Cancer is with you forever.
~Shannen Doherty
This Saturday, April 6, marked the anniversary of my mastectomy. The test results are in and, once again, I’m a one-year survivor. It’s a funny place to be. You might think it would be all champagne and roses. Or a fist pumping, “Whoo hoo! I kicked cancer’s ass!” But it’s not either of those. More
The present moment is filled with joy and happiness.
If you are attentive, you will see it.
~Thich Nhat Hanh
I’ll admit, my last few posts have been on the “downer” side. Some people find it hard to read about the impact of cancer. It’s hard to write about it, too, even though I’m also sharing the positive life lessons I’m learning in the process of recovery. While I have two more posts planned for Breast Cancer Awareness Month, right now I’d love to share an unexpected joyful benefit I’ve gained from the tough stuff.
It was a cold and windy day last Saturday, October 20, when the Ragdale Foundation in Lake Forest had its third annual Halloween extravaganza called “Rags to Witches.” After months of preparation, the entire Ragdale house and grounds were turned into a magical spooky kingdom. Even the outside of the house was decorated as an enormous Cheshire cat called “Fang.” Inside were ghoulish portraits, animal skeletons dining at a lavishly decorated table laden with creepy treats. There were flickering lights, cobwebs, spiders, a lone, ghostly bride—and too many more exquisitely spooky details to list.
Activities over the day included Tarot and palm readings, creepy portraits, a pet cemetery, a very curious scavenger hunt, an original play, the witches’ kitchen, Michael Jackson’s Thriller dance lessons, a makeup madness station, ghostly storytelling, a parade to the witches ring, and a costume contest. There were food stations scattered about including The Sweet Shoppe and Grub Station, and a cauldron of hot cider served by a cackling witch.
I Can Choose My Immediate Reality
Cancer: A term for diseases in which abnormal cells divide without control and can invade nearby tissues. (The National Library of Medicine)
I’ve discovered cancer doesn’t just invade your body—it invades your entire life. It invades your waking hours and what little sleep it permits. When it isn’t taking over all your thoughts, it hovers on the perimeter of your mind—like a fluttering distraction in your peripheral vision. Cancer becomes your constant companion.
It invades your time with friends and family, by either hogging the conversation or morphing into the elephant in the room. And this isn’t always the fault of other people inquiring as to how I’m doing. Sometimes I feel cancer is all I have or need to discuss. Other times, it’s the very last thing I want to talk about.
Cancer invades your “real life” by requiring appointments with doctors and specialists, where it destroys any remaining sense of dignity by demanding to be examined by foreign eyes and cold, strange hands. It’s easy to feel dehumanized during these exams.
Forever the scene-stealer, cancer draws attention like flies to a carcass. Encounters with family, friends, acquaintances, and even strangers can take treacherous turns. Casual mentions of a friend or family member recently diagnosed, or suffering through treatment, or, my personal favorite, dead from cancer—can haunt my thoughts and dreams for days.
Sometimes Comfort is Found Beyond Your Comfort Zone
October, being breast cancer awareness month, is a perfect time to share some of what I’m learning from having breast cancer. My very first blog post, Hope and Action, was published October 2012, when I was a ten-year survivor. It was about my first diagnosis of breast cancer. Now, two recurrences later, I have much more I’d like to share.
This time, the third time, cancer has taken a much greater toll on me—physically, psychologically, emotionally, spiritually. Reading my journal entries from before my surgery on April 6, and immediately following, I realize I had no idea how hard I’d be walloped. My plans were to face it all head-on and jump right back onto my feet afterwards, barely skipping a beat. Little did I know.
I would rather walk with a friend in the dark, than alone in the light.
~ Helen Keller
Those of you who know me or who read my last blog post on May 30, 2018, know I’ve been going through a very dark time in my life. I had a bad mammogram on January 29th and, following an ultrasound and needle biopsy, I was diagnosed with cancer in my left breast on February 12th. It was my third occurrence. The next seven weeks were consumed with appointments with my oncological surgeon, a genetics counselor, and a plastic surgeon. On Friday, April 6 at 11:11 am, I had a mastectomy and reconstruction with a saline implant. Surgery lasted 3 1/2 to 4 hours and was successful in every way. My surgeon got it all, and my lymph node was cancer free.
