Lately

As of late I've been so critical of myself. Why you ask? Because I no longer look like this:

Bryan and I were going through our old photos this weekend and when I saw that beautiful woman, I cried, a lot. I wanted to run away and hide in a cave. I felt sorry for myself. Like everything's been taken and changed by this horrible disease. I don't even recognize the woman I see in the mirror. People I worked with 2 years ago don't recognize me. None of my clothes fit. I don't look like the woman my boyfriend fell in love with....and on and on.

As shallow as this may seem to you, it’s been a huge adjustment for me. Why? Because I went from that to this in 3 months:

When humans age, they have time, lots of time, to accept the gradual changes that occur within their bodies and minds. Cancer changes that equation though. Overnight it robs you of that element that allows you to continually evolve into your new and ever-changing body and spirit

My body has endured so much in this past year. My strong body. My body that now has extra curves, pounds and wrinkles and not nearly enough hair, breasts or estrogen.

When I look this photo I get back a little of what cancer took: the sense of time passing. And maybe, if I look long enough I can figure out how to be ok with where I am today. Alive, feeling well and doing the best I can to care for my body.

Loosing the battle

Against the deliciousnes

One Year Ago Today...

…I was diagnosed with Breast Cancer.

The Details: I had multi-focal disease in my right breast (meaning I had three tumors in the same quadrant of the breast), grade 2 cancer cells, lymph involvement (making me a Stage 2A), estrogen/progesterone positive, HER2 negative, BRCA 1 and 2 negative.

The Treatment: After my initial diagnosis I went through lots of tests (and lots of BS) to get to the treatment phase. Eventually though, I had neoadjuvant chemo (for 5 months, shutter), and a unilateral mastectomy with sentinel node biopsy.  

The Result: I had a complete pathological response to chemotherapy. Meaning, on a cellular level, there is no cancer left. This type of response is somewhat rare which I didn’t realize until recently. It’s very good news actually because studies show that I have a greater chance of “event-free” survival. This is the best outcome I could hope for really.

The Physical Side Effects: Are dreadful and I include my hair in this assessment. Have I mentioned the 18 pounds I gained? If you want an illness where weight loss is a side effect, breast cancer ain’t it.

The Other Side Effects: Cancer effects the whole person: physically, mentally and emotionally. Since I was diagnosed one year ago, I’ve been mindful of caring for my mental and emotional selves. I’ve made big changes and hard decisions, all of which have contributed to my physical healing. It’s all connected, in my experience. I saw healing from cancer as a way to heal every area in my life where I felt imbalanced. I didn’t plan on healing that way, but it’s the only way I knew how to do it.

Today: Before the end of this year, I will complete my reconstruction surgery and have silicone implants on both sides. I take aromatase inhibitors daily. I get Reiki when I feel that I need it, about every 6 weeks.

I rarely drink alcohol and limit my intake of sugar. Don’t worry though, I’ll never be that a-hole at your party who won’t eat your birthday cake with you, I’m totally sharing your cake. But, overall, I eat very well.  I drink a green smoothie daily (fav right now: water, plain fat-free Greek yogurt, 3 cups spinach, pear) I cook at home every day using whole foods and I bring my lunch using same said foods.

I also think about exercising 30 minutes a day, like I should. Ok, I’m still working on this one.  I found a solution, but a few more things need to happen prior to implementation of my program. It will happen though.

My new mantra? Progress, not perfection. I can tell you that over these last 12 months, my life has progressed into a new stratosphere. It is not perfect and I love it, even in spite of my old-lady hairdo.

 

Easier / Not Easier

Getting Easier - having warm cookies delivered to my house at 9PM, spending time with colorful freshwater fish

Not Getting Easier - not having a breast, no longer having periods

Staying the Same -  keeping butter out of the jelly jar

Six words

Six-Word Cancer Memoir - In Two Parts

I.          There are no guarantees in life.

II.          Whatever happens, love yourself, without reservation.

Survivor

If only I were referring to that TV show.

Early on in my treatment I went to a support group at the cancer center. It’s a spiritual support group designed to help women effected by cancer release some of the strong feelings that accompany this illness. You can cry, shout, sing, kvetch, do pretty much anything within reason to express whatever you need to.

The first time I went I was really surprised to discover that women who had been healthy for over a year were still attending the group. There I was, bald, nauseous, and pissed that I had to go through cancer. Right in the thick of my treatment, I sat next to these women and listened to their stories.

