Team Signy

Focusing on the Book

2009-04-19T12:17:00.000-07:00

I realize that it has been ages and ages since I have blogged. I guess the bad news is that I am not expressing myself in an immediate way. The good news though is that I have been using the time that previously I might have focused on blogging, on writing the book that I know I need to write about cancer. My process and journey though it.

So if you miss reading me, well, soon (hopefully) you will have even more of me to read. And yes, it is a slow process, this writing, but it is exciting, fun and inspiring. So YAY!

And to make it even more fun, and focused I have hired a writing coach to help me, so this will happen! Another YAY!

I will press onwards, and blog when I can, and appologize in advance when I can't. And there is the self care of doing what I need to do for me, as well as honouring you. Triple YAY!

Bless you on your journey. What is the project that you have been putting off that needs doing?

Too Hard, Too Soft or Just Right?

2008-08-15T21:14:00.000-07:00

Today I got some coaching from a certification client (got to love that, they want to practise on me), and I, in the 15 minutes of powercoaching, got a revelation. Not in that is was a discovery of mammoth proportion, but rather in that it is something that is so pervasive, both in terms of within every area of my life, but also in that is has been with me for as long as I can remember, as to be a huge unfolding.

My biggest life struggle seems to be... when should I push myself harder, and when should I cut myself some slack.

Always I have struggled with this, often pushing myself so hard, too hard, never relenting, and when I am done just pushing some more. To the point where am worn so thin, and completely exhausted. And for what? The end of things "to do" never comes? The more I do the more that I and others demand of me. Until I froth at the mouth like a tasmania devil, whirling and pressing forward. Never getting to a resting point. Left with the question "When is enough enough?", and "What am I trying to prove?"

So flip to the other side of the coin. Eventually, praise be to god, every single time I do this frothing at the mouth thing, I inevitably hit a speed bump of sorts, a kind of "slow down and take another look" moment. When the house of self-will cards falls down and I can't make it work anymore. At this place, this moment in time, I suddenly remember about surrender. I remember that I can't do it all by myself. And I move gracefully and gratefully into gentleness. Where, when I am tired, I rest. When I am hungry I eat. I don't push myself so hard that I lose myself. I don't make things and accomplishments more important than people and I just let myself BE a little.

My strongest memory of this experience came when I was about 6 months out of cancer treatment, spat out from the system, but still in pain, still wounded and wondering. Wondering what was next and how to get there. There was no vine that hung from a tree, showing me where to swing. No breadcrumbs left out by little children to show me the way home. My eyes almost swollen shut from trying so hard not to cry, trying so hard to "get on with my life", pushing so hard, pushing harder than I could and should have, harder than I wanted to withstand, to look good, to get on with things, to be the righteous example of how to survive cancer well.

And then I finally cracked. And boy did I crack, wide open. And suddenly I started crying, even in the midst of being afraid that the tears would never ever end. I didn't have any choice anymore. All the pushing and trying hard hadn't worked, hadn't gotten me anyway, or taken away any pain. In fact it had probably just prolonged the pain, to the point of no return. And now it spilled forth. And now I let it. At long last, I let it. Let the tears fall and the pain swell in my breast like an ocean wave until it broke on the shores of my determination, and melted it away like as much slippery sand, waiting to be given the excuse to move.

In my release I let it all go. All the control, all the restriction, all the trying hard and looking good. And I let nature take her gentle course. I lay on my red sofa, cocooned in my own heart, and let my body tell me what to do. Was is time to cry? Time to sleep? Time to stare out into space, letting the molecules of my body and soul re-forge themselves, together? Time to just be still, for a minute, an hour, a day? Time to get up and do something else? Every single decision of what to do got passed through the filter of my body. My wise, weary, war worn body. With a mind of its own. I didn't move without it's say so. Didn't even think about getting up unless it had been ratified by the union, of body, mind, spirit and emotion. And so I healed. One day at a time. One tear at a time. One gentle, loving impulse at at time. This is how my heart got stitched up, a solid year and a quarter after my breast had been sewn back together. And I will never forget it. Except when I do.

So back to the question... when is it time to be hard, to push myself, to call myself forth and remind myself of the changes that I want to make in the world , that I can't make sitting in front of my TV and I can't make talking small talk at a party. And when it is time to know I am exhausted and I need some peace, some time to just be, just for a spell. I have been trying to know this my whole life, in a sort of rough, haphazard, totally unscientific experiment.

So now, with this new discovery, I start to notice that it is a dance, some days one thing, some days another. Not black and white. But an exploration. Checking in to see what is true in the moment. Learning the signs of when I am cracking under that strain and when am I tolerating my own excuses. No one can know but me, and I need to be brutally honest with myself. And if I can conquer this final frontier (and yes, I am noticing that that phrasology fits more with the driving self than the gentle self), who knows what is possible, and who knows what my heart will call for in the middle of the night.

Focusing on the Book

2008-06-20T18:10:00.000-07:00

Mammogram Fun

2008-04-30T18:04:00.000-07:00

Oxymoron, yes? Or at the very least a juxtoposition.

But that is what I have to do, create some kind of positive response, some kind of positive feeling, or just something, knowing that at least once a year, every year for the rest of my life I will have one of these babies. And for the most part I like to try to have my mammogram around this time of the year (I like to coordinate it to my anniversary clean date, because then I am more willing to go and more clearly see the importance).

So here I am, mentally preparing myself for tomorrow's session with the boob doctors. Take lots of advil, at least 1.5 hours ahead of time, but keep in mind that they might be delayed, so don't take it too early, don't want the effects to wear off. Don't wear any deodorant, it messes with the fine instruments ability to read (is that the aluminum, getting in the way?), but know that I will sweat more than usual that day, with the fear of all the flashbacks, so the sweat will have that alarm soaked smell, acidic and high pitched. And wear a top that is easy to take off and put on, or at the very least don't wear a one piece, or I will be wandering around the hospital naked (again). So much to think about, too bad all that brain activity can't obscure the anxious thoughts that always proceed this event.

Lucky for me though that I get to do all this at Cancer World, instead of X-Ray 505. So instead of grumpy overworked technicians, and long waiting lines even if you are on time and being just a number, I get the hot experts, the newest equipment, with the latest technology, able to take as long as a need and want, since there is no one else in line, to ask questions and have my little freakouts without getting the eyerolls to encourage my speeding up the process. Even if the equipment still hurts as much and squeezes as hard, at least I get to do it my own way. I guess I have paid my dues and this is the extra care I get, just to be safe. I will take what I can get.

And following my new tradition, I will come up with something fun and exciting, something, some kind of reward to give myself after my experience. Probably kitchen gadgets, as in the past, just because they make me happy (even if I barely have time to use them).

Here is the slightly exciting news. They (you know, them) are starting to dabble in some new technologies to test for breast cancer, ones that are less aggressive, less harsh, less mean. Using heat to identify abnormal activity in the breast tissue. So yay, can't wait until that is common practise and I can just come in for a spa instead of a squeeze, but until then... it's mammogram time.

Wish me luck.

Lifestyle Tourism

2008-03-09T20:49:00.001-07:00

Yes, this Friday past I got to go and live the life of other people. There is nothing quite as much fun (well being less conspicuous would have helped, then you aren't being stared at as you observe the natives) because you get to both have the anthropological experience of "Wow, they do what?" as well as the enjoyment of doing what they do. YEE HAW I say, with enthusiasm, if not authority.

And if that give away wasn't enough, let me spell it out. I went to a country and western (do you call it a western bar, when you are almost as west as you can get?) bar. I two stepped and drank tequila shots (well, that is not so foreign to me). Can't say as I blended in, I was shamefully overdressed, with a semi-permanent shocked look on my face, and doubled over with laughter much of the time. Although that last part could have more to do with how hysterically funny my date was than the wider company we kept.

It is also worth mentioning that I was on a first date (best first date I've ever had, I might add). So there was the added adventure of throwing caution to the wind and seeing how another half lives. And there I was, surrounded by large belt buckles (my date insists they are jewelry for men - and yes, he had one), stetson hats (in all shapes, sizes and colours - and no, he didn't have one), and beer. Imagine it if you will? If you dare? If you can stand it? Anyway, we danced the night away (and it did devolve from 2-step, which is just as well, since I was rather unskilled at it), which is perhaps what made it such a big hit with me. And I think I have already mentioned the laughter.

So while that was fun and all, how come it makes it to my cancer blog (I mean apart from laughter is the best medicine, and if you have a body, why not move it around, we don't get to keep it forever)? I'll tell you what. Having cancer, for me, was also a form of lifestyle tourism (no I am not comparing my first date to chemotherapy - besides the former was decidedly more fun, and trust me, nobody yearns to go to a second round of chemotherapy). I guess because I never really felt like I belonged. So I was watching. Watching the people and watching the care givers and seeing the defeated, slow, sad look in there eyes. I know everyone has their own process, but I do believe that believing you can kick it, believing that you are a tourist in a weird land and eventually plan to go home, helps that happen. It is like Dorothy in Oz with her red shoes. When we can find our own inner bearing, and be true to ourselves, then we get to go home (and home can be many different things to different people). And I guess that is not just true of cancer. So since we can't always decide which land we visit, at least find the way to enjoy being there. Which brings me back to ....

YEE HAW!!!

Ambushed at 5AM

2008-02-15T08:07:00.000-08:00

Oh the mornings that I wake up early, to thoughts of, well no, not thoughts, but feelings, feelings of dread, and forboding, and anxiety. It is so hard, and so unfair, that they sneak up on me, when all my defenses are down. I can't even identify what the feelings are, you know, because I am asleep. And by the time I wake up they have settled into my bones like a chill and I can't seem to shake them with a simple cup of tea.

And out of the forboding, if left untended like garden weeds, grows panic. And not panic about a specific thing, like getting an assignement in on time, just panic that life is off track, that I need to do something to fix it, but I don't even know what "it" is, because really nothing much is wrong. It is just a feeling. And feelings aren't facts. But try to remember that in the hush of the early morning, when there is no one around to remind you.

This feeling is reminicent of (although quite a bit watered down) the panic attacks I had for months and months post cancer. And instead of getting any help then, I just believed the thoughts and feelings and assumed that something was wrong with me.

Now there are other tools to use. I get up, as fast as possible. I get busy, with things that fulfill me (like writing, for instance). I call friends in the Eastern time zone (that trick I keep with me from cancer days!). I read inspirational material. I create some structure for my day. I remind myself that feelings aren't facts, and that everything is ok.

And yet, on the days when there isn't even a whiff of cancer nearby I sometimes wonder why I get these feelings again? But even entertaining such thoughts lures me back to the dark side. So I am better to just step away and get on with my day.

I hope yours is a good one!!!

Yes, We Can

2008-02-09T12:13:00.000-08:00

Wow, for the first time since I have been tracking the details of the latest American primary race (and let's just say, for the record, that by and large I try to avoid paying attention to American's and their politics, so long ago has my hope for change run out) I had a feeling about it, instead of a thought.

You see there are lots of places for thoughts. White women, black man, republician moderate. So confusing, and exciting, even inspiring. But I haven't felt anything yet. Least of all hope. Hope of change, hope for a better tomorrow, hope that they might pull their collective heads out of their... sand, and notice that the world is mad as hell at them and they need to start doing something different. Anything different. No, I have long since buried that feeling. Under the rubble and the wreakage of the wars they wage.

And today... a feeling, in fact a flood of tear. And yes, dare I say it, when it stands exposed and vulnerable like a bud on a tree come too early, risking frostbite to get a look at the sun, yes... the feeling is HOPE. Hope the way a sibling cracks open with deep gratitude at the possibilities that emerge, like at the end of a cold winter, when a dear sister or brother (and in this case nation) has recognized they have a problem and has admitted themselves into rehab. I couldn't have made my brother nation go to rehab, he has to choose it for himself. But oh can I celebrate it, and support him, when he chooses to do the right thing. Hope poised to crash over me, like the crest of an ocean wave, with so much more force behind it that I can't even imagine how wide or deep it runs. Oh my god. Things could change. They could be different. There could be a good life after Bush. There could be a new way.

Please lead us out of the dark, we are all desperate for some sunlight, and just waiting for someone with enough muscle and heart to take the risk, and try something new.

What touched me so deeply? This video... check it out.

Hrafnhildur

2008-02-07T12:24:00.000-08:00

That is the name of my cousin. The one who died of breast cancer on Feb 7th, 2004. Four years ago today. Too much loss, I say. Too much for one family to have in so short a time. And from one disease. Talk about room for survivor guilt. And fear.

When she died, four years ago, I got my first tangible taste of "wow, this disease is real, people actually die from this". Not that I haven't known people to die from it before then, but somehow this was so much closer to home. In so many ways. And it rocked my world. What made me different from her, that I survived? And then again, at the time, I only had 3 years clean, so what was to say I wasn't next. Yikes. And again, I get to remember that my being alive is a miracle of sorts. Not something to take for granted and keep demanding more.

And so I remember today how precious life is. I remember the hard way. I am left feeling a bit scared, humble and small. Wondering and thinking: What hope do I have in the face of a disease as powerful and pervasive as cancer. And yet I know that I am the hope for so many people. In fact, I am even the face of hope for some. The ever willing, ever striving survivor. My cousin had a hard life. From the outside there seemed to be lots of pain and lonliness, but I wouldn’t know for sure because she never let me in, and why should she, some distant cousin in Canada. I guess that is something I need to remember, when I am staring my fear and own mortality down, we are very different creatures and there is every reason to believe that there will be very different outcomes.

Survivor Guilt

2008-02-04T15:38:00.000-08:00

Today is the day my aunt died, a year ago. And, as you know, I am sensitive to anniversaries. Sensitive to time. So my body felt it, as usual. Mostly in the form of heart ache. And like there was this dark, thick, greasy film on everything in my life. Kind of suffocating me. And I got to wondering, and thinking... this is no ordinary grief, pushing feelings up from my heart, into my awareness and attention. Yes, there are elements of that, but there is something else here too.

And then it became clear...

I have survivor guilt.

A feeling of "Why me?", "Why did I get to make it? Why did I get to stay alive?". She deserved to live just as much as I did. But I am here and she isn't. How can I make sense of that? There is no logic to it. She was trying hard to live, giving it everything she had, really going for it, just like me. This randomness of life, it seems unfair and cruel and a little bit scary, because it means that I didn't DO anything to survive, I didn't earn it, because apparently you can't, so it was just dumb, blind luck. Which leaves me feeling vulnerable. And out of control.

It also drives me to feel like I should be accomplishing more with my life than I am. In being reminded how mortal I am, and how little time I really have, well, I should be pulling up my socks and getting more done, damn it. Which is discouraging and hard to feel, since really I am doing the best I can with what I have. And frankly am doing tons. Just this last weekend I led 20 people to some profound life changing experiences, that won't just impact them, but all the people around them. That's big stuff. But on days like today, it just doesn't feel like it's enough. And the only comfort I get is knowing that today will pass, and so will this feeling.

Happy New Year

2008-01-01T15:58:00.000-08:00

Deep Exhale. That is about all I have to say about 2007. That and damn good riddance. It was not a good year, not a fun year, not an easy year. If only it could just be not a year. Never mind. It is behind me now, time for new things, new hopes, new dreams...

And at the end of each year I like to take a look at the significant events of that year, kind of in summary, so I can put the year into the box of my past so to speak. Today my mother suggested that maybe I could do that "live", here on my blog (she has become one of my biggest writing champions of late, just what I need), and so even more profoundly lay it to rest. So here goes:

Obviously the most significant and impactful event was losing my aunt Disa to cancer early in the year. It coloured the whole year, and put a bit of a dark cloud over things. Much as I did what I do best, which is just get on with things, it actually became a form of denial for me (which it occasionally does, where I kick into overdrive in an effort to speed past the unpleasantness and pain that life sometimes has to dole out). So much so that it led to possibly the second most significant event of my year, taking some time off from my work at UBC. I did it because I needed to find my equilibrium again. I needed to slow down. I needed to soften. I needed to let myself sink into the deep pit of my feelings. Not something I wanted to do, something I had to do because I couldn't find myself in the morning when I looked in the mirror anymore. I had been waking up at odd hours in the morning with panic attacks. I had even considered taking anti-depressants, which would have been a very radical act for me. But I was just considering taking them because they could have helped me keep my feelings on the shelf and "keep on functioning" like a good little human lab rat. Fortunately I came to my senses again and instead of putting things into my body, I let things out. I cried, I ranted, I felt sorry for myself. I did it until there was no crying or ranting or feeling sorry for myself as yet unexpressed. And coming to the end... I came out the other side. I love it when that happens.

I also started to expand my view and ideas and options this year. I started considering different ways to do my coaching, to work and to make money. I got creative with financial investing, who knew there was so much money to be made out there?!? I hired a professional organizer. I hired a sacred intimate. I decided that if a relationship is not in the cards, well then I would just have to become a Single Mother by Choice. And why not? I have the resources and the love and the drive. I have the support and the community. Yes it will be hard, but so will not having my dream. And well you might ask "why did I put off doing this for so long"? Well, I wanted to be the ever so important 5 years out from cancer. And ideally I wanted to do it with a life partner, but since there are none of those in site, well, why wait? Apparently my aunt had been saying for years that I should do this. I know she would be so proud, and excited.

I got published and became a regular contributor to the Globe and Mail. I got my business cards done, and if I do say so myself they look fabulous! I bought a new car. I started playing squash again. I started working with the psychometric tool of Emotional Intelligence. I partnered up with a friend, Ariane, to be accountability buddies, so we help hold each others feet to the fire on things we really want to get done. I went on some interesting dates, with some very interesting people. I expanded my friends list. I led a bunch of workshops, and changed a bunch of lives. I bought a new computer and an ITouch. You know, life.

And for all that I am still damn glad that that year is over, and I have a whole new shiny, clean one spread out before me, to do with as I wish. And it is the Year of the Rat, very auspicious for me. Or, as I have been telling friends and family, the Year of the Baby. We shall see what life has in store as we co-create 2008, a beginnings year.

Remembering to Write

2007-11-17T19:14:00.000-08:00

Today I opened an email from someone I met last week. We only spoke for an instant (well for the sake of not exaggerating let's say we spoke for about 5 to 7 minutes). It was a sweet connection. The kind that isn't born of having things in common as much as sharing a heart. Somehow knowing each other. And then that moment passes, and we each moved on into our busy lives. We could have just forgotten each other, or, alternatively, one, or both of us, could find the way to connect again. And today, I opened this email. From her. It was short and simple, and brimming over with love and the kind of intimacy that cancer accidentally creates.

She wanted me to know how much of an impact on her I had had. She had visited my website, and read my blog. She was touched by my most recent post Heroic?. Wow. Wow because it meant so much that she took the time to write and tell me. And wow because I forget that my writing is good and that is matters.

Sometimes I forget to write. Or assume no one is reading. Or assume it doesn't make any difference, so why bother. And then I get this. In my inbox. Letting me know it matters, and someone is reading, and what I am writing is reaching people and touching lives. I need to know that. Or I stop writing. And getting her note had me go back and read what I wrote and notice that it is good, and it is of service. You see I need to write, for her sake, and mine. Because when I write I get filled up. And released at the same time. I have about half a dozen unfinished blog posts from the last few months. I don't finish them because I think... why bother? What difference does it make. Well it mattered to her. And that is enough.

Thanks for letting me know.

Heroic?

2007-10-29T18:42:00.001-07:00

So the other day I was sitting at Caper's with my newest CTI co-leader Bill. We were talking about various things, some related to the workshop we were leading, some just life. And suddenly, quite out of the blue, he said "What you went through, and how you behaved around it, and chose to see it, well, I think that was heroic." Instead of flipping to my usual, "Oh thank you, that is so kind" I actually stopped in my tracks, dead in my tracks, which doesn't happen to me all that often. His comment really made me pause and think.

You see to me, it wasn't heroic, it was just what I had to do. I think of a heroic act as being something that takes courage, and you choose, intensionally, and commit to, and take a stand on an issue. Me? I was just scared, fighting for my life, doing what ever I could, making decisions from how I felt in each moment. Didn't feel like courage. Didn't feel intensional or conscious. It wasn't something I committed to, it was something I was running from. Running scared. It wasn't a heroic act, it was a necessary act.

But after he said it I stopped and got to see it from that different perspective (how perfect, since we were leading Balance). He spoke of how people he had loved died of cancer, of how the fight can be long and hard and grueling, and can break your spirit long before it breaks your body. It is a bit insidious and even cunning. And I came to see that while I did just do what was before me, and I did just do what was necessary, I also did make decisions from the mind and the instinct of a hero. As best outlined in Joseph Campbell's view and work. The reticent hero, who goes because there is no other choice. Who doesn't know s/he is courageous, but starts with a tentative, tremulous opinion and sticks to it, and grows stronger in it the more opposition s/he is faced with. I chose to fight instead of give in (please note the difference between giving in and surrender). I chose to remain as awake as I could at every turn. I chose to live as fully as I could through out the process. And I chose to engage my community and friends, creating allies in the fight(a classic and important part of the Hero's Journey).

Bill's off hand comment helped me see, again, that heros aren't born that way, they are made. They choose, and take a stand, and do their best, and hope it turns out well. The are scared and do it anyway. And maybe some days they don't, but when it really counts, they find the courage, some where, and they just do what has to be done.

I write all this not to pat myself on the back (although I think we all know I am not adverse to doing just that), but rather to acknowledge those people who are fighting the fight right now. To our aunts, or our mothers or fathers, to our friends or our children. Cancer feels like a choice-less situation. But no matter how hard it is, how hard the diagnosis, how hard the treatment, how hard the day, there is always one choice you can make. And that is how you will live this one day, this one precious day.

To Fight or Not to Fight

2007-10-09T16:50:00.000-07:00

Over the years (and the experiences, and the relationships) I have, consciously or unconsciously, intentionally or unintentionally, given up parts of myself. You know, acted and behaved differently than I really am. I think it is human nature. I think it comes from that universal, deep seated view that there is something fundamentally wrong with us, and if we get found out for who we really are then we won't be loved anymore (I refuse to pin it on Eve, so let's just say it is an ancient curse). And so we fold ourselves into human pretzels to make sure we keep getting the love. The trouble is what we get loved FOR varies depending on the person doling out the love, and so it gets complicated. And we lose more and more of ourselves as we go through life trying to please everyone, and not get kicked out of Eden.

And by extension some of all of our life's work is to return to ourselves, or to be more exact, our Selves. To remember and to honour who we really are, what is really important to us, and to quit fighting our True Nature. I keep thinking that that work should get easier, or maybe that the layers, once removed, like shirts and shoes, should stay off. But, more like skin, that sheds a layer and keeps growing back, or a garden, where the weeds keep coming back, it needs regular maintenance. Regular tending. Regular work. Damn I hate that. Isn't there just a pill to take. A vaccine (not, as we all well know, like I would take one of those, even if there was one). An easy, simple once in a lifetime remedy. I want a garden where you just plant a tree, once, and then it takes care of itself. Forever.

Anyway, back to the main point. As it turns out, my True Nature is quite feisty (in case you missed the crib notes). Fiery, impatient, short (not in stature, but in temper), mouthy, sassy, challenging, defiant, even obstreperous, occasionally bitchy, a bit hard, demanding and definitely a fighter. To name a few. Of my not so popular characteristics. Or at least the ones I try to hide from the world. You know, fold on the inside of my pretzel so people don't need to see them at first blush, or ever, depending on my success rates. But here is the thing (and this sure isn't news to the people close to me) all that stuff, those things that are the darker side of me, well, they leak out eventually. When I try to hide them, push them away, put them underground... eventually... they leak out. And get all messy. Which is way worse than just letting them out in the first place, in their natural clean, crisp state.

Really what it comes down to... is letting myself be. Be me. Just like that. Only it is harder than all that, but probably worth the effort. So it is not about not fighting (which we have already established is my nature). I could no sooner give up fighting than give up breathing. So instead it must be about choosing where to direct that fighting spirit that is inherent in my being Signy. Where do I put that fire. And I will tell you, it is not about directing that fighting into fighting my True Nature (that place that I have been directing it for years turned decades now). I think I need to put it into fighting FOR my True Nature. Fighting for me. Standing up for me. Speaking up. Speaking my truth and letting the chips fall where they may, and the heads roll. And just see what that feels like. I am betting it feels pretty damn good. Whose in?

The Evils of Water Bottles

2007-10-02T06:37:00.001-07:00

I am sure we have all heard the rumours about water bottles, and estrogen leaching into to water from the bottles, and well, let's face it what happens then, especially in relation to breast cancer (but lo, don't think the humble breast is the only one at risk!).

