Spinning my wheels

Ever have a day where you just feel like you're spinning your wheels? It seems lately all of my days are going that way. I wake up with good intentions and a list of projects in hand but as the day goes on, I end up accomplishing nothing. My inability to focus is scaring me. I flit from one thing to another continually. The smallest of things overwhelms me. Take my email inbox for example.

Today, I sat down at the computer after failing to complete several other tasks. My one goal was to clean out my email inbox. When I opened up my Gmail account, I was overwhelmed at the amount of mail in each of the three categories - primary (where my important mail resides), social (where YouTube subscriptions, etc. reside) and promotions (where most of the unsolicited junk mail resides).

As I stared at the folders and the amount of mail in each, I felt frazzled. In the first place, how did I get so many emails in one day? It was insane, so the first thing I did was delete everything in the promotional folder. I didn't bother to read a one, just hit delete. Poof! They were gone. That felt better. Then, I was on to the social folder.

Those took a little more time. I wanted to glean emails I wanted to keep, so I had to go through them one by one. After doing that, I deleted the rest and made a mental note to unsubscribe from as many as possible tomorrow. I couldn't handle it today. Tomorrow would suffice.

On to the primary emails. These were the priority. These would need careful attention. I didn't want to accidentally delete any of the ones I needed. As I worked through them and read or deleted, more would pop up. It seemed they were coming from out of nowhere. How could I feel ambushed by something as simple as email? That's when it hit me. I'm suffering from post cancer PTSD.

For some time now, I've been struggling in different areas. Loud noises, sudden movements, and unexpected changes freak me out. I don't like feeling this way. I've always been one to be in complete control. Some days are worse than others, but it's definitely problematic. When I return to the cancer treatment center for my next checkup, I'm going to mention these issues to the doctor. Hopefully, he can recommend something to help.

I can't keep going like this, spinning my wheels and getting nowhere. It just won't do.

It's so hard to understand

My inbox was full of messages. As I was going through the process of deleting the unnecessary ones, one in particular caught my eye. It was an update from a pink sister. I'd subscribed to her blog and she's subscribed to mine. We tried to keep up with each other and often compared stories. We were both diagnosed in the same year. We both had the same type and same stage cancer.

At first, it was comforting to know we were in the fight together. At each small success, we encouraged and cheered each other on, but recently, things have changed. Her cancer has progressed. She is now stage 4 and as far as I know, I still remain stage 2B.

This week, she'll start again with chemo and radiation. The treatment will be aggressive. She's scared, and rightly so. I'm scared, too. The prognosis doesn't sound good.

It's so hard to understand how two people, with such similar health diagnoses, can have such different paths. We're both Christ followers and have trusted Him to guide us on our journeys. And while we may not always understand His ways, we know He is Sovereign. He has a plan and a purpose for each of our lives. He works all things out for our good, even painful trials like cancer.

My heart hurts. One friend is nearing the end of her journey and another is just beginning hers. On February 11th I'll find out where I stand. Would you please say a prayer for J, M, and me? We sure could use your love and support.

Cancer is such a difficult trial. We still hope for a cure. Perhaps one day, there will be one.

Four words

She reached out via Facebook Messenger, this friend I'd met last year. We'd bonded during our trip to Israel. I'd come to love and respect her. We just clicked.

But when the news came, I wasn't expecting it. She had just been diagnosed with breast cancer. What could I say? What could I do?

I didn't want to discourage her by sharing my story, but I wanted to let her know I cared. Instead of offering my heartfelt sympathy, I typed four words, "I'm here for you."

And that was that.

But it wasn't really...

My heart hurt. Everything in me was churning. I could feel the anger rising up within me. When hot tears poured down my face, it felt like they were scalding. I didn't want her to have cancer. I didn't want anyone to have cancer. I wished I could wish it away for her, but I couldn't.

In the next few days, she'll meet with the surgeon to discuss her options. I'll be praying for her to have wisdom. And if she reaches out again, I'll be there, to offer love, support, and comfort.

The hard will come, I know it. She doesn't know about the hard yet, but soon she will.

And I hate it.

