Maintenance

Monday, in the midst of my deadline frenzy, I managed to almost seize the engine of my car. And this is not the first time. On this occasion it was more in my face owing to the poignancy of the situation. At the best of times I don’t pay much attention to details. And the details of my car are just so far down on the priority list, even below getting to yoga class, or noticing that the prime rate is going up so it is time to renegotiate my mortgage. Humph. So of course I didn’t even notice that my oil light was coming on, let alone consider doing anything about it. You know, I’m too busy. Which I was, but let’s face it, I am WAY too busy to deal with an oil-less burnt out, collapsing in the middle of the road automobile. Thank goodness it gives me warning signs. Thank goodness I know how to read them. But, apparently, there are ways to avoid these situations. It is often referred to as “Maintenance.” Ooowwwwaaaahhhhh. Maintenance. The unattainable Holy Grail for ENFP types like me. Doing the regular things that need to be done so that things keeping humming and running along smoothly. Neat concept! But how does it apply to me? How does it apply to you? How does it apply to cancer?

Self care. If we don’t do it, no one will do it for us. Often collapsed with the idea of selfishness, self-centered, self-absorbed. For me it was and is a lifesaver. I actually assert is it for all of us, but many folks don’t want to hear that. Because it might force them to give up, what, their crazy, hard on themselves, too busy, driving lifestyle. It is the giving, giving, giving and doing, doing, doing model in our world that keeps us too busy to develop or deepen self awareness (also an occasionally Bad Word). Too Busy has become its own disease. Now it is not that I am agin’ getting things done, it is just that I am for getting things done in the Right Time. And that Right Time shows itself, if we slow down long enough to listen. Slowing down enough to listen is what can tap us into our bodies, which is when we can notice if something is off, wrong, needs help. Early detection. It isn’t just for breakfast anymore. How do you think people are suppose to detect cancer (or anything else for that matter) early if they aren’t paying attention!!!!

Over the years, here is what I have come up with around the idea of self-care. There are 4 components, or quadrants of it for me. Achievement. Unproductive time. Healthful activities. Fun. They need to be balanced; I need a little bit from each one on a regular basis. Below are some examples of what falls into those categories and/or works for me:

Achievement – This is the “getting things done” place, where I can tick things off my list. Sometimes it requires a bit of discipline, or doing something I really am tired of, sick of, etc, but I know I will feel good afterwards. For me, it seems to involve a lot of finishing things (I guess starting things falls into the Fun category), like quilts, or stripping the bedside table, or writing the website content.

Unproductive Time – This is so essential and probably the hardest to justify. And this is what helped heal my emotional scars after cancer (the psychological Vitamin E, if you will). It is the sitting and staring thing, the just being. It can be so peaceful, when we surrender to it’s healing embrace. But it can be a bit scary, because once surrendered to it sort of takes you where you need to go, like a river sweeping you down dream. For me it involved lots of crying, lots of sleeping, and lots of just, well I have already said it, but how else can you describe it, staring, out into space. And there was also a very clear theme of letting my body decide what it wanted. I didn’t leave the sofa unless I was given a clear impulse to do so. So unlike when I think I “ought to” get up, it was more like “does it feel like the right time yet?” Sometimes and for some people it includes puttering, say in the garden, or walking, where we can let our minds wander, and ebb and flow.

Healthful Activities – These are the classically known self care items, like exercise, yoga, eating well, seeing your doctor, plenty of liquids, meditation, prayer, doing self breast exams monthly, taking your vitamins. It was thing area that I overdid when I was first diagnosed. I think I thought that if I could just do enough of “all the right things” then the cancer would have to move on out, it would understand that it had made a mistake. So I juiced vegetables and ate salmon and thought good thoughts, and anything else “good” that anyone or their dog suggested. It got a bit exhausting, all that being (too) good. This is where I noticed that things need a bit of balance, which is when the other 3 elements came stampeding up my walkway).

Fun – You know, that simple, just plain FUN. For me it includes: dancing, laughing, flirting, movies, dinner parties, deep meaningful conversations, games night, badminton, playing with cats, antique shopping, going to auction houses, quilting, singing, starting new things, taking new classes, making dinner for people, improv, learning new things, speaking my truth, self discovery workshops, calling people forth. Just writing about it is getting me all set to embark on something, anything, NEW.

What about you? What works for you?

Back to Blogging

Ahhh, to be blogging again, how joyous. I had taken a few days off and had been doing my “other writing” (and it is such different writing, controlled and intentional, instead of just me being me – and since me being me, and you being you, etc, is something that I take a stand for in the world, and seem to always be coaching or sponsoring somebody or other on, it is odd to be doing the other). I have been Working Hard (on top of my 4 day a week job, my full coaching client load, renegotiating my mortgage, and various and sundry emotional upheavals) to write the content for my up and coming website. It has been no small thing. My web mistresses, both of whom you have been introduced to via this blog, they were giving you health updates when I was unable, and I came up with an arbitrary date by which to get the final edits done (I work well to pressure, and need the accountability of other people to keep me on track – which all 3 of us know and hence the arbitrary dates), that being today.

Well, God be praised (and high levels of self awareness), IT IS DONE! But at a fairly high cost. I pushed myself pretty darn hard, through some tough stuff, and skipping over some fairly intense and important feelings, as well as forgoing exercise, eating properly, and having FUN. Hmmm. Was this a good choice? Was this the right choice? It feels amazing to be done, it’s true. Accomplished, proud of myself for completing something that has hung over my head for a while on my To Do list (for long enough, I might add, that it had gotten to the Unfun stage). And, perhaps some of those other things should have taken priority.

In my celebration of completion, and luxuriating in having some down time, I opened and read the letter of my dear friend Marion, who lives in NZ (that will be New Zealand, for those not familiar). Yes, you heard me correctly, she sent me a hand written note, by regular mail. Is that not cool! What is cooler is that she made reference to material in this blog – I love watching the worlds come together, and seeing whatever ways we find to connect and create community, it is all good. Back to the point, she opened up a powerful line of thinking for me that is very related to the above. I will elaborate.

From the time I was knee high to a grasshopper I have been told and believed that working harder and trying harder will produce better results, or maybe results in less time, or something along the lines of things and life will be better (and, no, I will not work hard to go back and iron out that ludicrously long run on sentence). Over time and the involvement in a great deal of high drama and effort I have learned that this is not actually true. Case and point, I absolutely busted my hump to get that website copy done on time. At the cost of the flow (which in turn costs me an awful lot of re-write time, emphasis on the awful). At the cost of trusting that everything can and will unfold at an easy perfect time and pace, and let’s face it, that non-trusting place usually results in me feeling urgent and anxious and forcing the/an issue. Just general yuck stuff. Forcing. That can’t be good, just listen to the word. F-o-r-c-I-n-g (ok, the I, by itself, won’t stay “small”, and I refuse to force it to be so, besides I don’t know the clever tech tricks to do it, and a second besides, I am not big on forcing things to be small). No, I say leave that alone. If something isn’t working, maybe it is not meant to happen right now (this from a woman who forced herself to meet the deadline and finish the copy today, I get the irony of now writing about it, just give me some breathing room on this, I am under a fair bit of pressure these days). Maybe it is not the “right time”. Not a new idea for me, but feels fresh and exciting right now anyway. Because here is how it ties into cancer (I sort of feel obliged to tie everything into cancer, just to string the theme along, but I must say, that is not hard, as cancer and it’s wily ways are everywhere). Cancer cells are busy working harder, busy trying harder, just plain busy. So no mistakes that “busy gal” over here has struggled with “busy cells”. And surely if I can learn to silence that externally manifested and driven overactive voice that stresses the need for more action, that then will help quieten the internal over activity, yes? Easier said than done in a society that rewards the over active and shames those that go at their own pace. But isn’t our health, both mental and physical, worth it?

What's the Point?

Damn it, I am in this place today. And I hate it here. Hate it. And here I am anyway. In the past I have tried to do something about being here, tried to fix it, to change it. It didn’t work (no, really?). And so I have stopped trying to transform and influence this thundercloud when it arrives on the horizon, and instead, wait for it to pass, and if I am really lucky, sit back and enjoy the show. Thunder, lightening, crashing rain. Reminds me of Ontario. Reminds me of my childhood home. And that just sends me back to pointless.