Well here is an article about just that topic. I don't know if the sources are reliable, but more information, more inquiry, more questions are never a bad thing, so give it a read and you be the judge and adjust your behaviour accordingly.

Post Run Post

2007-10-01T06:29:00.000-07:00

Ahhh, the run. Well this year, the walk. I have been doing it for 7 years in a row, and each time is special, and precious. This year, because of walking instead of running I got to pay attention to different things. Instead of trying to catch my breath there was room to have my feelings. And to notice the other people and to connect and really experience the warmth and community of the run. Now was that ever special.

As it is every year, it has a carnival atmosphere, and as my mother pointed out, what a gift that is... to transition a thing that for some must be ladened with tragedy or fear or anger, into something that allows us to laugh, to see some lightness, to feel a part of, even in our grief or pain, and know there is something out the other side. There were groups with pink boas, with pink crowns, with pink belly dancing outfits. Some survivors, you could tell us by our pink t-shirts. A few gals in process, you could tell them by their pink heads, all freshly bald.

Naturally I cried. I cried with gratitude for my live, and the chance to live it. I cried for those women who didn't get to live the rest of theirs. I cried for my aunts, not lost to breast cancer, but cancer nonetheless. I cried for the lives of the people dearest to them, whose hearts broke, who are still suffering, while their loved ones mayhap look on, unable to comfort them, unable to hug them and hold them.

Yes, this event is always special. And this year the specialness was to do the run with my mother, and all her sisters, for this year they could be, and all were, with us, together, here in Victoria, in our hearts and minds, and swirling around us in spirit, celebrating for and with us. Ladies, you are not forgotten.

Run for the Cure

2007-09-29T07:22:00.001-07:00

It is that time again. And this year will be my 7th year participating in the Run. Over the years I have done it with so many different people. Dear friends, partners, friends of friends, and thousands of people I don't know. People run under the Team Signy banner in different run sites through out Canada. Merrill runs it in whatever country he happens to be vacationing in.

This year I am breaking with some traditions, I am running it in Victoria, with my parents. And in fact will be walking it for the first time (I figure if I can run it during the chemo years then I have no excuse to not run it any other years) because I don't really think my father would appreciate me making him run 5K, and the reason I am doing it with them it because I really do want to do it with them. To share the experience and have us all feel the support and love and caring. So running it myself and making him walk, well it would defeat the purpose really.

It is also significant because this is the first year anniversary of my parents moving out to Victoria.

And it is the first run since my aunt died.

It will also be the first year I have not organized and coordinated a team where I have to spend lots of effort and concentration in making sure everyone meets up, and everyone has a travel buddy and all that. What is so great about that is I will get to be present, just be present. Feel all the feelings that come in noticing I am alive. Noticing that some others aren't. Knowing that all this effort is for the sake of loving women who have been touched by breast cancer. I will take the time to see the bibs... "I am running for Nana", "I am running for future generations", "I am running in the memory of Shirley". Notice the celebration and the tears. I will take the time for a few tears myself. And some celebration. And all of this I want to share with my parents. So now is the perfect year, to be doing it in Victoria, with two of the people that were such a huge help in my process, but I have never shared with part with (apart from the large donations they make each year). It is time to walk for the cure.

And next year, I promise, it will be back to Vancouver, and running, and organizing a crew, so you have a year to get ready.

Living Out Loud

2007-07-28T18:13:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow is my birthday, but I cheated, and I opened (with express permission) the present of my dearest of friends Rhiannon. She has shared many birthdays with me, she shares my childhood, she shares my heart. Over the years she has played nursemaid (after my surgery, taking me to my first round of chemo, attending half of my radiation - she took the entire freaking year of my ill health off so that she could love and support me), hairdresser (she cut the locks when I shaved my head after the first round of chemo), confident, champion, cheerleader, shoulder and so much more. She is one of my rocks, if that can be said of someone so lighthearted and free spirited. She knows all of my struggles (and hears them in minute and painstaking detail, bless her heart) and all my joys. She helps me to remember who I am, and she keeps me whole.

This present was the most perfect she has ever given me, which is saying a lot. It is a silver and gold necklace. One the one side is a carved flower design, on the other a saying, one she explicitly said "The inscription spoke to me of you and all you stand for". And the quote?

If you asked me what I came into this world to do, I will tell you:
I came to live out loud.

Oh my goddess, on a day, and a month and a year when I am wrestling with wondering if I am on my right path, when I question if I am doing enough, or am well focused enough, or missing my calling, or about to lose out on my heart's desire there is this, this message. On the day when I recommitted to turning my will and my life over to the care of my Higher Power, there is this clarity, this simplicity, this gentle nudge. Yes, I am fine, I am on purpose, I am alright and everything is ok. Because the bottom line is I am here to live out loud. That is what I do, that is what I am meant to do. That is what Goddess made me to do, and made me for. And when I do this one small thing (small to me, because in fact I can't help but do it) then I am enough, and have done enough, no matter what the outcome, no matter what transpires in life. Because I am living Goddess' purpose for me. And all that is meant to come of it will. And all the lives that are meant to be impacted by it are, and all my work is done, naturally and easily.

Another added feature of this necklace, it is solid and sits heavily on my upper chest, constantly in my awareness. And the smaller piece strikes the large piece, regularly, all the better to remind me of... Rhiannon's love and all that I need do (or, essentially, not do).

Blessings on you sister, for always fighting to keep my soul in my body!!

DENIED, Again

2007-07-13T07:06:00.001-07:00

I'm feeling hammer, slammed, pummeled, pounded and not in a good way. It seems that 2007 is configured in such a way as to make my life a living hell. ARGH. If it's not one thing, it's another.

So, the story... I have a lead in LA this weekend. Fulfillment. Yay, how fun is that. And knowing that I have had trouble crossing the border before (a year and a half before) I go to the airport 3 hours early. Plenty of time to deal with the immigration officers and such, right? And I have got all my paperwork in order this time (that seems to have been the problem last time), and CTI has double checked everything with an immigration lawyer, and I have chatted briefly with said lawyer. I am going to apply for my TN visa, you know, the visa that came out of the NAFTA free trade agreement. FREE TRADE. Remember that. Sometime before 9-11. The whole purpose of the TN visa is to make it easier for those Canadians that qualify to cross the border in an expeditious way. Good thinking right? Make it EASIER. But what they failed to think through is the people making the final decisions on who is or is not qualified, now that is is not being done at Embassies and such, are not lawyers or policy makers, but the border guards. The border guards that for whatever reason seem to have a hate on for me. So, you got it, DENIED, again. Only this time, besides just taking my mug shot and my finger prints, oh yes, that is what they do when you are denied (or rather have your application withdrawn), they take a sworn affidavit where they type my answers verbatim into the computer, where they captured every piece of information imaginable, including my mother's very Icelandic last name, and all the details of what I said, so there is no possible way that I can re-look at my situation and present again in a different light. I feel like they are trying to capture me in a box, and make it impossible for me. When, in actual fact, I am not a criminal, I am not trying to screw anyone over, and I just want to do my job.

Now maybe it is just that I desperately need a vacation, and I don't have the brains to create that myself and so the universe is helping out. Or maybe it is just so that CTI is forced to have me lead in Canada, and by extension, Vancouver most of the time (never a bad thing, I LOVE the home leads) - but I am not loving how sullied by record is getting and being worried when I try to cross the border now even just for social reasons (knowing full well that they will pull me aside just as a matter of course at this stage). I am frustrated, and pissed off and disappointed. Clearly I need to get this handled in some more decisive and all encompassing way. It's off to see the Wizard, I mean the Lawyer, for me. That and nursing my annoyance and grudge against the Americans for a few days.

Completely Forgot

2007-07-10T06:50:00.001-07:00

It has happened again. And I hold it as a Very Good Sign. This time I completely forgot the anniversary of my first round of chemo. Crazy. Even now I would need to look up if it was on July 5th or 6th. Considering how well I remember dates and anniversaries and such, and that is just with my mind. Then throw in the way my body reminds me if it slipped past the mental radar. Well clearly, this is a thing of the past this pesky little chemo experience, something that not a single part of me feels the need to remember or be on the look out for, all watchful and guarded like in days and years gone by. The shock is over. One more level of "getting on with life" is here. Perhaps even the word "survivor" need not apply.

Oh Happy Day.

The Longest Day of the Year

2007-06-21T09:17:00.000-07:00

And that is saying something in Iceland, with the midnight sun and all. But it is the "and all" that concerns me today. Because today feels longer than 24 hours (and really it actually is longer, much longer, days longer).
Today is the day we buried my aunt.
Here.
In Iceland.
And had the memorial. And visited with all the relations and school friends.
Long. Hard. Tiring.
Extra long and tiring as I stayed up late into the "night" last night with my aunt's youngest daughter. Being with her in her pain and tears. Having some of my own.

And not just long and hard and tiring, but also significant.
And important.
And meaningful (Just two days after what would have been Disa's birthday).

And with all the intensity of family dynamics that probably come with every funeral, but are heightened in this situation. I wish it could be different, a joyous celebration of her life. But it is like there is a cancer not just running so rampant in so many bodies in the world, but also running rampant in the communities and families of today. Where they are eating themselves from the inside out. And maybe it is not "today", in "this age", maybe this is just what family is like. The intensity that comes from living in close quarters, sharing tasks, and sharing life. And because I only have memories of living in this age I have nothing to compare it to, and so I wonder why it is so hard and harsh. Assuming it was better in a different era, not a self consuming cancer of the emotions. Perhaps it is sorting out the cancer of the emotions that will free us to address the cancers that are eating our bodies. But that is a pondering for a different day.

Today is just to honour my aunt.
Bless you and god speed my dear, as you go to be with your sisters.

Iceland

2007-06-13T20:11:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow I start the journey. Feels like an epic one. Significant. In so many different ways.

We are taking my aunt's ashes to Iceland, so she can rest with her sisters. All of the Canadian family is going. My mother, my father, my brother, my cousin (Disa's second daughter), and me. Haven't been to Iceland with all of my family together since I was 10 (and my cousin wasn't even born yet). I will be on the flight to Reykjavik with all of my immediate family, first time I have been on a flight with all of my immediate family in maybe a couple of decades. And really, I have to notice that this united pilgrimage to my mother land (or maybe just my mother's land) is because my aunt was such a significant force in our lives, even if not an everyday part.

She moved to Canada for many reasons, but the invitation came because my mother was pregnant with me and she wanted the comfort and support of family, and more Icelandic voices to help us children learn what was our first language, long gone rusty now. She was like a second mother to me, often taking care of me when my mother was doing other things. And in many ways, especially in my personality, I take after Disa more so than any of the other sisters. Including my mother.

She had her flaws, we all do. But she loved me, in that way that sometimes parents can't because they have to try to "raise you right". As I have already said, she wasn't an everyday part of my life, but she was always looking over me. More so now I guess.

And losing her to cancer. Just a year and a quarter after her older sister died of cancer. Well, it feels so very close to home. And scary. And a frightening reminder that it doesn't always go as well as it did for me. On other occasions cancer related deaths get me angry and feisty. This one rocked me, and knocked me back a bit.

Time now to regroup. Time to honour who she was and what she gave me. Time to remember how very lucky I am. Time to be with my family, really be with them, in whatever form their grief takes. Just time away from the frantic pace of my life. Maybe a chance to reflect, maybe just a chance to raise a glass, to all the women that came before me.

Mammogram Pop Quiz

2007-06-09T08:38:00.000-07:00

I had one of these the other day. Just like that. The cancer agency called and said "We (not sure who the royal we is in this case - because I am sure the queen doesn't care) want you to come in for some alternate views." Alternate to what? I think to myself. But keep quiet, because really, what good would my cheeky sense of humour be in the face of the unwaveringly unamused people that seem to find themselves employed at Cancer World.

So in I trot, just a few scant hours after the call (lucky me, they had an opening at 3). Accompanied by the fabulous Kimberly, who made me laugh right the way through.

Dr. Wilson (I should have known the royal we included a scots woman) had found a suspicious looking white patch on the results of my regular mammogram, and wanted to double check. After a ludacrus number of "alternate views", that, by the way, required a few yoga poses to accomplish, but were still effective at reaching every part of my breast even so (done by a woman called Cathy, who was so exceptionally nice and gentle - bless her heart, and her boobs, when it comes her turn with the machine). With breaks, where I should have been icing my breasts, but who has ice handy? I was told with a sort of hesitancy that less than inspires my confidence that it must have been the scar tissue folded over itself. I can go home now.

I swear they do this sort of thing just to keep me on my toes.

Heart, Broken

2007-05-30T19:45:00.000-07:00

I continue to explore this concept of disappointment. Through no fault of my own I might add. And the funny thing is that even though my present experience is not romantic in nature, the words in my title so get at the depth and complexity of the feeling.

My heart feels broken.
Fractured.
Sort of split in two.

And there are other body sensations that go along with it. It is like my skin is being rubbed with sandpaper, and the fibers of my muscles, taunt and strained, are being played staccato, one at a time. As if I have been thrown to the boards (an experience I have never had in reality, but my mind seems well able to picture it) the breath has been knock out of me. And I struggle to find where it has landed.

I feel like a bee hurling itself against the plexi-glass wall of a restaurant patio, again and again, getting angrier and angrier, buzzing annoyly to itself (and anyone who will listen), not understanding why it is unable to pass, refused entry into the big, wide world of freedom.

And where is God in all this. And why have I forsaken Her? What is the easy path that would show me that I am on God's highway to better things? Because I know that when I am given the power to carry out my Higher Power's will for me, then the process is smooth (even if hard, but never a struggle - if you see the difference I am getting at). What cues am I missing that I doggedly pursue one course of action that is showing itself to be counter to what I must assume is in my best interests. ARGH! Why can't there just be a map quest search that will show me the way, quickest route, amount of time it will take, shortcuts, historic sites along the way, not to mention convenient rest stops and great take out joints. No, not for me, I must blunder along in the old fashioned style, feeling my way along in the dark, stubbing my toes, and breaking my nails.

The only consolation... this too shall pass.

Disappointment

2007-05-25T11:43:00.001-07:00

You know the feeling. When you have longed for something, yearned for something, and then you find out that you don’t get to have it. It is like a kick in the stomach. Doubled over. Clutching your sides. Gasping for air. Well, that is the full-blown version. And then there are smaller versions. The little thing you hoped for or wanted, and again, it doesn’t happen. Same responses, watered down.

Here is the thing I am learning about disappointment and me. I can’t be with it. I do all sorts of things to avoid the feeling. And I didn’t even know I was doing that. I just tried not to want or hope or dream. Tried not to get too excited about possibilities. Even made a point to not throw my hat in the ring for different possibilities, so as to avoid the potential pain of not getting it once I became invested. That’s a lot of work. For something you don’t even know you are avoiding. And there is a high cost. This not dreaming, and not hoping, and then playing small so that I don’t hurt, don’t get egg on my face, and don’t feel “not good enough”. Because that is some of what is behind it. The fear of the public humiliation when you go after a job, or tell your friends you are in love and think you have found “the one”, or audition for a role in a play and then… god forbid… it doesn’t pan out. And everyone knows it. And there is a kind of pity in their “I’m so sorry to hear that you didn’t get the job/man/part.” So it isn’t just disappointment that is at play here, it is often followed up by a chaser of shame and inadequacy.

And it can happen for big and small things. Lost friendships and discovering that your friends were not who you thought they were. Planning to buy a great pair of shoes once they go on sale only to find out that once they are on sale your size is sold out. Miscarriage of a long awaited, deeply wanted baby. A book being out of stock. Being turned down by a publisher. Getting a lower grade on an assignment than you expected. A cancelled movie date with a friend when you really, really needed company. Picking the wrong pedicure nail polish. A failed relationship (even, or maybe especially, when it is in it’s infancy, I think back to KA or BVW with a sort of nostalgic ache, but in truth, with a cooler head, how appropriate were those choices for me, really?). Not getting into the school of your choice. So many chances (and options) disappointment, so little time.

I have a long history of avoiding disappointments. In fact, I suspect it runs in my family, and I sort of inherited or absorbed it. There was lots of effort put into “making things better”, and when that didn’t work, minimizing how much we wanted it in the first place. Doesn’t leave the world being a very safe place to dream. And yet, not dreaming, and not getting excited about possibilities is one of the things that can lead me to a feeling of hopelessness and meaninglessness. And frankly those are much more damaging feelings for me than disappointment.

It is also worth saying that if my gas tank is low, so to speak, then I have lower resiliency and lower ability to bounce back when I get disappointing news. Funny thing is that that low resiliency comes when I have fewer things on the go, less irons in the fire, less exciting possibilities to occupy my attention and dream space. And yet each one of those exciting possibilities could then lay me low if and when it does not come to fruition. What is a person to do? And what is the ratio of possibilities to successes? I mean do I need to make sure there are always 10 fishing lines out there to get one landed fish? Or is it more like 3 to 1? And do they all have to be of equal magnitude and excitement quotient? Because who has that kind of energy? You see I have never thought about these things before, because I have never had to look at this, with my head so firmly planted in the sand about what this icky feeling really was about?

And what brought on this new discovery/exploration/curiosity, you ask? Two things. Just this last weekend when I was leading a workshop in NYC a participant arrived 4 hours late for the workshop (she thought Friday was a half day, not a full day). As a result of her lateness she had missed some key components of the workshop and we had to tell her that she couldn’t complete the workshop this weekend. Which also means she can’t take the next 3 in the series here in the city with her new coaching friends (unless she pulled some fancy footwork and went to another city and took this one workshop there and then came back to NYC for the rest). She was beyond disappointed, she was devastated. And in the most human and endearing way, she wept immediately and openly about her loss (I suspect that that sudden and honest display had a lot to do with her getting surprised by the news, being sidelined seems to intensify the feeling, or perhaps we can’t cover the disappointment over, so as to appear together and sensible, like we might with a relationship breakup that spans over a few months or years). So with that as a backdrop I got the news today that a documentary that I had hoped to be featured in, called DREAM, for which the director and talent scout were totally excited about using me, are not permitted to because I am not American. So heart breaking. And so ridiculous. And so annoying. But there is nothing to be done. So I pick myself up and dust myself off and carry on. And get to learn about this thing call disappointment, which I have been merrily ignoring, up until now.

So what am I learning? And what are different ways to be with disappointment now that I am aware of it? Well, since it seems to be a version of grief, I guess the only way out is through. But without judging the grief. Without calling it self-pity. And just letting it take it’s own sweet time. Now if I need a quicker fix (although, as already established, that is dangerous territory for me) and if my resiliency is low then throwing some more irons in the fire, some more lines in the water could be a good idea. Getting out there and getting active, and getting more dreams in motion is bound to move my energy and maybe even the world, in the right direction (hell, at this stage, I will take any direction, and course correct once I have some momentum). Another angle to look from? If every icky feeling is here to tell us something, what is this one telling me? I guess that I am very much alive and that I have never (and never will) stopped dreaming, stopped wanting, and stopped being willing to pursuing my passions with all my heart. So here’s to dreams, mine and others, and even the documentary. May yours come true, or if not may you at least enjoy the process of chasing them.

Six Years and Counting!!!

2007-05-16T21:16:00.000-07:00

Yay for Miracles and Magic.
Yay for being ALIVE.
Yay for science and medicine.
Yay for family and good friends who see you through hard times.
Yay for celebrating the good stuff.
Yay for love being bigger, stronger and bolder than fear and disease.
Yay for loving health care providers.
Yay for the power of prayer, in whatever form.
Yay for being witnessed in the process of life, however that looks on any given day or year.
Yay for choosing health.
Yay for the courage to fight.
Yay for doing things a different way. One's own way.
Yay for trusting our own hearts.
Yay for listening to the still small voice.
Yay for life.
Yay for being ALIVE.
Yay for Miracles and Magic.

May your day, and year, and life be blessed.

Sigh of Relief

2007-05-02T18:21:00.001-07:00

Straight to the point… the gal who did my ultrasound (a very sweet woman, by the way) said that while she felt something there it seemed to her just normal ropy breast tissue, and the fact that it has “developed” since my last period did not mean it was bad, or cancer, etc, etc. And she did the ultrasound, and it showed nothing abnormal. She encouraged me to make a map of my breasts, documenting size, shape and texture of these various lumps and bumps as they show themselves, and then in each month of self breast exams I can compare and contrast, and just watch for any dramatic increases.

So here is the thing, for all that they reassured me, that fear, that ghost of the past, it just keeps haunting me. It feels like, “I am fine, for now.” But behind every door, there can be that spooky feeling. And I know that the fear has nothing to do with fact, because really I am fine, and with each passing year… finer. But fear is so slippery. And pervasive. And heavy.

But for today, just for today, everything is right in the world (well in my world anyway). And that is all I need to know. And really, isn’t that all any of us can ever know on any day?

Here is hoping that your day is filled with joy and wonder and blessed peace.

One Down, One to Go

2007-05-02T13:59:00.001-07:00

Well, well, guess who I had the privilege of crushing my boobs today, Donna, the same gal as did my fine wire last year. And it seems I made an impression (as did she). Because she also remembered me. And that has to say something, considering how many people go through that place in a year. Not that I am not normally memorable. Just that I think she remembers me for different reasons that most folks. So we had a little stare down, sort of circled each other, and then got down to business.

And here is what doesn’t work for me with her. I get triggered by her tone and volume of voice and her breathing patterns. You see they just ooze contempt and annoyance. Like “why can’t you read my mind and know that you are suppose to put your arm here and your shoulder here?” The answer would be … BECAUSE I AM NOT PSYCHIC. I tried to send that to her telepathically, but I don’t think she got it. She just kept sighing. What has non-compassionate people go into the caring profession? Or did she used to be nice and now is just burnt out because her job is so boring and mundane (and why is she mad at me, since I do my very best to add a bit of spice to her life, I mean really)?

And, as she does every year, she complained about my dense breast tissue (hello, that is some of what made me a candidate for breast cancer). Well, complained about the dense breast tissue in my right breast. Because now, years out from my left breast having received radiation, not only is the tissue not dense anymore, each year it just keeps shrinking, I am surprised they do and can do mammograms on it anymore. I guess that is just one of those side effects that they don’t mention at the time. You can have it removed outright, or you can radiate it and have it shrink away to nothing over a decade or so. Naturally that is more dramatic than it is accurate, but today, licence to be dramatic is mine!

The unofficial results? Things look the same as last year (which is a good thing). But because of my dense breast tissue I should follow this up with a bilateral ultrasound. Well, duh!? Haven’t I said that all along, the dang lump itself wasn’t discernable with a mammogram when it was 3 cm and cancerous. But here is the crazy thing; our medical system does not pay for that. Didn’t anyone learn how to spell PREVENTATIVE medicine in government? They’d rather wait for me to be in serious trouble than pay $200 and nip it in the bud early. Crazy I say. But since I have this handy/unfortunate little lump right now I get a two for one. Too bad it is only for the left (un-dense) breast. Maybe I will go back to my doctor and she what see can swing (since she learned how to spell in medical school).

Want some good news? My friend Jayn has volunteered to be my rock, my gal, my guardian. So as it turns out I won’t have to go unaccompanied to the ultrasound. Thanks Jayn, you’re a star!

Countdown

2007-05-02T10:54:00.001-07:00

I don’t know why I keep assuming, wanting, hoping that this time the mammogram/ultrasound/needle/breast exam won’t freak me out. Because it does, every time. So better to assume that, and then get the support I need.

Today is the double winner day. Mammogram at 1pm. Ultrasound at 3:20pm (why do they get that specific with the time, especially knowing that they will be running behind, and so it is meaningless?). Ugh. And, silly me, I didn’t ask anyone to come with me, to hold my hand, and dry my tears, to calm my fears (irrational as they are, there they are). And now I sit at my desk, fully intending to work hard and instead waves of adrenalin soak my muscle tissue, saturating them with fear, past and present. Flirting with a panic attack, my brain goes vacant and foggy, and everything, absolutely everything, seems too big, too hard, too much for my little self to handle. Funny, because I am really not that little. I border on over-competent most of the time. But not today. Just scared. And wee.

This place I am in reminds me of the workshop I attended this weekend, the third in a series of five Organizational Systems and Relationship Coaching workshops through CTI. We did a lot of work about our Secret Selves, and specifically our Triggered Selves. Our triggered selves come out to play when we are faced with situations that remind us of some pain, or fear, or trauma that at some deep level we don’t trust our adult selves to handle well. We know it is present when we are paralyzed or have excessive or inappropriate emotions to stimuli and/or situations. Sound anything like my last paragraph? Fortunately in this workshop we learned tools for how to work with our triggered selves. To support and champion and take care of them, so that they will let our adult selves back into the driver’s seat.