Honestly, I couldn’t relate. From where I was sitting, they had what I most wanted: hair. They also had a clean bill of health. And yet, they were having trouble adjusting. Trouble dealing with the residual feelings cancer left them with when it vacated their bodies.

The thing I heard the most was anger, followed by confusion. The kind you feel when you wake up from having napped too long on a summer afternoon. You look at the clock and it says 6:30, and you panic, thinking you’re late for work. It takes a couple minutes to sink in that evening has come, and you didn’t get the notice.

Not having cancer is a little like that. You know you’re well; your cells are working, humming like bees, and yet, there is worry, because an essential part of you didn’t get the memo that you’re cancer free. In other words, in spite of the fact that I look healthy, I don't feel it. I  still feel very much like I'm recovering from something big. Like my mind is just now sorting out all details of what my body has been through this past year.

In playing catch up, I wonder: How long will I live? That question is the scary one. Recently, I was talking with a woman, maybe 75 years old, maybe older, I’m not sure. She was old though. I could tell she was old because her hands were gnarled with bulbous knuckles. Looking at her hands, I felt a sadness wash over me. Followed immediately by an acute jealousy, she had something I might not get: a long life. Then, I felt sad again. There are no guarantees in this life for any of us, but, having been though cancer, I feel acutely aware of this fact, and it scares me sometimes.

Beyond the worry and possibility of a shorted lifespan there are other unknowns, specifically about my body: What is this body now? How does it feel? What does it need the most?

My body is very different than it was a year ago. There are scars. Too many, I think. Parts are missing, big parts. Important parts. I’m heavier to. Medications that cured me also made me gain weight, kind of a lot of it. On top of that, I ate whatever I wanted. When you’re in treatment for cancer, and feel so shitty, sometimes simple things, like a chocolate croissant and a nap, are the best part of your day. So I have curves now, the first one’s ever.

Also, what can my body do now? There are risks, since lymph nodes have been removed. I could contract swelling in my arm that will never go away. At first I thought about that every day. Now, it hardly comes up, but later in the fall when approximately 3.5 million leaves drop from the trees and onto my lawn, I can rake only for a little while at a time. Because, I like my arm the way it is now.

Raking in short stints isn’t so bad, not something that really hits home. Menopause though? That hits right where it hurts. Did I mention am 41 years old? The old ladies weren’t kidding about hot flashes. Those suck. Cuddling is challenging at times because of them. My body runs hot, and having a little critter on my lap, makes me break out in a sweat. There are other fun and exciting things that happen to the female body during menopause. I will spare you the details and just say, between that and the anti-cancer drugs I take, it will be a miracle if I have any bones left by the time I’m 65.

The chemo induced neuropathy is still with me as well. Its mild, but it’s still kicking around. I am still healing from the chemo, its clear. The damage from those drugs was system-wide, but slowly, I’m healing. I can tell when I peddle my bike as hard and as fast as I can. I feel energized, joyful even, because I can move fast. I can tell when I’m dancing with Bryan, the Rumba never felt so good. The foxtrot on the other hand, is a brutal dance. Either way though, I’m electric and excited at joining the human race again.

I know that it has to be at my pace. I have to meet myself where I’m at. I do what I can to listen to my body. Push myself, just a little, to get my body moving. Nourish when needed and sleep when tired. Hugs are good to, the best actually.

Knowing all this, I’m taking my cancer-free self, back to the support group. I’m going to sit there, with my head full of hair, and kvetch, complain and most likely cry some. I’ll keep going to the group to, until that deep down part of me finally gets the cancer-free memo.

Until I know what healthy means for me as my body is now, after having been on this long journey.

Thanks but...

When I was pregnant with Aidan I wanted to know as much as I could about pregnancy, labor and birth, so I decided to take a lamaze class.

The teacher, Harriet, was about 75 years old. She was 5 feet tall with jet black hair. In addition to knowing lamaze backward and forward Harriet also had lots of interesting stories about how birth used to be in the city.

She told us about illegal home births in Manhattan and in the outer boroughs where groups of women would gather at the laboring woman's home and all help the baby earthside. She shared with glee the first time a man (gasp!) was in the laboring room with his wife. He handcuffed himself to his wife's bed and refused to give up the key. And then there was that time when they all protested in front of city hall to advocate for a birthing center in Manhattan.

All this went down in the late 60's and early 70's and from what I could gather these acts of civil disobedience brought about a sea-change in maternity care in the city. What started them down this radical path? It was for many reasons, but I think it was primarily because western medicine had overstepped its bounds with regards to birthing.