Yes, that is where I am right now. Pointless. Feeling like there is no point. For instance: Why clean my place? Now, I know there are some perfectly valid reasons to clean my place, to begin with the dust bunnies are starting to sleep on Maggie’s bed, and I can’t get past my dirty dishes to made dinner, which is really ok, because, frankly, why make dinner? But this deep, dark, black hole of a feeling (I guess that being despair, because pointless in not actually a feeling, yes?) it is so freakin’ uncomfortable. So lingering and haunting. So chase you around the house. So dog you on what is meant to be your relaxing walks through the neighbourhood. I want to turn around and yell, “Go away. Stop following me. Take off you creep.” But when I whip around, eyes flashing fire, voice ready to hit huge decibels and see the little old lady, boldly, braving conquering the block with her walker, well, I realize that I am perilously close to losing my mind, and I shut my mouth.

So what has me here? Oh the usual. How does one fight cancer? It is not like a foe you can see and take on, and beat up or charge with murder and take it to trail in a court of law. It is impervious to insults or psychological warfare (well, word on some streets is that that is not true, we can make choices that help our minds and hearts and that helps our bodies to fight). It is even sort of resistant to the crazy drugs we are trying to use against it. What is the solution? Where is the answer? My powerful analytical mind wants an answer and expects me or others to be able to come up with one. And when there are no cut and dried answers I get furious, and despairing, and tired. How can I fight something I can’t see? How can I defend against something that is sneaking in with the water (or whatever it sneaks in with, well and even that fact that I don’t know how it is sneaking in, that is to it’s advantage)? And many tell me, and I have told others, one answer is faith. So where is my faith now? Today, and just today, it is lost behind this horrible feeling of powerlessness, like the sun behind the storm cloud. The only way out it through. To courageously ride the wave of this feeling, and trust I will come out the other side, what do we say, stronger. And just this day, and just each day, do what I can, soften the blow for others, share my love, be my best self, and give what and when I can. Today it doesn’t feel like enough. But it is going to have to be. Because it is all I have right now.

And do I ever have a critic in my head about all this. You can’t write that. For that matter you can’t feel that. You are supposed to be inspiring people. A beacon. A flashlight. A lighthouse. What the hell are you doing? Hmmm. Well, I am speaking the truth. You know, the only thing I can do? The only defense I have against the all-consuming inevitability of life with all its trials and tribulations. And that has to count for something. And do something. And help someone, somewhere. So if you are that person, someone, somewhere, my love and blessings to you, you are keeping me going right now! Thank you.

Argh. Not Again!

Yes, here we go again. I am AGAIN putting what “ought” to be done, the shoulds of the world, the “good ideas” ahead of my heart, my truth and what feels right for me. WHAT IS THIS QUICKSAND? What is the siren’s lure to these rocks? Or am I just crazy? Is it a pathology, something I need some help with? What, what, what is up with this on-going, virtually compulsive behaviour?

Aaaarrrrrrrrrrggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhmmmmmaaaaarrr

Right now I have a whole bunch of things that “need to get done”. One really easy example is that I want (so when does that turn itself into a need) to get a blog post out tonight. I have it, it is ¾’s written, it is all about humour, laughter as medicine, it is pretty cool. It just needs a little tweaking, a bit of research, and it’s set to go. But even just looking at the possibility of the idea of starting it, makes me itch, makes me break out in hives, makes every fiber of my being scream “NNNNNNNNOOOOOOOOOO”.

Well, isn’t that unfortunate. So, what am I going to do? Tie myself down to the chair and FORCE myself to write something funny or profound. Yeah, I haven’t found that to be the most effective way to call the muse. She isn’t good with force. So, shall I pretend I don’t care, “Oh, I don’t really want to write tonight anyway, no big deal”, and hope that entices her, curious, wanting to know why I am indifferent (it seems to work with Maggie, but she is no muse, that aggressive little minx, but rather a persistent distraction). Perhaps I can analyze this new resistance? Gee, do you think that will help anything? Or just take up time and create new tools to beat myself up with? Is there no help for me? Maybe this is what the oyster feels when the sand first comes into its space, “Ah, what’s that? What’s it doing here? How do I get it out?” Yes indeed, how do I get out of this discomfort? Or do I just make friends with the discomfort and use it?

There is this other nasty little thing I do. I can manage to turn joy into a chore. So the thing I know I love, that is totally going to be fun when I get to it, I hold it out like a treat, the thing I get to do when all the crappy stuff is over and done with. The cinnamon bun that I get at completion (obviously that was in the day when I still ate sugar, and it just doesn’t quite do the same thing when you offer up something like, say burdock root, as a tasty treat reward, but you get the idea). Well, you guessed it. By the time I have waded through all the junk, all the dirty jobs (can I offer taxes as a current, pending example?), I have run out of steam, run out of fun, and the exciting reward task has become just another thing on my god damn To Do list. And I can even tell you the heart of the matter, the real source of the problem. There is a general lack of Fun in my life right now. But guess what, trying to find and organize something fun to do, that would be a task I put on my To Do list, as well as doing the fun thing itself, and then, it would suck and it wouldn’t be fun anymore, because I would resent it.

Pause – I have to let Maggie in so she can run around to the back window and leave the house again. Don’t go away.

All I am doing it driving forward. Hard. Both hard in the sense the I am driving hard, and that it is feeling hard, well, and there is a third one that just came to mind, it is hard on me. And I will tell you part of why I am driving so hard… I don’t think I have the luxury to waste a single day. I was given this huge gift of being alive, and I don’t want to let a single day of it pass without value, without meaning. Tall order to fill, for a fairly short woman. And related to that, and probably creating even more fire for me, is that with what I am doing, taking a stand against cancer, and the passion I attack it with, and the compassion I have from being through it myself, people come to me and tell me about their dear friend who has cancer, or the infant they know who is doing chemotherapy. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t want you to stop telling me, it is just that it leaves me feeling like I don’t have that extra day, because they don’t have that extra day. The stories remind me of the urgency of the situation. Our, and I mean everybody’s, relationship to cancer MUST change. And it must change NOW. “Not a single day to waste.” But even writing those words leaves me feeling overwhelmed. Which makes it clear to me that this is a gremlin, and yet it feels so compelling, seems so reasonable, partly because there is true in it. But not the whole truth. Back to "Forgetting to Live", if I don’t keep the balance in play, then I have lost the plot, lost the ball, and next, will have lost my mind.

So, how do I, do we all, do self-care here. Here in the place in the face of it all, in the moment, or circumstances where it seems wasteful to take the time to refuel. Here, in the middle, of our own crazy stories, our own crazy lives.

What does self-care look like today?
And how do we do self-care sitting in the middle of a fire?
And what is it going to take to learn this once and for all?

Forgetting to Live

Last night I was watching a TV program, and one of the characters said something that shook me to my core. In her role on the show she is someone who is undergoing cancer treatment, and in regards to that she said, “I have been trying so hard not to die that I forgot to live”.

Exhale.

Putting aside for a minute that I don’t expect to get earth shattering, profound nuggets off of prime time TV, what really gets me is that here is something I actually need to think about. I am pretty sure it was true for me while I was Fighting the Good Fight. The fighting consumes everything. And I mean EVERYTHING. It sucks the life out of living. It eats up every last reserve. Kind of like its own cancer. It can become all consuming until we forget why we are fighting, we forget what it is all for, and we stop enjoying the very reason, the very thing, which we are fighting for. It is kind of cruel. Scratch that, it is very cruel.

There is a huge quality of life issue here. If not for more time with my friends and family, for more fun, for more laughter, for more passion, for more excitement and exhilaration, for more connection, for more deep and meaningful conversations, for more making a difference, for more (insert whatever is true for you here), then why am I doing it? So why would I pass up any chance to have more of that WHILE I wrestle the Dark Angel. Forget AFTER. This “after” thing is so overrated, and so yesterday. Now is the new now, I say!!! Life is for living. Cancer is for living. Dying is for living. Every last little second of it. “Oh, I am coming dangerously close to an area in which I have no authority, never having faced Death up close, how dare I make such presumptuous statements”, my gremlin chides me. Never mind, someone has to say it. Might as well be me, I like speaking the unmentionable. It gives me a thrill, and what better day to do that on than TODAY, while I am still here, kicking and screaming.

