Journey Out of Pink

It's hard to accept the fact that my body doesn't always do what I want it to do. You'd think, 3 1/2 years post cancer, I'd have learned what my body can and can't do but I haven't. I'm still of the mindset that I'm able to do all the things I used to do. But today, I was reminded of several things. One, I'm not as young as I used to be. Two, my energy level has greatly decreased, and three my body doesn't work like it used to work. This weekend, we'd purchased some steel shelving units for our garage. I'd made a comment several months ago about how frustrating it was to see all the messiness of our stuff in the space our cars should be. Finally, after nagging and complaining for weeks, I managed to get my husband to agree to go to our local big box hardware store and look for ways to make our space a little neater. Up and down the rows we went looking at various organizational options. There were cabinets, storage units, and many dif

After the initial surgical scars have healed, some women are making the choice to beautify their mastectomy scars with elaborate and colorful tattoos. While this is a very personal choice, I applaud the women who are brave enough to use their bodies as a statement of survival. Turning the ugliness of cancer into a form of body art takes guts. Finding a tattoo artist willing to work over the top of scarred tissue is challenging, but more and more women are making the choice to ink their chests. But is this choice a wise one? Can the beauty come at a cost? When I had my breasts removed in 2014, I was unaware of the popularity of breast cancer survivors and chest tattoos. Although I already have many tattoos on my body, I never gave a thought to having my scars covered with ink. Having needles inserted into tender scar tissue wasn't appealing to me, in fact, it was downright scary. I didn't realize, until I began to research more about breast tattoos, that inking our bodies coul

These grey rainy days are getting to be a real drag! It's no wonder people suffer from seasonal affective disorder (S.A.D.) when the winter days are cold and bleak. There's a certain type of heaviness that comes with these types of days, like a shroud of emotional baggage. It can get heavy very quickly and too much to bear especially when grief is involved. I'm still processing my mother's recent death and it's been hard. Grief is a strange thing. It slides in unexpectedly and oozes out orifices without permission. Processing it takes time and energy that I just don't seem to want to expend right now. But there will come a time when I can no longer ignore it. Someone said once that grief demands to be felt but grief is not linear. One moment you may feel you've moved past it and the next minute, it's right in your face. Grief never says, "I’ve been here long enough, I think it’s time for me to leave.” No. Grief crowds the heart, eats up all your

It wasn’t yesterday that I was diagnosed with stage 2B Invasive Ductal Carcinoma breast cancer, but it feels that way. I’m still adversely affected by that life-altering event. On a daily basis, I have to make a choice. I can wallow in the self-pity of what if, or I can choose to be grateful I’m alive.   Cancer is a wonderful teacher. If you let her, she’ll teach lessons you never dreamed you needed to learn. Often, in the beginning, it’s hard to see and learn the lessons. As the days go by, it’s easier to become more aware of the important things cancer has to tell. But not everyone wants to discover the lessons. Not everyone chooses to look for the good in a hard situation. This is part of the lesson. One of the first lessons cancer taught me was to give myself permission to grieve. I didn’t receive this lesson at first, although cancer tried several times to teach it to me. I refused to receive it. I didn’t think I was grieving. I thought I was okay. Losing my breasts had

"With the new day comes new strength and new thoughts." ~ Eleanor Roosevelt Seventh day of New Year. Outside, it's Winter. Barren trees stand. Frozen sentries waiting for first bud of Spring to appear. Tiny woodland creatures scurry searching for morsels. Doors and windows shield from cold. We wait.  Winter is abhorred. Cold and I disagree. Cold hands, warm heart, if that be true, I win.  Earlier, I rose. Sliding out of bed, I felt for glasses. Pulling on warmth, I dig into the Word. Hungry, I feast on manna.  Quiet shattered. Doors open. Showers run. Coffee perks. They awake. It's a new day.  Hubby sits. TV on. Preaching begins. Winter mornings dictate activities. Today is time for introspection and reflection. Sundays seem holier, but should never be. In Him, we live, and move and have our being...all days, all times. Always. A new day. A gift for the taking. 

The after effects of breast cancer can be overwhelming. It's been 1276 days since the cancer was removed from my body. That's 3 years, 5 months, and 27 days. You'd think, by now, I'd be really feeling great - that my body would have completely healed and I'd be living the good life. Surely, after this length of time, all the scars have mended and my body has learned to adapt to the physical changes, right? But that's not necessarily the case. I'm normally not one to complain. Most days, even if I'm in pain, I keep it to myself. Why bother involving anyone else in my agony? They can't do a thing to fix it. Oh yes, the "I'm sorrys" help and those sweet empathetic pats on the back offer a little comfort but the suffering is mine and mine alone. Some days are worse than others. Between the Lymphedema and the Fibromyalgia, I struggle. Neither of these two conditions will ever go away and that's frustrating. The Lymphedema can be

My lymphedema has gotten out of control lately and it's partly my fault. Daily I'm supposed to use this programmed compression pump to help alleviate the swelling but I haven't. Why, you ask? Well, sitting stationary for an hour is difficult. I don't enjoy my arms being painfully squeezed as I'm being held hostage but what's a girl to do. I can't function when my arms are swollen. I don't have a choice. Breast cancer is the gift that keeps on giving. The surgery wasn't so bad, really. You'd think having both breasts removed would be extremely painful and while it was very uncomfortable, it was more of an emotional trauma than anything. But the physical wounds have healed. Rarely do I have discomfort in my chest. The lymphedema is a different story. From the moment I rise til I go to bed each night, my arms begin swelling. If you didn't know the situation, you'd think I just had some really huge fat rolls in my armpits and upper arms

The past few days have been difficult. Although the New Year has come and it should be a time of celebration and renewal, I've been in a season of mourning. My mother died on December 23. We'd been expecting her death but losing a loved one is never easy. I do take solace in knowing she was a believer and now that she's absent from the body, she's present with the Lord. That gives me great comfort and I know I'll see her again one day but in the meantime, the grief of losing her has come. Try as I might, I never know when it's going to overpower me. Everywhere I look, I see her. In my children's mannerisms, in photographs, in nature. Even though she's no longer here in bodily form, she'll always be with me.  Some days have been harder than others. This morning, as I was having my devotional, I looked up from my Bible to see a red rose that I'd been given from her funeral service. The smell of it was heady. I took the rose in my hands and hel