So what do I need to do right now? I need my triggered self, who is fighting with the ghost of the memory of being diagnosed (as well as the memory of being mistreated by medical bullies), to know that I am on it. That everything will be ok, even if I do get a new diagnosis. Probably even more important to set this wee, triggered person at ease, is the commitment, my commitment to myself, that I will not be bullied by the attending medical staff. I will stand up for myself in the face of any inappropriate behaviours. And I will not back down if any bullshit comes my way. I will demand to be treated well, and I will walk out if that does not happen. Don’t mess with me when I am protecting wee people, because there is nothing that will be left standing, if it is standing in my way.

Nasty Needle Biopsy Anniversary

2007-04-19T19:30:00.001-07:00

April 19, 2001 at 10:45am I went for a needle biopsy (which followed an ultra sound that couldn’t diagnose anything, but did rule out a cyst). I hate needles. As if that isn’t clear after having read any number of my other posts. But this needle had the added fear that comes from fearing one has cancer. Ooooooowwwwwwwwwww, scary. So needless to say I was uptight, and uncommunicative and generally in a sorry state.

I went with my friend Tanya Gee. And had no idea what to expect, but, to be honest was hoping it would be “not a big deal” (I mean apart from the needle part, which does, in retrospect make that statement a bit ridiculous, but hope lives in a vacuum I have found). So, there I am, strung out, not able to speak my mind even if I knew what was on it, and kind of cowering in the corner. In swaggers the doctor. Tells me it won’t hurt a bit (gee, where have I heard that before?) and proceeds to deliver one of the most physically vicious blows of my entire cancer journey (which I only came to know after the fact). It really was so outrageous. The force with which he drove the needle into my breast, repeatedly, REPEATEDLY, was extreme and intimidating. I was in shock. Body, mind and spirit.

This isn’t new information, I have made reference to this before in a post. And today’s post is not intended to scare people preparing for their own biopsy, but rather to really help us all to remember to have compassion when people we know go in for medical tests. They aren’t easy (the tests, as opposed to the people we know). They are usually scary (because hopefully we only ever have a “first time” and then never have to have it done again). Any yet most people usually put on a brave face and say “it’s fine”. Here is my request: do something nice for that person. Whether it is sending them a great card. Bringing them by some groceries. Going with them to the test. Or just calling to check in afterwards. Treat them special. Because they are. And they probably need to be reminded.

Creating My Vision Story - In Parts

2007-04-18T17:18:00.001-07:00

Ok, yes, I admit it, partly I am writing this particular post, and writing it today, because, I have some coaching homework (and my check in session is tomorrow morning) to blog about what I am learning about how do I, and others, activate their lives. Let me back track.

The work I am presently doing with my coach is getting clarity on my life and work vision: on how I want to live my life, what would be most rewarding and fulfilling and a timeline for how and when to make that happen. Sounds great, right? And yet there is so much work involved, and so many phases. There is looking at passions, and purpose and strengths and values. And creating the vision story. And so much more.

So, way back when, I started looking at strengths. I got the Buckingham and Clifton book “Now, Discover Your Strengths” and while it is not that engagingly written (at least not for my taste that likes some sassy and some fierce thrown in, just for spice) the material itself is thought provoking. That is, when you take the time to read it. But one of the things you get out of reading the book and doing the online Strengths Finder is their take on what your top 5 natural talents are. My top one, ACTIVATOR – the kind of person to wants to move projects along, make things happen, and doesn’t need to spend lots (or any) time thinking, but rather knows that action yields both results and new information. You know, the kind of person who doesn’t bother reading a book from cover to cover. So I am only now getting to reading the book. And I am learning SO very much. And through that I was getting all excited and fired up. And naturally I brought that to my coach. Which resulted in us having a whole session on this theme of activation. And how and who I activate. And what it gives me to activate. Whoo hoo. Just thinking about it again, well, it activates me. Gets me buzzing like a bee. So agitated and excited that my whole body wiggles back and forth uncontrollably. And I want to dash off in 7 different direction and MAKE THINGS HAPPEN. Wow, I guess the goal then becomes how do I harness this energy and use it for good, to contribute, and make sure my fierce opinions get fired out into the world, where they can have some sort of impact.

Oh bum, I have to leave now and go to a Time Management seminar. Check out that irony. And notice me trying to manage my weaknesses instead of leverage my strengths. Never mind. One day of learning at a time. And I guess the actual posting that was to be about activating my and other peoples lives, well, that will have to come at some later date.

The Uninteresting Protocol

2007-04-10T17:59:00.000-07:00

Yes, as I expected. My doctor confirmed that I have a thing-y in my breast (she was not prepared to call it a “lump” and all the anxiety that goes with that). But there is a something there. It didn’t seem in any way unusual (as in different from regular breast tissue) to her, but, in her words “better safe than sorry” and so the process begins.

I have an ultrasound booked on May 2^nd at 3:20 pm. That is the same day as my annual mammogram. So I think I will just rub the pair of them down with Emla, take a proactive Advil and grit my teeth until the afternoon is over. I think I will even wait until the next day to buy myself a present (a previous reward system commitment I have made).

If there is still anything untoward happening at that stage, I will go directly to see my surgeon, do not pass go, do not see the medical oncologist.

Yaknow, jump all the hoops, in the right order.

But here is the good news. Said lumpy thing did feel different (from both the inside and the outside) then the first time I lit upon it, when it just seemed hard and mean. During my squash game the other day it seems flushed and a bit engorged (hard to tell if that was the rest of the tissue around it or what). And today it was a bit tender. And when the hell does one ever experience cancer as tender, I ask you?! So maybe, just maybe, a fibrocyst, growing in spite of the rest of the breast still shrinking from it’s run in with the radiation machine over 5 years ago now. I am up for that, and any prayers in that direction would be greatly appreciated.

More Lumps in the Road?

2007-04-07T14:10:00.000-07:00

So a few days ago, post period, and therefore breasts less tender (that was just an FYI, for those of you reading that don’t have a pair of your own and don’t know the patterns), I did one of my irresponsibly perfunctory breast self-exams.

…

Wait, I feel it coming on, here is my sermon: every woman should do a self-breast exam. Every single one of you, every month, whether you are done menstruating or not. If not, do the SBE the day after your period ends. If you are done, then pick one day of the month, something easy to remember like the day your birthday falls on, so in my case the 29^th, and do it then. Ok, back to our original programming.

…

And what should I discover? Well, obviously something out of the ordinary, or I wouldn’t be writing about it here. Sigh. Yeah, so this weird little bump thing, probably about the size of an orange pip. Not really in my breast, sort of more on one of my ribs that accidentally got irradiated along with my breast 5 and a half years ago. Just over about an inch from the end of my breast (although really hard to say where a breast begins and ends on the sides, yes?). It is not hard and attached, more moveable with the tip of my finger, kind of sliding over my rib just a tiny bit. Not painful, but now that I have been paying attention to it sort of itchy and burning, off and on.

Funny thing was I didn’t have an ounce of fear. Not an adrenaline spike in sight. Nothing. I was just sort of annoyed, but nothing more dramatic (did I just say that? No drama. What has become of me? Clearly too much Al anon.) Now that said I haven’t done much going back in and checking it out again (you know, like you might with a wiggly tooth that you just can’t keep your tongue off of - I have no such perverse, obsessive impulse here), but today, after a shower and another eyes closed, breath held scan of the area I am feeling a bit edgy. What could it be? Is it just the lumpy scar tissue of the skin from the original surgery? Is it another fibrocystic scare like the one about a year after my diagnosis? Or is it a recurrence of breast cancer? Or the original cancer metastasized to the bone?

Oh, God the tricks the mind plays on us in the dark, cold hours when we have nothing else to occupy our neuro pathways. If only these thoughts were something that I didn’t care to worry like the wiggly tooth. But I have done all that I need to and can do, made an appointment with my GP for Tuesday, April 10th at 10:15 am (which I assume will be followed by an ultra sound and then maybe a trip to my med onc or surgeon – stay tuned), and called my friends and family to get them to start sending me good thoughts and prayers. So, having done the footwork, now we just wait. And try not to worry too much.

Expert in the Know

2007-03-26T12:25:00.000-07:00

How fun is this? I just discovered that I was published in the Globe and Mail (Canada’s largest national newspaper) this last Wednesday (March 21^st). Not like I had no clue, I did after all write the piece, but I didn’t know when they were planning to put it in. So imagine my surprise when I was merrily googling myself (that sounds either very rude or very self-absorbed, but I had my reasons) and came across this little advice piece by me. They even went so far as to describe me as an expert in the know. Hmmm, do you think I might be able to leverage this to get across the border?

Reign Over Me

2007-03-25T20:53:00.001-07:00

Saw a movie yesterday. Reign Over Me with Don Cheadle and Adam Sandler. There is much to recommend it, but the piece that stood out for me the most is the feeling I was left with - that grieving has a life of it’s own. It really does have to happen in your own way and your own pace. There is no simple or cookie cutter way to do it. It might require rage or tears, or not. Denial can be a friend. Self-medication might be what gets us through the short run (but I don’t recommend it for the long term). Whatever is true for you is all that is important. And from the outside in, there really is no point in imposing the way we grieve onto someone else. Just no point, because how can we know what works for other people, or what will heal them. And isn’t that the point of grieving, to heal and move on with our lives (which is not the same as forgetting the thing or person we are grieving).

For me, when I was recovering from cancer, the grieving was probably the most profound part of the experience (and there is lots profound about having cancer), when I had to make peace with what had happened. And the grieving couldn’t happen during the treatment, I was way too busy with fighting for my life to deal with my life or my feelings about my life. So then, when all the doctors dropped away, and there were no more appointments to keep me busy, and everyone got a well deserved rest from “taking care of me”, and there was just time and space. And an awful lot of time and space, emphasis on the awful. That is when the grieving started, and the healing. That is when I cried for hours, which turned into days, and finally weeks. That is where I had to surrender and see what feelings surfaced in what moments. That is where I let my body call the shots and tell me what needed doing next. That is where I regained myself again. My real self, my buried self, my sacred self. In that moment it felt like the sun had broke through the clouds (kind of like this Vancouver day), and I could breath again. Just a little at first. Like sipping on a straw. But eventually I could take in great big gulps of life-giving oxygen. And I was ready to start thinking about living again.

Feeling Forgotten

2007-03-17T15:41:00.000-07:00

So my relationship ended last week. And while I do miss my guy, I am struck by the fact that what I miss more is someone to do things with. You know, someone. Having the ready made plan. The built in companionship. The person you can count on to be up for just about anything, not having to call way in advance, or set up a plan, but just someone to ad lib with. I miss THAT. And am suffering from the boredom that comes from the absence of that. And as a collaborative person, I so much prefer coming up with plans together with someone, rather than coming up with something and then rolling it out to people to see if they want to join in. Sigh.

Then there is the “back to the drawing board” feeling that comes from needing to start the process of looking again. And yes, I refined what it is that I need in a lifetime mate. Through learning what worked and didn’t work, and how I respond to certain, shall we say, stimuli. I learned that I really need to be with a charismatic man, someone who is very self-assured, and has the range and space to meet and hold me. Because when I am not around that I shrink down, so as not to make him feel bad or less or something. And since I only have one dial, that covers all of my functions: charisma, boldness, zest, directness, fire, passion, speaking up, speaking out, etc, then, when I want to dial down one function, well, I accidentally dial them all down and turn into a watered down version of myself. Sort of passive and uninteresting. And not certainly not the person that my partner first met and fell in love with. Another sigh.

I am doing a lot of sighing these days. And while I was feeling AMAZING just a few days ago, cleansed of the past relationship, and feeling the flow in my life, with magical, great, new things happening like the chance to be writing semi regularly for an article in the Globe and Mail. Well, today it is different, it is a rainy, grey, Vancouver day, and I am bored, and have no clear plans set out for the day. And the place I get to here smacks of self pity. But really the root or the core of it is feeling as if the Goddess has forgotten me. Like I have emailed her, called her, sent her a memo all saying something along the lines of “Gee, if you could connect me up with my ideal guy, the man worthy to be my lifetime partner, that would be great. And if you could move on that soonish, that would be even better.” And that she has now, somehow, misplaced my memo, or is too busy to respond to the email and that in a year or two, or perhaps a decade or two (her time arc seems to be so different from us regular people), she will come across my note and say “Shit, I totally forgot that I was suppose to do that for Signy. Damn it, and now it is way over due.” But that is assuming she has the same shortcomings as I do, and on good days I know that isn’t true. I guess, unfortunately, on bad days I think it might be, and this feeling, of being forgotten, comes in like one of those grey Vancouver clouds I already mentioned, and rains down on me, leaving my hope, optimism and positive attitude a little soggy and water logged. Triple sigh.

And, with all that said, here I am, doing my blogging in a café, and there are plenty of interesting, apparently single people here. And the engineer with the steel blue eyes across from me keeps meeting my gaze when I look up, and so I guess the Goddess really does have it handled, and it is just a matter of time. Time and trust.

God, grant me the serenity to accept the thing I can not change, the courage to change the thinks I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.

February Sucked

2007-03-01T18:05:00.000-08:00

Well it has been ages since I have written, mostly because I have been absorbed in my own joyful journey (and not a bad place to be I might add). But recently I have been rudely interrupted. Well, no that is a terrible way to say it, rather it is that I have had the reality of life, and death, crash down around my ears in a most painful and prolonged way. The month of February 2007 was a devastating month of large losses.

Firstly, and closest to my heart, is the loss of my Aunt Disa. Who had been fighting cancer as best she could for about 8 months. She was courageous and willing to make changes and try new things. In the end, the cancer claimed her suddenly, which really is the way it should be, as this was a woman who attacked life and would rather be doing something, anything, than just sitting around. If cancer had taken her in that drawn out, aching, suffocating way, well she just would have hated it. She has left in her wake (or sort of instead of a wake) a lot of confusion and pain. And still, I am able to see her as someone who was always trying to do her best. May she enjoy the company of her two older sisters who went before her.

Next comes a professor who started her teaching career at Queen’s when I was there. I didn’t have her as a prof but knew her more socially since she was closer in age to us students than many of the ivy-covered, tenured profs. Her name was Shirley Taylor and she died of breast cancer. And so, for that reason alone, my heart feels heavy to know one more woman taken by the illness that flirted with me, but passed on by. Her impish smile and twinkling eyes will be missed. Not to mention her sharp intelligence.

Than we have my name mother (A relatively common thing in Iceland, to have a person after whom you were named. And the personality and longevity of your name parent is considered to impact the namesakes make up and chances in life). Obviously, my name mother’s name is Signy. Signy Stefansdottir. She was my grandmother’s baby sister. And I am very happy to report that she died at the ripe old age of 101. Mostly just from being worn out. Not a bad way to go. And she gives me something to shoot for. That apparently should be within my reach. And still it is a significant thing to lose her. My name mother. And that last one of her generation.

Henry Dorst, not a close friend, but a man I respect and have taken workshops with also died this month. Of cancer. He was probably in his late 60’s. And a cheeky man, always doing his own thing, not concerned with what people thought. Changing the world one feng shui workshop at a time.

And finally, last but not least, on the very last day of February (it has been such a very long month, for the shortest month of the year), Laura Whitworth, co-founder of The Coaches Training Institute, co-author of Co-Active Coaching, inspiration to tens of 1000’s, and a woman who changed the trajectory of the world with her vision and her work died of lung cancer. She fought bravely and hard. Like nobody’s business in fact. This lady was a fighter in everything she did. Powerful, purposeful, and clear. The world has lost a brilliant beacon of light with her passing. And yet she will live on and love on in so many ways through so many different people.

This posting is mostly to pay homage to all these fabulous people. And also a place for me to say, not that I haven’t already said it before, that cancer really, really sucks, and that if we don’t put some effort into containing this epidemic then forget global warming, there won’t be anyone left to complain about the heat. Come on people, let’s move on this!!!!

Breast Exams Without the Squeeze???

2006-10-24T09:36:00.000-07:00

Can this be possible?
Are my dreams being answered?
Have there been new breakthroughs?
Or is it just quackery?

Yesterday I was at my homeopath's and came across this new and exciting possibility in the form of a "Non-Invasive Breast Screening with Infrared Thermography" clinic coming to BC. Well, hoopitidodah, I say. Now, naturally, it comes at a cost to the patient, but, for the sake of trying something new, I might be really to pay that money. At the very least to learn what it is about and to develop a baseline read (actually, not even sure they do that, so I had been get in touch with them before I commit). I will keep you informed.

And for your reading pleasure...

Here is some RESEARCH background
Here is some FOR
And here is some AGAINST

Vitamin C INJECTIONS

2006-10-23T22:06:00.000-07:00

Yikes! If you have been following along my post, it will be abundantly clear why I never did Vitamin C injections, but this is what my courageous aunt is up to right now. I just Skyped her tonight, and the timing was perfect, she had just come off of her first injection. Her naturopath gave her 25 grams of Vitamin C straight into her veins. And plans to up the dose (she will go for 2 visits a week) to at least 200 grams per visit. Seems the theory is that the digestive system is not in a position to absorb the quantity of Vitamin C that can be useful to treat things like cancer, and so, voila, this other way of doing it. How my aunt explained it to me (with a little devilish twinkle in her eye, by the way) is that cancer cells feed off of sugar, and the molecular design of Vitamin C is quite similar to sugar (without being destructive, in fact quite the opposite, to the point that the pharmaceutical companies in Australia tried to make selling Vit C over the counter illegal. Guess they didn’t want the competition that oranges pose) so the cancer cells gorge themselves on the Vit C, which then kills them off from the inside out (seems they are starting to come up with conventional medical treatments that replicate this now). Sounds darn good to me. Too good to be true? Well, time will tell and we shall see. But hats off to my aunt for taking a bold step like this. It is quite the experience having her know something more about cancer and it’s treatment than I do. But that go get ‘em attitude sure feels familiar. May it serve her as well as it served me!

Anniversary of Trial by Fire

2006-10-16T19:34:00.000-07:00

As many of you know, I have an uncanny capacity for remembering dates (no, not like the hot date I was one last week with AAM, although, who can forget…), you know, the anniversary kind, the marking time kind, the something important happened here kind. For example: out of no where I will get what I call “birthday radar”. I know it is someone’s birthday, I just can’t remember whose yet (tragically the “who” often comes to me the next day, when it is less exciting to surprise someone with a Happy (belated) Birthday – although I am starting to lose the surprise edge, with people coming to know I have this weird gift). Back to the point. Sometimes it is my brain that remembers, sometimes my heart and sometimes my gut.

Similar to my Diagnosis Anniversary, I am grateful to report that today it was my head that is reminding me that this is the 5 year anniversary of my starting 19 rounds of radiation. I say I am grateful for this because it was often a more dramatic and less comfortable time when it is my gut that remembers. Grateful also because this head recollection instead of a body memory demonstrates to me, AGAIN, that I really am getting farther and farther away. I really am a survivor instead of a patient. I really, really am ALIVE. So hurray. And still, there is something here, and I want to honour it.

The honouring comes in the form of remembering it. The day itself, the experience in general, and just what radiation was all about for me. In some ways radiation was the most uncomfortable of the Triple Crown of Cancer (apart from the biopsy, which, as I have been known to say both often and LOUDLY, was just plain violent). What made it so creepy was that it had to happen all alone. Now I am not so great at alone on a good day. I like my friends. I like company. Life is more fun that way. For me anyway. Wasn’t it Pooh that said “It's so much friendlier with two”? While I am not a bear, and I probably have more brain than is good for me, I do have to agree. So when all the people in the white coats leave the room, and all the friends that came with you leave the room, and you realize they are leaving because what you are about to do is just so darn hard on the body that they want a huge cement wall between themselves and the equipment that you are getting intimate with, well, it is not a happy moment.

So there I was, lying on the table, feeling naked (which I was) and alone (which I was), wondering why I was doing this (which I was). And it starts. At least the humming, buzzing thing starts, which I assume means the Trial by Fire starts too. It is an eerie noise. Like a swarm of bees, or a loose overhead electric wire snaking around the ground, waiting to find it’s prey. Haunting, really. And it sort of winds its way into your body, infiltrating your defenses. Slipping past cell walls. Echoing through your mind. And what makes it worse (yes, it gets worse, imagine that), is that you aren’t suppose to breathe during this. Just sit there and hold your breath. So all that yoga and meditation preparation, well, how am I supposed to use that now? Holding my breath, I mean really! All that said here is the improvement over 50 years ago. It only lasts for 1.5 minutes. When it used to last for 45 minutes, ON EACH SIDE (don’t even start me on that rant). And here was the most disturbing part of all, and I do get that I am very kinesthetic and body centric, so many other people don’t go through this… but what happened for me is that I could feel my skin and then my breast heat up. That’s right; it got hot with the radiation entering it. Frying it. Killing off the cells. All the cells, not just the cancer cells, but all of the cells, I mean why be discriminating at this stage, that is what Chemotherapy (sort of) was for, right? That night I lay in my partner’s arms, weeping uncontrollably. Not even able to fully describe the pain or the problem. Words had escaped me; maybe they too had been burned off by the rays. It was a very hard day.

Luckily, me being undaunted by the effort and tragedy of it, and being committed to my body and my process entirely, found solutions that worked for me. I bought an Ohm CD, and used it to drown out the noise of the buzz, playing it throughout my time in the white cement room. I also came to picture my dear friends and support people surrounding me in that room. I would see them, standing there, around me, holding hands and beaming smiles of love at me, filling me with faith and joy and wonder. And the heat, how did I deal with that. My dear friend Rhiannon would walk me through a visualization of fresh, crisp snow falling onto my uplifted face, cooling my skin, cooling my breast, cooling my crazy mind. Was it easy? No. Did I live through it? Yes. What more can I ask?

Newest Version of Self Care

2006-09-07T21:54:00.000-07:00

So, wow, I sure have been submerged in my life right this past little while. In that place where everything is about getting to know a new person. And it has been fabulous, all that it should be. And now, as we move into what we have jokingly referring to as Phase 2, well it is time to come up for air… gasp. And do a bit of breathing, and bit of remembering who I am, just on my own. You know, good old self-care. Which in this case looks like some alone time, to do… well, whatever I want, with no one else around (and I am pretty excited to notice that what I WANT to do it write/blog, so yay!).

And yes, it has been a little while, as I have mentioned. So here I am. And what is great is that after years, and I do mean years, of my own personal work and self-actualization and all that other good stuff, well, I really notice when I start to go off the rails and I know what it is that I need to do about it (which was something I didn’t used to know, instead I just knew something was off, but didn’t know what to do about it, or how to go about doing that). Now it is different. Now I recognize that need, know what I long for, and ask for what I need and want. Sounds simple. Didn’t used to be that easy. And actually, in a new relationship, well it is it’s own new adventure. Fortunately my guy loves direct forthrightness as much as I do, perhaps even more. Does it get any better than that, someone who likes what you like, who doesn’t just appreciate you for being you, but actually celebrates it, eats it up and comes back for more. Be still my beating heart. I mean is there anything sexier?

Anyway, back to topic. Self-care and the constant changing face of what it is depending on where we find ourselves. I mean here I am, new situation, and guess what, the old ways don’t work. I need to get current, get fresh and see what it is that I need NOW. I love this part (didn’t use to, used to just want one easy formula, that I could apply anytime), this listening in to myself, to my heart and intuition and asking myself… what is important right now? What is the priority? And how do I ask for that in a way that enrolls others to want to participate?

And how is all this relevant to health and cancer and such? Well, my aunt continues to struggle through her own journey (and would certainly continue to appreciate any prayers). And as part of that needs to keep looking in, or around, or wherever, to discover her own answers, her own questions, and her own thoughts. Not so easy with her journey. Boy, I had no idea how complicated getting diagnosed could be. My situation was so simple, breast cancer, so clear. But here she is, a few months in, and they are not so sure what she is dealing with yet. Different specialists are looking, evaluating, weighing in, and in the mean time she has to WAIT. And then wait some more.

In a chat I had with her just this past week we talked about what some of the self-care might look like. Turns out what was most important was contacting people who are in a support group for the type of cancer the doctors think my aunt might have, and asking the support group folks what are the best questions to be asking doctors and specialists when my aunt does have appointments with them (it is so darn hard to get back to them with follow up questions that is seems best to have done a stack of research ahead of time, complete with good questions), as well as to get a handheld tape recorder that she can use to tape her conversations with them so she can go back and review the discussions later. Sounds good to me. There are other things that I am sure need doing, but this is the starting place, the most urgent things. I am so proud of her for all that she is doing to fight this, from evaluating her attitude, to changing how she lives, to drinking in every piece of info she can, to looking at what the self-care is that she needs to do each day. Good for her. And here is my contribution. If you could keep those good vibe thoughts and prayers coming her way, well that would be just swell. Turns out my self-care can include caring for those around me, those I love. Thank you and God bless!