Carrying on with the original thread (as opposed to my gremlin introjections), consider Maggie. She never forgets the reason for living. She is always very focused. If it is not for the food, or the sleep, then it is all about having fun. Be that chasing mice (toy or real – her level of fun is not qualified by the authenticity of her prey), attacking her catnip bag or playing footsies with me under the shower curtain (unfortunately this involves my bare toes and her extended claws, but I don’t point it out to her, because she enjoys it so much, besides the scratches heal). She knows what she is up to. She knows her mission in life. And she is not getting side tracked by anything. So what is my lesson here? Because for me, it not about not fighting. That is not an option, then or now. And, quite frankly, I get a lot of enjoyment out of tackling a beast like this head on (well, that is if I win). So the lesson must be in the living full out. Living in the land of the living.

In taking that to another level, I notice that in this idea, this interesting sentence above, the emphasis is on the negative, the NOT, the thing we are avoiding and don’t want to happen. Bit of a set up, putting all our time, energy and focus on the Dark Side. And while what I am about to say is a bit new age-y even for me, it has to be said, “what we resist persists”, “where we put our energy is what gets expanded”. Why not put our focus on living. On love, life and the pursuit of happiness. On getting every last little drop of joy out of each moment. And even on making the sucky things as fun as we can. And I don’t say this last piece lightly. In 2001, when we went into chemotherapy, when I finally made the decision to move forward with that choice (and trust me it took plenty of time and prayer and handing it over for me to get good with that decision), Angie said, “Whooo Hoooo, we are doing chemotherapy!!!” I knew what she meant, I think we all did. It was her implicit way of calling us forth, of reminding us “if we have to do it, let’s laugh in it’s face, let’s make it the ride of our lives”. Kind of like when you climb on the roller coaster, it could be hell or it could be fun. Guess who decides. The person sitting in your seat.

Fighting Back

So what do we do? I mean the statistics show us that cancer is coming; it is the wave of the future. One way or another (us or our loved ones) we are going to have to fight the dragon. So how do we protect ourselves? What can we do?

There are two angles to come at this from. What do we do globally? What do we do locally (read: for ourselves and our own bodies)?

Globally – well, this is where I still get all confused and feel powerless and get frustrated. Do I donate money? If so, to whom? Cancer is big business these days. Do I really have the same goals as the organizations I donate to? Let’s face it, if we come up with a cure, the very organizations I donate the money to in order to find the cure, will be out of business, plenty of people out of a job. So, how do I find the organizations that are in line with my values, which are committed to what I am committed to? I don’t know the answers to this; it is part of what drives me so crazy. At a global level, how do I make a difference? ARGH. (Any comments on this are most welcome, let’s get a discussion going about this, because that is how we will all learn.)

Locally - And so, I always take a look at what I can do locally, for myself and for my loved ones. How can I prevent a recurrence, how can I support and educate others to help them prevent a diagnosis? What are the little things I can do, each day, that make a difference. What are the important micro-movements? I guess it is the stuff they write up on all the cancer literature, so why don’t I do it? Habit. Disbelief that it makes a difference for my body. Regardless, there comes a time when I just need to start. For my own body, and as an example, an inspiration to others. These things have to happen in my life.

1) Exercising – this is huge!!! The only thing that moves our lymphatic fluid through our lymphatic system (that being the system that helps us clear out toxins, and keeps our immune system hopping) is moving our muscles. Unlike the circulation system that has the heart to keep things going, if we aren’t active, we set ourselves up for Trouble. Besides which, sweating out toxins, that is bound to be good too. Get those toxins OUT. Of course, that begs the question, how did those toxins get in to begin with.
2) The food we eat – there is so much evidence that the food we eat makes such a difference to our health. When we eat pesticide, hormone ladened food we put ourselves in harms way. We overload ourselves with toxins, toxins that are way more complex than the kinds of toxins our bodies were originally designed to process, not to mention just way more quantity of them. When we eat at restaurants that aren’t conscious and intentional around the quality of food, we put ourselves in harms way and support companies that aren’t supporting our health. When we don’t eat fresh, unprocessed, organic food we confuse our bodies, when we need to be working with them.
3) The environment – Another excellent source of toxins. Just going outside our front door (well, we probably don’t even need to leave home, but for the sake of drama) we get exposed to a huge number of chemicals. From car exhaust to weed killer fumes to extra estrogens from micro waving food in plastic containers. Well, that is out of my control, what can I do to prevent some of that stuff, you say. You can cut down personally, the more organic gardening techniques you use the better for all of us. You can also educate others around different choice they can make, because half the problem is people not even knowing something is an unhealthy choice for them.

There is so much more to say about these and other things, I have barely scratched the surface here, but for the sake of posting this now, rather than waiting until I have done all the perfect research, and have all the best places to point you, I will stop writing on this for now and post what I have so far. And I will keep looking at these and other areas of prevention and write about them at a later date. And anyone who has something to say or add or contribute, please do so, this needs to be a community discussion; we need to start doing what has to be done to help ourselves fight this disease.

The Void

Three weeks out, and what am I feeling, how it is going, etc?

Wildly similarly to when I went through cancer treatment there seems to be a thing that happens. A void. A vacuum. A space. That forms afterwards. After having had doctors on me like flies in a Winnipeg summer, suddenly, now, there is nothing (even to the point that my GP wasn’t planning to call me if nothing was wrong, only if something was). The feeling is kind of like a child learning to ride a bike, after the support of the training wheels have been removed there is a wobbliness, an awkwardness, a “finding the new rhythm” dance. And here I am again. After all the fuss, both medical and maternal (not the mention by dear and loving friends, but I couldn’t easily find an M word for it), it just seems so empty. Not that I want fuss, rather I want connection. The kind of deep connection and regular checking in that comes when people are concerned. And it gets me to thinking; there is not so much of that in this world these days, across the board.

Here is my longing around this… that, we as a society, not only connect and gather and be a community when something is wrong or when there is an urgent need. But that we choose and are able to come together to be witnesses to each other’s lives consistently and regularly. I think it is some of what ails our present society. And not wanting to mean it as a criticism of how my life and community is now, rather having it as a vision of the future (and memory of the past). Who can argue with wanting more of coming together with people of like mind and sharing our lives? Surely new mothers have felt the need, and I see they have created circles and events to be together, to share struggles and successes. As have other groups. And some have not. What happens to them? How do they get the support they need? We have lost the extended family (not that they are necessarily the people of like mind for everyone) and the close-knit community of easy to access friends and what has replaced it? Computers? TV? Cell phones? That just doesn’t cut it. I am talking face-to-face, hold your hand or cry on your shoulder stuff here. How do we make sure there is enough of that!!!

And then this is the other thing that is very present on my radar screen right now, just a few days out from my Good News. I have this strong expectation of myself (then again, when do I not have a strong expectation of myself, for something or other) to already be fully back in the world. Fully engaged. Fully on track. Where is the room and time for celebration, for gratitude, for some quiet reflection and contemplation of life? No, no time for that, have to get moving, have to make things happen, have to change the world. I am afraid that if I don’t move now, strike while the iron is hot, then the fire will be lost and I won’t make anything of this experience and this Good Fortune. I will fall into complacency, lie on the sofa and eat bon-bons, and, god forbid, fall off the sugar wagon (for those wondering what a sugar wagon is… I have given up sugar, since it is so hard on the immune system. You see, we all have cancerous cells, and then we have bouncer cells, that kick out the cells gone over to the Dark Side before they can congregate and do any damage. Having cancerous cells was not my problem, having a sluggish immune system was. So now, I do what I can to support it, and giving up sugar is one of those things). How about some leniency? How about some grace? How about some breathing room? And how many times do I do this to myself? Drive myself so hard? Often, I do it often (perhaps another piece of what ails society, this drive to action). It is just that today it is really noticeable. And today, I am calling myself on it, in this public forum. And today, I know I have a community of people who will notice and take affront to my actions if I sit on the sofa and eat bon-bons for too long. Isn’t that right?

It's Over... What Now?

Back by popular demand, the email I send out almost 4 years ago when I was done my cancer treatment follows, so many of the pieces and observations still apply... Read on.

