a few (and I mean, very few) quiet moments, we were able to share everything that needed to be shared...just about everything and anything you would never even dream of telling someone else - but it was somehow ok to tell here!
I consider myself to have a good network of support - but this was different. I was among those who knew me when...and back then, we were just starting on our life paths. We were full of hopes and dreams.
So each of us has been on their own path, I found. Some of those paths were shorter. Unfortunately, we lost a few along the way. Some of those paths led to faraway places while others never left the old neighborhoods. We've brought many children into this world. We've worked many jobs. We've had our share of love, triumphs and disappointments.
But no matter what path we've been on, we were back together for a few short hours, in solidarity, and in celebration of what we learned during those formative years and what we learned along the way. In this group of remarkable women, it was clear that what we wanted most was more. More time to keep going.
So, my home girls, this blog entry is for you. A tribute to your hopes and dreams. May our paths lead us there. And may our paths cross again soon.
And for others who are reading here, consider this: look up a few names of people who knew you back when...friends with whom you can celebrate life's journey. It will work wonders and hopefully, like me, you can kick back, relax, take a break from life's worries - and share the hopes and dreams that are still ahead.
Friday, August 14, 2009
Being alone - the road to acceptance
Not to be confused with being lonely, being alone is an opportunity to learn acceptance, to experience the deepest meaning that the universe has to offer.
Paradoxically, my greatest joys have come from "being together". However, it is my ability to be alone that provides the depth and dimension to that experience.
This phenomenon could not be more true when it comes to fighting illness. But it is also true of other events signifying loss. When something major happens to you - like cancer - you know you are fundamentally alone. Not even the medical experts can make you feel otherwise. It's a very personal battle. And when you come to terms with it, you come to terms with it alone. You make your resolutions alone. Everything else is just noise. Even if you believe in a higher power, it is your own decision to take that guidance - and you decide that alone.
I have been observing other cancer patients during my several visits to Memorial Sloan Kettering Hospital. In this place, thousands of cancer patients and their families come and go. They come from every far corner of the world. Some are angry and bitter. Others are bright-eyed and seem to light up the room with their smiles. So what makes the difference? In my opinion, those who smile have been able to make their peace, within themselves, regardless of the external world and those around them - they have stood alone and accepted themselves.
The most fundamental of all acceptances is the acceptance of self. What a wonderful gift that is. For how can you accept anyone else if you don't accept yourself first? So if you haven't already, try being alone and see what happens. Get to really know yourself. You'd be surprised at how awesome you truly are. Then, when you look around, you will see how awesome this world really is. Each and every one of us has the potential to light up the world with a smile of acceptance. It's contagious.
And oh my gosh, what could this lead to? Love? Tolerance? Maybe the evening news would even look different someday.
Paradoxically, my greatest joys have come from "being together". However, it is my ability to be alone that provides the depth and dimension to that experience.
This phenomenon could not be more true when it comes to fighting illness. But it is also true of other events signifying loss. When something major happens to you - like cancer - you know you are fundamentally alone. Not even the medical experts can make you feel otherwise. It's a very personal battle. And when you come to terms with it, you come to terms with it alone. You make your resolutions alone. Everything else is just noise. Even if you believe in a higher power, it is your own decision to take that guidance - and you decide that alone.
I have been observing other cancer patients during my several visits to Memorial Sloan Kettering Hospital. In this place, thousands of cancer patients and their families come and go. They come from every far corner of the world. Some are angry and bitter. Others are bright-eyed and seem to light up the room with their smiles. So what makes the difference? In my opinion, those who smile have been able to make their peace, within themselves, regardless of the external world and those around them - they have stood alone and accepted themselves.
The most fundamental of all acceptances is the acceptance of self. What a wonderful gift that is. For how can you accept anyone else if you don't accept yourself first? So if you haven't already, try being alone and see what happens. Get to really know yourself. You'd be surprised at how awesome you truly are. Then, when you look around, you will see how awesome this world really is. Each and every one of us has the potential to light up the world with a smile of acceptance. It's contagious.
And oh my gosh, what could this lead to? Love? Tolerance? Maybe the evening news would even look different someday.