Processed Cheese

2006-08-20T11:51:00.000-07:00

Ok, so I am over at my man’s house yesterday, he had made me and some of his friends dinner (can you see the smile on my face!). I had come later owing to this and that other commitment, so I didn’t get to see what they ate, but something in the conversation had me think it was different than what I ate. He made me this awesome fish (can you say spoilt… well not only can I say it, and spell it, I am pretty darn good at enjoying it – and, yes, this was the first time he was making me dinner and, it’s true, I was quite impressed). Then, about ¾ of the way through my meal, I spied something with my little eye on the corner of the dining room table. It was a pasty, pastel orange colour, square-ish, stacked up, wrapped in plastic. Oh my god, it hit me. It is fake cheese. It is that individually wrapped faux-fromage (this is where I wish I had audio capacity, and then I would play that scary “wree, wree, wree, wree” sound from horror movies). After I got over my shock, a certain eerie panic set in. Wait, if he has that on the corner of his table, he must have it in his fridge, and he must have been feeding it to his friends. This is not good. Clearly it is time for the re-training to begin.

There is not room for processed cheese in my fridge or my life. End of story. No discussion. No debate. In fact, no brainer. Cheese, in and of itself, is supposed to be on my no-no list (but it has been harder for me to give up than sugar, go figure). Here is my compromise, I don’t buy cheese. Now, if it happens to be at the places I visit, well, that is beyond my control, but my home needs to be a cheese free zone. And because I am all about education around cancer and diet and health, I will take the opportunity to pontificate just a bit … here is why cheese is bad for me (and possibly you)…most cows have been treated with a bunch of hormones, most notable among those being Bovine Growth Hormone. And not only is it encouraging extra growth, you know, above and beyond what would be normal growth for them (please tell me how growth above and beyond normal is different from cancer), it is probably (I ought not be quoted on this though, as I have not done the research, but am just assuming and extrapolating) being excreted in the milk. Think about that, your dairy products are full of this (and others, I’m afraid) icky stuff. Yuck. So there is that. And there is also the fact that cancer, at least breast cancer, is more prevalent in overweight people. Well you can’t tell me that over consumption of dairy doesn’t lend itself to becoming overweight. Then there is the thing about dairy being a reproductive fluid (doesn’t that suddenly make your Brie sound a whole lot less appealing). My cancer was of a reproductive organ. Now I don’t know if there are studies, but just intuitively, there is something about that that say “Don’t do it”. Laying off the dairy just plain makes sense. The only exception to that is yogurt, since it is such a superfood, with all that acidophilus, but even then, organic, fat-free, not sugar sweetened are all-important.

So, now, suddenly it occurs to me, maybe having faux cheese in the fridge is a way for me to not have to be tempted (because really, tempted by faux cheese, that will never happen), but for him to have his, er, cake and eat it too. Ahh, the joys of relationships and learning how to compromise.

Love, Love, Love

2006-08-16T20:47:00.000-07:00

So here is how things went down in my absence… I was suppose to go away, far, far away, and hang out of trees by ropes, risking life and limb, and dive into the heart of my heart, and discovery things I never knew about myself. What I did instead… was realize that I have taken on too much (dare I say it, again), and opted out of what would be a fabulous experience in order to do the self care that I needed to do. To nurture myself. To talk to my aunt at my leisure (not to mention put together a care package for her which consisted of Sally Errey’s Staying Alive Cookbook, Bernie Siegel’s book Love, Medicine and Miracles, on having the right attitude during cancer treatment, a Quan Yin Goddess figurine, for compassion, and a bracelet of amethysts, so she can carry the thoughts and love of all her friends and family with her). To get caught up to my thoughts. And to opt out of the details of life that can get in the way of Life (sorry to report that blogging was one of those). It was the right thing to do. It left me feeling rejuvenated and refreshed.

Here is what else I did. I seem to have embarked on a new relationship. Whoa! How did that happen? When did that happen? Doesn’t the goddess understand that this is a very inconvenient time? Not to mention an astrologically hexed time? Well never mind. Seems that this is how I am meant to risk life and limb, and dive into the heart of my heart, and discover things I never knew about myself (thank goodness no tree dangling though). Love is love, and the heart is the heart, can’t be controlled (or so I am re-learning). And frankly there is probably nothing better for the heavy or dark heart to bring peace and joy. I might even go so far as to recommend it as part of cancer treatment, because that love buzz sure is fun, and there is nothing more life affirming and exciting. In fact, I do remember starting a new relationship during my radiation treatment, and boy, now that I think of it, radiation was easier in some ways than the other treatment, and perhaps that was why. And yes, I am being a bit whimsical here, but what is the way we can bring more love into cancer treatment? Is it making sure the person feels the love of family and friends? Is it having some excitement in their lives, and reason to hang on and keep fighting? Is it getting more touch and affection (because boy is that healing!!!)? I don’t know the answer, but I know the question is worth pondering!

Speaking of love, here is the update on my aunt (who I spoke to this morning at length, and she sounds in good spirits): they are still trying to figure out what is what. They are now calling into question the type of cancer it is, and when they had previously thought that chemo wasn’t necessary, they are reconsidering (in other words, if it is this other cancer, then chemo is a good thing/idea). And she is having other funny squeaks and aches and pains and problems. So the medical exploration is continuing (good thing she is reading Bernie’s work and being the squeaky wheel that demands what she needs!!). Tomorrow – August 17^th, at 1:30pm Eastern Time, she is having a CAT scan at the local hospital. All and any prayers would be welcome. And thank you for your ongoing support.

More Time Off

2006-07-28T22:52:00.000-07:00

Yes, it is happening again, I am heading out of town for a bit (I am off to a leadership retreat in California - out in the woods somewhere, being deeply transformed, and all that good stuff), and won't have access to a computer until my return (that is provided they let me across the US border, otherwise I will be back and ranting about it in, well, no time flat, so wish me luck, for all our sakes). So sit tight, I promise I will be back, and hopefully all fired up and full of new inspiration.

Have a good week and a half, and enjoy my birthday, and I will "see" you in soon.

What's So Great...

2006-07-27T14:08:00.000-07:00

About my aunt? Well, let me tell you. She always tries to see what is good in life. To hold to an upbeat perspective. She is willing to try anything. She is courageous (she followed my mother to Canada, and set up a life here for herself and her daughter). She knows her mind and what she wants (have I mentioned she has a sheep farm, I mean who creates an Icelandic sheep farm in Canada besides someone who knows their mind and what they want, and is courageous). She really cares about her family, in the best way she can. She is passionate. She is open minded and spiritually curious. She is willing to learn. And so many more things. She has a big heart. She is open to sharing and asking for help. And, well, the bottom line is that she is a great lady. I am so happy to have her in my life. She was like a second mother to me, and took care of me and cared deeply for me.

Today I spoke to her directly. The first time since the news. She sounds so great. So positive. So present. We talked a lot, mostly about the lessons that come from cancer, and about the changes that it demands. She seems willing, even a bit excited, about what has to be done in her life so that she can move to a place of really fighting for it, and really enjoying it. She told me that she plans to model her approach after mine, both in terms of treatments and attitude. She plans to fight the cancer with everything there is, and everything she has. And while this all makes sense to someone listening in, well, for her to be saying this just days after her diagnosis, well, it’s big. And I honour her for it! I am not worried about her, and her chances of survival, with this attitude, she can and will move mountains. You go get ‘em!

Stopped In My Tracks

2006-07-26T21:44:00.000-07:00

So there I was, loving life, loving being alive, loving that my birthday is coming up (that would be Saturday, for those of you not in the know yet). You see, I love being a Leo and so I celebrate, not just one day, not just the week of, or even a week to either side. No, I celebrate all Leo season long (and my friends might say it is a very loooooonnnnnnggggg season). And I love birthdays in general, and I especially love my birthday. I have made people celebrate me in all sorts of ways, from writing me poetry, to taking the day off work, to making video taped recordings of themselves telling me what they love about me, to giving me a group massage. I know how to self indulge. And apparently I know how to make it so compelling that people play along (maybe that is really because it is just one day in the year, and for all I give the rest of the year they are willing to take requests for this occasion). I also know how to celebrate. Celebrate me, celebrate success, celebrate live. I have heard this is unusual, and it boggles my mind. I mean why do stuff if at the end of the stuff you aren’t going to pat yourself on the back and say “Golly well done!!! You really do ROCK the house.” I mean honestly?

Here is the other thing I love, and was loving especially much today. I love being alive. Love it. And so I should, I fought hard for it. And here is how loving it manifested. I was skipping through my new local organic natural food store – Capers, buying whatever the hell my heart desired because, you guessed it, my birthday is coming up, so I need the fridge stocked with whatever I could possibly want. And I was smiling away at everyone, and engaging them in conversation, whether they knew they wanted to be or not, and telling people to go for it when they seemed to be waffling about a purchase choice, and a whole myriad of other things. And it was just so darn FUN. Being alive was fun. Choosing what I wanted to eat was FUN. Shopping was FUN. Letting myself have whatever I wanted was FUN. Connecting with my community and surroundings was FUN. It was all fun. And it was fun because I saw it that way. Nothing was a bother or a hassle, because I wasn’t looking from that angle. I WAS CHOOSING JOY. And god did it feel good!

And as I took my exciting groceries to my happy, red car, smiling at small babies and their mothers along the way, dancing through my street, minding my own business, well what should happen to me, but BANG. It struck me. Five years ago today I was doing my second round of chemo (and what a hard round that was). I was bald and I was scared and I didn’t know for sure if I would live or die, or even which one I wanted, no scratch that, I was always clear on that piece. I stopped and I cried. Really heart rending tears. What juxtaposition. This very scared and this very alive, happy and vibrant. And the knowledge that it was the one place and feeling that gave me the option to have the other was very humbling. And suddenly the trees looked even greener, and the sky even bluer and the lazy heat of the day felt like an embrace instead of an oppression. And I thought to myself “Thank you Goddess, thank you Goddess, thank you Goddess, for giving me back my life. May I do your bidding today and always.”

The Power of Love

2006-07-25T21:38:00.000-07:00

Quick aunt update… so, from what I hear second or perhaps third hand, the cancer my aunt has is very rare. It is a sarcoma. It was in of /in the soft muscle of the interior of the uterine wall. And, fortunately, her GP listened when earlier this month Stephanie went in and said “something is not right here, this fibroid is getting bigger by the week.” Apparently the prognosis is good, and the medical team will meet later this week and come up with their advise for (or if there should be) any follow up treatment(s).

Tomorrow my aunt goes home (although she does assert this has been a great vacation from all that needs doing on the farm this time of year). But she is not allowed to walk up stairs, drive or lift things (owning to the incision as opposed to the cancer, in case that had you scratching your head).

Stephanie specifically asked my mother to tell me that she feels very grateful for all the good thoughts that everyone has been sending. She feels it and knows it. She said “I am very sure of the impact of the love, I feel a lightness around me.” She is very committed to staying positive and upbeat (a woman after my own heart). She knows that everything that can be being done is and this gives her strength. She will keep thinking positive thoughts and continue in good humour.

The other really noticeable thing is how great the hospital care has been! The staff is excellent at Kingston General Hospital, more like neighbours stopping by for a visit than health care providers. They are nice and they joke with her and connect with her. It is so different from the usual hospital routine and what a good model it is!! We all feel certain that this environment had helped her to heal. Medicine and health care the way it should be I say.

Finally I have pointed my aunt (through my mother) to burdock and dandelion tea, castor oil packs and adding more blueberries, ground flax seed and almonds to her diet. We are committed to fighting this with everything we have!

Thanks for your ongoing thoughts and prayers and love. They are making a difference. And have the power to heal!

Urgent Prayer Request

2006-07-23T09:52:00.000-07:00

Have I used the word epidemic before now? Have I put it in capital letters (EPIDEMIC)? Have I put expletives and various symbols around it (@%**!#EPIDEMIC&&%#!?!)? Well get ready for it, because I am about to. What the hell is going on!?!?!?!?

Ok, no, refocus. There is something more important right now that the rage I have for and at this disease. And that is the fact that my aunt Disa (who has, by the way, not just given me permission to request prayers, but been quite enthusiastic about it – mind you, she is knee deep in morphine right now, post surgery) underwent surgery on Wed (which is a part of why you haven't heard anything from me lately, I have been a bit distracted), for what they thought was just a fibroid, and it turns out there was some cancer there. Seems the cancer was sort of hiding out underneath and kind of behind the fibroid (like is cancer starting to develop a brain or something, I feel like I am in some creepy Alien movie where the monsters don’t just have big scary teeth, but they actually are plotting things, too gross to consider) so they didn’t even know that is where they were going. They had to call in a cancer specialist and they spent an extra 3.5 hours over what they were expecting to. The good news is they feel confident that they got it (tentacles and all), and now we are just waiting for test results and the some suggestions for future treatment.

So here is my request: prayers that they got it all, that it was contained and not on the move, that it was low grade and early stage, that it is not an aggressive (or cunning) form of cancer (they suspect that it is either ovarian or cervical), that she recovers from the surgery easily and smoothly, that the suggestions of further treatment are humane and easy, that she has an easy time making decisions, that she gets all the help she needs with all the tasks of her life (not to mention some half decent food in the hospital), that they stop this mother f**ker in its tracks (oops, clearly my rage is close to the surface!!!). Prayers for her state of mind, may it be as peaceful as possible, and positive and optimistic. Prayers for her husband, her two daughters, her sister (my mother) and all her other family and friends, that they can dance with what is happening, be as supportive as possible, and get the support they need in order to best be able to support my aunt. Gee, I clearly want to cover all the bases. So, maybe I scale back and say… prayers they got it all, prayers for her state of mind, prayers for the highest good. And please feel free to pop her on any prayer circles or lists that you have or know of. Let’s get this precious, special lady all patched up and back to her farm.

Thank you, knowing that you are on the job helps to ease my heart! And I will keep you posted as things progress.

Hospital Food - Ugh

2006-07-18T21:05:00.000-07:00

Oxymoron at best that. The stuff they give you to eat, to sustain you and heal you, in your average hospital is not fit for beasts. My experience of it so far is that it usually falls into one of two colour ranges: white and brown (chocolate pudding, coffee, mashed potatoes, gravy, some meat resembling thing,etc). Ok, when all the books seem to agree and all the recent studies are talking about the more colour and the richer the colour of a food (for example – blueberries) the better it is for our bodies, then why oh why, dear God, are they serving “hospital food” that is colour less (essentially).

Well the truth is we know why. To save money. That is also why they ship it in from foreign cities (my aunt who will be having surgery in Kingston tomorrow, please send her powerful healing thoughts, will be getting her food from Ottawa, from what I am told), which inherently suggests that it is not fresh food. It is not even freshly prepared food, perhaps just reheated. Egads! Gadzooks! Why are we trying to kill their patients? Oh right, we already covered that ground. To save money. But how do we save money if all these people can’t recover well and have to stay in hospitals longer, or if they have recurrences or relapses, or we are killing off another part of them that is affected by the poor diet. Oh, it could drive me to… eat chocolate pudding. It all seems so fruitless (literally), so counter intuitive, so illogical.

My extreme self-care solution was to ask friends and family to bring me REAL food while I was in the hospital. And I am sure it made all the difference (well, maybe not ALL the difference, those prayers and good thoughts might have helped a wee bit too) in my speedy recovery. But that probably isn’t viable for everyone. So what do we do as a system at large in an effort to make this work better? I know there is some experimentation at Mount St. Joseph’s here in Vancouver, where they are making good fresh food with good fresh ingredients. Is it working? How do they measure that? And how can other folks learn from it? Because I will tell you this, we are killing our people with what we are feeding them in the hospitals.

I recall once taking a class with a herbalist and she jokingly said that often people walk past the very herbs that they need to help the on their way to the pharmacy. A year or two after that class I was walking past the emergency entrance at VGH and noticed that there were these hyper, overgrown, massive dandelions just outside the door. “Whoa” I thought, “clearly we are a society in need of liver detox.” Well while I know it is not the answer, I sometimes wonder if we wouldn’t be better off making a nice, big salad with all those healthy greens (not that these ones would have been, sucking in all that exhaust from the ambulances) and letting it go at that. Never mind. Back to what are some other solutions? Any suggestions are good suggestions! Bring it on!

Vacation Bound

2006-07-10T21:18:00.000-07:00

Not a real, long, fun vacation... just a few short days, and then leading another workshop for CTI. This time back east (which is funny because my parents will have come west and be staying at my place while I am away). But, as I promised myself I will leave off everything, including blogging, while I am away (unless I come across something I absolutely NEED to rant about). A break, a rest. Some self care. Some fun. So with that I wish you well, and I will see you on the other side, probably within the week.

Ode to Debbie the Chemo Nurse

2006-07-09T15:27:00.000-07:00

Not an ode really, but you know where I am going with this. You hear me rant a lot, and it is because there are lots of ways to streamline and improve the medical system. There are always ways to improve every system, it is inherent in having a system really. You need a system to start moving forward, which in and of itself is a Great Thing, and then you need to learn as you go and keep refining. I am built for refining things (another way to describe this, and many a former boyfriend has, is that I easily see what is wrong, not necessarily so good for a relationship, but great for a system), which is why I am so good at ranting. But today I want to highlight a great thing in the form of a great person, and know that when I am doing that, it is really where I am pointing the system. To it’s own greatness.

Debbie administered my chemotherapy for round 1 and 2 (of 4, she was off with an injured arm for my 3^rd round and on her honeymoon for my 4^th round, and I know this because, trust me, I asked for her personally). Simply put, she is an angel disguised as a nurse. I start crying just thinking about how loving and caring and totally present she was with us (that would be me and my two support people). She didn’t miss a beat, she really heard me and she did what she could to alleviate my fear and pain. Let me slow that one down because it is so important: she didn’t just try to alleviate my pain, but also my FEAR, she tried to alleviate my mental pain (that being fear), she was concerned with my whole well being, all of me. There is the ticket right there, me thinks! And she did it without condescension or coercion. Her graciousness still astounds me. Now, yes, it is her job to take care of me, but it is also her task to “get the job done”. But the way she did that was what made her so different. She didn’t lose me in the process of getting the job done, she left me intact. In actual fact she made me more whole than when I arrived. Surely that is the real job. If I can hone in on what it was that was exceptionally special (which is hard, since so much is so great about her), it was the being present, totally present. She didn’t try to make me not have feelings, rather she honoured them. She didn’t try to get me to do things at any pace other than my own, she trusted my schedule, she trusted me, she knew we would get the job done. She was gentle, and respectful. She was helpful and caring.

And she remembered. During the second round (and I wasn’t scheduled to have her for my second round but after they gave me a nurse in training who wasn’t very good at administering needles, and was feeling uncertain and insecure, and so wasn’t listening to me, and had called in two other nurses to deliberate about whether or not they should put in a permanent needle line into my chest, “hello is anyone going to consult with me”, to the point that I was standing up on my chair, voice raised, panicking and declaring that I was now done with chemotherapy. It was at this point that they offered me a later appointment with Debbie, and I, not surprisingly, accepted), when I unwittingly (in fact, there were no wits anywhere near me since I had to take a double dose of Xanax for my second attempt at chemo) again mentioned that I liked the colour of her thing-y that wraps around my arm to redirect the blood flow to the lower half of my arm (it was a beautiful red and hot pink and orange), and she said, “yes, it is the colours of the goddess”, and I knew we had covered this ground before. And I felt precious and important to her, and yes, loved. She remembered and I felt held and safe and like everything was going to be ok. I could relax a bit (and relaxing really helps in those sorts of situations) and let her do her job.

I have probably only spent a total of 4 hours in her presence but those 4 hours changed my life (I guess in many ways, like, you know, having one). Those 4 hours had me know that human life is precious. That people who don’t even know you can care for you and take care of you, in a way that has nothing to do with any money exchanged. That you can trust strangers. That God is alive and well and living inside the human heart.

I don’t know the magic formula that make Debbie so great (that said I could break it down and figure out the key things, I suppose, and it may well be worth it, in case I can take this show on the road and teach the emotional intelligence stuff to the health care providers that might be missing it), and maybe it was chemistry between us and different nurses work better for different patients, but she saved my life that day, both those days, and she made my life worth living, because I learned that there is a heart in the medical system and that it can work. In fact it can work wonders. But not without the people. I couldn’t work if it was just machines and just chemicals and just scalpels. God needs to have a face.

The Newest, Craziest Birth Control Pill Yet

2006-07-05T22:38:00.000-07:00

It brings a whole new meaning to the expression “just take a pill” (am I dating myself? Well, I am certainly not dating anyone else, so why not date myself). YIKES. I was reading an article (unfortunately, for some reason the Globe and Mail won't give a whole article, not sure if they are just cheap, or don't want to be refered to, but anyway, you have the date and the title you can look it up some other way, or I am sure some other, more generous, paper has written on the same topic) in the paper the other day that they have come up with, or perhaps even approved of a new birth control pill. The “advantage” of this pill is that you can take it every day of the month, every day of the year. So I guess you don’t forget to take it, ever, since it is an every day thing. Ok, I can see why that is useful. BUT, at what cost? At what cost!??!?!? YOUR BODY NEVER, EVER (because it is an everyday thing) GETS A BREAK. EVER. How can that be good!?!?!

In the past the pill is taken 3 out of 4 weeks (for those unfamiliar with the details). On that fourth week your body gets to rest. That is when you get your period. With the new pill, you don’t get your period, ever. I suppose some women will say, “Great, it was a nuisance anyway.” A nuisance? Sometimes I feel that the fact that my body needs to eat is a nuisance. And the fact that it needs to sleep is too. I wonder if I will ever feel that the fact that my body needs to breathe is a nuisance? I guess if that day comes I really should stop breathing and let it go at that. These are the things my body does. My body does them naturally. It is the way of a body to do them. It has worked for thousands and thousands of years. Why exactly are we messing with it? Oh right, because it is inconvenient. Inconvenient to have bodies. Inconvenient to support our bodies. Well, if you don’t like it you don’t have to have one. There is another option.

Wow am I ranting on this topic. So let me tell you why. While I have no proof, or no specific reason to believe it, I feel fairly strongly that it was my taking the birth control pill as a youngster that set me up to get breast cancer years later. I remember as a teenager that my body went wonky after I started taking the pill. Specifically my breasts. They became so tender between ovulation and menstruation that it was completely out of hand. They hurt so much I didn’t want to have sex, which kind of defeats the purpose of being on the pill. Even when I went off the pill the damage had been done, and things never returned to homeostasis. Was I surprised when I got diagnosed? Yes and no. It is always a shock to be told you have a life threatening illness, especially so young. And I had always felt the shadow of that youthful experience, wondering if and when I would have to pay the price for that choice. So yes, I rant when it comes to the pill. And this new piece, oh so rant worthy, in my books.

That said, there are studies and research that refute what I am saying, such as one sent to me recently by a friend (second piece down). And, if I had high speed at home (which, by the way, I am about to get) I would do some googling and do my own research and I am sure I could come up with pieces that support my angle. In the end we can only ever do what feels right for us and our own bodies since scientists now seem to be for sale to the highest bidder (I realize that is not true for all scientists, but how does one tell them apart, it is not like sniffing a cantaloupe, hoping to discern the ripeness of a report). But darn it all if I don’t chaff at the idea of young women, who don’t know their bodies well yet, and don’t necessarily respect the value of allowing a body to work in its own way, in its own rhythm, being offered a product that makes them more like a man, for the sake of convenience. AAARRGGGGHHHH!

Oh, and back to the key point here, it is not that I object to the body not bleeding, I suppose that might be ok, not that I know the science of it (although the emotional release before bleeding seems like a good idea, otherwise, what? will it just all build up and we will explode, that doesn’t seem good to me, like there are safety valves on some pieces of equipment, letting off steam pre-menstrually seems to me some what of a human safety value, it protects us all from a huge meltdown catastrophe), rather I am concerned about the body not getting a break from the huge hit (apparently 4 to 5 times the amount that the body naturally produces) of hormones when on this non-stop pill. There are clear studies that show that women who are estrogen receptor positive (ER+) increase their risk of getting breast cancer if they expose themselves to greater amounts of estrogen. To the point that if I woman is discovered to be ER+ after her breast cancer surgery, if she is pre menopausal they will also remove her ovaries, because they are producing enough estrogen to put the woman at risk of a reoccurrence. Ah, but the pill is pumping in 4 to 5 times the amount of estrogen than your ovaries do. But don’t worry about that, I am sure it is fine. Never hurt anybody. Well, not anybody that is still alive to tell the tale. Another, great big AAAARRRRRGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!