Dear Family, Friends and Angels,

Well, here I am, writing from the other end. Who ever knew I would make it. Well, I guess we all knew, but in the beginning, in those long hard moments, in the dark nights, there were times I was not so sure I wanted to, let alone would. This has been the longest 7 or so months of my life. Not just because they were so hard, physically, on me, but also because there was so much time in between to ponder, reflect, take a look. A time to think about what life really means to me, a time to re-evaluate my values and priorities, a time to decide how I want things to look from here on in. Not that things will be perfect, not that they will always look like I have decided I want them to (that seems to be one of the great lessons of cancer - let go of that perfectionism), but to have a vision and a place to point my toes and stars to navigate by on dark nights.

So what have I learnt?
Ø You can't do cancer alone, and now I know I would never want to
Ø The people who love you don't mind doing the hard or ugly tasks if it will help you
Ø There are more than enough people to help in your hour of need, actually probably in any hour
Ø People love to give
Ø Asking for help is hard to do, in fact it is the hardest thing I have ever done, way harder, some days, than having cancer
Ø Love is all that matters
Ø There is no such thing as perfect, only progress
Ø Things don't always go your way
Ø If you are willing to wait till the right moment (as defined by the Goddess - and I hold that there is no other right moment) you will get the right answer (again - also Goddess given)
Ø For as many crazy medical practitioners there are, there are as many, or more loving, generous, open-minded ones - Debbie the chemo nurse will live on in my heart forever
Ø Sometimes there is such a thing as too much fire (who knew!?!)
Ø With enough love, faith and courage, your body can heal from anything
Ø The pain and fear of surgery and needles is nothing compared to the joy, love and support of friends and family, and doesn't last as long
Ø Sometimes the Goddess' will is hard, but it is never without reason

There are probably many other things I learnt. And I suspect even more and deeper learning’s will continue to unfold for the next few months and years. But one other learning I have received is that when the words and inspiration stop flowing it is time to stop expressing. Forcing it doesn't work. And it wastes a lot of time. And it takes me further away from the Goddess. It is both something I love and it works for me to follow the life force, the aliveness, the juice. So on to the next topic....

What's next?
This part is so uncertain. I feel a little left high and dry by the medical establishment. First they are all over me, now they have vanished. The iceberg of emotions that I have been holding in check is starting to melt. The grief of "my life will never be the same", and the fear of "what if it recurs?" bubble up every so often. I hear the emotional integration can take quite some time. I hope I remember to make room for it. Maybe get some counselling, or hook up to some support groups for cancer survivors my age. There is this way that I just start attacking life, that seems to have people buying into my illusion/deception of everything is fine, let us just get on with life. I don't think everything is fine, I don't really think it can be so soon after something like this. I don't think I want it to be. I sure hope I can learn that lesson, to be gentle with myself, to listen to my core and what I really want and what I really feel and to keep expressing that. And to keep asking for help and not forget that huge lesson. I know I can come off looking so good and together, and I guess now that I have touched and have more respect for my vulnerability, I want to keep honouring it, to keep giving it the space it deserves. Now that is a big challenge for me. Uggghhhh. Not more challenges. Well, at least I don't have to do it alone. And then there is the trial by earth (I have been viewing the surgery as trial by air - blade and all, chemo as trial by water, radiation as trial by fire, and so naturally there must be the old trial by earth), how do I integrate all of the changes (diet, meditation, exercise, yoga, visualization, etc) into my daily life, permanently? I guess I will be guided here too.

So as I head into 2002, cancer free and full of new hope (I have a great transit this year, goodbye Neptune, hello Pluto!) I actually feel grateful for all of the great gifts of this last year. I have included pictures of me, bald, shorthaired, red haired, and my old look, long flowing hair, for those far away who haven't been able to see my transition.

Feels weird to wrap up this email (as I am sure you can tell, by how freaking long it has been so far, sorry, as I said, when it flows I go with it) kind of like it will be the end of something. I have loved knowing I have this extended community of people around the world loving me, praying for me, helping me. It has been so huge for me to keep asking for the help, to know you are there even on the days when I can't see or feel you beside me (kind of like my relationship with the Goddess). And on other days, I have felt you all, and am so grateful. How do you say goodbye to that. Well I guess you don't. Even though I won't be inundating you with a zillion emails, I will be holding you all with love and wonder and gratitude.

You are/were my lifeline. You were my Goddess on the days that I forgot.

Blessings on you. May the light and love of the Goddess surround you always.

In deep love and gratitude,

Signy

To Be Continued

So what now? I have a clean bill of health. I can pack up shop and be done. Go back to my life, my other life, as it were. You know, the one that has nothing to do with cancer. Well, there is no such thing for me. It would appear that it is over, but one thing I have learned this go around, is that it is never over. Fortunately, this time not from a fear place of checking over my shoulder, but from a “This is the fight of my life”, Lance Armstrong-y kind of place. From a it matters too much to me and to future generations for cancer to be a thing of the past to not keep going, not keep sharing, not keep writing and not keep fighting. I am just getting rolling.

Besides, this weekend I got two sets of results. Mine, as you know, were just what I wanted (a bit late for Christmas, a bit early for my birthday, but I will take them as the gift they are). I also got news that was not so fortunate about someone dear to me. Cancer is not going away any time soon, and so neither am I.

I have no intension of putting down my sword, or my pen. Rather I am picking up the torch. The torch of the “obligation to the cure”, the torch of commitment, the torch of love. Love for all the people whose lives are being touched by cancer right now, and love for the people who one day will be touched by cancer. Love for all the friends and family, and love for the future.

Please join me in my fight, keep reading my blog (stay tuned for posts on how to use food to help in the fight), keep forwarding it to the people who might need to rethink their perspective of cancer. Find your own way to fight, for yourself and for others. Let’s show this cancer thing what we are made of.

To Be Continued

Medical Results!!

God, it feels like some American Idol show, tune in for the “Results show”, boy we as a society love our results. Enough blathering, you cry, get on with the details…

I AM CANCER FREE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

It is official, the doctors agree with me, which is always nice.

To get more specific here is what they wrote about me:

This 37-year-old woman presented for localization of the tiny [I like that, never liked the word tiny used in relation to my breast before now, but today it works for me] cluster of very superficial [do they know they are superficial, they sure caused a lot of ruckus for “superficial”] calcifications within the inferior [now that is just plain mean] hemisphere of the right breast. This was carried out with the aid [aid my ass] of local anesthetic [but without the cooperation of the patient] utilizing a 3.5 cm length [I knew something was up, 3.5 cm, argh] needle fine wire localization device. On the final film, the tip of the wire is immediately adjacent to the calcifications.

The final surgical pathology report is now available and this reveals fibrocystic change with calcifications in benign lobules [sexy, hey?]. There is no significant atypia [do doctors know that spell check does not consider that a word?] and there is no malignancy. Bilateral mammographic [also not a word] follow up in May of 2006 [ugh!].


After the Happy News I went with Madeleine (who had accompanied me to the doctor for moral support) to the Naam and had a Dragon Bowl. Not champagne, but a very life giving meal. I observed: you don’t know how much you are carrying until you get to let it go. The relief was palpable.

Here I am free and clear. But not done. So please stay tuned for more thoughts. Coming soon to a computer near you.

Within The Hour

I am within the hour of seeing my doctor. With each passing moment, my stomach gets queasier, my heart pounds harder and my thoughts get crazier. This is a very different experience than when I got diagnosed with cancer. That was so startling, so unexpected, so devastating. This (hopefully being me getting diagnosed with health, but that is not what my thoughts are saying right now) is so escalating, so nerve-racking, so very weighty. I feel heavy and tired and blundering. And yet my head is racing, and making stuff up and whirling. Like a dervish. Like my washing machine. Faster and faster, more and more pressure from the centrifugal force, pinning me against the wall of my mind; my hoping; my deepest, darkest fears; all of it. It seems more than a body should be able to take. And yet mine perseveres, persists, and endures. Brave, unsung hero. My dearest wish is that this day is a gentle one for you.

Support for the Support

Here is an article that I started to write but never did anything with. Hopefully, by posting it, it can be of use to someone, somewhere…


The statistics of the number of people diagnosed each year with cancer is staggering. But another, unconsidered, statistic is the number of friends and family affected by that life changing moment. A lot is written for cancer patients. How to cope, what to change, etc. There is very little support for the support.