Finding my tribe

After I was diagnosed with cancer, I felt alone and lost.  It didn't feel like anyone truly understood what I was going through. Oh, my family and friends did their best to offer their love and support but they just didn't get it. There was no way they could truly understand what cancer felt like because they hadn't gone through it themselves. I needed a tribe, a group of women who understood. A group of women who would be willing to accept me just as I was without needing me to pretend to be someone I was not. And so, I went in search of them.

I got on the internet and joined several breast cancer support groups. There were so many and I wasn't sure which ones were better than others, so I randomly selected a few. As I began reading the posts submitted by members, I was surprised. There were women who were feeling the exact things I was feeling. There were women who were struggling to find their identity. There were women who were overcome with emotion at having to fight a battle they never intended to fight. These women got it! Though they had never met me, they were embracing me with virtual hugs and love. It was so nice to be understood and to think, these complete strangers were being so kind to me and so welcoming, it was indescribable.

But some of the groups were filled with negativity. I tired quickly of reading their rants and their complaints so I left those groups. I focused on the other groups for a while but when I found faith based groups, I dropped all others. It was comforting to share a bond with sisters in Christ. Not only could we talk about our breast cancer journeys, we could also talk about our faith.

In one of those groups, I "met" a woman who was willing to come to my house. She'd been diagnosed with breast cancer a few months before me and she wanted to help me understand what was ahead of me on my journey. I was so grateful for her willingness to help and we became fast friends until she moved farther away and our friendship dwindled.

But God brought other women into my life, more tribe members! I "met" other ladies through articles I'd written for a cancer magazine. The women reached out to me one by one. The contacts came through Facebook Messenger and most of the women wanted to learn about my experiences with alternative therapies for fighting cancer. As I shared my trial and error experiences, they wanted to stay in touch. We exchanged phone numbers, email addresses, and even physical addresses. Though most of the women lived out of state, we found a way to stay in touch. My tribe had grown and was flourishing!

Each one of these women have met a special need in my life. God knew exactly who to send and when. I may never have a chance to meet any of the newest members of the tribe in person, but hopefully they'll know how much I value their friendship.

In the breast cancer community, tribe is everything. Sharing our experiences, we also share a commonality that binds us tightly together.

I never thought I needed a tribe, but I've found I do. If I hadn't taken time to reach out and risk rejection, I would never have found acceptance.

Breast cancer has a way of stealing a person's identity but with a tribe of us, its often easier to understand who we are...we are strong and brave. We are warriors who don't give up or give in. We need each other to be reminded we're never alone.

Could it be cancer?

Today I've had trouble breathing.  Just doing ordinary household chores has taken my breath away.  For the past few days this same thing has been happening.  I haven't mentioned my secret fear to anyone.  In the back of my mind, I keep wondering, could it be cancer returning?

Recurrences can happen anytime after a person is diagnosed, but since I'm a little over 5 years from my original diagnosis, I've felt like I was safe. But that might not be the case.

I have an oncology appointment in early February.  At that time, I’ll have routine bloodwork and see the doctor in the survivorship program.

It's always scary when I go for those annual checkups.  I try not to be fearful of the big "what if" but it's hard.  I don't know what I'll do if I ever face that day.

In the meantime, I'm going to listen closely to my body.  If I keep having those feelings of being unable to get enough air, I'm going to call and move my appointment up a few weeks.

I don't want to think about the possibility that cancer could return. I don’t want to think about it concentrating in my lungs, but it's hard not to think that way when every symptom I face could be a signal that something is wrong.

With cancer, you can't never always sometimes tell...

The New Year is almost here

2020. That date freaks me out.

As a child, I remember watching the Jetsons wondering what my future might look like. Would we really travel by flying car? Would we have robots running our homes for us? Would space travel be the norm? As I think about those cartoon images, I realize we're not too far off from those predictions. While we haven't found ourselves traveling by flying cars on a daily basis, we do have robots in our homes (iRoomba, etc.) and virtual assistants like Siri and Alexa to help with our menial tasks like finding the newest movie to watch, pulling up directions as we drive, setting our thermostat or turning on music before we come home and a host of other conveniences. Our electronically run homes would make the creator of the Jetsons proud.

And remember when we went through the Y2K scare at the end of 1999? Everything seemed so uncertain and the doomsday prep began because we weren't sure if all the computers would crash and our world be instantly turned upside down, but thankfully, all of that was for naught.