Ok, that is it, I have to stop writing or I won’t be able to get to sleep because I will be just so wired up. But think about it, before you just pop a pill to make things easier. Easier for whom? And, will it be easier in the long run?

Is This The Life I Fought So Hard For?

2006-07-03T22:17:00.000-07:00

Something’s gotta give. And please let it not be my mind. I feel like a pack animal carrying the load of my life around. Which makes no sense because all of the things that I am up to are so great, and so fun and so exciting. But I don’t have the time to enjoy them. I barely have the time to breath. And while I like a bit of this crazy, busy thing, right now, it is getting in the way of living.

I am not even sure where to start the process of prioritizing. Do I want to focus on most urgent? Most fun? Most important? Most impactful? Most meaningful? Or should I just have a moratorium on new projects until September? And while a great idea, it does not solve my right now problem. No doubt this will be resolved, it always is, but this time I want to slow it down and look at it. Really notice what happens. In the hopes of making different choices in the future.

Here is some of the problem. This is not the life I fought so hard for. Mostly because I don’t know what that life is. I don’t know what that life looks like. I never took the time to envision it, to get clear on what I want (apart from fun and busy), to craft the space and hold the energy until I found it, or it found me, or something of the sort. That is something I want to work on now, but that is easier said than done. It is one more thing to put on my plate (now there is a set up). And frankly not easy to do as a self guided project without accountability to someone. So we shall see where it goes. What help I draw in. And where it takes me.

What I Can't Be With

2006-07-01T21:57:00.000-07:00

So I know that I said that I would write about this new crazy birth control pill in a couple of days, and trust me I am burning to speak my piece about it. And I know that a couple of days has been and gone, and well, I haven’t written. So, to start with, here is my learning about that. It doesn’t work for me to assume that I will be writing on the weekends that I am leading my CTI workshops (I mean if I do, that’s great, but building it into my life is too hard, and hard is not what I am about, especially when what I really need is down time). So, from here on in, even when I am leading a coaching workshop at home, I am going to cut myself some slack and either just write about what is present for me on a given day, or not write at all. There it is, my newest declaration of self-care! Yay!

Now, on to writing about what is present for me today. In this weekend’s workshop we get the participants (and so I can’t help by take a look myself) to explore/investigate/delve into WHAT THEY CAN’T BE WITH. And here is what I noticed about myself. ONE of the things I can’t be with is DOING NOTHING. And it shows up left, right and center. You see I can’t be with boredom, and inactivity, and well, doing nothing. I am so about being busy and getting things done and being on the move that I over commit, have too much on my plate and get overwhelmed. The ironic thing is that because I am so maxed I stop being able to plan things or get it together to take on new things, and eventually my mania grinds to a halt. Then, you guessed it, I get to be with doing nothing, because all my friends, who have become used to me being unavailable have made other plans or gotten busy with other things. But instead of sitting in this doing nothing place and exploring it and deepening my relationship with it, well, not deepening, actually just developing any kind of relationship with it, I ramp it up again and get… you guessed it… busy.

Actually, this is how I dealt with cancer too, I got busy, really busy, with the doing of it, and the trying to fix things and change my situation. New diet, see doctors, exercise, read books on it. It didn’t help much. Didn’t change what was. Just kept me from feeling with really needed to be felt. Eventually, after all the cancer treatment was done and gone, but I was still stuck in the terror and the panic and the thinking, well, from that place I finally started REALLY being with what was there, and sitting in what first felt like boredom, but turned out to be the most healing 2 or 3 months of my life.

Here is the other thing I noticed, this aversion to DOING NOTHING can serve me (and others). I so can’t sit around and do nothing, not when there are mountains to be moved, and things to be said and perspectives to be changed. Now that doesn’t mean I necessarily work fast on those things, but I drive myself, night and day, can’t rest, am open to criticism and berate myself for not doing more (because while I am doing what I can do it feels to be me like I am not doing enough and therefore am doing nothing, even when, frankly, that is not the case). It is an interesting other angle to look from, even though the piece is the same: my desire to avoid this doing nothing, well, it runs me, and I need to get ok with doing nothing, in order that I can be at conscious choice about it instead of on auto pilot. So we shall see what awareness creates around this. Awareness and acceptance.

To Eat Organic or Not to Eat Organic

2006-06-28T21:38:00.000-07:00

There should be no question. Obviously, in general, organic is better. Both because it produces a food that is better for our bodies because our bodies don’t have to fight off the ill effects of the pesticides etc (let’s face it, we are a bit of a pest on the planet ourselves, what makes you think humans are immune to the killing substances), and better for the earth, because she doesn’t have to work so hard to stay in balance or to recover from the damage done through land stripping and/or toxifying types of farming (damn, was that ever one long sentence!). So yes, when you can, shoot for organic. And there are some foods that it is more important for than others. Doing a bit of research in this area can help you to decide where to spend your organic dollar.

Here are a couple of examples:

Strawberries. You want ‘em organic. Here is the theory behind it. These little fellas are like sponges. So even if you wash them and wash them and keep washing them, the pesticide is inside, way inside. It got in a long time ago and you can’t get it out. So if they are not organic, well, just leave them alone!

Avocados on the other hand grow from such a robust and naturally healthy plant that by and large growers do not need to spray their crops to keep them healthy, happy and safe. So usually even the not organic avocados are fine. By the way, just a happy little plug for these power packed friends, when I was in chemo I had a friend of the family (who is a nurse) make me promise that I would eat one avocado a day. Yes they are full of fat, but good fat, and they are also full of so many nutrients and other good stuff that, well, they were just what the nurse ordered. Besides for me, with the possibility of loosing ground on the weight front during chemo, I wanted to be consuming lots of high quality calories. Bring them on!

Here is another “must go organic” choice. Wine. Why? Because when your average vineyard is growing their grapes they spray the crop (with, by the way, are very high in artificial estrogen pesticide, can you say Breast Cancer?) when the grapes are just little and wee, and then when they grow it gets really hard to get rid of the pesticide just by an easy little rinse, because it is all in the nooks and crannies. Not that they wash the grapes before they throw them in a vat, squish them around and let them ferment, oh no, they get to soak in their own juices along with all the nasty, dangerous, toxic sludge. How pleasant. How tasty. And guess what? Apparently (I say apparently because while I have heard it said repeatedly I haven’t done the research myself and so don’t feel that I ought to quote it like an absolute fact – not that that has stopped me on other occasions or with other topics, but just for today…) just north of San Francisco, in Sonoma and Napa county, you know, wine grape growing country, is the highest per capita instance of breast cancer diagnosis. Ouch. Now I don’t know if these things are related, but I wouldn’t take the chance of messing with it (like I did say with birth control pills, don’t get me started with the new one that can keep you from bleeding for YEARS, how is that suppose to be a good and honourable solution, where is the respect for our bodies in that – but more on that in a few days). Besides it has been said that wine and booze in general is something to be avoided, if like me, you have had breast cancer (not sure how or if it has an impact on other cancers). So if you must wine, stick with organic.

Cancer As Teacher

2006-06-26T21:16:00.000-07:00

Cancer has a way of making you/me/people tune into the subtle undercurrent that is what life is really all about. Through cancer, one’s own or a loved one's, there is a shaking up of the status quo so that we notice the lessons that we needed to pay attention to all along. It has a “wake up and put away your ego score keeping and feeling entitled” kind of energy. It is about noticing or learning who you really are, and expressing that in the world. It is about coming to listen to and follow the still small voice. It is about inspiring self-care and self-discovery, in the face of the never-ending demands of others and of the world. It is about respecting others, and ourselves to the best of our ability. It is about remembering how important we are and simultaneously how insignificant we are. It is about loving and accepting ourselves just as we are. It is about letting life be life. Or, as we say in program, accepting life on life’s terms.

There is no particular reason why I am writing this. It is not like I have had any new recent bad news, but rather I just find myself in a reflective state following such a significant change of the year like Solstice (hmm, which I guess means we now find ourselves in the astrological season of cancer). Cancer has been a gift to be in so many crucial ways. And it is hard to explain it in a way that doesn’t sound like rationalization or trying to put a positive spin on things. But beyond the obvious fact that it was a huge life changer, it was also a gracious blessing. It is not a subtle wake up call, rather quite the slap to the face, but because of that I think lots of people can overlook the subtle lessons. Now that might also be because they are just your standard life lessons, the things we need to face and discovery and claim as part of our journey here regardless of who our teachers are. But part of cancer’s power is it’s force, it’s magnitude and it’s trajectory. There is no mistaking the need for change, there is no pretending it didn’t happen (unless you want to see it’s scary face rise again – cut to Jack Nickleson’s famous scene from the Shining, “I’m baaaacccckkkkkkk.”), there is no fighting back without having to fight for your WHOLE life. I see all those things as good (which I guess is a lot easier to say when you are on this end of it all). Snooze buttons are over rated. If it is time to change, and you are being so strongly called, well then it is time to change.

Make no mistake, cancer is a brutal teacher (so if there is another way to learn the lessons so you can skip cancer, I am all for that!), but it is also a loving teacher, a concerned teaching, a committed teacher, if you choose to see it that way. And seeing it that way changes everything.

Having Some Feelings

2006-06-24T17:23:00.000-07:00

Ok, I am starting to feel like a leper. Each time I go down to the US border with the desire to “do the right thing” and get myself a TN-1 Visa, well, I get denied. Trice in a row. With all the exact same paper work as others who do get through (except for I hauled my two large, framed degrees, and since the others went onto a plane, I suspect they did not do that) with the very same lawyer crafted documents, and for the love of Jesus, I even drove all the way out to Cloverdale so I could go to crossing that has “nice” guards. ARRRRGGGGGHHHHH! It is cold comfort as people try to console me with “why would you want to go to the States anyway”.

It is a funny moment that one where you go up there and chat with the border guard. It is one of those “it’s all you” moments, even if you bring a friend, it is about you saying the right or wrong thing, looking the right or wrong way. You can’t have a little huddle with your friend and come up with the cunning answer, you can’t check your cheat sheet so you know what they are looking for. It is a make or brake situation, and it is a bit lonely. It is a task that no one can do for you. I suspect there is a range of such tasks. Where the primary feeling is fear, with liberal doses of uncertainty. That even if someone comes with you, supports you, loves you up while you are doing the hard thing, well, it still all comes down to you. I am betting childbirth is like this. And I know chemotherapy is like this. Even with two loving, caring, supportive dear friends and a nurse that rocks the house, it is my vein they put the needle into, my blood that gets diluted (and perhaps deluded). My fear, by body, my life. So somehow there always comes across me a piercing ache that I can only assume is loneliness – it is as if I fully realize that I have to face the world alone on this one.

And I think that is the real point, and learning, that it is not so much the about the task that needs to be done, as the feeling it brings up, and then the attitude we approach that with. I mean lets face it; it is not like we don’t do the thing just because we have the feeling, right? Lots of babies get born in spite of what must be a great deal of anxiety and pain. But here is the thing, I want there to be room to have the feeling even though the task will get done. Space for the process as well as the outcome. Would birth be as miraculous if we could do it as easily as sneezing? (I am sure I have a few mother friends right now who are saying, “You better believe it would be!! Give me a sneeze any day.” – which could result in even more over population, I might point out). So I guess I am saying yes, and yay, to the feelings. In fact it is my feelings and letting myself fully experience them that is the source of my centered power, and sense of connection, to myself, to other and to my source. So what does the weathervane read on my feelings today? Quite pissed off and still some jet lag leftovers on the loneliness.

Where are you at? And how much voice are you giving it?

Tips on Listening to Your Gut

2006-06-21T22:29:00.000-07:00

Someone specifically asked me to talk about this topic, and I thought, “Hey, why not write about it?” There is tons to say about this, probably because listening to our own gut, our own instinct, well it is as unique as the person doing it, so the ways to do it and the possible tips are limitless. And so, I am hoping that some folks chime in with their own comments on what has worked for them.

Listening to your gut starts with knowing yourself. Knowing your own signals about when you are overwhelmed, when you are upset, what you need to do. It mostly comes with time and paying focused attention. Without that self-exploration, well it is just hard to know which way is up. Another invaluable tool is gentleness. As we get to know ourselves, and we see some of the bad habits we have, as well as the ways we abandon ourselves, well, we need to make room for our own humanity and the fact that changing our habits takes time and we don’t do things perfectly.

I suspect most people talk about wanting to listen to their gut because they are hitting a rough place in their lives. Maybe they need to set a boundary, with someone else or with themselves. Maybe they need to be more assertive in a certain area. Maybe they need to up their self-care. But the bottom line is they want something to be different, they want change. So one valuable tool is knowing how you want your life or the situation to look different. Out of that can come discovering what the little steps toward that change are. Really listening to our gut is about slowing catching the offending behaviour, and subsequent reaction in ourselves, sooner and sooner, so eventually we notice, just by the way our breathing has changed, or our stomach feels queasy (whatever each individual person’s signal is, which again, only comes from paying attention and listening long enough to know ourselves), that something is off. And than we need to try a different behaviour than the ones we have tried before that have presumably not worked. And, since there is risk in that it can be a bit scary. We can fall into the trap of “better the devil you know” and stick with doing what is comfortable because it is familiar. We have to be willing to try something new, willing to piss people off and make a mistake, willing to listen to ourselves first, and not try to push away what we are feeling. Do that enough times, and it will start being easier.

So that is a nice idea, great theoretical thoughts, but how does it actually show up, what does it look like day to day and how do we get there, how do we do it? For me, and using cancer as a handy example, when I went to see the first surgeon that I as assigned (is that the right word? Never mind) I did not like her; every fiber of my body screamed NO!!!!! Some “still small voice” I have, yes? But did I listen, no. Instead I tried to make myself like her, I tried to rationalize it (all surgeons have crappy bedside manners, their patients are unconscious), I tried to suck it up. Just so happens for me overriding my gut feeling has become harder and harder the more work I have done on myself. I wasn’t capable of ignoring it, try as I might, for the sake of convenience (nasty four letter word that that is). And yes, part of the cancer (and perhaps any health) journey is about learning to listen to ourselves and our own truth, but still, it is a process. And while this is an extreme example, it just makes what is already true easier to see because it is so obvious. Getting to know how our still small voice shows up, recognizing it when it does come and respecting it by listening and trying those some behaviours, well that will set us free. Eventually.

Other little pointers:

When you do notice that you are upset about something, track the discomfort back to its source, then look at process that got you to the escalated, upset place. Knowing the journey will make it easier to catch it quicker on the road.

Take a look at why you resist making the change. For instance, if you are struggling with setting a boundary: why are you afraid to, what do you think might happen if you do so. Eventually this line of thought can lead you to notice what we in the 12 step programs call “the exact nature of our wrongs”, which translates to seeing what is really at the core of your behaviour. This helps you to start changing the behaviour.

Again, there are so many ways to play with this idea… so please pipe in if you have an experience you want to share or ideas about what you have tried and has worked well. Together we will create a road map containing some things to start trying.

So Sorry for Apologizing

2006-06-18T20:26:00.000-07:00

There is this thing I do, actually I guess that most people do it, somewhere in their life, but I am keeping the focus on me, so I will tell you my story and my lesson and then you can decide if it does or not does not ring true for your life and then what you want to do about it (if anything). So back to this thing that I do. I apologize for stuff. Not actually verbally apologizing (turns out I am relatively challenged in that area) but more energetically. It is like I am begging your forgiveness for something that you probably don’t even know I am doing or thinking or believing. It is a weird and crazy thing. I believe that it is tied to shame. I feel shame about something about myself, I feel like it must be something that you don’t want to hear or know about, or something to hide, and so energetically I drip with “sorry”, either when I talk about it, or in trying to not talk about it.

Here is the irony about that, in my work at the university career center a young international student had an appointment with me. In that appointment he told me about a job interview he had, and how during the interview he meekly said, “Well, I am an international student, so you will have to do a whole bunch of things to get me a visa.” I am not capturing it here in the words because really it was more in the intonation and the way he hung his head even as he said it to me… he was saying I am so sorry that I am an international student. Sorry to be a bother, sorry to create a hassle for you. Sorry. Well I pulled him up short and I said, in no uncertain terms “You have got to stop apologizing for being an international student!!!!! It is not a bad thing. And you are not a problem. And you are so worth whatever little bit of paper work they have to do in order to get to hire you.” He got it immediately, it is not that he actually ever said sorry, but he held it in his space, in his very essence. It is an energy. Not even a couple of weeks later he had secured a job, and he told me he had changed his attitude as I had suggested, and he had done his research, knew exactly the paperwork they needed to do and how to do that the easiest way, and offered to help them with it. He had minimized his perceived liability. But more importantly, he had changed his attitude about himself. A fun follow up to this particular story is that a few weeks after he got the job he was speaking at an event for international students, and he powerfully, emphatically and convincingly said to them… “Do not apologize for being international students!!!” Boy I love when the message ripples out, yes?

Anyway, back to me, and why that story is ironic. I do this very thing I was calling him on doing. I have shame, not even, I feel that there is something wrong about me, something I am suppose to hide or feel contrite about or ask for forgiveness for, and I carry it around like a stone. But until I release myself (and I really am the only one who can release me), absolve myself, let it go, then I continue to torture myself with it, and try to hide it like a nasty little secret. And since I keep it as a secret I am not usually even aware myself that I am doing it (much like my international friend) until someone else sees it and calls me on it. Here is my easy and present day example (although I am sure there are many more places…) as I start to venture into the dating realm I feel awkward telling people I have had cancer, like it should be kept secret, like it is something to be ashamed of, like it is something that requires forgiveness. And if I had a counselor who was speaking to me about this I am sure they would tell me “You do not need to apologize for being a cancer survivor!!!! It is not a bad thing. You are not a problem. In fact, it makes you a more powerful, focused, aware, determined human being than you even were before. Wear it like a badge of honour!” And even as I say it to myself it feels right. And so for me and for you, and for all the places we feel broken or like we should seek absolution or cover up and hide: love them, heal them, and flaunt them. You are a perfect, beautiful, miraculous human being. Celebrate yourself instead of apologizing!

Giving Feedback

2006-06-16T18:03:00.000-07:00

So the other day I got some feedback on my blogging/writing. My friend said, “I don’t write comments on your blog because, well, you have said it all. You have gotten to the point and made it powerfully. What is there to add?” My posts don’t invite feedback (which in and of itself is a form of feedback, should I choose to see and read it). And I am reminded of 5 years ago when I was going through treatment (no, not everything reminds me of treatment, but when it does, I try to get it down on, well, keyboard). I guess I have a forceful personality, or so I have been told, although on certain days I can’t really see it. At any rate I have a clear personality, and when I have made up my mind I am a determined person and not too much gets in my way (except for, occasionally, myself). And apparently it can be hard to give me feedback or instruction, or direction (I have even heard that people can be afraid of me, can you imagine, little ol’ me? But that is another post).

I must tell you, that among my most powerful memories of cancer and treatment was a day that my friend Jen and I were sitting chatting. And I had, probably earlier that week at a Team Signy meeting, tried to impress upon my team/friends the fact that just because I sound clear, just because I know my mind, just because I contradict your suggestions, well, it doesn’t mean that I am right. And I want - in fact, I need - them to stand up to me, to be willing to say their perspective louder, to not stop at “I don’t think so” coming out of my mouth. Have an opinion, stick to it, see what happens. Well, Jen, being Jen did that in her own way. Who knows what we were talking about in general, but somewhere in there I suspect that I said that I was tired (this was during chemo and tired was standard fair, especially close to my nadir). I just said it in passing. But a few minutes later Jen got up, and ushered me into the other room. I got up, curious as to the point she wanted to make. Then, when we arrived in the bedroom, she walked up to the bed, pulled back the sheets pointed under the covers and said (with no wiggle room in her voice) “Get in”. At my quizzical look she said (again, just as decisively as before) “It is time for you to take a nap.” Oh my god, how great was that. So clear. And delivered with humour, the ultimate tool against and way to penetrate my ego certainty. Naturally, I got into bed and I slept, even with a guest there that I thought I ought to be entertaining. Even with the fun of a friend there that I wanted to hang out with. I love her different perspective, I love that she made me listen, I love that she questioned what I thought I knew. And I love the way she did it.

Please give me feedback, on this post and others. Your perspective adds to the mix, it changes the dynamics, it curls people’s toes. What else could be more important? And maybe you don’t have anything to say on/about my posts, fine, but go speak up where ever you do have an opinion and something to say. The world needs to hear it!

Living Our Values

2006-06-14T22:16:00.000-07:00

Ok, I have gotten too excited and caught up discovering, deepening and living my values to remember/have time for/be able to focus long enough to blog. And yes, self-expression, and shape shifting are among my values, and blogging and writing have me meet those values too, but I must say, it sure is fun to have living my life take precedence over writing about it.

So how am I getting clarity on my values? The classic coaching stuff, looking at my peak experiences, my valley experiences, any values violation and my invisible values (if you want to know more just let me know, I can blog about it or we can chat off line); but here is what is different:

I am clarifying them with a group of people - which creates accountability for me, as well as a place to talk through the findings
I am using them in service of creating a vision
I am focusing on “How will I know that I am living them?”

This shouldn’t be rocket science, but it is rocking my world. Not even rocking my world (that just sounded fun when I wrote it, rocket – rocking, it flowed), but just bringing me joy. Just the act of getting clear, really really clear, on what my values are brings joy into my life and my day. Hmmmm, self-awareness. The crack cocaine for new-age types.

Here is one thing that I firmly believe… if people truly knew themselves, and found places to fully express that safely, that would cut down on the instances of heart disease and cancer, the number of people on antidepressants, the amount of violence directed at children, and work stress and burnout, to name just a few. Full self-expression could save the world so much time and money, not to mention human lives. Hello. HELLO!!! What are we waiting for? Let’s get everyone on the fast track to learning about and living from our values; of knowing and actively expressing our gifts; of living on purpose! IT IS TIME!

Marijuana and Chemotherapy

2006-06-11T23:10:00.000-07:00

I am going to make this simple……

Yes. Yes, YES, YES. Again… YES.

There is a good reason why, during that first, fateful, fitful chemotherapy session that the health care practitioners, hmmm, well, actually why the nurses (I suspect the doctors aren’t allowed to do the deed themselves due to legalities) ask you if you have considered using pot during this phase of your cancer treatment. That is because it works. It’s just that simple.

I inadvertently conducted a controlled (as controlled as I am capable of getting) experiment on this topic over the course of my 4 rounds of chemo. Because I was heading down to the US between my 3^rd and my 4^th rounds (something that I didn’t know would completely freak my doctors out until I actually got there – seems that the recycled air of planes can be a receptacle for all the bugs that can creep up on me and wreak havoc when my nadir is nigh) I was reticent to be smoking a whole bunch of dope. I am a bit inexperienced in the ways of all of this (in other words, don’t laugh your asses off at how naïve this is about to sound…), so I didn’t know if there would be some left over evidence of my foray into the illegal (well, in my case under these circumstances it is legal, bless the insight and compassion of the Canadian government for that, but since it is still illegal in the US, and I don’t know how they do their sniffing…), and since I really, really, really wanted to make this trip to my leadership program, I decided to not take the risk. And I spent the first 3 of my rounds of chemo with my new, ever-present friend, nausea. Not so fun. Not terrible either… chemotherapy is cumulative and so the effects build, the first time the nausea only lasted a couple days after the treatment, the second time I was up to 3 or 4 days, but by the time I got to my third round it was really getting uncomfortable for me (I am not great with nausea, plenty of things I can handle well, but nausea, not so much).

So you can imagine my great joy and relief when about a day after round 4, knowing that I had no threat of being turned back from the US border, I tried the sacred weed, and within half an hour the claw of nausea released my stomach. It was like a new lease on life. The relief was incredible (or maybe that was just the high speaking), but boy was it nice not to only be thinking about whether or not I could make it through the day without throwing up. I can’t even describe the peace. Which has me realize how much the nausea had gotten into my bones and really was running the show even when I thought I was doing ok and had it semi-handled. It is quite gross to have a constant reminder that you are in treatment for a devastating and life threatening illness (well, the hair loss kept it front and center too). There is no way to put the awareness of the attack on your life aside; to ignore it or pretend it is isn’t there for a day. At least after surgery there is a feeling of being done, and successful completion and an option to start “recovering”. This is a whole different beast. And really, any relief is a welcome friend. That night I got to bed easily and early too. Also not something I had known I was struggling with. And it would seem the effects of the pot are also cumulative, because over the next few days of treating myself to The Great Relief, things got easier faster. And maybe knowing that this was my last round and so I would get a chance to start “recovering” from this phase before I was plunged into the next great unknown helped ease things as well.