When I tell people the story of how I fought and beat cancer, they seem surprised but relieved hearing me describe things so clearly, honestly but also light-heartedly. They say things like “I have always been so afraid to talk about cancer with people, and you take the sting out of it” and “your honesty is refreshing”. This really shows me how much people are still cautious and careful about this disease. How friends and family are unsure of themselves, unsure how to be useful or genuinely helpful and supportive. So they tip toe around what to say and how to say it. While this is very understandable it just compounds the problem of this being a disease that is not talked about, or if it is, then spoken of in whispers.

What I hope to present here today are a couple of ideas and suggestions of what you can do for someone who has just been diagnosed with cancer. That said, each person is different, both you and the cancer patient. Trust yourself and what you know of your friend or loved one to help you decide which of these suggestions to put into action, or how far to take it. Some people are naturally shy and retiring, others very out in the world with their experiences. Respect those differences, and still find a way to be a kind, gentle friend in need.

Here is what you can do:

1) Write them a card. Sometimes it is so hard to know what to say. When someone is first diagnosed they themselves are in shock, and there is no knowing what the results of the tests and treatments will be, which makes it even harder to find appropriate words. And many of the cards out there are either sappy or sad and evasive. But don’t let any of those things stop you from writing a loving card. What I asked for, and what I recommend, is write to them about what they have contributed to your life, how they have made a difference and why you love having them in your life. Everyone loves and needs to hear that and, to be honest, knowing that you make a difference and that your life has impact is the very thing that will have you want to hold on and keep having an impact. Some of my favourite cards are ones that were off beat that captured the joy in life and made we want to keep living. To others they might have seemed irreverent, or inconsiderate or uncaring. To me, it called me forth and demanded that I sit up and pay attention. One special card had a smiley-faced kid and the caption saying, “Joy is where you find it.” Seems an odd card to send to someone facing and fighting cancer. But the caption is true and it helped me to look beyond the pain and details of my situation and focus on what was bringing me joy each day. Gratitude it a powerful healer. So is laughter.

2) Offer to help. But don’t make them have to figure out what help they need. In those moments of crisis and diagnosis and the shock that follows it is hard to know what you might need help with and it is hard to articulate things, not to mention how hard it is to do the asking.
When you offer help, outline some possibilities such as: can I take care of your kids for an afternoon, or can I research the treatment the doctor suggested for you. Don’t be offended if they don’t take you up on it. The might have it covered off by family members, they might be shy or embarrassed, they might not know how to receive. But even your making the offer is a huge gift, whether or not the take you up on it, you are saying you are willing to be there (whatever that looks like) in a more concrete way. Another reason to make suggestions is that if you are not up for certain tasks, you can leave those out. If you aren’t comfortable with certain things, be clear about that. As difficult as it is to say “I would rather…”, your honesty let’s them know it is ok for them to be honest too. It also makes it clear that you mean the other offers you are making. So come to them with a list of what you would be happy to do for them. Maybe it is make dinner for them, maybe it is clean their place while they are in chemotherapy, maybe it is take them to the doctor appointments and take notes. Know about yourself what you are especially good at giving: is it mental (e.g. helping them to research certain topics or talk them through decisions that have to be made), or physical (e.g. hospital visits, picking up groceries, setting up a system for their medication regime), or emotional (e.g. providing a space for them to share how they are feeling or to cry without trying to fix them for instance), or spiritual (e.g. praying, doing ritual, putting your name in prayer circles about town) support.
I had one friend who couldn’t stand to come to the hospital, as she had lost someone to cancer, and the hospital ward held bad memories for her. She supported me in other ways. The type of support you provide also depends on your physical proximity to the person. I sent out emails to my community updating people on what was going on and asking for help. Mostly far away folks could only pray for me, picture healing light around me, send me cards/emails of support and encouragement, send me books, etc. Everything was appreciated.

3) Buy them a book or a deck of cards or a guided visualization CD, or anything else if you are moved to do so. When I got sick a childhood friend of mine, one that I wasn’t in touch with every month let alone every day, sent me a book about breast cancer. My first thought was, “How odd, how does she know what kind of a book I might want on this.” But in the end, it was handy to have a resource right there, and I so appreciated not having to go to the store to buy it, I really didn’t want to be faced with one more decision (that of which book to buy). The other powerful componet about her choice to do this is she had had cancer herself many years before, and so it was very comforting to be reminded that cancer is something you can live through, and not just survive, but thrive. It was a practical gift that said to me “There is help, there is hope, and this is just a part of the richness that is your life.”

4) Be with them. Spend time together. Some people get quite freaked out by cancer. Perhaps they have lost someone to the disease, or perhaps they just don’t know how to be around someone who has it. Things don’t have to be different from how they were before. Take your cues from your friend or loved one. Some people will want to talk about what they are feeling and going through, others want to be distracted from it. Spending time with them can help they pass the long hours between treatments, that they might otherwise fill up with negative or frightening thinking. When I was sick I had friends plan, organize and come on picnics with me, or take me to movies. No one needs more distracting from time to time than someone going through such an intense and mentally and emotionally complicated journey.

5) Make and bring them food. As cliché as it seems, food preparation can be such a burden. For some people the last thing that they have the energy to deal with at a time like this is the little details of life. Like a family who has just had a child, bringing them by a dinner one day, or something they can freeze, etc. Such a practical offering of help can free them up to focus on the important other decisions and challenges of their new situation. If they are someone who lives alone, sharing that meal with them can ease their loneliness, if they are part of a family, it can lessen some of their responsibilities. Always check in about any new dietary restrictions that they have made since diagnosis before bringing something by. Who knows, you might get introduced to some new recipes and new ways of life.

One last word of wisdom I have for you, the support person. Your loved one is looking to you for hope, encouragement, and positive attitudes. You need to keep your spirits up. And sometimes that can be hard under such challenging circumstances. Don’t be afraid to ask for the help that you need. Not from your friend with cancer, but from your network of other friends. Health is a community issue and the more we share the burdens and joys of the journey, the healthier we will all be.

A Disease of Fear. And Isolation

Dark is starting to fall (By way of explanation, for details oriented folk - I wrote this in the evening, posting it the next day) and I can feel the fear starting to sneak into my heart. And my mind. The what ifs, and the what does this mean, and the what happens now. And those questions lead to more fear in my heart. The kind of fear that is cold and clammy. Like when you wake up from a nightmare, heart pounding, and wonder which reality is true. The kind of fear that travels thorough your veins like icicles. The kind of fear that leaves a residue in your mouth and stomach, a coating of apprehension and foreboding. Like waiting for the shoe to drop, the sky to fall, the end to come. It is haunting. And cruel. And attacks you when you are alone.

Cancer runs off of fear. And isolation. But mostly fear. There is this whole general societal fear around it. The basic flavour being that cancer is the “C” word, whispered if it must be spoken of. Hidden away like a family secret. Not sure if that is related to the way we seem to blame the person who has the cancer and so we foster a shame at having the disease, resulting in the diagnosed apologetically keeping it quiet. Or if it is a collective fear of, I don’t know, getting it ourselves, how hard the death is reputed to be, or some sort of mystical quality. Not sure. I had never first hand seen someone go through cancer and so I wasn’t afraid of the disease as much as I was afraid of the aura around it.

And then there is the personal fear. The little things we think about in the back alleys of our minds after we have been given the Bad News. The looking into our past, both wondering if we did something to deserve this, and trying to reconcile our life. And the looking into our future, what procedures are necessary, who do I listen to, what if the treatment doesn’t work, what will my quality of life be, what is in my control and what isn’t. It isn’t easy. It isn’t pleasant. It isn’t what anyone what’s to spend their quiet, alone time doing. I was discouraged from watching frightening or violent movies when I was going through treatment. Once, forgetting that the first movie/book, The Lord of the Ring, doesn’t end well, (makes sense that it doesn’t, seeing as there are 2 more episodes to go, but I was young when I read them, and was looking for mental distraction), I went to see it, and in the scene where Frodo and friends are hiding in the roots of the tree as quietly, and invisibly as they can, from the Ring Wraiths, I could feel the fear leap off of the movie screen into my nervous system (emphasis on the nervous) and attack me. Apparently, unlike cancer, fear is contagious. Makes me wonder if people caught it from society or society caught it from people.