Scheduling the oncological surgeon and the plastic surgeon on the same day and at the same time was a little complicated, but as soon as I knew my surgery date, I called my best forever friend, Tanya Boaz. We’ve known each other over fifty-two years, and she’s the closest to the sister I’ve never had than anyone I’ve ever known. When she answered the phone, I asked, “What are you doing the first week in April?” I will forever remember her reply, “Tell me when you need me and I’ll be there.”
“If you want to make god laugh, tell her your plans.”
~ Anne Lamott
This was supposed to be a good year. I planned to make it so. I intended to spend more time with people who make me laugh, and engage in activities that feed my soul and bring me joy. I wanted to write more and seriously work on my next novel. The whole of 2017 had been full of sorrow, heartbreak, and extreme stress, so I began 2018 with positive energy. On January 13th, I started Flamenco dance lessons…a life-long dream. On January 16th, I wrote a blog about my granddaughter, Ada. And then, on January 29th, I had my regularly scheduled, annual, diagnostic mammogram.
“Truth be told, being a grandma is as close as we ever get to perfection.” ~ Bryna Nelson Paston
I never feel closer to God than when I hold my granddaughter. Ada, at nineteen months, is smart, loving, beautiful, and already has a wicked sense of humor. My afternoons with Ada are my best, happiest days…when I get the pleasure of her company for three to four hours, or more, if I’m lucky. During those hours, I call her “baby girl” and tell her I love her at least a hundred times. Afternoons, I let Ada lead the way. From what she wants to do to when she wants to eat. We have our favorite activities, and our rituals.
Our task is to say a holy yes to the real things of our life as they exist.
~Natalie Goldberg
It’s New Year’s Eve and the pressure is on! The busyness of the holidays is coming to a close, but first we must ring in the New Year and ring out the old! There must be a ball drop, a countdown, fireworks! 2017 must end, not with a whimper, but with a bang. But, what if we need to do it differently?
I’ve felt my own internal pressure to write once more, before year’s end. I want to share my thoughts on how to healthily reflect on the past year and move mindfully into the new. And yet, I’ve long known I cannot write under pressure…my own or anyone else’s. When I try, I run smack into writer’s block. And procrastination. Friday, when I began trying to write this post, I recorded my mental and physical process. It was, as follows:
Procrastination is a wily beast! I really want to write. I have so much to say! Yet, there are things to be done…like washing and drying my lunch dishes. Other urgent tasks call to me, too…cleaning the hall closet, rummaging through the junk drawer in search of AAA batteries, dusting the top of every picture frame in the house. Such is the nature of writing…housework is suddenly seductive. Procrastination is the foreplay of writing.
Wear gratitude like a cloak and it will feed every corner of your life.
~ Rumi
Last week, December arrived with a super moon and the beginning of Mercury in Retrograde. Winter solstice, the darkest day of the year, is next week. Temperatures here in Chicago finally feel like winter. Skies are gray and snow is on the ground.
We’re deep into the holidays, with three weeks to go before they’re over. This season is always the busiest for psychologists. People are dealing with family dramas, stress, depression, disappointment, demands, and expectations. We grieve those lost to us. The holidays can leave us financially broke, emotionally bereft, and just hoping to survive.
No matter how we feel, we can’t escape… lights strung in trees, Christmas music, bell-ringers. Years ago I had a patient who was having a particularly difficult year. She said every time she went outside she wanted to scream, “Get your Christ out of my face!”
Women’s rights are human rights. ~ Elisabeth Moss
I first read The Handmaid’s Tale the summer of 1989 while living in Saudi Arabia. Margaret Atwood’s award-winning novel was published in 1985, and I’d been aware of it, but completing my psychology internship and doctoral dissertation, while working and raising two kids, had taken precedence in my life. Suddenly, in Saudi Arabia, I had nothing but time.
My husband Curt had taken an engineering job with Aramco Oil company and we were living on the company compound called Ras Tanura, located on the shores of the Persian Gulf. We had discussed the move at length, weighing pros and cons, and it seemed like a good idea at the time. It was an excellent opportunity for him, the salary was so extraordinary we could pay off bills and accumulate savings, and I would have a “break year” before seriously launching my private practice. It would be our grand adventure. More