So I will say it again, if you are given the option, hell even if you are not, just say yes to drugs (well, the gentle, herbal ally sort of drug, akin to dandelion and burdock, during this extenuating circumstance – but you knew what I meant!).

Melatonin

2006-06-09T21:56:00.000-07:00

Granted this is not actually a food, but it is something that you ingest, and so for the sake of to getting to write about good, healing things to put in your body, I am stretching the definition of “food” and including my friend Melatonin (this link takes you to Wikipedia, which gives you fairly information rich content).

Here is what is so great about Melatonin (this link takes to you to a site selling it, so a little more propaganda, but easier to get through). Not only is it all about boosting your immune system, can’t argue with the value of that, it also helps you sleep. Now that I think of it, probably a lot of people associate it more with the sleep aspect. You know, it is the stuff people take to recover more quickly from jetlag. But here is the thing, it increases your white blood cells, the killer cells, the ones that hunt down the bad guys and kick them the heck out of your body. I need me more friends like that! Remember that article about 8 months back about the harmful effects (especially and specifically around breast cancer) of too much artificial light. I am thinking there is a relationship. Getting a good night sleep, and getting enough melatonin, that is related, because melatonin is a natural substance secreted by the pineal gland when night falls. The more I read, the more I see the value of using it.

In fact, these little pills are so well considered that even though they were illegal at the time that I was going through chemotherapy many people recommended that I get them and take them during that wee while in my life so that when I hit my “nadir” (for those that aren’t up on the cancer speak that is when, post chemo infusion, that your white blood cells take a drastic and dangerous dip so low that the doctors worry that if you get an infection it may get all of you and take you down permanently) I will have some support to up my white blood cells and keep my immune system hopping (even if only on one leg). You can understand why I ran right out and got some.

Now here is when things went a little bit sideways. The average dose in a capsule seems to be 3 mg. I had someone recommend I try to take 20 mg a day (at night, by the way), so, for the first few nights, I merrily popped 6 of these suckers down my throat. What was so crazy though, was that I couldn’t sleep. I was wide-awake, eyes buggin’ out, couldn’t for the life of me get to sleep. I probably called my naturopath for help, like I do. And she said “Cut the dose, experiment until you find what is right for you.” Eventually I settled on 9mg, 3 capsules a night. That worked for me like a charm.

These days I take 1 capsule, 3 mgs. Not every night, but when I am struggling to get to sleep. And, mostly (right now excluded, because that cold did come and get me, but it is the first one I have had in a while, and I have been driving myself hard, so I sure should have had more) it works for me. And guess what, now a days it is not longer illegal (well, at least in Canada, not sure on the US status). And from what I can tell there are two brands out there (over the counter, in most drug stores), one is a capsule, the other is a melt under your tongue guy. I take mine 15 minutes before I go to bed. I have heard other reports, take them an hour or even two before bed. So again, find your own pattern, find what works for you, and then lie on back and get yourself a good nights rest!

Cold?

2006-06-07T22:34:00.000-07:00

Ohhh, I am in one of those moments that gets me into trouble in a day or two. I have what appears to be a cold trying to tickle its way down into my throat. I can feel it right there. And here is where I do this not so great thing... where I try to push it. I try my luck, I think I can out maneuver it. I will take vitamin C, and echinacea and zinc. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. But what I am doing by doing all that is trying to not have to do what I know I have to do. Get some sleep. Cancel whatever I have to cancel, change whatever I have to change, so that I can sleep in, or take a nap or go to be early, or better yet, all three. If I don't do this, chances are high that I will pay for it. But right now I feel smarter than my cold. Can you believe that? I feel smarter than my body. Man, what am I thinking??!?

Truth is that I should be going to be early right now. Like instead of typing I could be using my nimble fingers to wield my toothbrush. But I made a commitment to myself. Tonight I blog. Why? Because I have already formulated this great posting, about Melatonin, and the general benefits of it, and the great side effect of it boosting white blood cells and helping prevent things like... ah, colds. Because I blog every other day, and today is the day, and there is no room for exceptions. Exceptions are for those not disciplined enough, they are for the weak. Yikes. Whatever happened to "Exceptions R us"? Whatever happened to self care? Whatever happened to putting my health first, over image, over "shoulds", over good intentions or good ideas?

Well, here is what happened to it... Good night, I am going to bed now.

Jack Layton’s NDP takes a stand for the Environment, and against Cancer

2006-06-05T21:03:00.000-07:00

Hallelujah, praise the Lord. While it is not unexpected for the NDP to be the party standing up against environmental toxins and pollutants, I am still excited to see how strongly they are expressing their views and coming out against it (check out how much space they are devoting on their main page), and the legacy language they are using.

Mr. Layton I couldn’t agree more! The sooner we clean things up the faster we will be saving money on health care costs, while keeping more people in jobs and in life and contributing to and participating in their communities. The care of our children needs to come first. The health of our nation needs to be a priority. Thank you for being a voice for that.

Blueberries

2006-06-03T21:52:00.000-07:00

My first recollection of blueberries was this scratch and sniff book I had as a little girl. Clara the cat went around and sniffed different things, and the two that stand out in my memory are lilacs (and boy was it nice to get to roll around in those this last wee while in Ontario), and, you guessed it, blueberries, as it turns out in the form or blueberry pie (what could be better?).

Now I must have already known about blueberries, clearly this was not my introduction, because I picked up on it right away, and boy did I run with it. I read the book out loud to myself and audio taped it (I loved hearing my own voice, not a surprise to anyone who knows me) and then listened back, and the way I said blueberry pie was to die for. Or, in my case, to live for. Maybe this set the stage. I have always loved blueberries, put them in my granola and yogurt (another power food, by the way, even dairy avoider that I am suppose to be, I do make an exception for plain, organic yogurt), and now have frozen blueberries in my smoothies. It is safe to say, since I have developed my allergies to stone fruit (peaches, apricots, cherries, plums – a deep and desperate loss I might add), that blueberries are my favourite fruit (even one of my favourite foods).

So how happy was I to discover an amazing beverage, Bremner’s Pure Blueberry Juice. Now I have to agree with Dreena Burton, an amazing British Columbian Vegan Cookbook Author, when she reports that this juice is “Refreshing, not sickly sweet, and true blueberry flavour!” What more could a gal (or guy) want, well, I mean besides the pie part to go along with the blueberries.

And while it is a bit more expensive than other such juices (I guess blueberry juice in general is a bit pricey, then again it can’t be easy squeezing the juice out of those tiny little suckers, and boy it must take a lot of them for one jar), I find it worth the difference (I had my first experience of blueberry juice with a different brand and just about gave it up thinking “if this is what happens to blueberries when juiced, well, why bother?” – thank goodness the Bremner’s came on sale and I decided to give it another shot), and I too stock up when the sales are on. But even more to the point I think of it as a worthwhile investment. A handful of blueberries power packs me with free radical fighting anti-oxidants, and we all know (please tell me we all know!!?) that this helps prevent cancer. Good stuff! Drinking a veritable vat (well, considering the size of them, a glass to me is like a vat to them there blueberries) of them has got to do some good. Drinking that everyday has got to make up for drinking the bad stuff like coffee and booze, so bring it on I say. And how do I do that? My favourite ways: either straight up or in my power shake (one variation of it at the bottom of this post), to up the power quotient even more.

Give it a try.

Drain-O-Vac and Dandelion Root

2006-06-01T21:58:00.000-07:00

When I came out of surgery on May 16th, 2001, I had this hideous little creature called a “Drain-O-Vac” hanging off my side attached to me by a little tube sucking the fluid out of my lymphatic reservoir, where they had removed 14 nodes. Just thinking of it sends me into the first stages of shock. I hated it and it hurt me. I didn’t know it at the time, but where the plastic tube-y part came out of my wound it did this little u turn thing, and there, right where my nerve endings were all confused from having been severed and put back together (well, placed back together, but they had yet to make up after such a damaging split), it rubbed up against me, day in and day out, causing me to call out for morphine (for my three days in hospital, when I still had that option, at any rate).

So here is this ghastly, pain-inducing contraption. And every 12 hours I (or, lets face it, those near and dear to me) had to empty it out and see how much fluid it has sucked out. Once the fluid output had dropped down to below 20 cc’s and had remained there for two or three “checks”, then I could have a nurse come in a remove the dreaded Drain-O-Vac. Oh joy. I couldn’t imagine that the removal was going to be any fun either. But still, this seemed a very worthy goal to pursue. So what does any sane person do? Call their naturopath. “What is my fastest way out?” I beseeched Glenda. Dandelion root, she answered without a moments thought. Well, mercy be, I already had some in my cupboard (have I previously mentioned that normal is not my MO, I mean not everyone has dried dandelion root handy in their cupboard). And so my concoction was born. And work it did! My next reading I saw a drop from 30 cc’s to 15 cc’s. I called the nurse, hoping for early release. She told me to see if it held. Twelve hours later, I was at 5 cc’s. The nurse was over within the hour. Goodbye Drain-O-Vac!

Hello my new friend Dandelion Root. I quickly developed a renewed respect for this underrated herbal ally. I mean, when something is reputed to sooth and support the liver during the distress of chemotherapy (among other things), eliminate free radicals, create a potassium-rich anti-cancer environment, relieve chronic constipation (a challenge during chemotherapy), reduce hypoglycemia (that has nothing to do with cancer, just one of the many other great things Dandelion Root does), and, as I can personally attest to, balance and regulate the lymphatic system, how can you walk away and ignore this character. If you do, you do so at your own peril. Now most of what I know about Dandelion I have learned through a book called Healing Wise by Susan Weed (yes, that truly is her last name, sometimes we just know what our calling in life is), where she doesn’t just give you some good facts, she also weaves in some entertainment and fun. Gotta love that. I totally recommend it.

So now you are enrolled, yes? But what do you do? Well the way I use it is to put about a teaspoon full into about two cups of boiling water. Then I continue to boil the crap out of it for about an hour or so, or until the water has been reduced to about a cup. Then I drink it. Yummy. Actually I am not being cheeky here; it really is fairly yummy, kind of rich and sweet and nutty. I tend to combine it with Burdock Root, which no doubt I will go into more depth about shortly. I love knowing that each sip is healing me and helping me to gently and naturally heal my body. It doesn’t get any better than that on the food as medicine, medicine as food front.

One last thing to say about Dandelion, although it really had nothing to do with the good old-fashioned medicinal value of it. But just writing this down has me remember… I used to use the Dandelion as my cancer analogy, when I needed people to better understand the treatment regimes. Here is how I spun it: the Dandelion plant and flower that you see is like the cancerous tumour itself. Surgery is like cutting it away, leveling it, removing the “weed”. Then radiation is like taking a long trowel and digging deep into the soil and removing the root that will re-grow the “weed” if left unattended. Finally chemotherapy is like blasting the whole field that you found the Dandelion in with herbicide. Kill everything, so that none of those pesky little white Dandelion fluffs could go somewhere else in the system and start a new growth. A simple way to explain the basics, so that people can focus on loving the patient instead of trying to understand the complicated details of treatment. See, one more way that the Dandelion is our good and useful friend!

Apologies

2006-05-29T09:03:00.000-07:00

Wow, travelling and leading and vacationing put a bit of a kink into the otherwise smooth process of blogging. Sorry I dropped off the face of the earth there, without so much as a warning. Well, I guess you had a bit of a warning, and then I daringly tried to keep up the blogging while away, and boom, GONE. If you are a blogger yourself you might have been able to point out the challenges of this unlikely cocktail combination of activities to me, but would I have listen, hmmm, maybe not. So now, next time I am away, I will try something different (like letting you know I'll be gone and not pretending that I will be able to both be away and blog, at the same time, OR creating a bunch of posts ahead of time and then just having to upload them at the appropriate moment/day). Don't you just love trying and failing and then trying something new?

And, since I am not actually home yet (just no longer leading a workshop), don't expect a real, juicy update/posting until sometime Wed or Thurs (depending primarily on my jetlag).

Thanks for hanging tight with me while I learn.

Sally Vs. The Nutritionist

2006-05-24T13:30:00.000-07:00

As I mentioned in my last post, over the years I have been moving toward a better and more holistic way of eating, even before I got diagnosed with cancer. I had already come to see the impact that eating had on my energy levels and on my body in general. I had noticed that when I respect my body, it respects me back, that putting high quality into my body (you know, organic food, extra virgin olive oil, etc) produced higher quality output from my body, and that how I treated food was reflected in how it treated me (so for instance, when I saw food as just like the gasoline that I needed to run my car, a utility thing, then it didn't give back as much as when I saw it as the building blocks of all of who I am, that permits me to think more clearly, act more quickly and generally function better). Yes, it would be true to say that I am a convert to ye old adage “You get out what you put in.”

When I got diagnosed with cancer I got to see how other people related to food -good, bad and, well, it's true, ugly- and what impact that had. This furthered my growing perspective that food must be respected. So, today, I want to show the juxtaposition of two different styles of health care provider and how their perspectives on food changed how I think.

After I was diagnosed, but before my surgery, I went to the Centre for Integrated Healing here in Vancouver for their Introductory Program. As part of the program we discussed the impact of diet on the body's ability to heal itself, to fight off illness and to support the immune system. Good stuff. Not new stuff, but it was so great to get it broken down and made visible and clear. Then we got to hear from Sally Errey , who works at the centre, speaks at this Introductory Programs, leads cooking (and other) workshops and does 1:1 councelling around diet and health. I believe she is a registered nutritionist, certainly she is well trained and informed, but that is not what was most important and remarkable about her. This woman is full of energy and passion. She was not trying to protect us or comfort us, she did not feel sorry for us or talk down to us. She was brimming over with enthusiasm. She talked about food like it was her best friend. She was so sure about this and so committed to passing on her knowledge and passion that soon I was filled with a desire to know more, to learn and to get to be good friends with food. God bless her, while I was already moving in that direction this was still a bit of a coo. She made it simple. She made it fun. She gave me a new respect for and love of food. Looking through her eyes, I see the power of how it can heal my body, and nurture me as it gives me nutrition, and not in that comfort way, but in a “bring you more alive” way. And what is what I want to be after talking to her, more alive!

It was after I had been through the program at the Centre that she started working on her book, Staying Alive , a cook book with the success stories of cancer survivors (in which I am featured, even more true, now that I am five years successful!) along with their favourite recipes and Sally's information around important nutritional facts about how to kick cancer's ass through diet. I totally recommend it; her passion comes through on the pages.

Now, compare this to the woman that I went to see at Cancer World during or maybe it was after radiation treatment was done. She is a nutritionist. Probably very certified and maybe quite experienced. She may even be committed to and passionate about food and nutrition. But it just didn't come through; it wasn't in her voice, or her eyes. There was a dead quality, a rote-ness to her. And there was a condecending way about her, or maybe it was pity, for my plight. For her, this meeting, this session with me, it seemed to be more about the job, or more about the rules, or something else for her, but not about the passion. The councelling she gave me was about the basics, and not about getting me excited or seeing the possibility or any such thing. She showed me how big the portions could and should be. She told me that my meal should be balanced, and contain all the suggested food groups. She suggested that maybe I should cut out things like alcohol and coffee. Most of what she said was the stuff they talked about in grade four, when they introduced the food topic in school. What was I learning here? No new information. No excitement. No creativity. This was not the thing that would change the way I related to food and would have me WANT to eat better. This was not fun, or simple or anything but disheartening.

Now I am lucky, I had both experiences and I got to choose which one to live by and with. Plenty of people just get exposed to the one. Where are they supposed to get their hope, and enthusiasm and passion? I guess it becomes their job to create their own, but that is not so easy when we have so little community around cancer. And, frankly, around living.

I must tell you though, I went away from that appointment with the nutritionist wishing that there was a post cancer treatment centre, where survivors and families and friends could go for lessons in how to live, how to really live. And why to live. To be called forth to passion and purpose and life. To really get excited again! Really. Excited. I mean we need something like that right? So who's in? Who wants to help me create such a wonderful, magical place?

My Relationship With Food

2006-05-22T17:07:00.000-07:00

So, back to blogging about food. Not that what I want to write about right now is exactly about food per se, but more about my journey around and with food, and about the people that helped me on the road to respecting food and eating better. And the tips for doing just that.

Let me set the stage… I have spent my whole adult life knowing that something was wrong, knowing that the way I was cooking and the things I was cooking were leaving something to be desired, but I didn’t know how to fix it, what else to do, how to change my crazy ways.

So my basic challenges around food were… I hated cooking, I hated shopping, and I hated eating. When I was in a phase of trying to turn that around and “be good with food”, I would go to the store, buy a whole bunch of “good food” and then wait for inspiration to strike, to decide on some excellent meal to make. But then, when the mood finally hit me, I didn’t have all the ingredients I needed. How could that be? I had just been shopping, I had tons of good food in the house. But you see none of it went together. No recipe called for cabbage and basil (or not one that I know of, but now with the internet, I am sure I could look it up and find SOMETHING!?!?). So I would end up with rotting food in my fridge and eating out. Again. Or worse, eating the ever so easy… cheese and crackers. Yikes that is a tumour waiting to happen. What about leafy greens? What ever happened to Omega 3 oils? What about food full of anti-oxidants? I didn’t have time, or the organizational skills to make it work. Or so I thought.

So how did things change? It started with having dinners over at my friend Madeleine’s house. I would come over, and she would gaze absentmindedly into her fridge and take things out that I had no idea how she planned to combine to make us a meal. But she did. And it was always fabulous. Fabulous! How? It boggled my mind. So I just kept watching and learning. After some time I noticed patterns in her work. She had certain staples always on hand. But good staples. Not like my cheese staples. And she knew certain foods that were friends. But even so, she did this other thing, she was always ad libbing, free pouring, making up the proportions as she went along. It was a beauty to behold. And slowly I learned my way into it. I started trusting myself, which is really what she does I think. And I started experimenting and being willing to be wrong and be ok with that. But truly, when you know the basics, that being which foods are best friends, which are acquaintances and which are enemies, things get easier fast.

But how does one learn that, especially without a mentor? Here is what I did. I started perusing the cook book aisle in the book store. And I would leaf through various books, until I found some I liked. And those I would buy. Or when at friend’s houses, I would ask them about their favourite cook books, and look through them. I would see recipes I liked, and would get excited about making them. It would inspire me. And that got me moving.

The final piece? I took a class. No, not on cooking. That is easy enough, I can follow a recipe. So a class on what, you ask? Well, it is a bit hard to say in one catchy line (which might be why she is no longer offering them). They were about being prepared. About getting your act together. See, neither of those lines makes it appealing, so let me just describe it. She had these weekly calendar sheets of paper, and on them we would write down what commitments we had that week, so that we knew, realistically (this might be the key right here) when we could cook meals and when leftovers could work, etc. Then she had us go through our favourite cookbooks and pick out meals we were drawn to and likely to make. Then we wrote down which meals we were hoping to make on which days, as well as what page and what book they were from. We wrote the book and pages right there, next to the name, so as not to have to hunt to find them later on. Then on the back of the calendar we were to list all the ingredients that we needed but didn’t already have for those recipes, for that week. Now we had our shopping list. We were to go, and buy all those things and no more, and trust that we had all the right ingredients (and no more) to make those meals. Then, as each day came, we had our meals to make already all planned out, with the recipe close at hand, all the ingredients right there, and no pesky decisions to make (that is one of the things that always slows me down in those moments, “What shall I make, what shall I make?”).

For me it works. Not perfectly, but better than any system I was using before. And now I don’t have food going rotten in the bottom drawer, I don’t skip meals, I don’t need to eat out (unless I want to), and what is more, I am ready and it is easy to invite friends over for dinner. Over time I have started to develop a list of my favourite recipes (and even adjust them a bit) and through reading and using recipes that work, I have come to know what foods are friends with each other, and so I get more and more creative as I have come to trust myself.

Cancer threw a wrench in the works, another thing to adjust to, but now I had the skills to do that. And so, it was just a matter of fine tuning and learning more about what foods are good friends with cancer and what foods are its arch enemy. And trust me, there is plenty written about that. Over the next little while, as part of my blogging, I hope to throw in a few posts that highlight the friends and enemies of cancer and other such important tidbits. To encourage you to start exploring and branching out.

And one final nugget on this topic… the most important thing that I learned over the last 7 or so years about cooking is that it can be fun. In fact the more fun you make it, the easier it gets and the more rewarding it is. So, if cooking or cooking well has been a challenge for you, consider trying the above or some variation of it (as well as considering trying to make it FUN), as an experiment, and see how it turns out for you.

Heading Out

2006-05-18T21:08:00.000-07:00

Two things. Both detail-y.

I came across a great article on some self care tips and active involvement upon getting diagnosed with cancer (this is coming from the medical establishment, no less), so I wanted to highlight that for anyone wanting a good little read. It is also great for anyone supporting someone who just got diagnosed, to help you know how to direct your loved one.

The second thing is that I am on the eve of heading out for a vacation. I will be away from my home base for about 11 days. And since it seemed somehow above and beyond the call of duty to ask my cat sitter to take over my blogging responsibilities too, well I am going to do my best to post from the road (don’t you just love technology, that I can do that!!!). Not sure how it will work. Not sure how frequently I will be able to put something together. So stay with me while I explore and experiment, and I will let you know how it goes.

Success

2006-05-16T21:59:00.000-07:00

It means lots of things. Different things for different people. For some it is about finding the perfect job, one that fulfills and challenges them; others it is measured in dollar amounts, their net worth, their income; for still others in personal achievements like building a strong community, or finding a wonderful mate, or raising a healthy family. The list must be endless. And very possibly a moving target, once we hit one bench mark, or finally get the proverbial A grade in one area, then we start yearning for the next accomplishment, the next demonstration of our worth.

What an impossible task. An uphill struggle.

And for so many we don’t even know what would actually make us HAPPY (perhaps just one more possible definition of success), and so instead of taking the time to uncover that important piece of information, we reference from outside. We wonder or figure out either what would make others happy or what they think is an appropriate definition of success and go shoot for that. And then there are societally sanctioned goals: a good education, financial security, a family. Or perhaps we look to our peer group’s standard, or the standard of the peer group we long to fit into. Or we look to our family’s perspective on what makes someone a good person, a successful person.

Upon some reflection, for me, success needs to equal happiness. And frankly, I think the only way I can really define my own success would be through the question “Am I being the most Signy I can be, in any given moment, the most true to myself?” There lies the source of my happiness, and my north star, and the path to my destiny (whatever that may be and how ever successful I am at reaching it). Sadly, for years (perhaps decades) I have been looking outside for the definition and the approval that comes with accepting other people’s definition and expectations to reach them. It is a very secure place to look, but also a disappointing one, because even if I reach others people’s goals, it is usually at the expense of my own or myself, or knowing myself, or my own true expression. So… not worth it. Not worth other people’s pats on the back when I am giving myself a kick in the pants (and not the good kind of kick in the pants).

So as I step out into a new world. One that I get to define as I want (love anniversaries, and rituals, they give us chances to choose again, to decide anew and pick where we want to start focusing as of this moment), I think I will get more conscious about this game, and I will choose to define success by happiness, my happiness. And whether I feel that I am being true to myself and expressing myself authentically.

And then again, I need to remember, that I have already been successful, by all definitions, in that, today, defying odds and laughing in the face of statistics, I am alive. And that particular success is enough to last a lifetime, however long that lifetime is.

Blue Denim

2006-05-15T23:34:00.000-07:00

I forgot that I had planned to post a poem that my dear friend Rhiannon Dacosta had written for me 5 years ago today as she flew across the country to be with me for my surgery. I guess May 15th was one of those days where you were to wear denim in support of and to raise funds for cancer research (not sure if it was breast cancer research specifically or not). Here goes...

Blue Denim

Strange day...
I have travelled 3000 miles
Her hand to hold
Warm in my own
as I remember, always
To sit awhile
To pray...
While she slumbers,
Dreams unnatural dreams
And wakes to find the world has changed...
For want of better.
And I will sit...
Here
Silent in my prayers
For however long it takes...
Forever
And blue denim I will wear for you.

Rhiannon Dacosta
May 15, 2001

Turn Over

2006-05-15T22:23:00.000-07:00

Today I went to see my doctor for my mammogram results (not that she had them yet, but never mind, I am sure they are fine, right?). And for the turn over. It is one more marker that I am about to be released back into the regular world. Every 6 months for the last 5 years I have been to see my medical oncologist. He is the one that gave my chemotherapy protocols and he is the one that follows me. He checks up on me, he does my breast exams, he asks me the invasive questions. All him. Today, I went back to my own doctor, my GP, the one who told me in the first place that I had cancer. From here on in I will see her once a year, and then six months later I will see the med onc again. Not sure how long this continues, but for now, this is the new routine.