And, of course, the isolation. It feels so alone, this getting and having cancer (even when the growing statistics tell us we are not, in fact, alone, the feeling carries on). It is a sad, weird club to belong to and it’s hard to relate to if you haven’t walked the road yourself, (I know there are many such roads, and I don’t mean to minimize other trips like this, that only the chosen can relate to, and I am betting we feel this alone in each one of those journeys, perhaps it is an important part of the journey itself). And then there is the way where we actually do isolate (as oppose to just the feeling of it, as above). The go it alone, I am fine, don’t worry about me thing. The who wants to hear the details anyway, I will just be burdening people thing. You know, trying to make it less hard for other people. The people that love us. And then everyone is so busy having a stiff upper lip that on one can say what they are really feeling.

Here is what I say:

Don’t let fear sneak in! You are not alone! You don’t need to do it alone!

The First Day

Only after I had been diagnosed with cancer was I introduced to an odd “expression”, but one that, unfortunately, rang absolutely true. Applying the well known in western culture, Christian shortenings of Before Christ (BC) and Anno Domini (AD - meaning "in the year of our lord") to cancer, someone has come up with Before Cancer and After Diagnosis. To me, it represents that fact that the day someone gets diagnosed with cancer, their life (maybe even their whole life) changes. For better and for worse. I suspect it happens even for people who were anticipating it, although I wouldn’t know for sure as it was not my journey (for those who don’t know, I was completely side swiped, after having been told that since I was 32 and had no family history, it was very unlikely that the 3cm lump in my breast was cancerous).

That first day is very tricky. There are so many feelings, not least of which is shock. Then raging fear, and maybe some mad, and a bit of grief, and some disbelief. And they are all swirled in together, and so there might be more, or in different proportions, but who knows because they are a mass, sort of like a storm cloud, circling, gusting, threatening.

And, then, as I say, there is the permanent changing of life. Mostly changing how we look at things, if I recall correctly. Priorities are shuffled. Perspectives re-evaluated. The bad or painful part is that we are forced to feel and taste our own mortality. We have to personally look at the hard absolute truth that faces us all, that one day we will die. I know we all know it and possibly consider it now and again, but it is just that for the diagnosed, it is more current, more real, and more in our face. Of course that is what leads to the good part of the change. What is important to us is drawn up in huge relief from the rest of our life. We get clear and focused and we change what we do with our days to make sure we have time with our loved ones, or we let go of the little details that really don’t matter anyway. Or whatever is true for each person. Basically, we refocus and redirect ourselves.

It is a significant “day in the life”, not one easily forgotten, even though the details of the day get obscured (I think because so very much happens it is hard to remember what and when upon looking back). For me the important thing to remember about it is that this is the first day of the rest of your life. On this and on every subsequent day, you get to choose how you will be with “this one precious life”. For every one that belongs to this weird, creepy club I belong to, I salute you. I honour you and your courage, courage that you are required to have, instead of the kind where you get to choose, like signing up to go to war. Everything will be ok in the end. Somehow.

Just Say No to Resignation

I have already written on this (see NOT Giving My Power Away), but it bears repeating. One of the most essential lessons that I took away from cancer, and that I think is available for others going through the cancer journey is CHOOSING TO FIGHT. Being our own best ally. Standing up for ourselves. Being true to what we need and want. It is simple, but not easy. Especially in a situation where we are trained to give our power away to “authority”, people who “know best” and are “well educated”. But none of these 3 quotationed bits gives these caregivers any insight into our hearts, into what is important to us. They are just giving us information. Information that we then get to add to the stew of All That We Are, and come out the other end with decisions or more questions or whatever.

As Bernie Siegel puts it, one needs to have a will to live, depression is a partial death, and cancer is depression at a cellular level. Despair and depression come from feeling powerless, hopeless and helpless. I believe that this is why empowering ourselves, taking back our power and finding some hope and asking for help, these all change how we are, who we are and how we interact with the disease.

When I was busy going through cancer treatments, one of the most painful and disheartening parts was going into Cancer World with my entourage (this is, by the way, one of the reasons I needed an entourage, to protect me from this other perspective, that I am about to describe, lest it leak into my consciousness and pollute or poison me and my thinking) and seeing the other people. Not all the other people. Just some of the other people. They had this look. Like they were already dead, but walking around. They had Resigned Themselves To Their Fate. Given up. Succumbed.

Fuck that, I say.

There is no easier way for cancer to sneak in than that. And I am not just saying that at as someone who only had to do the “easier stages” of cancer. I get that there is a road way tougher than the one I walked, and maybe if I (god forbid) one day have to go that route then I might change my tune. But for now, from where I am standing, I think that Fighting For Our Lives is a part of the cure. Caring enough to want it, to do what it takes, to go to any lengths, that is a part of what makes us healthy. Saying I really like and really, really want to keep being Signy Wilson (well, obviously, for you it would be a different name, unless in fact you do want to be Signy Wilson, and then I guess I will have to fight you for it – but know that I have already fought for it once and won, so you run a pretty big risk), that is half the battle. In a world where everyone seems to struggle to some degree or other with self-esteem issues, with wanting other’s approval, with feeling less than (or greater than - cause you know they are just on a continuum of comparing ourselves, an indicator of unresolved self-esteem stuff), knowing who we are, accepting it and loving it, and not abandoning ourselves in the face of life, those are a powerful healing tools, I don’t care what dis-ease you have.

Now I know that having that attitude doesn’t guarantee we beat cancer. But I think having that attitude can make dying from cancer very different than succumbing to cancer. That commitment to our spirit, to the truth of who we are in our essence, somewhere in there is the place where we get the capacity to die with dignity. With peace and with understanding. Cause when it is my turn, many decades from now, that is how I want to die, the way I lived. Full of piss and vinegar, and Signy to the very end.

Why I Don't Have Results Yet

I know you, like me, are waiting for my results. And you, like me, were expecting them a week after surgery. So, what gives? Yesterday I spoke to my doctor’s secretary, she said that my doctor expects results in 1 to 2 weeks, and that she usually does not call if there is nothing to report. Ach Thiph. Well, obviously, that is not going to work for me. So I have booked an appointment to see her (my doctor) on Mar 12th at 1:15pm. So hold onto your seats, we just have a few more days to ride out, and then we will have confirmed results that I am absolutely FINE!

Remembering Nell

Be forewarned, I am in a bit of existential angst, a sort of divine discontent, so please bear with me, if you can stand it.

Today is the 9th anniversary of the day my grandmother died. Knowing that I wouldn’t be able to get to her gravesite today, I went yesterday. It is a typical Vancouver gravesite, where more value is given to being kept neat and tidy than to growing plants (unlike is Iceland, where growing plants is what is hard, so the effort is put into nurturing many plants big and small to demonstrate love and respect to the deceased). But even so there are trees and bushes. Each year during this time in the cemetery I notice that there are a great number of cherry trees, and I promise myself I will come back in 3 weeks or so when they are in full bloom. Some years I do, some years I don’t. This day was a wildly and atypically blustery day. Sort of eerie in it’s peculiarity.

Looking at Nell’s gravestone, I couldn’t help but notice that above her name are the names of her family: her sister, her mother and father, and her grandfather. While I love Nell in a deep, tender, spacious way, and feel a profound connection and kinship with her, as I ran my fingers over the indents which is all that is left of our ancestors I notice that I feel nothing for these other people that share her earthly grave forever. Mostly because I know nothing about them. What were there mannerisms? What was their sense of humour like? What was their favourite memory or object? Who did they love and how did they show it? What mattered most to them? Were they happy? Did they do anything significant with their lives? Were they well loved? I don’t know the answer to these questions. I don’t know these people, people that probably meant a lot to a woman that meant a lot to me. So is this what it all comes down to in the end? I mean we all die eventually. My great, great grandfather Francis Bradley, my grandmother, one day, me, and, let’s face it even my children, god willing (that god willing will be for the having them, not for them dying, obviously, although I guess in some of those hard parenting moments even the best of mothers think evil thoughts). There is no stopping it, because if it isn’t from cancer, it is from being run over by a bus. There is nothing we can do to dodge that bullet. (Is there such a thing a quality of death?) So what do we do while we are here to make sure it matters that we were even here at all?