Wednesday, August 12, 2009
Mixed Reaction
So some people rave about my blog and others tell me it's too "dark" or too "personal".
The whole point is to think about it. So from that perspective I am reaching my goal. From what I have observed, people tend to pull away from anything that brings a bit too much reality into their sphere of pleasant and superficial comfort. Oh well.
Interestingly, this blog has made me think about what we write and how we write it. It's analogous to creating a meal that needs just the right seasoning... too little would be bland and too much would distort the experience. But the act of creation is the key. It must be heartfelt.
I am also reminded about how free it feels to write this blog. In the workplace, I am plagued by never ending reviews of my writing style and content. Every word is picked at. Here, as it should be, no one can veto my sentiments and the way I express them.
What does all this have to do with healing? You can bet it has EVERYTHING to do with it. So whatever helps you to think - do it. Or you can stay in the "pleasant sphere" for a while longer...as for me, I'm movin' on. Got things to do and places to go :-)
The whole point is to think about it. So from that perspective I am reaching my goal. From what I have observed, people tend to pull away from anything that brings a bit too much reality into their sphere of pleasant and superficial comfort. Oh well.
Interestingly, this blog has made me think about what we write and how we write it. It's analogous to creating a meal that needs just the right seasoning... too little would be bland and too much would distort the experience. But the act of creation is the key. It must be heartfelt.
I am also reminded about how free it feels to write this blog. In the workplace, I am plagued by never ending reviews of my writing style and content. Every word is picked at. Here, as it should be, no one can veto my sentiments and the way I express them.
What does all this have to do with healing? You can bet it has EVERYTHING to do with it. So whatever helps you to think - do it. Or you can stay in the "pleasant sphere" for a while longer...as for me, I'm movin' on. Got things to do and places to go :-)
Monday, August 10, 2009
Scar Tissue
This is not a "pretty" topic - in any sense of the word. It takes some courage to write about it. Scars are both physical and mental.
In terms of the physical scars, I know my bikini days are a thing of the past. The last vestige of colorful bathing suits stacked neatly in the closet represent better times. I don't get rid of them because I simply like to see them there. They are proof of the fact that once, I too, had a perfect body without scars. In truth, that is the easiest of my challenges.
The mental scars are a different story. I am dealing with those little by little. Unraveling them bit by bit like an Egyptian mummy. When I start to unravel my scars about being diagnosed with cancer, I realize they are invariably tied with other things that have hurt me - in my case: divorce, death and disappointment. It can be quite dark. I can't unravel too much at once. It's like pulling off a scab that has not yet healed. But it's getting better.
There are so many good things that are my sign posts to healing. Like the pictures of my grandchildren that were on the cork board by my bed at Sloan Kettering Cancer Center. Even through the morphine, I watched. Like Serena at my bedside trying to feed me cake. Like Sara calling my husband minutes before the surgery. I could hear her sobbing and I was reminded that people still need me here in this world.
My husband Dale of four years and the gentle way he helped me dry off after a shower. He obviously did not care about my scars. I look forward to the day when I don't care about the scars either.
And I just don't forget the love and kindness that are the sign posts as I continue the journey. For anyone who does not believe they have these sign posts in their life...look harder.
In terms of the physical scars, I know my bikini days are a thing of the past. The last vestige of colorful bathing suits stacked neatly in the closet represent better times. I don't get rid of them because I simply like to see them there. They are proof of the fact that once, I too, had a perfect body without scars. In truth, that is the easiest of my challenges.
The mental scars are a different story. I am dealing with those little by little. Unraveling them bit by bit like an Egyptian mummy. When I start to unravel my scars about being diagnosed with cancer, I realize they are invariably tied with other things that have hurt me - in my case: divorce, death and disappointment. It can be quite dark. I can't unravel too much at once. It's like pulling off a scab that has not yet healed. But it's getting better.
There are so many good things that are my sign posts to healing. Like the pictures of my grandchildren that were on the cork board by my bed at Sloan Kettering Cancer Center. Even through the morphine, I watched. Like Serena at my bedside trying to feed me cake. Like Sara calling my husband minutes before the surgery. I could hear her sobbing and I was reminded that people still need me here in this world.
My husband Dale of four years and the gentle way he helped me dry off after a shower. He obviously did not care about my scars. I look forward to the day when I don't care about the scars either.