Funny, I thought I would feel relieved, released, set free. Rather I feel some trepidation, and vulnerability. Like when I was released from active treatment, so many years ago, there is a sense of having the safety of a routine removed. Now there is an unknown. And it is up to me to create my own “what’s next”, my own health regime, my own structure for living. While an exciting proposition, like the last time I was here, it is a bit daunting, mostly because I wasn’t expecting it. And wasn’t expecting it to feel this way. So here I am, on the verge of a new life, and a new way of life (possibly). Wish me luck!

Five Years of Trying Hard

2006-05-14T20:01:00.000-07:00

There is a commitment you make when you are fighting for your life, like a backroom deal, “If I get a second chance, I promise, promise, promise, that I will get everything I can out of every tiniest part of my life. I will squeeze the life out of each minute, even each second, please, please, please, let me have my life back.” Some of us get lucky, and then we pay the price.

Now as I am approaching 5 years clean, it is safe to say that I have been granted that wish, given that second chance. I have been given a new life and the opportunity to live better. But, I haven’t kept my part of the bargain. For better or for worse the way that I define “living better” is to make a difference, to have an impact. And what I promised was to do it always, always, always. To keep my eye on that ball and constantly look from that lens. Well? Do I do that? Do I constantly make a difference, and have an impact, forsaking all others? The answer is Noooo. Why? Because it is not possible. It is not possible to work 24/7, it is not possible to only give and never replenish myself, it is not possible to only live for the cause. The way I have set it up is impossible. I can’t be making a difference every hour of every day. I have to sleep. I have to have down time. I have to do self-care and make room for my feelings (which I don’t hold as being mutually exclusive to getting things done, but rather the space maker and the catalyst that eventually allows me to get on with getting things done) and life and a whole myriad of other things.

Knowing this logically doesn’t mean I don’t haunt myself with that deal (sometimes wonder if it was with the devil for how hard I drive myself about it). I keep telling myself I could have done more. I could have written the book. I could have started a foundation. I could have created a huge fundraiser. I could have lobbied for more government funding. I could have done a cross North American tour extolling the virtues of prevention. All noble causes. All good things to do. All something I planned to do. And because I want to do them all, I don’t seem to be able to pick which one to start with.

Perhaps, now with the 5-year mark coming up, I get a second second chance. Maybe this time I can offer up a reasonable part of my heart and my soul, instead of all of it. I can enjoy the life I was given as well as do something useful with it. I can play with kittens and kids. I can go for long walks in the twilight sun. I can enjoy long conversations or deep silences with a friend. I can laugh uncontrollably and not feel guilty that I should be saving the world instead. And lets get real, I am not able to stop wanting to make a difference, but maybe I can let go of how I thought I was going to do that. Maybe I can let go of plans that have created expectations that hurt me. Maybe I can say goodbye to writing the book. Or to writing it the way I thought I was suppose to. Maybe it is time to let go of outdated commitments and start fresh. Start creating new visions and new wishes and new dreams. Perhaps that is the gift I can give myself on my upcoming 5th birthday, my re-birth day. It is time to see what is in my heart today, and stop trying so hard to live yesterday’s vision.

How To Celebrate?

2006-05-12T20:02:00.000-07:00

Here is one of the huge advantages, for me, of getting quiet and listening to my body. I get very useful bits of information. I had been thinking, as I approach my 5 year clean date, that I need to have a big party, a celebration, like a “Signy’s Happy Boobs” Party. Now, the day is an awkward day (Tuesday), and I am just about to head out of town, so for a great number of reasons, a big honking party is not in order. But to just let the day go by unmarked, that is really, really wrong in the way I run my life. I mean here is my body, this fabulous unsung hero, this vessel that isn’t just seaworthy, that isn’t just taking me across the ocean, but one that has deflected submarine fire during the voyage. This deserves some great praise, some large recognition, some hearty acknowledgement. It’s kudos time!!!

So what’s a gal to do? Well, I don’t know what other gals do, but the obvious choice for me… A Ritual. A timeout to stop, get still, and be with the Goddess. To thank Her, to praise Her. And to thank, recognize and honour the people who got me here. Who got me out alive. The where, the what, the how, the who. These are all still taking shape (yes, even so close to the event, but for the very best of rituals, I find they need be organic, and come from the heart, otherwise they are empty ceremonies, not one bit alive, and since being alive is what I am celebrating, how wrong would that be??!?!). Fortunately, ritual has always come easily and naturally to me, and so I will let this one come to me, when and as it is ready. It only makes sense that I will honour myself in figuring out how to honour myself. Yes?

Now these last two paragraphs are not to say that there will not be a party. That would be remise of me. But the party will wait. Because I have a whole, huge, big, long lifetime ahead of me and I am no longer in a race again time, I am no longer in a rush. And so the party will wait. It will wait until I am back. It will wait until I am ready. It will wait until some time in June or July.

Coming Up to FIVE Years!!!!

2006-05-10T12:56:00.000-07:00

Head’s Up.

May 16, 2006 is my 5^th birthday of being cancer free. This is a big, fat, hairy, audacious deal!!!! As of that day I will re-join the ranks of “normal” (in as much as is possible, given the circumstances of who I am at the core). Which means what? That I am back down to the likelihood of my getting breast cancer being only one in nine (odds that I am both excited and not excited about, if you know what I mean).

I wanted to post a note ahead of time that so that you could celebrate with me should you so choose. Because here is the thing, I am not just celebrating for me. I am celebrating for all the other people who make it to a big benchmark. And I am honouring all the people that don’t. And I am celebrating and honouring all the people that made it possible that I am here, alive today. The men and women who put their all into supporting me and loving me and reminding me of all the good reasons to go through all the nasty things I had to go through. The people that fed me, that cleaned me, that made me laugh, that flew out to be with me, that stayed home to be with me, that lessen the pain, that sat with me in the pain and didn’t try to lessen it, that let me vent, that pointed me to options, that took me to treatments, that prayed for my good health and peaceful state of mind, that sent me cards and letters and love, that cheered me from the sidelines, that participated in the fray, that fought off crazy health care providers, that stood up for me, that encouraged me to stand up for myself, that held me big, that let me be small, that got me up trees, that took me through rituals, that shaved my head, that painted my toes, that rubbed my bald scalp, that cleaned my apartment, that laughed at my jokes, that read my emails, that cried with me, that took me to appointments, that made fun of the doctors, that encouraged my wild authenticity, that danced with me. Clearly the list is endless. As is my gratitude and my excitement!

So, Whoo Freakin’ Hoo!!!!!!!!!!!!! For you, all of you. For me (all of me). For staying alive. For being alive. For life. I can’t tell whether my body wants to laugh or cry. Gratitude is funny that way. Thank you, thank you, thank you. For all of you. Being in my life. You make all the difference!

Signy's Home Made Power Bars

2006-05-10T10:26:00.000-07:00

Who knew.

In a randomly inspired desire to see if my name is recognizable by google (really wondering if my website has been wormed by google yet), I came across my recipe for Home Made Power Bars on the Alive website. What a riot. I am pretty sure it got there through Sally Errey's publication of it for a seminar she was doing to promote her cook book Staying Alive.

Well how perfect is that, in the middle of me writing about a sugar free life, along comes one of my sugar free recipes. One of the sweet thing that I allow myself to have that keeps me going when I am craving easter chocolates. And I don't even have to retype it. Don't you just love the web, and the new 6 degrees of separation.

That said (the part about not having to retype it), this gives me the opportunity to make one very important adjustment to the recipe that I only discovered AFTER I had submitted it to Sally. Really instead of cinnamon, it should have cardamom. So there it is, the new secret ingredient.

I was also chatting with Dreena Burton through her blog, author of the most excellent Vive Le Vegan, and Everyday Vegan, and asked her if I can include a modified version of one of her recipies on my blog. She graciously said yes. So next time I am near my cookbook collection I will add it to this post!!

Enjoy.

Ahhhh Sugar

2006-05-08T19:29:00.000-07:00

I can’t live with it and I can’t live without it. But really, I can’t live with it. In fact, now when I do have some (yes, I indulge myself on my birthday and for what I call the 10 Days of Sugar from Solstice to New Year’s), I notice it right away. It is like what happens when I drink (not that I do) caffeinated coffee, I get the shakes, I feel nauseous, and I am light headed. That is some kind of poison. It’s bad news. The baddest news. If there was one thing that for me was the most important thing to give up when I got diagnosed, it was sugar.

But give it up I had to. First line of attack. Sugar suppresses the immune system (and there are both scientific and esoteric demonstrations of this from what I have heard). Cancer is a disease that can grow when our immune systems are weak (I have already said this, but I guess it deserves repeating… we all have cancer, but with most people we have the old bouncer cells that get rid of it before it starts causing problems. I didn’t have enough bouncer cells, because my immune system was weak). So obviously, sugar is not my friend. It is not anyone’s friend. Least of all the little kids who crave it most. Imagine what it does to their underdeveloped systems. Yikes.

So here is my history with sugar and with giving it up. When I got diagnosed I quit cold turkey. Why not, I say? My whole life was turned upside down anyway, what is one more thing. Since I was under so much stress and adjusting to so much (pre-surgery was when I changed my entire diet) it was hard to tell what caused what reactions. At this stage I even steered clear of anything that hinted at sweetness, so no maple syrup, no honey. It wasn’t easy (I mean how are you suppose to self medicate with no sugar, I ask you?!?), but nothing was it those days. And I was good for so very long. You can ask just about anyone, I was the rock of discipline, for about a year and a half, I think. Which is when I finally let my feeling come up, now that it was clear that my body was going to make it through. Then I stumbled. When I started working where I am presently I hit a snag. People kept bringing yummy things to work. It is one thing at home, where I can control what I have in the house, but when it was right there, and everyone else indulging. I lost my resolve. Now don’t get me wrong, I didn’t wig out and eat every ounce of sugar the world had to offer. I just slipped. A little bit at first. And then it just snow balled (I am sure if you ask my friends and co-workers they will laugh at what I consider snow balled, but still, for me it was big).

Then I would try to stop. Since structures and times work well for me, I would consider quitting at times like New Year’s, but I always found myself away with friends having these great indulgent celebrations. It was very hard to opt out half way through. So I didn’t.

Finally 2 years ago, our New Year’s celebration was relatively in town, which allowed me to actually make the pledge to myself. After the first day, I just took one day at a time. And it worked. That is not to say that I didn’t have my usual withdrawal (you know, the withdrawal I didn’t notice pre-surgery because I was so hopped up on fear and adrenaline). For me, that means on the fourth and fifth day I get edgy, and a bit (just a wee bit) short tempered, and I genuinely thing that I will die if I don’t get to eat some sugar. Classic withdrawal, different drug. If I can live through (and so far I have, as you can well see) to day six, life gets better. Much better. Yes, my mouth waters as I see others eating treats, but I can keep it together. And I was prepared to let myself have sugar substitutes, like the aforementioned honey, and maple syrup, boy did that help. And I have found the stores that sell sugar free treats, and I make my own. So days turned into weeks, weeks into months. The structure was so powerful for me. Knowing that I had not eaten sugar in the year 2005, the more time when by the more I wanted to keep it going. Now, me being me, I could not not indulge myself in all and any way on my birthday, so when it rolled around I made myself a pact. I could eat whatever I wanted, sugar and all, on the day, but only that day. When midnight came, it was pumpkin hour and it was all over. The worst part was when my dear cousins had a gathering a few days after my birthday, and chose to celebrate my birthday then, and give me these luscious looking (words carefully chosen, “looking” not “tasting”) very special chocolate treats. Boy did my saboteur come alive. “Surely, since they were given to you for your birthday, you must be allowed to eat them.” “What is one little chocolate? You had plenty on your birthday and didn’t die.” Oh, it was excruciating!!! But I won out. And offered the chocolates up as a communal consumable at someone else’s birthday.

And then, again, me being me, I wanted to celebrate my success and reward myself for a year clean. And because holidays are such a hard time to be sugar free, and because I now knew that using the First of the Year to clean up worked for me. I decided to give myself the 10 Days of Sugar. Starting on Solstice, Dec 21, I was back to letting myself eat what I wanted. Here is the interesting thing that happened. I did eat lots of sugar, don’t get me wrong, but I was only interested in good quality sugar. It was not sugar for sugar sake; it was about the whole experience. Which felt quite good. It got to the point where I just wanted the rum balls of my cousin’s recipe that I had made for the season. By the time Dec 31 rolled around, my last day, I was back to being used to sugar, my body had adjusted, and so when the clock struck midnight, I did need to detoxify again, but it is worth it. Just so that I didn’t feel deprived. And, so far in 2006 I have been sugar free. At some times of year, like Easter, it is hard, but I pump up the self-care on those dates, and find other ways to treat myself.

At first I did it because I had to, now I do it because I want to, because it is the right choice, because it is good for me. And I am glad that I do.

Let Food Be Your Medicine

2006-05-06T23:17:00.000-07:00

And medicine be your food. Wise and excellent words from Hippocrates, the father of modern scientific medicine, and the originator of the oath that all doctors take when they agree to practice medicine. So why don’t doctors prescribe from this place? I, for one don’t know, but wait, I am going off on a tangent. An excellent tangent, one well worth exploring, but not where I want to go today. I don’t even want to take a look at why we, as Ordinary People, don’t work off of this idea, either. I just really want to look at is how we can help ourselves do that very thing.

Because in a world where people are getting it about eating foods that are “anti-aging” (in other words they are chocked full of anti-oxidants and promote prolonged youthful appearance) such as blueberries, almonds and omega 3 oils, we need to be willing to eat foods that are “anti-cancering”, and anti all sorts of other things for that matter, like “anti-heart attaching”, and so on. Yes, it’s true, I am hoping there is a way to get people to eat the foods that will boost their immune system and fight free radicals, which, by the way, in the case of the above mentioned foods, they do both things (anti-cancer and anti-aging), because, frankly, it is sort of the same job! Which I guess makes cancer a sign of aging, hey? Maybe that is the rally cry that will get people to stop consuming crap and start eating to really nourish their bodies.

Here are some tidbits I picked up over the years, things to know about food and health…

Ø You can only get out of your food what is in it.

Ø Food that is organic, fresh and ripe is good for you. Seems obvious, but not so clear when we go to the grocery store and see some (organic) price tags. But consider this, when a piece of fruit is at it’s sweetest, that is when the minerals are the most available, so buying local and what is in season, helps your body, and, gee, your pocketbook at the same time. So let that be what off sets the cost of organic. Besides if enough people were buying organic, then with the increased demand more growers would go into the organic market and the prices would drop. So get out there and get some fresh ripe organic!!!

Ø Oxygen and water are healing agents for our body, so drinking plenty of water, or water drinks that are good for your body (instead of ones that get in the way of your immune systems, like, say alcohol – think of all the pesticide soaked grapes that don’t even get washed before they get stomped and fermented -, or coffee, or soft drinks – what is that anyway, I mean is there such a thing as a hard drink?). Good for the body would include herbal teas (especially some of root teas, like dandelion root, or burdock root), and green teas.

Ø Our lymphatic system moves four times the amount of fluid that our blood does, but there is not pump like the heart to move it, it is exercising our bodies that moves the fluid of this health giving system. That is one of the reasons that exercise is so important. As is deep breathing, which also helps the lymphatic system (and remember, oxygen is a healing agent). I know, I am drifting off of food now, into general health, stay with me!

Ø There are foods whose job it is to boost your immune system. Think about that, when we don’t use them, we’re putting them out of work. And how wasteful to not eat the things that are built for that, designed for that, perfect for that. Some obvious examples: garlic, oregano, turmeric, ginger, shitake mushrooms, seaweeds and the aforementioned good friends of mine: burdock and dandelion root.

Ø There are some foods to steer clear of, and I know you will hate this, but suck it up, if I had to give them up, trust me, so can you. Hydrogenated oils. Coffee. Sugar. White vinegar. White flour. (Details of the whys and of the substitute suggestions can be found in Sally Errey’s Staying Alive, Cookbook for Cancer Free Living.)

Ø Some proteins are more digestible than others. Spiralina (a blue green algae) is very easy to digest and to extract nutrients from. Meat is harder to do that with. The body has to work a lot harder to get the nutrition; it has to burn off energy to get the energy. That is not efficient. If we had a car that did that (like say your car had to be running in order for you to put gas in it), who would buy it? Well, I guess the people that buy those really big cars; you know that ones that cost a mortgage payment to fill them up, but those might not be the people reading this blog.

As I keep writing I can see that this is not just one post (unless it is a pages and pages and pages), so I am going to do a bit of recalling, do a bit of research and bring some tidbits back to the blog about some good “do’s and don’ts” and how to do those and what it is really like. Stay tuned.

Some Room of My Own

2006-05-04T22:23:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I was back at the psychologist’s, you know, the one I had to stand up to, and speak my piece with the other week. Things went better. Not perfect, but better. And some of what made it better was that there was room for me, for who I am. And, I am sure it comes as no surprise, that it was me that had to make that room. I had to push back when I felt frustrated. I had to give voice to my laser sharp and focused intuition. I had to say what was true for me. Boy was it hard, from that “looking good”, wanting to “do it right”, “don’t want to hurt her feelings” place. And easy, from that it is clear as writing on the wall what I feel and what it is about. The challenge, the issue was translating those thoughts into words in a way that doesn’t sting the receiver. Over the years I have come to believe both that I am too forceful and that I am not forthright enough. Both are true, because over time I have both tried to hold it back, so as to not hurt people, because I got feedback that I was too much or expressed it too awkwardly; and tried to express it, so as not to hurt me. And because I am so careful about it, and so new at trying to find a way to do it, it is messy. It is imperfect. And I am reactive when the other person gets reactive and doesn’t like the messy way I have done it. Here is one of the beautiful things, she heard me (yes, I know that is her job, but she could have not really heard me, and been all “professional” and slippery and super reasonable, trust me, I have seen that before). She made space for me, heard me, validated me. She honoured my intuition and copped to the fact that she had been running an agenda that she didn’t even know about until I recognized it and called it. Oh the wounds she healed in that moment. That unexpected (probably unexpected on both sides) moment.

Other magic that happened is really seeing the silly, sensitive, wounded, playful, lighthearted part of me. Seeing her as the tiny kitten that she is, and realizing that instead of me leading every charge I declare with her as my steed and staff, she, in fact, should be where she belongs, in my heart. And you will notice that a heart is surrounded by a ribcage, and some muscles, and skin, and clothes and has arms to protect it. Not dangling out there, all on its own. If the parts of me (you know, like firecraker and lemon zest and wicked and red hot) that I have been requiring to get sign off and approval from this meek, mild, and cute little kitten, instead were to form the support and protection for my vulnerable, innocence (which, by the way, is where my intuition resides as well). Well, life might be different. Not sure how to make the transition, but fortunately, I don’t have to do that alone.

The day before yesterday (so that would be Tuesday) I met with a woman I am considering hiring as a coach. One of the things I love about her is that she can hold my bigger vision, and she doesn’t get phased or overwhelmed by it (like, say, I do). As we got to chatting out of my mouth popped some fiery clarity. I deeply, deeply believe in authentic self-expression. I so strongly believe in its power to heal and right the world that I made a very bold statement, I said, “I believe it can cure cancer, I believe it can prevent workplace burnout, I believe it can stop child abuse.” Radical thoughts I know, but surely you can see that grain of truth in there. If I am self-expressed, if I feel fulfilled, if I am in alignment with myself – then almost anything is possible. It is when I cramp myself, and try to change myself, or fix myself, or be different than my true nature, that’s when trouble starts. Trouble with a capital T. And it shows up in a whole bunch of different venues. So having a place where I can express myself, even the messy stuff, having a way to learn to support myself to do that same thing out in the world, this will go a long way in my staying healthy, as well as in my role modeling this approach to holistic health. If only this approach were a little bit easier.

Welcome to My Website

2006-05-03T13:15:00.000-07:00

At long last (and I do mean long, but I suspect that last is not so true) ...

My WEBSITE is LIVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

http://www.signywilson.com/ (catchy title, hey?)

And it is quite beautiful, thanks to my web mistresses at Raised Eyebrow Web Studios.

So this year, not only did I become a CTI front of the room leader, get trained on 3 of the core courses, as well as lead a number of them, hold down a full time job, travel for 11 weekends of the year, go to Ontario for 2 weeks to visit my family, attend a conference, take the first in the Organizational Systems Coaching courses as well as two courses about international communication and skills (does that include America?), take on a whole bunch of new coaching clients, finish two quilts, get turned down for entry at the US border, get sent to the hospital for something wrong with my heart, become an Icelandic citizen, renegotiate my mortgage, landscape my patio, have an extra set of mammograms done (and all the anxiety that comes with that, and knowing that they think something is wrong), have my car stolen, lose my aunt to cancer, start a blog that I contribute to at least every other day, have surgery to remove calcifications from my breast... I also managed to finish my website. So please, when you have a moment, do go take a look.

After the Fact

2006-05-01T16:32:00.000-07:00

Yes. Yes it is true. Mammograms are a wee bit painful. Not so painful as to not do them. Not so painful as, say, preferring to have surgery. But painful enough that you need a treat afterwards. And I have decided that my treat is kitchen gadgets. From here on in, whenever I do a mammogram, I get a kitchen gadget. Now I am not talking about things like the $700 Vita mix or anything, but more like a little $20 or $30 pick me up. Like a lemon squeezer (sorry, couldn’t let that related image pass by unused). Or measuring cups (ahh, yes, the breast references are everywhere, and today, why not?).

So I have past yet another hurdle, even benchmark, since we are fast approaching my 5-year anniversary, on the road to documented good health. So how was it, you might ask? And well you should. Guess who turned up again. My friendly neighbourhood mammogram technician. You remember, the one who desired a greater level of cooperation from me. Well, this time, she was better. Or I was better. Or I was less supped up on Xanax. We’ll never know which one. But there were a few interesting moments that it would be remiss of me not to mention.

She kept getting quite irate that my hair got in the way. I guess hair can skew result, or impair readings or, I don’t know, make her jealous. I can picture shoulders getting in the way, all that bone, and dense matter, but hair? Anyway that was the biggest problem (besides me, in my tense anxiety, gripping and clawing the sides of the machine, which tighten the muscles, which makes the read harder, poor her), nonetheless. So she was often shooing it out of the way, or maybe trying to herd it would be a better analogy, trying to cut it off at the pass and all. Well, I will tell you what. Where I come from, I am grateful for the hair. Grateful it is there. Grateful it is long and flowing. At my one year out mammogram, there was none. At my two year out anniversary, tight curls abounded, but there was no falling in the way of the machinery. So I am happy and proud to sport obnoxious curls, fighting hard for their right to bounce.

The other thing that was interesting to discover, is that last time she did my mammogram, 6 months ago (so not the one that made me cry and fume and generally rant), she went home and cried for 40 minutes. Hmmm. She has a heart after all. Not sure how that translates to her being so very nasty during my fine wire insertion, but as the story goes… when we did that mammogram, something went wrong with the equipment, and so she put me through about 15 slides (read: agonizing breast clamping experiences) to no avail. Each time she thought she had fixed the machine, but each one turned out blank. Wasted effort, wasted pain, thank you very much. In the end I had to come back and go through it all again (not to mention wait about 2 + months for any considered medical opinions). Turns out that was too much for her, but in the cold way she revealed this, it didn’t garner much sympathy from me.

Never mind, I am off to buy kitchen gadgets! And have dinner at Madeleine’s.

The Day Of

2006-05-01T13:05:00.000-07:00

Ouch. I always forget how freakin' uptight I get when I have to wait for my mammogram. The day of, not matter what I have on my plate (and I do try to have not too much on my plate for some pretty obvious reasons), I get distracted, anxious, something coming close to "spooked". My nerves get jangly, I get jumpy, and time seem to drag on or race forward depending on the minute. I feel nauseous, probably because my stomach muscles are gripping my internal organs so tightly, and I want to cry.

No wonder some women skip on out their mammogram.

Not sure why I don't. It never really occured to me actually (even though the original 3cm lump could not be detected on a mammogram - granted that was old technology). Except on the day of. Then I wonder what they ways out are. I used to bring a friend, to hold my hand tight and my resolution strong. But lately I have let that go. Slipping back into thinking it is too much to ask. Into thinking it is no big deal to get a mammogram. And, truth be told, often the mammogram is not the hard part. It is the dealing with the health care providers. Trying to convince them to be compassionate, try to convince them to be kind (just like they try to convince me to cooperate, I suppose, bummer to be at this impasse). And needing that friend to prop up my courage. Because it is hard to remember what you really want, and to stand up for yourself when you have left your body.