This past weekend, when Reese Witherspoon won the best actress Oscar she spoke of June Carter’s concerned with “just trying to matter”. So how do we do that? How do we matter? Is touching one life deeply more important/useful/effective than touching many in a peripheral or superficial way? And if the impact can ripple out, so each life we touch, might matter and make a difference to the people in their life, does that weigh on the scales too? And what are the things that matter? As Ralph Waldo Emerson (clearly not related to the controversial MP David Emerson) put it: “to leave the world a better place; whether by a healthy child, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition; to know even one life has breathed easier because you have lived.” All of these are important, and beautiful. But is there anyway to quantify mattering? I mean, what has more value? A small kindness: to a loved one or to a stranger? Which makes more of a difference? To bring ease and relief: to a mind or a body? Which is more important? To change the world, or to hold a child’s hand? Or can holding a child’s hand change the world? And are these just meanderings of the mind, intended to distract me from doing something that actually matters?

Further, we don’t know which thing we do will have the effect. Is it the hand we hold in the hospital or the council we keep with a friend considering leaving the father of her children? Which action truly matters, or makes a difference? I always assume it is the grand gesture, the large thing, the significant or important act. But in reality that doesn’t always seem the case. An obvious example is my cat Maggie. She doesn’t even for an instant worry about if she is making a difference, or mattering, but in fact, she makes my life quite a bit better and more pleasant through her company and presence. So trying to do it, being conscious does not necessarily help. In fact, it is usually when I am so busy living life, full and distracted, that I suspect I inadvertently touch lives in good (opps, I accidentally typed “god”) ways. And yet I know that being mindful, and choosing intentionally and with love is am important part of the process too. A bit like “choosing joy” as previously written about. What I am also noticing, right now in fact, is that trying to figure it out isn’t that helpful, so I will leave off and just trust that the universe works in mysterious ways. And I guess I don’t get to know ahead of time how things turn out, or what matters most, but rather I get to just keep doing my best to be my best.

Here are some questions to leave you with (like I haven’t asked enough already?!?)

What is the legacy you want to leave behind?
Who do you choose to be each day?
How have you mattered?

And here is to Nell, as I type this my eyes turn to your picture on my wall, you are still remembered and loved, your legacy runs deep!

Ranting

Ok, what the hell is going on? I mean WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!??!?!?!??!?!??!?!
In less than the last 24 hours I have heard news of 2 people who possibly have cancer. Now what I mean by possibly is that they are in the crazy medical no-man’s land where there are 50,000, count ‘em, tests, procedures, pokings, and prodings; and lots of doctor’s whispering in corridors; and that deep, crazy making, fear inducing, having to numb out your feelings because it is just too much to bear kind of a place (naturally this is my projections onto these people, I don’t know what they are going through, but I remember what I had to go through). AAAAAHHHHHHH.

What the hell is going on? I mean for a first world country/countries, with medical systems that are top notch, and the technology to do just about anything, how is it that cancer seems to be outstripping the GNP for expansion. It seems freakin’ exponential. Not to mention tragic.

Now being me, my default runs to anger instead of fear, and hence the “Ranting” title to this post. But it feels like a bit of a conspiracy even to me. Like the CIA (don’t they get blamed for everything) needs to get rid of some people. Or the planet has had it with all our freeloading and has found a way to thin us out (much like we do to plants we don’t fancy). What makes this different from a pandemic? Just the speed of it? Because if we add up all the people who have died from this dreaded mo-fo of a disease it has to come near to Holocaust proportions, no? When I was diagnosed with cancer 4 ¾ years ago, I had no “family history” of cancer. It is safe to say that that is no longer the case. We have suffered almost as many losses as there have been years in there. I mean enough already. Why the hell haven’t we stopped it? Why are we not doing more? Do we really need to be putting equal amounts of time into researching the cosmetic value of botox injections? HELLO. We can create a bomb that can kill gozillions of people, but we can’t find a cure for cancer? What the hell is up with that? (I realize I am oversimplifying it, just give me some space to have my feelings of anger, thank you very much). Jesus, Mary and Joseph. I have so had enough.

And me being me, I want to take action. Some kind of action. But not being a doctor or a scientist or a researcher, what they hell am I suppose to do? Raise awareness, raise money, raise the spirit of my great aunt something or other. What a horrible feeling of powerlessness and helplessness (is this what my precious friends and family had to go through with me? Apologies. And, a call to action). I so want to put this righteous anger to some good, kick-ass, change-the-world kind of use. But what?

Ok, I have got to stop writing and either find out what I can do just for now to start changing the world, or find a way to lower my blood pressure (lest I die from an exploding heart before cancer can get me!).

Prayers for these precious people please (peace of mind and healthy, healthy bodies), who shall remain nameless since they didn’t get asked permission to be the topic of my self-expression.

Scars Unveiled

Well, today I unveiled the Frankenstein-ian site. Yes, I took the dressing off. It was surprisingly hard (from an emotional standpoint, although, come to think of it, the dressing itself was fairly well attached too). There was something so vulnerable about actually looking at the work, and seeing what had happened. Remember that up until now, there had just been a white bandage looking patch. Nothing dramatic, nothing alarming, nothing shocking. Quite peaceful actually, and sterile and neat. The edge of the dressing covered my nipple, so it kind of looked like those adult content pictures where the naughty bits have been blacked over with tape, to protect those with finer sensibilities (turns out, when it comes to blood and cuts, I am one of those types).

Like pulling a Band-Aid off the skin quickly, it smarted and I felt the cold slap of shock simultaneously. A number of things hit me (all at goddamn once).

1) Part of the surprise was just seeing surgical tape. I am not sure why I didn’t expect it to be there, it was there last time too, but last time, with my Drain-O-Vac (I never did record that tale, stay tuned, for those gory details) and my dressing needing changing, I guess I had already seen the tape, so it was not as disquieting. I must have hoped for it to be all healed already, like my matching scars on the other side. Besides the pieces of tape, in their uneven, non-parallel lines look so aggressive, mismatched and broken, almost like a shattered mirror, startled shards strewn about haphazardly. It is some of what fashioned the Frankenstein image.
2) Speaking of disquieting, part of the vulnerability was seeing the surgical tape holding the stitches in place, like the wound had to be contained, or it might just keep going and eventually split me apart. Yikes.
3) Then there was the fact that my body had been changed. It was permanently, irrevocably changed. There is no going back or changing my mind (which, as you know, I dilly dallied with, for instance when Donna and I squared off under the old mammogram machine). I am out the other side and it is done. But I like options. I like the thought of being able to change my mind. So this is hard on me (not as hard as, say, surgery, or cancer for that matter, but you get the point, it adds to the shock).
4) Next there was seeing the bloodied, bandaged mess there, in black and white and red, well, it was like proof. The proof that surgery had actually taken place. Coldly reminding me about my loss of the option to pretend surgery hadn’t happened (a bit like my post on living in denial during this week of not knowing results. Which, by the way, I still don’t know - they expected the test results back in a week, don’t make me laugh, but I digress).
5) It also flooded me with feelings of a loss of control. Like it wasn’t my choice (and, yes, I know it was my choice, but that rational awareness does not change my feelings, as anyone who has engaged in a verbal sparring match with me on this issue is painfully aware) and it wasn’t my doing and there were pieces that I didn’t get to decide (like what freakin’ direction the scar would run! – which leads me to the next point).
6) Why the hell did she cut across the line of the breast? What was she thinking? Firstly, it is more painful in the healing, I notice, as I try each night in vain to get comfortable. And I think this is related to the second point. There is a natural line to the breast, and the shape of the breast. This incision just intersects it. Just severs it with the flick of a blade. Unlike when she was dealing with the 2001 3cm chunk-o-flesh, which has it own natural line (kind of like when a moon gets its own orbit), I assumed that when she is dealing with 4mm she can cut whatever direction her fancy takes her. Tragically, our fancy’s run in different directions. Which, for me, leaves the impending scar ruining the aesthetic line of my breast (how princess-y is that?). Lastly, and somewhat related to aesthetics, I am now going to be able to draw two eyes and turn my breast into a distorted happy face with the scar as the mouth and the nipple as a sort of very big, red Rudolph nose. Be still my beating imagination. I have become a freak of nature. Well, I guess if it is man made, that can’t be the case. But this is woman made, how does that change things. Oh, I’m digressing again; see how back shock is for the human brain.

