Learning is painful

Light filtered through trees as brown leaves floated gently on wind. Sky, brilliant blue, held tight the secret of a lingering hurricane. Hummers hummed filling with sweet nectar. Today would be a good day, a beautiful gift waiting to be unwrapped.

In the kitchen, sandwiches stacked, I packed. We were going on a picnic! It was one of our favorite things to do. Surrounded by leaves and trees, we could forget. Worries melt away outdoors. We needed this day. There had been too much work and too much stress. We longed for peace.

Along winding tree filled roads we traveled. Farmland spread wide and free. Cows dotted pastures and large hay rolls sat sentry. The sun illuminated nature's glorious canvas. My eyes memorized as hubby chauffeured. Expectations voiced, we continued forward.

Dowdell's Knob

An hour passed and we'd reached our destination, F.D.R. State Park, Georgia's largest state park. It'd been a while since we'd been here and we'd forgotten. Today we'd remember sitting atop Dowdell's Knob overlooking King's Gap. Gathering our things, we marched across the parking lot intent on finding "our spot." There, just along the ridge of Pine Mountain, huge boulders rested. Selecting a gently sloping stone, we sat. Silently, we awed. The wide expanse of the world lay before us. Hanging gently in the blue, a train of clouds ran along the horizon, remnants of the storm. On the boulder, we felt the sun's warm caress. Sandwiches came out and were devoured. We hadn't realized how ravenous we'd become. Visitors gathered for photos. None of them stayed long. We continued our meal soaking up beauty like a sponge. Soon the sun's heat became too much. Although a breeze had been blowing, sweat had been building. We rose ready for our next destination. Not wanting to leave, I turned to make mental note of the scene.

Franklin Delano Roosevelt knew. This was the perfect place, his thinking place. Thoughts jumbled banging the sides of my skull. Impossible to focus with people milling about. Their comings and goings distracting. Had I missed the moment I'd longed for, the simple solitude of being? Had we been too quick to leave this place of serenity? I quietly mourned.

Longing for more, we hiked. Leaves crinkled and crunched underneath the weight of our shoes. Padding through the forest our eyes fixed. The path, evident, led us deeper. Acorn sprinkled ground, Fall was nearing. Squirrels and birds voiced disapproval at our approaching. And then I saw it. An ugly mound of brokenness in the midst of beauty. Glass and rust mingled together. We stopped ashamed. Trash. Ugly mountain of refuse from ages past. Why? Why? We discussed this mess of things used and abused before moving on. Disgusting and painful to see, evidence of commercialism in the heart of nature. A thorn in God's creation. And life is much the same. Completing our hike, we turned to retreat. Sweat dripping from brow, we longed for water. Revival in a swig from the bottle. Our feet moved faster.

The path

Hours passed. Sitting, we realized our exhaustion. Thankful for air conditioning, we drove on. There was still much to see and much to do. Determined to make the most of the day, we did.

The sun hung low as we worked our way past fields covered in shadows of late day. A sigh of relief was breathed between us. Silence golden as the gentle hum of riding almost lulled us to sleep. Home sweet home! We'd made it. Thankful, we paused savoring moments given today. It had been a good day. Lingering longer would have made it better. Next time....next time.

Sometimes I just want to pull my hair out

Sometimes I just want to pull my hair out, especially when I read a friend's blog post and I just can't wrap my head around it. This morning, I was reading a post from a fellow breast cancer survivor. She said her cancer has returned and is growing in her spine. As soon as I read the words, I burst into tears. I just didn't understand! We'd been diagnosed with the same type of cancer in the same year. How could it be that her cancer had returned and mine had not? And what made it even more difficult to understand and accept was the fact that she'd chosen to go the traditional treatment route. I'd opted not to do that. She'd endured chemotherapy, radiation, and the anti-hormone therapy afterward. I'd refused chemo, had done 28 rounds of radiation, and had only taken the anti-hormone drugs for a couple of months. It just didn't compute and it certainly didn't seem fair. But that's what sucks about cancer. It doesn't follow the rules.

Cancer the gift that keeps on giving - the high cost of cancer

There's a basket of bills sitting in the corner of my bedroom. I try not to look at it as I enter the room but I know it's there. Its contents spill out onto the floor whenever my husband stuffs another bill into the basket. Usually, when the mail comes, he gets it first so he can filter what I see and what I don't see. Since he's the only one working, he takes care of our financial responsibilities and while I'm thankful for that, I'm not ignorant about our mounting bills. Cancer is expensive. Even if you've reached maintenance phase, it's costly. There are always tests to be run, blood to be taken, doctors to see. It never ends. Just knowing this will be a continual process for the rest of my life frustrates me and the alternative, death, will be my only way out. It would be nice to know that cancer could be a once and done kind of thing but that's only wishful thinking. Everyone knows cancer is a long and very involved illness. I had no id

Annual checkup yields good news!

Yesterday I went to the Cancer Treatment Centers of America for my annual check up. For those unfamiliar with the cancer treatment center, it's an integrative facility that provides services for the body, mind, and spirit. My day began in the survivorship department. While there, I met with the doctor and was asked about how I'd been feeling both physically and emotionally. We talked for about half an hour. The doctor and I had a few laughs and it was probably the most pleasant visit I've ever had. Instead of making me feel that she was the doctor and I was the patient, I felt like we were old friends just having a good chat. It was refreshing and I left her office feeling very optimistic. Next was the port lab where I have my blood drawn. It's always a challenge there because I always have to explain about my lymphedema and why it's necessary to have blood drawn from my hand instead of my arm. You'd think, after 4 years of being a patient there, they'

Journey Out of Pink

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