Now here we are rushing into the twentieth year of the twenty first century, a staggering thought!

Facing an unknown future is scary, especially to someone who's faced cancer. Every single day, I'm reminded I don't know what the future might hold. Every ache, every pain reminds me the cancer could be back and it's hard to live teetering on that precipice.

In February, I'll have my annual check up with the oncologist. It's marked in big, red letters on my calendar. I've already begun to count down the days because I dread that appointment. If I get the all clear, still N.E.D diagnosis, I'll take a deep breath and rest easy until the next appointment, unless some rogue illness or severe pain tells me I can't hold onto that diagnosis any longer.

It's not a good place to be, always wondering when or if the cancer will return. And I don't want to go into the New Year with that attitude. I want so desperately to walk into the New Year trusting God. I know He knows how many days I've been allotted, but it's still hard. I have to remind myself to make the conscious effort every minute to walk by faith.

This New Year, I've promised myself to do everything within my power to be healthier, stronger, better...and I mean it but most of all, I've promised myself to move forward daily with a positive attitude and a hopeful outlook. I don't want to continue to give cancer power over me.

Yes, cancer may come back into my life sometime in the future but I pray it never does. But if God chooses to allow it back into my life, I'll know He has a reason and I'll trust Him to guide me through it.

Cancer caused me to muster up my courage. I was forced to be brave. And every single minute of every single day, I continue to fight to maintain that bravery.

As we ring in the New Year, let's celebrate new possibilities, new hopes, new dreams, and a better tomorrow. And let us not forget to pray for those currently fighting against cancer, the battle isn't one they chose to fight.
 

What Can You Say When a Friend Faces a Recurrence?

I was checking my inbox the other day and found a disturbing email. The subject line on the email simply said, "It's back." I knew immediately what that meant. 

The sender of the email was a friend I'd never had the pleasure of meeting in person. Instead, we'd found each other through a breast cancer website. Shortly after we were diagnosed, as fate would have it, our paths crossed. 

We shared so many similarities. Both diagnosed in the same year, we had the same type cancer, the same stage, and the same grade. We were both mothers although my children were grown and hers were not. We shared a love of similar interests and hobbies.

Instantly, as we corresponded, we clicked. 

Through our online blogs, we were able to compare notes and keep up with each others lives. It was fun reading about each other and felt almost like I had an adopted sister. Our relationship was special. And that's why I felt so helpless when I learned, through the email, that her cancer had returned. 

What could I say that wouldn't sound trite? Of course, I was sorry to learn of the news but I wanted to express my heartfelt sentiments. Since our cancer experiences had been so similar, I could almost feel the way she'd probably responded when she received the news. I imagined she felt like I would've if the shoe had been on the other foot. I would have been devastated and confused. My heart went out to her. 

Reading her blog, as she began treatment again, I learned more about her feelings. Not only did she feel betrayed by the return of cancer, she was angry.  I completely understood. And when she began to blame herself for possibly not doing something right, I knew why she felt that way, too. 

My heart broke as she told about having to go through chemotherapy again. It didn't seem fair. Hadn't she given enough the first time around? 

But with cancer, there is no fairness, there are no rules. 

What do we say when someone we love faces a recurrence of cancer? And how can a fellow survivor express compassion and empathy in a genuine way? 

One of the best things we can do is listen. Words aren't always necessary to express caring. Often, an understanding look, or a tender touch can convey the heart's deepest sentiments. 

But if words need to be shared, they should be carefully chosen. A person might say, "I'm sorry. I know this isn't what you were expecting." Or "I'm here for you, just let me know what I can do to help." 

By offering the gift of understanding to the person facing recurrence, validation occurs.

When you aren't sure what to say, it's best to say nothing at all.  

A cancer recurrence rarely comes with notice, but when the surprise comes, it makes a big difference for the person with cancer to have a support team in place. 

As I read my friend’s blog for daily updates, one thing appears in every post – evidence of her warrior spirit and personal bravery. Though she’s having to fight this war again, I know she’ll give it her all, the same way she did the first time around.

It’s challenging to cheer her on from the sidelines, but I can always lift her up in prayer, send her encouraging notes, or post supportive comments on her blog. And in so doing, I hope she’ll know I stand with her because I know she’d do the same for me should I ever face a recurrence. 