So there I was, as we have already established, in shock. There was also a quiet little sadness. Sort of a “desperate little voice” part of me, reaching up and out, wanting to be heard. It is the part that wants to be held and told that everything will be ok. Told that I am still lovable and still beautiful, even when I look this ghastly (I don’t actually look that ghastly, but that is the fear, right?). Told that scars are just stories and badges of honour, and, as I like to hold it, evidence of rites of passage. We all have some, whether we carry them on the inside or out (in fact, having collected a few of each now, I find the out ones a bit easier, it marks the spot, and prompts the story and therefore the healing that comes from sharing, sharing the story and the journey). And as I think of this, and write it down, it helps to melt away the last feeling that I had had. That alone feeling, that comes in the moment, when we assume no one knows or understands. Fortunately, thanks to you, being here with me, I do not have to go through that, and thanks to me, being willing to share it, I choose not to go through it, but rather surrender to the folds of your collective, loving embrace.

A Different Kind of Waiting

So, here I am. Waiting. Again. But this one is different. Last time, pre-surgery (boy oh boy, was that just a few days ago) I wanted it to come and go, get it over with, be done, tick it off my list. This time (and I know others don’t feel this same way), instead of wanting to get it over with, I am experiencing it like a kind of resting, in between, waiting place. The sort of thing that William Bridges speaks to in his book Transitions, the adjustment, the getting ok with not knowing yet. Part of what is interesting in this place is that there is both easy and hard in it.

On the easy side, right now, today, I can pretend the results are whatever I want them to be. I can live in denial and let life be totally ok, even fun. Hanging out with my family, doing my thing, having a week off work, and recovering. Like it is a normal day in the life.

On the harder side of things – there are the long, lonely moments that even a room full of my dearest friends couldn’t silence. There is an eerie quiet to it. Where the waiting echoes and sort of melts into the past and the future. When I am sitting here, in this place, it feels like there is a hollowness in people’s words. Emptiness in their eyes. It catches my breath. My heart beats harder. The muscles in my head and neck tighten. There is an ache in my fingertips, a yearning, to touch something, someone, to make it slow down, to make time stand still. To dodge the bullet of receiving The News.

It is a special kind of waiting. The black and white –ness of the news, of the results are so unlike what is found in the natural world. There is a pronouncement. I am healthy or I am not healthy. Bullshit. I am Signy. And there is so much more to whether I am healthy or not than a little 4 mm piece of flesh. There is whether my heart is healthy (flexible and full of love and dreams), and my thoughts (generous, open, curious), and whether I am in right relationship with my maker. There is the question of whether my community is healthy, and my family, and how I contribute to that. All of these bigger places to evaluate my health. But so hard to keep the focus there, when this other nightmare of waiting pulls me out of my bed, to restlessly pace the halls of my home and my mind at all hours.

Sure, I want this to be over. But what if I don’t like the news? What if it is not what I want to hear? Then I will look back on this week as vacation. A nice little respite. Why didn’t I enjoy it more, those last few days and hours of peacefully, mercifully, not knowing what lay ahead. So, for now, I will enjoy myself. And reflect on the greater health that I have, and consider places I need more balance, and more health.

So, if you are willing, please keep this vigil with me too, and look into your own life… what parts of it are healthy, what parts are not, and what are the next steps to making all of it work better?

It's my breast and I'll cry if I want to

Well, it’s over, and just as well anyway! There is a certain amount of not knowing how bad things will be that helps you do what has to be done. As you have already heard the IV line insertion went quite well (if you don’t count the fashion faux pas of pantaloons and crazy green half tights, half shoes that they made me wear for all of this, I mean talk about adding insult to injury, is bordered on inhumane). And I had Lynne the Lovely (that would not be my cousin Lynne who commented frequently at Christmas what a dreadful nurse she would make).

And surgery went well, with the help of many friends and sedatives. Yay!

So here is what went sideways. That fine wire thing, there is nothing fine about it!!! It is a sort of evil, unmitigated hell, from where I was lying. Here I was, with enough Xanax to choke a cat, but not enough to knock me out (and no altar boy cocktail to help just yet). Firstly, there was the Dr. SomethingOrOther Wilson, which has to bode well, and I told her as much, from one Wilson to another (I forbore from doing it in a Scot’s accent, or at least I think I did, but you never can tell with me, especially with that much stone on). And then there was Donna, who I had met before, and who knew where my weak spots were and spent the next hour exploited them, as far as I could tell.

My strongest memory of that hour of my life, besides the blood, my blood, in places I hadn’t expected or imagined it, was her voice saying, over and over, “You need to cooperate!” For the love of God, I am here aren’t I, I am not clawing your eyes out, I am not screaming or defending myself or even standing up for myself for that matter, you wife of Satan. What do you want from me? Well apparently, she wanted me to not shrink my breast away from the paddles clamping down over my tender breast. Yah-hah. Lady. Firstly, help me out by telling me what you want, don’t just lecture me. Secondly, I don’t have a lot to work with here, literally. Besides, once I stopped shrinking away, she complained about my rib cage being in the way. How, I repeat, how can that be my fault? How is that me not cooperating (cause you gotta know that she repeated her mantra at that stage too.)? So after I had stopped “squirming”, and had done what I could to remove my offending ribcage, and they were clamped down on me like hand rung laundry dryers, then that fun started (can you believe I choose those words?).

They gave me a needle to locally freeze my breast (god bless Emla and all the work Emira and I put into that). About 3 whole seconds later (and it is not drug addled, time distorted memory brain that is making up unrealistic numbers here), they started driving the needle with the fine wire into my breast. Hello, pain, ouch, yikes, stop. “Oh, are you feeling that?” Yah-hah. Yes. Ja. Indeed. “Like a dull ache or a sharp pain”. Sharp. Sharp. Sharp, sharp, sharp, ouch. “Oh” she said casually, and drove it deeper. What are you doing, we are not trying to quilt my breast here. If only I had said that, but I wasn’t in much position to do anything but suck it up and try my best not to, well, not to do anything but suck it up (although weep uncontrollably, scream bloody murder, or leap off the table and brutalize these “care givers” all came to mind). So I did the thing that takes an unbelievably hard toll on the body of a kinesthetic type like me, I dissociated and left my body. Abandoned it, there on the table. Sorry sweet best friend. Not sure what else I could do.

That’s when I came to focus on other things: the blood on the equipment; the incredible tension in every other muscle of my body but those around the right breast area; what happens to my brainwaves when I breathe that shallowly for that long. Eventually it was over, and my body was left limp and sore. And my heart bruised (from all that abandoning myself). Someone came and wheeled me away, green tights and all. It was all I could do to not burst into tears of joy when I rounded the corner and saw Emira, and Lynne, and eventually Kuusk, all my allies on the road. Like the hero up from the deep after having accomplished the task that can only be done alone. Like Persephone coming home, I was ready for a gentler, if not less significant ride.

I reminded (from the last time we had done this) Kuusk that the table was my altar, the hospital my temple, and she was my high priestess taking me through a rite of passage. And as before, she did not disappoint (I just hope the scars are as cool as the last set). Thank you for the safe journey home, my friends and allies!!!

All Your Love

Gasp, splutter, cough. That’s me, emerging from the deep. What a process. What a procedure. What a journey. A journey I could not have made without YOU! Thank you. Thank you. And thank you one more time!!! I am out the other end, and find your hand, reaching to me, holding me, gently soothing me.

It is so clear to me how it is your support, your prayers, your love, and your blessings that have me where I am today. Safe and sound and slowly recovering. The number of calls, company, emails, breakfasts, astrological chats, salmon deliveries, blog comments, deep and important conversations, feedback on lidocaine, visits, inspiration of the next generation, lunches, distractions, food drop offs, blog updates, sleep overs, giggle fits, picture taking, flowers, boundary setting, flying out from Ontario, dinners, standing ground with the medical team, castor oil pick up, whim support, refusing to go bra shopping, offers of help, rolling with cancelled appointments, whiling away the time, dealing with my drug addled mind, checking in, all of these and so much more leave me feeling loved, cared for, and whole. You are my backbone, my outer skin, the heart that beats in my chest. Thank you again!

More soon on MY take of the surgery day.