As I have shared before on this blog, having cancer, in so many ways, is like being pregnant and just as those birth radicals observed and responded to the over-medicalization of birth, so have I seen the tendency toward the over-treatment of cancer, and I am responding.

Don't get me wrong, cancer can kill you, so its best to make sure to treat it until it's gone but continuing to treat after the cancer has been cured? I'm not convinced. Which is why I flew all the way to Philadelphia to speak with Dr. Lawrence Solin after I found an article he wrote about this very topic.

Dr. Solin, it turns out, was the perfect person to see. He told me that every opinion could be supported with the current research which says, yes, no and maybe, someone should receive radiation after a mastectomy, depending on the specifics of their situation.

After he said this he want to on talk to me about my cancer and my treatment and about what makes my situation a-typical: I had chemotherapy first.

Rather than go though the details of all the relevant studies and the specifics about my cancer and course of treatment like Dr. Solin did for me, I share with you an excerpt from the paper which helped me make my decision about radiation:

"Similarly, in 102 patients undergoing mastectomy with clinically positive nodes before neoadjuvant chemotherapy and pathologically negative nodes afterward, the risk of chest wall and regional nodal recurrence was between 0% and 10.8%. These locoregional recurrence rates fit into a low-risk category of patients who are unlikely to experience improved overall survival from radiotherapy."

Translation into English: when a gal with Stage 2 cancer has chemo first and it cures her cancer, like completely cures it, like on a cellular level, her risk of recurrence is between 0% and 10.8% and radiation can't make it any lower, because there is nothing lower than zero.

Whereas the short and long-term side-effects from radiation are pretty significant and the risk of getting at least some of those side-effects is pretty high, way higher than 10.8%.

So, thanks Radiation Oncologist, but, I think I'll pass and stick to getting my radiation the old fashioned ways: from space or from a tanning bed. 

What do you think?

News flash: headed to PA today via NYC to meet up with a Dr who specializes in answering questions about Radiation that I have. Specifically, do I need it? Like, really need it? 

The Drs here can't come to a consensus and since I'm not a Dr I need another perspective. 

So, I called an audible, scored a free flight, and am in route to the East coast.

Fingers crossed that I can get some solid info because no matter how much I like my local Dr, I'm not undergoing anything based on someone's spidey sense. Just sayin.

The Morning After

Yesterday afternoon I had my surgery. One doctor removed my breast and the other partially rebuilt it again.

It all went very smoothly, so I am told.

This morning I'm in pain,  but hungry and no nausea, which is progress.

More medical facts when I'm up for it. Just wanted to let you all know I am well.

Love and hugs all around.

One Hour at a Time

"...first you decide what you gotta do, then you go out and do it, and maybe the most that we can do is just to see each other through it..."

- Ani DiFranco


This one goes out to my Tuesday Women's group. You have been holding me through this. Whenever I feel alone in this, I hear this song and you all are right there with me. For this I am so grateful.

Let's talk a little more about my breasts

When you're diagnosed with breast cancer what you don't realize is how much time you'll spend talking about your breasts. I have, in fact, spent so much time talking about my breasts that its a subject I'm rather tired of. 

Today however I will have to spend just a little more time on this topic. This may be the most important conversation that I'll have because I'm seeing a woman who will, hopefully, reconstruct my body after I've had my breast removed next week.

You know what they say, when life gives you lemons, made lemonade. Or, you know, grapefruit-ade, or melon-ade. Or whatever. 

That Funny Feeling

Peripheral Neuropathy = my internal alarm clock alerting me that I haven’t rested enough. Good times.

Slow and Low

                                     

On more than one occasion I've found myself realizing I'm done with chemo. Then, right after that, I realize I'm smiling. Then after that, I realize I need a nap.

Mainly because when you finish chemo it doesn't finish with you. The side effects may last up to a year. 

Yea, you read that right, one year. The nastier ones last much longer but hopefully that doesn't apply for me.

So friends, I'm taking it easy and will be for a while.

 In other words, if you can't find me, I'm outside laying on my lounge chair with my priorities straight. 

Up and up

I'm feeling better and better everyday. Taking good care and preparing myself for surgery, mentally and physically.

Prayers and good vibes welcomed as I move through these next couple weeks.

Post-Chemo Party

Want to have a fun party? Take chemo for 6 months and then have your last treatment. 