That's what we do in the world of cancer, because we've been there and we know how it feels to hear the words, you have cancer, for the first time or at any time thereafter. 

Thankful for Cancer

It's been a while since I've written. For some reason life keeps getting in the way.

The holidays are coming and I'm so unprepared. Things seem so different since cancer came into our lives.

In the past, I'd start planning for Thanksgiving months in advance. I'd write out my menu, do the necessary shopping, put out decorations, and look forward to spending time with family. It was a grand gesture that always paid off but for the past few years, I just haven't been able to "get into it." In fact, I haven't even been the one to host the meal. For the past two years, my middle daughter, Laura, has been gracious enough to do the family meal at her home. It's been a real blessing and has taken so much pressure off of me, but this year, it won't be that way. The meal has fallen back into my lap.

The stress and anxiety over planning for the festivities has been overwhelming, so much so that my sweet husband has stepped in to help. "This year," he said, "I don't want you to have to cook or worry about anything. I'm going to take care of it." I was shocked by his statement and wondered what he was planning. Two days ago, I found out.

After getting off work, Phil stopped by the Honeybaked Ham store. When he came home from work, his arms were loaded with a stack of frozen side dishes. He was so excited as he began to carefully place them on the kitchen counter. "I picked up some sweet potato casserole, mashed potatoes and gravy, a green bean casserole, cornbread dressing, and even some sliced apples," he said. I watched his face as he fanned out the frozen blocks of food in a neat arc. He was beaming as he waited for my approval.

I was taken aback at the thoughts of serving our guests frozen food for the holiday. As one who has always cooked from scratch, I felt taking such a shortcut was just short of sacrilege, but didn't dare utter a word. My husband had done what he could to take a burden from my shoulders and I was definitely thankful for that. Would it really be so bad to have pre-prepared food for one meal? In my head, I justified his plan, and accepted it as a broad smile spread across my face.

"You are so clever and thoughtful," I said to my dear husband. The pride was evident as he threw his shoulders back and puffed out his chest. "This will be great and will save me so much time! Thank you, honey!"

After giving him a big hug, I asked if he'd help me carry the frozen goodies to our deep freezer.

A lot has changed since my cancer diagnosis. I've learned to make concessions I never thought I'd make. Some of them have been spur of the moment decisions and others have been well thought out plans, but in each case, I'm thankful cancer has taught me to focus on what really matters- I'm still here. I'm still alive. And, I can still celebrate special holidays.

This year, I'll be grateful for so many things but one of the main ones is knowing I'm loved.

Cancer takes the blame for a lot of bad in our lives but rarely does it receive accolades for anything good. Over the past five years, its taught me an awful lot and in all honesty, I have to say, it's taught me so much more about gratitude than I ever knew before it came into my life. This year, I will be able to say thank you to cancer, and truly mean it. 

Dolce Far Niente

The first time I heard the phrase, "Dolce far niente," was years ago when I watched the movie Eat, Pray, Love. I sat mesmerized as Julia Roberts sat on a chair in the corner of a men's barbershop eating fruit. One of the patrons shared his disdain at Americans and their lack of understanding the Italian way of life. He used the example of our ignorance of rest and did his best to explain the concept to Ms. Roberts. Shortly thereafter, another patron chimed in and said, "Dolce far niente is the sweetness of doing nothing." Powerful words for a simple task, you'd think. But for some, that simple task is next to impossible.

I am one of those who find it difficult to rest. A typical type A personality, I've always been an overachiever. I work hard. I play hard. And, if I don't have something to keep me busy, I find something to do. My husband, on the other hand, knows the value of rest. He has no problem fitting it into his daily schedule. For years, He's encouraged me to practice the art of resting and although I've tried, I haven't been successful.

Since my diagnosis with breast cancer, I've lived with a sense of urgency. There's an underlying feeling that time is of the essence and that feeling has pushed me into a tizzy. From the time I wake up until the time I go to bed, I am making the most of my 24 hour day. Rest never crosses my mind except on those rare occasions when my back screams out in pain and forces me to stop for a short respite.