And I just don't forget the love and kindness that are the sign posts as I continue the journey. For anyone who does not believe they have these sign posts in their life...look harder.
Saturday, August 8, 2009
Conquering Fear
Fear...it's so debilitating. One thing I have learned about dealing with cancer is that negative energy will not only "get in the way" but may completely reverse progress and cause more damage.
Few people realize how profound were the words of Franklin Delano Roosevelt when he said "there is nothing to fear except fear itself". He was so right. Fear can and will destroy your spirit. It will either paralyze you or at the very least, set you in exactly the wrong direction.
I have feared a lot of things this past year - in doses, big and small. From relatively minor things like the sting of a tiny needle that delivers insulin...to the pain of removing a calcified stent without anesthetic...to holding my husband's hand as a lifeline at night for fear that I may never wake up to see another day. I have looked mortality in the eye.
Do whatever you need to do to talk yourself back in from that ledge of fear. Hold someone's hand, pray, laugh, cry - whatever it takes. Don't hold anything back.
Above all, do NOT take decisions or act based upon fear. This applies to everything, people. I try to use fear as a guide to what I need to allow myself to experience, to learn. I try to go into that tunnel willingly these days. And I found that I do emerge from the other side of that tunnel, and usually the better for it.
Few people realize how profound were the words of Franklin Delano Roosevelt when he said "there is nothing to fear except fear itself". He was so right. Fear can and will destroy your spirit. It will either paralyze you or at the very least, set you in exactly the wrong direction.
I have feared a lot of things this past year - in doses, big and small. From relatively minor things like the sting of a tiny needle that delivers insulin...to the pain of removing a calcified stent without anesthetic...to holding my husband's hand as a lifeline at night for fear that I may never wake up to see another day. I have looked mortality in the eye.
Do whatever you need to do to talk yourself back in from that ledge of fear. Hold someone's hand, pray, laugh, cry - whatever it takes. Don't hold anything back.
Above all, do NOT take decisions or act based upon fear. This applies to everything, people. I try to use fear as a guide to what I need to allow myself to experience, to learn. I try to go into that tunnel willingly these days. And I found that I do emerge from the other side of that tunnel, and usually the better for it.
Friday, August 7, 2009
What keeps me going
I've pondered this mystery. It always strikes me when people say I am strong or that they are amazed at my attitude. I myself am trying to figure out the "secret sauce" behind this so called success. In a nutshell, it's very simple. A combination of positive thinking, gratitude, trust, and to be honest - ignorance.
My surgeon at Sloan Kettering has been completely honest with me and I trust in his knowledge and skill. However, there were many things he did not mention... I have gone through episode after episode after episode thinking, "Ok - this is it. This is the last one. Once I get through this I will be fine." Thank God for what we do not know. And when we do know, for the strength and resolve to get through one more episode, one more day.
I am overwhelmed with gratitude. What Dr. Russo said keeps ringing in my ears, "Hon, you won the lottery". At my worst moments, this is what I think about.
My surgeon at Sloan Kettering has been completely honest with me and I trust in his knowledge and skill. However, there were many things he did not mention... I have gone through episode after episode after episode thinking, "Ok - this is it. This is the last one. Once I get through this I will be fine." Thank God for what we do not know. And when we do know, for the strength and resolve to get through one more episode, one more day.
I am overwhelmed with gratitude. What Dr. Russo said keeps ringing in my ears, "Hon, you won the lottery". At my worst moments, this is what I think about.
Thursday, August 6, 2009
Starting the journey
It's all about the journey... they say. I decided that I would share my recent struggle in the journey to getting healthy. I was diagnosed with kidney cancer on June 6, 2008. I guess I am ok. At least trying to believe I am ok. Since then I have had major surgery, a drain for 5 months, a renal stent for 6 months, high blood pressure, high blood sugar, elevated growth hormone and kidney stones. But, I continue to say I am ok.... deep down inside, I wonder if I really am.
I struggle every day to believe it. In this blog, I will share my thoughts as well as my progress. It's all about the journey.
I struggle every day to believe it. In this blog, I will share my thoughts as well as my progress. It's all about the journey.
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