Afterward, you'll feel like dancing from a rooftop and sitting next to every woman at the table all at the same time. Consume mass amounts of special sushi, pork buns and Korean BBQ wings. Sprinkle in some kale salad for good measure. 

Skip desert and bring all the ladies back to your place. Drinks, loud laughter and hanging by the fire pit will be sweeter than anything served on a plate.

Women Gathering - Anju Edition

Very unexpectedly, the women who supported you every step of the way on this shitty journey will gift you with special things to commemorate this milestone. You never understood the significance of planting a tree for these or other occasions. But suddenly, you get it and you love it.

Am I old enough to have a tree? Yes, yes I am

Art meets love meets your breast cancer in this beautiful piece by the amazingly talented Erin. She will give you this and you'll feel so lucky its yours. Finally you get to put your hands all over her work because it calls out to be touched. The texture of the painted surfaces and the naked surfaces feel beautiful. You blush a little when you touch it, given its shape.

To see more of this beautiful work, go here

You won't forget to celebrate with the person who found your cancer, subsequently saving your life. The person who is there for you when your cuddle-o-meter is alarmingly low. You know that this value doesn't show up on your weekly labs when you go for treatment, but you do know that when these numbers get low, look out.

So you'll put on the dress he bought for you and wait for him to get ready to.

Then, just like that, you'll be eating oysters by candle light. Holding hands and admiring the views. In that moment, you're not really celebrating anything at all. And at the same time you're celebrating everything. 

No more chemo, start of summer, patio refurb, generally feeling blissed

Then, when you wake up the next day, you'll feel so blessed. You know that even though you have many more milestones to go before you leave this particular path, life is good where you are. Right now your life is everything you have always wanted. Plus more. 

Indeed it is

What I Want

I want to run a marathon,

or maybe,

do a century bike ride,

or maybe check in with my trainer,

'what up fool?'

I want to go to the city,

drink champagne,

dance all night. 

I want it to be hot

so I can wear my summer skirt

on a date to an outdoor show.

Then go for a drink,

then home for dessert.

I want to learn to:

embroider, 

Swing dance, 

find the good stuff. 

I want to go out to dinner, 

with you,

to a place we both like.

I want to listen to how you love

your passport photo,

sun ripened peaches,

and sea stones.

Instead, I'm at home.

Looking out the window,

wearing a brown hat.

The calendar says spring, 

but the sky is grey.

The heat clicks on now and then.

My body was sick.

It's better now, I guess. 

But the drugs take me away,

and I'm afraid I won't get back in time

for all of it.

Maybe I won't come back at all.

In which case, send me a postcard.

With a photo of you on the front,

eating a peach, standing by the ocean.

Ho-Hum-Hibernate

As you may have noticed, things have been pretty quiet here. Treatments every week have been a bit of a slog.

It's been going like this: chemo, recovery, catch-up, repeat. It feels like I'm in a kind of hibernation. Keeping it simple; focusing on those things in front of me which are most important. All while trying to ignore the myriad of shitty side effects brought on by the chemo.

I do have a couple posts rolling around in my head though. Those may make their appearance if they get insistent enough. We'll see.

Do check back on May 24th, the day after my last treatment, so you can read all about how happy I am do be done with chemo.

Until next time, Love and Muah


Image Source

Apropos of All of This and Some of That

I finally updated this little About Me page. 

Eventually, you'll see a list there of what I've been doing to heal from this illness, but for now its more like a bio. A bio of a person who is ready for summer. Big-time.

I got inspired to update it when I came across this blog. You might like that one as well.

4 down 8 to go

UPDATE: I had what felt like the stomach flu for the rest of the day. It started right after I posted this. I think I jinxed myself...doh.

This time, I refused the steroids. Best. Decision. Ever. Now I can actually feel what's happening in my body without all the noise from a monkey mind (see post below).

And on this 2nd day I can tell you exactly what I'm feeling: tired. All my bones are made of lead kind of tired.

So I have only 3 things on my list to do today, one of which is done. (Mmmmm...coffee tastes good) Anything extra is gravy. I give myself permission to honor this fatigue.

If you need anything, I'll be on the couch, or on my log chair outside, doing very little. With a big smile. And a sigh of relief.

Monkey Mind

Since I'm not a baseball player, competitive weight lifter, or looking to enhance my performance in any way, I've never delved into the wild world of steroids, nor had I planned to. I always figured I'd leave that to professionals.

Well, cancer will take you down many paths you didn't intend to travel down and these past couple weeks I have been receiving intravenous steroids once a week.