Practicing the art of dolce far niente has been a challenge and one task I'm determined to master. Even the Bible emphasizes the importance of rest - "Be Still, and know that I am God." That verse has become a constant reminder that I need to take time to stop and that it's okay. And as I've begun to learn how to master my constant busyness, I've developed a new found respect for the art of doing nothing. I've also found my days stretch a little further as I make room for periods of nothingness.

Sitting with a steaming latte or lying across a bed looking out an open window as the sun beams across freshly mown grass are not only pleasurable intervals, they're also small examples of the larger joy that awaits.

Bend over

Getting a flu shot shouldn’t be a complicated thing, right? Roll up the sleeve, brace for impact, insertion, completion, and leave. That’s the way it should go down but for someone with lymphedema, it’s not that easy.

After a recent annual physical, the doctor reminded Phil and I that we needed to have the flu vaccine. We’d become familiar with this routine and were ready to receive the shots at his office when our doctor sadly shook his head and informed us his office hadn’t received their allotment of inoculations yet. “Not to worry,” he said, “You can stop by any local pharmacy and have your shots today. Many pharmacies are participating in the annual inoculation program and won’t charge anything as long as you have insurance that covers the dose.”

On the way home from the physician’s office, we noticed a large sign outside our local CVS pharmacy indicating their participation in the program. Get your flu shot now, the sign said in big red letters.

Pulling into the parking lot, we were thankful to see only a few cars. Thinking we'd be in and out quick, we meandered inside.

Walking through the store, we made our way down the aisles to the back of the store where the pharmacy was located. Going up to the counter, we indicated our desire for the flu vaccine.

After we filled out necessary paperwork regarding the shot, we read the warnings about potential side effects and other pertinent information. We signed on the dotted line and returned our forms, then were instructed to sit and wait.

Before being seated, I asked to speak to the pharmacist. I told the pharmacy assistant I had important information regarding my health that I needed to share. The assistant asked me to divulge the information to her and she’d pass the news on to the doctor. Reluctantly, I leaned over the counter and whispered, “I’m a breast cancer patient and have lymphedema in both arms. I am not allowed to have the flu vaccine in my either arm. I need to have the shot in my hip.”



I watched as the assistant’s face changed to that of surprise. It was evident, by her reaction, my request was not a common one. As she turned to walk over to the pharmacist, I continued to watch. She whispered into the doctor’s ear and the pharmacist’s eyes widened.

Within a few months of surgery, I’d noticed an abnormal swelling in my upper arms. After seeing the oncologist, I was diagnosed with lymphedema, a painful condition often occurring after the removal of lymph nodes or breast cancer surgery. With the removal of nodes from both arms, the lymphatic system’s proper flow of lymphatic fluid through the body had been disrupted. This disruption caused a buildup of fluid in the extremities causing swelling and discomfort.

“With lymphatic limbs,” my doctor advised, “Any injection, tight pressure, or injury could exacerbate the condition and might possibly lead to a more serious condition called cellulitis.” I was told it was up to me to guard my arms since I was the one who would be affected adversely should injury take place, but doing so often invoked odd reactions from medical staff.

As I waited, I couldn’t help wondering why getting an immunization in the hip was such a big deal. The only reason I could think of, at this pharmacy, was the fact that there was no private area. Immunizations were given in an open area, in front of other customers. And, while I didn’t relish the thoughts of dropping my drawers in front of inquiring eyes, I’d already made up my mind that if that was what it took, that was exactly what I would do. Modesty had left me long ago after my diagnosis with breast cancer.

Thankfully, the pharmacist took me into an employee breakroom to administer the vaccine. I was glad to have the privacy the room offered but hoped no employees would come into have lunch while my cheek was exposed.

Just before the pharmacist injected the needle, she confided in me. “I’ve never had to give a shot in the hip before, in fact, I had to call my fiancé, who is a physician, and ask him exactly how to do it.” Her confession didn’t offer peace of mind.

The pharmacist was unsuccessful on her first attempt and apologized profusely. Standing there with my buttock exposed, I tried to remain calm and patient. Since she was behind me, I couldn’t see what she was doing, but I assumed she was reloading the vaccine and steadying her aim.