The intention with the steroids is to work with immune system so when it gets kicked to the ground by chemo, it doesn't fall so hard. It also helps with any possible allergic reaction that I may experience from this particular chemo drug.

In these two ways the steroids have mostly done their job. My white count has remained fairly stable and returns within a normal range in only 6 days after treatment. This is good, because it means I can keep receiving the treatments. As you can imagine, I want to stick to the treatment schedule so I can be done with this portion of the program.

Its also mostly kept the allergic reactions under control. I have a mild rash, which is itchy, but if I can keep from touching it, its like any other rash and will heal normally.

So I should write the steroids a thank you note, I guess.

I totally would do this (I'm old fashioned that way) but this drug has some pretty heavy side effects.

Ever head of steroid psychosis? Well, neither had I, until yesterday. After I'd explained to the nurse my strange mental state, she happened to mention it. I would say, given all that I've read about it since I heard the term, I had a pretty mild version.

I'm receiving a relatively low dose, only 25MG, but I also know I'm sensitive to medications. My body metabolizes medicines in a way I find very acute. To the medical ear, this may not make sense, but I know it to be true, even with something mild like Tylenol.

So pharmaceutically speaking, I'm a cheap date and 25MG of steroids have worked their evil magic on me. Yesterday, thankfully, I got only 10MG and can already tell that the monkeys have moved on. If I don't experience any allergic reaction this week, I'm not taking the steroids again.

Speaking from experience as a cancer patient, at the end of the day informed consent barely exists in this field of medicine.

I feel a bit bad saying this because I know my doctor and the nurses do intend to give the best care they can give. However, there is so much information that is simply not provided to the patient and I'm not sure why this is.

I'm not saying that knowing about steroid psychosis would have changed my decision to receive this medicine, but forewarned is forearmed. Had I known about it, I could have addressed it right away.

Instead though, I went through a really rough time. Alone. Too scared to tell anyone about it. And will do anything to avoid an encore performance, a la steroid style.

May it be so.

2 of 12

This is gonna be brief, I've already been writing for a bit this morning and french toast is calling.

Weekly treatments make my dance-card feel really full. I am juggling so many things right now, none of which feel like candidates which I can let fall.

Oh, don't get me wrong, I've let many go. Please don't mind the science experiment growing under my dining table or my piles of laundry scattered randomly around my domicile.

There are some though that can't be dropped nor would I want to drop them.

My Little Critter is medicine for me, so funny and fun to hang out with. He's a load of work though. In my "down time" my tired bones can be found playing "Particles," a made up game which involves scooting around on my butt trying to catch him and steal his magical box. Or holding him on my lap in the kitchen in deep conversation about meal planning.

This morning before I got out of bed we were talking about Samsara and what it all could mean. And then we talked about all the other creation and life after death myths we could think of.

Heavy stuff, pre-coffee. But I love it. That ball will stay in the air.

Hopefully the nausea will stay low-level and the raw fatigue and GI issues will follow suit. May it be so.

In my estimation I'm about 35% though this process. For that I feel so happy!

Round 2 - 1 of 12

In breaking news: I'm not nauseous!

For these next 12 treatments I'll be receiving Taxol every week. Among the biggest side effect women report is tingling in the hands and feet. Among the least reported side effects: nausea. 

I've heard this, from my Dr and the Nurses but didn't really buy into it. I wanted to experience it first hand. And viola! Here I am. I can't tell you how relieved I am. 

Maybe the other side effects will rear their ugly heads after these steroids wear off, and I'll keep you posted on that. But after feeling like I lived on a boat traveling over rough seas for 3 months I can honestly say that a little weakness and tingling sounds aok. 

One complaint I will report isn't about the Taxol at all, but about the premeds. 

I have to get crap-load of Benadryl intravenously because Taxol often causes severe allergic reactions. Luckily, I can tolerate the Taxol. I was less than able to tolerate feeling like I had just slammed a 12 pack of Miller Light and then given a rufi. It came on rather suddenly, made me feel really sick and lasted about an hour.

Since I tolerated the Taxol though they said that they will cut the Benadryl in half next time. So just a 6 pack next time then and maybe no rufi...?

Lastly, a word to those kind people who have agreed to accompany me to treatments over these next 11 weeks...we didn't get out of there until 5:15 pm. 

I think subsequent treatments will go quicker now that I've got the first one under my belt, but I wanted to let you know. This way, if there are conflicts with your family's schedule you can recuse yourself. Know that I totally understand if this is the case and that I love you.

Portal

Today I had a port installed for my next round of treatments. I have 2 freshly minted scars: one on my neck and one on my chest. The one on my neck, I didn't expect and it was a bit jarring, to be honest.

The surgery itself wan't so bad. Not eating for many hours and then being woken up from the best sleep I've had in weeks were the worst parts.

The port will make my life less painful for the next 12 weeks. So this is a case of my present self helping my future self.

One last thing, bendy straws wielded by Bryan contain the most refreshing drinks. Just saying.

Port Authroity

I am excercisting my right to whine like a baby right now.

For the record: surgery hurts way worse than you think it will. Also, having something inserted into you, like a little box for administering chemo, hurts also.

Dr said it will be at least a week before the pain goes away. In the meantime I move like molasses and wince a lot. Its a bummer.

Yum Yum and Love

This is a shout out to everyone who brought my family a meal over these last 3 months.

A meal is such a simple thing, in a way. But for me, during what's been a very challenging time physically, even a simple thing like dinner felt like way too much.

So you all kept showing up. With your smiling faces, well wishes, prayers and warm, delicious meals. Food that fed us dinner, was the perfect mid-night (or mid-day) snack for me. Something ready to fill my belly which has been on the verge of being sick for 3 months.

One or two bites of something delicious at the right time can be so soothing. I felt your love, care and prayers in every bite, as did we all.

So thank you. You took the time out of your schedules, away from your own families and to-do list to do something that was so very needed and I am so grateful to you. And you, and you.

Love and Muah.

Oh where are you...?

This last treatment marked the half-way point for me, and it was time for a scan. A little how-we-doin check-in ultrasound.

The tech who did the ultrasound and the doctor who read the scans were the same team who I saw three months ago. The same team who discovered the 3 tumors and lymph involvement.

This time, there was not a tumor in sight and the lymph node looked very unexciting. Quite normal actually.

While I can't be sure that the cancer is no longer in my body (only a PET scan could confirm this) I do know that no visible tumors and a normal looking lymph node is wonderful news.

So what next? Do I get to hop on a plane to Tulum this weekended to celebrate by sunbathing and toasting to my everlasting good health?

Not quite yet.

I still have 3 months of chemo to make it through. Then surgery. Then 6 weeks of radiation.

While the common cold may be more annoying (see previous post) the recovery time is way faster. Cancer is a lot of things. Speedy isn't one of them.

Sigh.

Down the Rabbit Hole

Went down the rabbit hole with this last treatment. Thankfully, I didn't go alone: Bryan, Karin, Sally, and Beni helped me as I was falling.

Foot rubbing, fetching tea, loving, supporting, hand holding, making meals, cleaning the bathroom; bringing an annoyingly specific lunch order, spreading love, cheer and sweet coconut aromas; bearing gifts of the most useful kind - dinner, desert (evil, btw), and a treat bag for my little; and a critical trip to the grocery store when I really needed it and didn't want to be alone.

All that helped me make it through yesterday and for that I am so grateful.

For now, I'm not nauseous or throwing up and for that I am grateful as well. But if I go down the rabbit hole again I know that many hands will be here to lift me out when its time.

photo source

Reflection & Rearview

Essay by: Brandy

Jim Valvano once said, “Cancer can take away all of my physical abilities. It cannot touch my mind, it cannot touch my heart, and it cannot touch my soul.” After working at Fortune 50 Corporation (note: name of company changed for privacy reasons) for the last 9 months, I have meant some really important and life-changing people. But in all the people that I have come across at this company, a courageous woman outshined them all. Her name is Lauren, and I can honestly say she has changed my whole outlook on life into a positive one. My first interactions with Lauren began this summer, when I started at Fortune 50 Corporation on an 8 week summer internship program. She and I worked in the basement together in the heritage department.

When I first began working with Lauren, we were in the basement most of the time taking photos of artifacts and recording data of the photographs into the computer. Anytime we received new artifacts, Lauren would consult with my other coworkers to see if we wanted to keep the object, and if we did, Lauren and I would start our process to enter the information into the database. Because of how much time I spent with her, it’s like I got used to seeing Lauren around. We used to have team meetings together, go to lunch occasionally from time to time, and even have one-on-one sessions to get to know each other better. But then I started to realize that I was seeing her less and less. I would ask around about her, but no one was for sure about her whereabouts.