Within just a few seconds, I felt the quick jab of the needle and the burn of the medication entering my body. I almost laughed when the doctor breathed a sigh of relief. To lighten the mood, I looked over my shoulder and spoke to her saying, “I bet you’re glad you don’t have to do this every day, aren’t you?” She smiled and shook her head in the affirmative.

As we walked out of the breakroom, I thanked her for understanding. She accepted my gratitude and went back to work.

Rejoining my husband, I noticed the stare of other customers waiting for their shots. I'm sure they were thinking, "Where did she go and why did she get preferential treatment?" But I wasn't in the mood to explain.

Lymphedema has been a challenging side effect of breast cancer surgery and affects every aspect of daily living. Protecting limbs may seem like overkill to someone without knowledge of the condition, but the cautionary efforts are for my benefit.

Educating others about lymphedema is often shouldered by the person with the condition and while I don’t always enjoy doing it, I do it because I must. If I keep quiet, I’ll suffer the consequences and I’m not willing to risk bodily harm because of pride.

Getting a flu shot shouldn’t be a big deal, but sometimes it is, and that’s okay. Laughter and making light of the situation can help make others a little less uncomfortable.

For those with lymphedema, it’s important to speak up. Not all medical staff are familiar with lymphedema, its side effects, or precautions to prevent exacerbation of the condition. It's so important to be your own best advocate.

For those with breast cancer, mundane tasks like grocery shopping can be a challenge.

Before cancer, grocery shopping was a pleasurable experience. Up and down the rows, I'd search out new and interesting products now matter how long it took, now it's a challenging task. Lymphedema and back pain make my trips to the store short and fast, or at least that has been the case for the past year or so, but now that I've discovered online shopping and free pickup, things have become much easier.

This weekend, I ordered groceries through Kroger's online service. The process was quick and easy only taking about fifteen minutes. After I'd loaded my card, I inserted my credit card information and voila! I was done. My order, the site said, would be ready at my specified time the next day. I was grateful I hadn't had to go through the process of driving to the store, wandering the aisles, choosing my food items, loading them into the cart, unloading them onto the conveyor belt and then, reloading them into the car. That would have taken more than an hour and I didn't have that precious time to waste.

The following day, I received a text alert reminding me to pickup my order at the specified time. Happily, I drove to the store to retrieve the order. Sitting in the parking lot, I read through some emails as the store employee loaded everything carefully into my car. Within minutes, the employee was closing the tailgate on my vehicle and I was off. Smiling all the way home, I was grateful.

After bringing all the groceries inside and putting them away, it hit me. There had been a team of people who'd put my order together. Looking at the receipt, I saw about 8 names listed with a big smiley face and a hope you have a great day written beneath it. My "pullers" as they called themselves, had each been assigned separate sections. As they worked together, they made the task of assembling my order an easy one.

Sitting down at the table, I decided those workers needed to understand how vital they were to people like me, people with physical limitations like breast cancer, lymphedema, chronic fatigue, and back pain. Taking out a piece of stationary, I began to compile my thoughts and drafted a note of gratitude.

My husband agreed to drop of the note the next day on his way home from work. I hoped it would be received by the manager of the online ordering department and that it might possibly be shared with other staff.

The following day, I got a call from Kroger. The manager of the online shopping crew called to tell me they'd received my note. She thanked me profusely and said it was rare for them to receive any type of thanks much less a handwritten note. She commented on the fact that I was a breast cancer survivor. I'd shared that information in hopes of helping her understand the importance of their online service, especially when I was having one of my bad days. The manager understood and responded that she had a dear friend with breast cancer who had just started chemotherapy. We talked a few more minutes about the devastating effects of breast cancer before ending our conversation.

I couldn't help wondering if every woman knows someone touched by breast cancer. Perhaps not a close friend or relative, but surely, if every woman thought hard enough, even a distant acquaintance  would come to mind. Would it even be possible to find one women unfamiliar with the disease? I doubted it.

Breast cancer is so prevalent in our world today and it's sad to say so many have been touched by it.

Thankfully, there are companies, like Kroger, who make our lives a little easier by offering their online services. And next month, the shelves are going to be filled with pink ribboned products, but I think I'll pass on those when placing my order. I don't need a constant reminder of breast cancer. All I have to do is look down, there's a permanent reminder just under my nose.