After a while, my curiosity began to overcome me with questions, so one day in mid-November, I decided to pay Lauren’s desk a visit. When I arrived, I could sense something was wrong by the type of eye contact we made as decided to take a seat. As time was passing, and we were catching up, I asked her if something was bothering her. She whispered ever so gently that she had cancer, and it felt like my heart had just completely shattered at that exact moment. I was bombarded with dozens of questions, to have reassurance that she was going to make sure she includes in her response that she would be okay.

As Lauren started to answer my questions I had sat back in the chair and just started to think to myself about how brave she was. This woman gets up out of her bed every morning to get her son off to school and then to start a full day of work with not a single complaint. She doesn’t use her sickness for a weakness. In fact, with her weakness, I still find her to be the strongest woman I’ve ever meant. Anyone who can have a sickness and still wake up and come to work with a smile on their face, most defiantly has my blessings. While looking back on my experience at this company, I have for sure done a 360 in my personality and socializing skills. 

By being around Lauren’s such positive and uprising spirits, I have learned to treat everyone around me with respect and only show love at all times, because you really never know what a person is going through. A person can appear to be smiling every day in front of others, but shed a thousand tears when they are in the comfort of their own homes. I believe God either puts people in your life to make you better or to make you realize you need to do better. But without a doubt, I do truly believe that God sent Lauren to open my eyes and realize that tomorrow is never promised to any of us, and I hate would hate to live with a list of regrets.

Note about the author: This essay is by Brandy, an awesome, hard-working young woman who is a senior in high school. She wrote this essay for an assignment at school and gave me permission to share it here with you. It made my day to read this.

Note about the photo source: The above photo was sent to me by Kellie. An all-around amazing human: a native Californian, plant and water whisperer; a creative beautiful soul who I had the great fortune and pleasure of meeting in college. Big love and shout out to Kellie and H. Sending big love to you both. Looking forward to a sunny rendezvous this summer in the desert, may it be so.

Sunny Dreams

It will come as no surprise to you that outside my window the view is mostly white. On the ground, floating through the air. Layers and layers of white cover over everything. Its pretty, but its a bit chilly.

In the thick of this wintery mix I really don't think to much about summer. Winter, like anything else, is something to move through and really can't be rushed. So dreams of summer are not on my mental agenda usually. Funny though how something so small can instantly transport you to the middle of June without warning.

At our place, Bryan built a spot for our coats and gloves and its become the repository for hats to, both the winter and summer variety. One morning this week, when Bryan took his big winter coat off the hook, the hat he wears in the summer came down with it and landed in the middle of the floor.

Seeing that hat made me long for summer deep in my bones. In that moment, I really missed seeing him in that hat, doing work in the yard. I missed the bright sun and hanging out next to the blow up pool. I missed sunning myself and playing ball with the critter, barefoot in grass.

Getting there was effortless, coming back to winter was to. But, it got me thinking about summer. About how, by the end of the summer this will be finished. I will be cancer-free. No more appointments, treatments, surgery, poking, prodding and all the rest of it.

I will get to sit at our table on the patio, under the umbrella with a picnic laid out, with no where to be and nothing to do. Enjoying those summer days that seem to last forever and ever.

The Fall

Every year my physic soul sister and I trade tarot readings in January to see what may be up for the rest of the year.

This year, as you can imagine, my reading was a mixed bag and it started off with this card:

Now you don't have to know anything at all about tarot to see that this card is intense. Simply put, what it symbolizes is - sudden, unexpected, painful - change(s).

The people in this card, who we can only assume were happily standing atop the tower admiring the view a few moments earlier, are now tumbling down to an uncertain future after their cozy spot was hit by lightning and then proceeded to catch fire. Yikes.

When I saw this card for January I must admit, I wasn't all that happy to see it. I've pulled The Tower many times before in all the years I've been reading and I know what it means for me. In the end, I always land the water, dog paddling and content, but the fall itself can be tricky.

This time around, the fall has been filled with physical ailments, side effects from the chemo that is curing me of this disease, and a side bonus of a cold, which has knocked me flat into bed.

Mostly though, its been about control.

To describe what I mean, let me direct your attention to The Secret. You may have heard of it from a person named Oprah. The Secret proposes that as individuals "we create our lives, with every thought every minute of the day."

I happen to love this concept, it taps into all the fluffy new age thinking that can be very inspiring and just plain practical. Not much can shift if you focus only on a problem, focus on what's working though, and what could work with that, and you can move mountains. (or Towers maybe)

The only flaw I can see with The Secret though is that it puts the individual in complete control, and I think it goes beyond the seize your destiny type of thing. Taken to its furthest point The Secret posits that we can be in total control if only we visualize correctly and think correctly. If we don't, we're up a creek without a paddle with only ourselves to blame.

In the last 3 months since my diagnosis, cancer has taught me just how not in control I am. The day my doctor wrote the order for my mammogram to have a look at that lump, she told me that I was in perfect health. She went on to say that my diet, exercise routine and lifestyle were all perfectly aligned for a healthy, disease free life for many, many years. Whew, in the clear, right?

Well, that your reading this says otherwise. Because no matter what good health my diet, exercise routine and positive thinking manifested within my body, at a cellular level, I wasn't in control.

The cancer cells did their thing while I ate heirloom tomatoes from the farmers market and plucked herbs from my garden. They danced with me at the jazz fundraiser and even went to see Wynton Marsalis with me. The cancer continued to grow as I have continually created a life I love living, surrounded by people I love beyond measure.

The cancer is there. It must be dealt with, so I'm dealing with it.

Physically, the treatment is rough. Not completely unbearable, but rough. Mentally, its no picnic either. I have walked though a door which I will never be able to return from. Concerns about recurrence, will always be a part of my internal conversation with myself now. Rightfully so, I want to be here for another 45 years or so, but still. Its there.

I've fallen out of that tower.

This time though, my face has that peaceful meditation smile. My hands are in the prayer position. I know that I'm going to land in water so warm its going to feel like a bath. I know that wholeness, radiant health, and the experience of love will wash over me and I am open to it all.

If it so happens, that the water isn't quite as warm as I imagined, I'm not going to blame myself for not visualizing hard enough, or long enough. I'm going to remember that the only thing in this life I can control, truly control, is my own attitude about things.

That's it.

My cells will do their thing. Life is gonna do its thing. People will do their thing.

I'm going to do mine, in the exact way I know how.

So that's what I'm doing, in spite of the fact that behind me, my tower is burning. Or maybe, just maybe, this new perspective is possible because the tower is burning. In which case, pass me a marshmallow and a stick.

And the award for the most irritating chemo side effect goes to....

...drum roll please....

My constantly running nose.

Bryan said my nose is making up for all the work my feet aren't doing as of late.

But I'm not buying it.

Lost in Space

For those of you who have an interest in math, you will recognize the drawing and text above. On that page the father of geometry is making a triangle with a  few straight lines.

What I really love about Euclid is the simple and elegant way he presented his work. On the surface, its very neat and tidy. Sit with it for a little bit though and the complexities emerge. Sometimes subtly, sometimes they're in your face.

In the end though he wraps it all up so beautifully, "Therefore..." he says at the end of most of his propositions, then summarizes what the problem was about.

When you're walking into a math problem, even the simplest one, there is a comfort in knowing that the answer is there. Just waiting for you to get to it. Holding its glass and ready to say "cheers" when you arrive.

Its the steps in the middle that are a bitch sometimes. In order to get that little triangle drawing to look like that on your page, you've gotta do some work. That work become slightly more difficult if you're not on speaking terms with calculus or even algebra.

Suddenly, the words on the page, the one's you though you knew, become something different altogether. The known becomes strange and you're in the tick of it, not sure how you'll get to the "Therefore" of the whole thing.

In the beginning, I felt so open to learning what this current problem had to teach me. Looking back, its so clear that the openness came from not knowing what I would have to go through. Like the Fool from the tarot. The one who smiles as he leaps off the cliff with nothing to keep his body or heart from breaking but all the while certain he will land softly.

Now I'm in it and everything has changed. I can see the "Therefore", but I have no idea how I'll get there. The work that I have to do feels so overwhelming and I feel so unlike myself.

I want to yell. Lament aloud, tell you about my weak body, broken heart and confusion. Or about the rhythms, patterns and ways of being that I no longer inhabit. The one's that will never be mine again.

But I can't.

I'm lost in space and in the middle of that page. And this book is so long, and the next proposition just around the corner. Again and again.

Baby it's cold outside

Staying home today, having quiet time with the little boy in his PJ's camped out in bed under a blanket.

BTW, Aidan pointed out yesterday with delight that he is the only one in our house with hair. Show off.

Here's an interesting article I just came across in the New York Times. Thought you might find it worth the read.

Stay warm. Unless you live in a place that is warm and you are already warm. In that case, please accept my blatant envy gracefully. 

Love and Muah.