So, I will just take my extra strength Advil (thank you Sophie), and screw my courage to the sticking place (to quote the bard, but for much less diabolical purposes), and step boldly out into the afternoon.

Playing with Perspectives

2006-04-29T22:26:00.000-07:00

This weekend I am working at my other job, with the Coaches Training Institute, where I get to train rooms full of people in the powerful and intricate skills of life/success coaching. It is an off the charts fun, wild, meaningful experience. Every single time I learn something new, something profound, something magical. And this weekend is no different.

I am co-leading the Balance workshop, which is all about exploring perspectives, reclaiming conscious choice, and taking possibilities from the land of Good Ideas into the land of Commitment. Cool, hey?

Let me demonstrate one of those components. On Monday I need to have my annual mammogram. Nothing exciting or special (like last fall, when I was having a “what is with the weird thing in your other breast” mammogram), just the annual mammogram that all breast cancer survivors and women over 40 are encouraged to get (yes, that is a hint, hint, nudge, nudge for you if you fall into that category!!!)

I am sitting in a perspective of Mammograms Suck. And it feels a bit like: how crappy that I have to have it, I have to do this every year for the rest of my life, this just reminds me that I had the disease in the first place, YUCK. For the sake of playing with perspectives one needs to have a clear topic, and then notice the perspectives, so, let’s say that Mammograms is the topic. And, clearly my first perspective is: they suck. So the fun part of the game comes in exploring what other lenses can you look at this topic through. I am going to whip through a couple, fleshing them out a bit as I go. Then I pick one. Here goes…

Mammograms save lives. For many women this is when breast cancer is discovered and treated, so, for them, mammograms saved their life. Thank goodness for that. This place feels like a fact, and a bit like I am thinking when I type it. The benefit of this perspective is that it really gets lots of women out to get their mammograms. The cost, to me, is that I feel obliged to do it.

Mammograms are a nuisance. One more thing to do tomorrow. I have lots on the go right now, the last thing I need is to schlep myself to the clinic and go through training up another radiation technologist on the ins and outs of working with my strong willed personality, not to mention my scarred (wow, I miss typed this first as sacred, and then as scared, that is just too precious!) and tender breasts. This feels heavy and like I am dragging my knuckles around on the ground.

Mammograms would be more fun if I wore wacky socks. Hmm, to think that I am even considering that mammograms could be more fun. What else from here? Maybe I could enroll the technician into having fun with me. What if I drew fun pictures on my breasts and surprised them. What if I chose to be fully naked for the mammogram, not just waist up? That might shock them. Fun to see the look on their face. Silly. Silly gives me lots of permission. There is a lot of movement here, and grinning.

Mammograms are time off work. Sort of a change of pace at the end of the day, mixing it up a bit. Maybe I could take myself for a treat afterwards. Make it a nice thing instead of a drag. I feel a bit like a little girl here, going for an ice cream cone after a trip to the dentist (wait, that can’t be good, kind of defeats the purpose of going to the dentist). Like go for a movie after, or a nice long walk.

Mammograms are self-care. The discipline form of self-care. The showing up for myself because I am committed to my health and my life and being a role model for how to be responsible around my breast health. I take a stand for this, both breast health and self care. I need to be in integrity and walk my talk. I feel called forth and like it is a sacred obligation, like the obligation to the cure that Lance Armstrong talks about.

Mammograms are the Goddess’ way of saying “Aren’t you grateful you have small breasts now?” I mean really. Faster, less trouble, less fiddling. Well, now that I am here, looking from gratitude, what else is there to be grateful for? Hmmm. I am grateful I am alive (as per my post a few days ago). I would rather have these tests each year than not have to. I am grateful I chose to keep my breasts instead of go for full mastectomy and reconstruction. I am grateful this technology exists (crude and brutal as it is, I mean if there were Testicle-agrams the technology would be different, yes?). This spot feels peaceful. Not so much struggle. There is a calm that stretches out to the horizon and has me see further. I think I will pick this one to hold for Monday. If you are thinking of me on Monday afternoon, and you want to send me loving vibes, throw some of the above thoughts in the mix, I am sure they will help me through.

Self Care Musings

2006-04-27T23:19:00.000-07:00

The other day I was asked to be a guest speaker at an Al Anon speaker meeting. I chose the topic of self-care, because to me, it is the source of so much power and healing in the world and in our lives. In uncharacteristic fashion, I decided to prepare for the meeting. What is fun about that is I now have notes. From which I can craft this blog posting. Yay.

So the main thing I noticed is that there are layers of self-care.

Firstly, there are the basics. The keeping yourself alive and safe. This is like watching for cars when you cross the road. Or not getting yourself into a situation where you are getting shot at. In my books it even includes washing, though that is not about keeping alive and safe, but it is about that important basic maintenance.

Then there is the H.A.L.T. That when you are hungry, or angry, or lonely, or tired, you stop what you are doing and take care of those things. Doing this requires self-awareness. It needs you to be noticing the signals your body is giving you. It includes reaching out to friends, taking a nap, getting your anger expressed and out in healthy, non-destructive ways.

Next we have what I like to call the Development layer. Here there is a deepening of knowing yourselves and what you like, and not just what keeps you safe, but what really feeds you and nurtures you (Hello Maslow!). This includes doing the things that are fun. The whole “choose joy” place that I keep coming back to. It also encompasses “unproductive time”, that down time where you relax, you don’t come from should or ought, but just see where your body and heart guides you. From this place you experiment with (and hopefully learn) when to push yourself and when to be gentle. Because much of the “journeying” in the life journey is about the back and forth of those two things. This layer also includes the space of discipline. Where you do the things that are good for you, or will serve you in the long run, even if they are not enjoyable now. Things like exercising. And not just eating, but eating right. Stretching yourself, challenging yourself live here too. As does finding the right friends, the ones that really see and honour you, the ones the value and appreciate who you are. And then, asking for what you need and want from them. Which doesn’t necessarily mean you get it, but just the asking for it, that is a form of self-care.

Finally, the Protective layer. And this has two parts. The protecting from yourself and protecting from others. This is where you set boundaries.

In terms of yourself: this is the not abandoning yourself, the not bailing on yourself, the not neglecting yourself. It involves not depriving yourself or pushing yourself too hard and not being mean to yourself. This is where you learn to trust yourself. Trust your instinct, trust what you know. And listen to yourself. And respect yourself. Even if you have learned otherwise in life. In this layer, you unlearn that.

In terms of with others: this includes saying no. And walking away from relationships that don’t work. It requires that you be clear within yourself and you stand in your own authority, and speak from there. It involves not letting yourself get stepped on, but speaking up for yourself instead. Related to boundaries with yourself, this is when you have to put those internal boundaries into action out in the world. An important piece of this though is to learn to do that with love. Which isn’t easy, and seems to need to be learned over time. Including learning where the line between being “mean” to others and mean to yourself intersects. It is messy. And it is process. And it can be learned.

In fact, here is the good news; all of them can be learned. Part of the learning is to notice when you need to do which self care. And you will get that by listening to yourself. Listening to yourself is the key. To all of it. Because there aren’t rules about this stuff. No recipe, or formula, or guidebook. That never seems to work. What does make it work is fundamentally believing that you are responsible for making yourself happy. And acting on that belief.

Self-care is not difficult. You need to ask yourself, and ask your Higher Power, “What do I need to do today to take loving and responsible care of myself?” The challenge is trusting the answer and then having the courage to follow through.

The Ebb and Flow

2006-04-25T22:48:00.000-07:00

Does this ever happen to you? I have gone from a quiet, peaceful time, emphasis on the quiet, and now I am moving into a busy, active time. Neither of them entirely works for me. For some reason I ping pong between the two of them, unable to find a balanced place some where in between. Now maybe that place doesn’t exist, for any of us. But I can’t help thinking that if I can just get it together enough, figure out my rhythms, and anticipate the rise and fall of external activity, then I will find, discover, create that perfect (time and) place where my days are filled with just the right amount of just the right action (I do know, even as I write this, how ludicrous it is, I am just saying, I long for it).

In the peaceful time there are long days, a bit on the empty side for me, but plenty of room for reflection, for creative expression, for walks, and so on. If it goes on too long I start to feel lonely, maybe a bit bored. I long for company, but don’t seem to be able to coordinate that company, either people are busy, or I don’t reach out enough to line it up. I do recognize that this is the luxury of the single, childless person, and maybe others read this and long, ache, yearn for this kind of time. Time to just BE, to relax, to do whatever you please at whatever time you please, accountable to no one, reliant on no one, your own master. And trust me, too much of it is too much of it. I speak from a great deal of experience on this one. So when I find myself here, what do I do? I panic, and I start filling up my time. I start calling people, scheduling events, DOING things. Just about ANY things.

Then things swing, work gets busy, suddenly my social calendar is full, and I mean FULL. There is barely room to breathe, I run from one event to another, from one commitment to another, and eventually all those events lose their fun. They become obligations, things on a TO DO list, even if when I agreed to them they were fun, now they are not. I feel on a treadmill, my mind starts to race too, just to keep up to my body. There isn’t enough time to get groceries, isn’t enough time to call friends, isn’t enough time to keep my details in order. There just plain isn’t enough time. The joy is gone. I get sloppy, I drop balls, and I feel badly. And tired. So, what do I do? I start cutting back, setting limits, doing self-care, picking me first. I keep doing that, and then suddenly, boom, I am on the other side of the teeter-totter. Not enough company, too much time on my hands, a bit bored, a bit lonely. The cycle continues.

Here is where I am right now. Having had tons of gentle self-care time, post surgery and with some of my weekend work mysteriously put on hold for 3 months, I am now finally gearing up again. I have started an 11 day work week, that might turn into an 18 day work week, depending (I guess on the Goddess’ sense of humour). I notice my social calendar is tight and my creativity closing down. I am starting to try to fit things and people into the little cracks of my schedule. Good to notice. I guess now is when I can be conscious and intentional, and see what other track I can, or can try, to choose. And, as with everything else, I will learn over time. With each wave, with each cycle, I will come closer to balance.

And what does this have to do with health, and with cancer, and with fighting the good fight? I think that finding balance, learning our own rhythms, knowing ourselves and what we need, listening to ourselves, with love and respect – all of these are life goals, part of the reason we are here. Which has everything to do with health. Which is really what we are shooting for, not a lack of cancer, but an abundance of health. So here is to listening to ourselves!!! And here is to our health!!!

Diagnosis Anniversary

2006-04-23T14:51:00.000-07:00

Five years ago (that is the big number in breast cancer years!!!) today I discovered that I had cancer. Funny thing is that I usually remember dates like that. With important anniversaries my body remembers, it alerts me. And why wouldn’t it remember this particular day, it was a very, very, very traumatic day. Different from the clean date (marked as the day of surgery, for some obscure medical reason that us neophytes aren’t privy to), the diagnosis date is the day full of fear, and doubt, and anxiety. At least on the surgery date there is a sense of doing something about it, of taking our fate into our hands and choosing life, and of fighting back. On the diagnosis date, it is all about being shocked, and powerless (in the worst sense of the word). Shocked to the point of disbelieve, of disassociation, of despair. Shocked and nothing makes sense, nothing is real, all of life is turned upside down. The kind of day where everything STOPS and you gasp for air and wonder how long you have to live.

So here is what was funny about this. Today I didn’t remember. Really, I didn’t even think about it. I got up, went for a run, even listened to Melissa Ethridge’s song about breast cancer, where she talks about fear being a docile beast because the cancer is miles and miles behind her. Had no idea what moved me to put that on. I even wondered what I might blog about today. Nothing was coming like a clear lightning bolt from the sky to write about. Then I talked to, count ‘em, 5 friends in a row on the phone. What radar they must have that they called me. But in none of these conversations did the topic of cancer come up. Not one. What did we talk about, you may ask? We talked about the future, and plans for fun and life work and what’s next. We talked about my Goddaughter, whom I saw last night, and played “Lion” with for hours. We talked about what makes us feel alive and excited. We talked about life.

I have a life. I am alive. I AM ALIVE.

Then another friend came over, and he had been forewarned that this was a big day for me, and he said, “So, this is a big day for you.” My jaw just about hit the floor. And my eyes welled up. And I gasped for air. “Oh my God.”

And I wept with gratitude for this day, this day that I didn’t know would arrive.

And I wept with gratitude that I am alive.

And I wept with gratitude that I didn’t remember that today was so special. Me who is an idiot savant around dates, didn’t remember. I was too busy. Too busy thinking about my life, about my future, about the children, to remember that I had had cancer. Cancer was so must less important than life and family and joy. Cancer was an afterthought. A second string player. A side dish. I never thought or dared to believe that this day would come. I couldn’t imagine not being plagued my the dreaded thoughts hanging out in the back room of my mind, whispering to me “What if I get sick again? What if it’s not over yet?” And while I will never be able to silence those back room tyrants with conclusive answers, I now know that those thoughts don’t get to run my life, and that is worth gold. Actually, it is worth more than gold. It is priceless. Because there is no dollar figure that can be put on equanimity and serenity and faith.

As the sun pours its full, intense, magnificent, life giving power in through my living room window, sparking the magical reds, yellows and oranges of the room into full-blown fire, I weep uncontrollably, unabashedly, unashamedly. I am alive. I am alive. I am alive!!!!

Getting It Off My Chest

2006-04-21T22:14:00.000-07:00

Over the last wee while I have taken it upon myself to do a searching and fearless moral inventory of myself. Whew. That is some kind of hard work. And then last night I sat with a friend and shared what I had learned. The good, the bad and the very, very ugly. It is great to be heard, accepted, loved, unconditionally. It is great to get it all off my chest.

For me, and I have a hunch it true for others (although some will say they prefer to keep things to themselves), getting it off my chest is a Good Thing. Even if people like to play their cards close to their chest (and I do think I have earned the right to use all these chest metaphors, thank you very much), and I can understand the urge of it, there is a spiritual power in sharing our load, in letting someone else in, and in not doing it alone. But for me especially, let’s break that down and take a look.

For starters, “getting it off my chest”. Think about that. What was it I had on my chest? Be it words, or crazy energy or cancerous lumps I clearly needed to get it/them off, out, free from, you name it…in short, GONE! My chest was bearing the brunt, and the weight of way too much. It was the place I must have been holding it all in, storing it (for what I am not sure, safe keeping?!?). It is even obvious in my body posture, curved shoulders, not hunched quite, more protecting. Protecting from what? From attention? Exposure? Visibility? All! What is with the world that I have to protect the essence of what makes me a woman, a key part of my femininity? Why do I need to hide it? Is it so unsafe out there for me, for us? And is there a way to do something about that besides surgery (and I do know an number of women who have chosen a different kind of surgery than mine for their breasts to hide their wounds behind)?

Second thing is the whole saying it out loud. And through that bold and brave action stopping keeping secrets, stopping keeping it in, stopping holding back my truth, and replacing it with speaking out and speaking up, for myself and for what I believe in. There is a way that this behaviour (the old one of not speaking out and up) is related to my femininity too. Granted to a false femininity, where I thought I ought to be dainty and demure and quiet. Quiet as in shutting up. Keeping my mouth closed and my opinions to myself. Those days are long gone, five years worth of long gone. Not that my dance with cancer is what woke me up and opened me up and got me talking. I was already on that journey before. But cancer is what had me realize that this epidemic (of both cancer and keeping quiet) is something for which I need to be spokes person, a mouthpiece, whatever you want to call it, for all the people who are still keeping it inside. Because I couldn’t keep it inside anymore. It was, literally, killing me.

Where in your life do you need to speak up, or speak out, or stand in your truth?

Learning

2006-04-19T22:30:00.000-07:00

We are always learning. If we let ourselves. If we choose it. It’s a lifestyle really. Consciously deciding to look from the perspective of “What’s the lesson?”, “What am I suppose to get out of this?”, “What can I learn here?”. Some days I like living this way. It keeps me curious. It keeps me hopping. And, some days I resent it and it feels more like a justification for me to not get angry, or sad or scared, like a new age high-mindedness that ought to be able to jettison me out of my feelings and my real experiences.

But for today, let’s just take it at face value. I was talking to someone today. She is dear and sweet and considerate. I like her, but I feel as if I need to care take of her and to protect her. I am not sure from what. It is just a feeling, an energy. She seems so soft and vulnerable and unable to defend herself somehow. As a result of this string of thoughts and feelings about her, I don’t feel safe around her. I am careful, and tiptoe when in her presence. But today, yes, today, I eventually got down to it, and I told her some of what I was feeling, told her how frustrated I get around her (I didn’t mention how I care take her and feel unsafe, I will save that for another day, lucky her!), and how annoyed I am. It felt great. And she could take it. She even appreciated it. Imagine!

So what is the lesson here? Because there is always a learning that we can take from a situation, no matter how much we think it must be all about the other person, because we are perfect, right? My lesson: quit holding back. Quit thinking that people don’t want to hear the yucky stuff. Quit thinking that conflict is yucky (funny, because in work situations I am all over that idea, and actively deal with conflicts and unspoken elephants as they arise, but when there are no rules, when it is a personal relationship, when it is personal, well then, things change, yes?). Time to take the gloves off. Which is a great theory, but how does it play out in real life? I am sure, having waved a flag in the god’s faces, I will get a chance to find out.

Self as Expert

2006-04-17T10:41:00.000-07:00

Met with a bunch of friends night before last, to talk health. All of us suffer some sort of aliment that requires the attention of the medical establishment. And all of us have struggled to get our needs met, by them and others. We were talking through what that means for us, what common lessons we have uncovered, things like that. Here is some of what emerged.

Our bodies have huge healing wisdom. We are all natural healers. Especially for our own bodies and ourselves. We know the answer for ourselves. If we get quiet enough and listen long enough, and trust ourselves. Each of us had/has experiences where when we asked our selves, our deepest knowing selves, we knew what we needed, what was important to us, what the next steps were. When we bothered asking ourselves, when we took it upon ourselves to be our own experts, we knew the answers. Our answers. For our health. So what has us hold back from doing that?

The first problem seems to be how to listen to ourselves. This is not so big a problem for me, so it was really important to hear someone else articulate this challenge. I guess when I would be spouting off about how we all would do well to listen to our bodies, and their inherent wisdom, she’d be like, “Yeah, great idea in theory, but how do you get connected to you body, how do you listen to it?” Might I even add, “How do you ask it questions?” I love what she talked about having learned. That since connection and listening to her body does not come easily to her she has to give herself more time to sit with decisions and questions and so on. If someone expects an instant reply, she will say, “I’ll get back to you on that.” And then take the time she needs, really checks in, makes space, and does not make a decision until she is clear. Different people access their inner wisdom differently (and it seems important to call it “inner wisdom”, for me it is body wisdom because that is where I pick it up most strongly, but really we are talking about your own still small voice, and that presents differently for different people. For some, a gut knowing, for others intuition, and so on.), be it meditating, or sitting by the ocean, or going for walks or talking it through with friends. The key element seems to be stilling the mind. And creating space and time.

A final important nugget from my friend on this: it can be learned. So it if doesn’t come naturally, or you assume everyone else can do it but you. Think again. Just like any other skill, this can be learned through practice and attention. And choosing to do that is essentially about finding our true nature – so next we need to look at honouring it.

The second challenge seems to be to trust ourselves with that and in that wisdom, expert place. To stand in our authority. To know what we know and not start second-guessing ourselves because someone with more, or different, degrees has a different opinion. To be an active partner in our health and healing. Doctors may bring knowledge and theory, but we bring something they can never access, our experience of what is going on. And if they can’t or won’t listen to that and subsequently put us in a cookie cutter solution, then it is our business and responsibility to ourselves to find someone who will. That is the standing in our authority with doctors. But really this “expert perspective” is an across the board thing. When we are certain of ourselves and our decisions and so on, we exude a self-confidence, an aura of expertise that is both hard to resist and hard to shake. When I know what I know and believe in myself and empower that place in me, I am a force to be reckoned with regardless of the circumstances. The easiest image for me to ground this concept into my system is that of Gandhi being physically beaten down, but his spirit and determination never wavering. I hope none of my doctors ever beat me with a stick (and God help them if they do) but if I stay true to myself, there is nothing they could do to make me lose sight of that truth.

Meanwhile the doctors seem to appreciate when we know what we think, what we want and who we are. They seem to want to partner with us, but if we don’t give them anything to work with, they can’t and then they need to be the “all knowing ones”. So, whatever our circumstances in life, being our own experts, being our own advocates, being our own best friends, really seems the best way to go.

Dying for Our Sins - take two

2006-04-16T11:01:00.000-07:00

So, as the title suggests, and since Easter isn’t over yet, here is another take on this dying thing.

Is “dying for our sins” kind of like “dying for a smoke”? I mean what is with expressions like that? I am dying for a smoke. Yes, my friend, you are. You are dying, for the sake of having a cigarette. Like I would have been dying for my sins if I hadn’t gotten a whiff of what dying was like and revised my crazy ways 5 years ago.

Without knowing it I was willing to die for the foods I was eating, for the laziness and habit of not exercising, for the option to take the birth control pill that threw my hormones out of whack really early on in my life (don’t do that junk anymore, trust me!!), and for various and sundry other things. We are all dying for our sins, for our addictions. In a world so committed to having what we want when we want it, where we get to buy now and pay later, we don’t even bother checking the price tag. Yeah, well, in the case of our bodies, what is it that we will have to pay later on? Owing to our self-indulgent habits, some of us will have to pay with our lives. And, yes, all of us die eventually, but some deaths are easier than others (is it in too bad taste to take JC as our for instance?). And having dabbled in the direction of one kind of death, I have come to realize that I really don’t want to make my final exit down that road if I can help it. So now I search for ways to make sure I can help ensure a gentler path.

And it is not just choices we need to make about our physical world; there are also choices we have to make about our mental and emotional worlds. Taken to the extreme, I think it is a bit new age-y, but it cannot be denied that our thoughts and beliefs are very powerful. It was while I was in chemotherapy that, with the help of my Co-Active Space Leadership Program Tribe, I noticed a rather unfortunate message that I had been sending my body for years. And I mean YEARS. As I mentioned above, I started taking the birth control pill when I was young. And it took just about a month to throw my body out of harmony. Now at the time, young as I was, I knew I was immortal, and so why concern myself with a minor upset to the body. So it didn’t bother me that I was now experiencing pre-menstrual symptoms all the way from ovulation to menstruation, EVERY MONTH. That is two weeks in four. Count ‘em, two. So as of that time forward, my breast ached painful for half of my life. Ouch. And did I have compassion for the lovelies? No, I was annoyed by them, rather than seeing this pain as being something that should concern me, I saw it as something that got in my way. Every time I would move, they would hurt, every jiggle (not that they are big jigglers), every step I took, every sudden movement (not to mention every affectionate grope by my various boyfriends over the years, try explaining why I wince when they touch me, ah the joy), would hurt me. Over time, starting in some unconscious place inside me, but eventually moving into thought or spoken word, each and every time I would feel that pain, I would say to myself “God, my boobs are killing me.” Yes, that’s right GOD, MY BOOBS ARE KILLING ME. Picture that message, at least a dozen times a day, half of every month, for years, now decades. What kinds of damage can that do? Well, I guess that is clear, since we have already seen the results. What do I tell myself now, two weeks out of every month? I say, “Wow, my breasts are tender.” And while it hasn’t stopped my breasts from aching each month, being aware of it has reminded me to bring more love into my body, every single part of my body, regardless of how we are getting along at that moment.

So, bottom line, I am unwilling to die for my sins anymore. Not that I plan to remove all my sins. Obvious, that would be impossible. And that is not the point of redemption anyway. What I will do is be more conscious and intentional, and pick the things that are really worth having, and then have them with full commitment, knowing that I might have to pay a price for them later on. And leave it up to God what that price is.

Dying for Our Sins

2006-04-14T10:56:00.000-07:00

As the story goes, today is the day that Christ died for our sins. What does that mean exactly? Being raised in a predominately Christian society I was lead to see it as we, as humans, are really, really broken and unworthy and a bunch of ego crushing stuff like that, and that Christ came along and sort of took our sins, bundled them all up, put them on his back and did the Noble Thing, and was the lamb to the slaughter, saying I will die a horrendous death and that will clean everyone of these inherent sins they carry. Sort of like: I will clean your slate and you will owe me, and that debt must be repay with an undying love and commitment to me and my way of life forever and ever (ahem).

Wow, that is just too much for me. Too much owning someone, too much obligation, too much not responsible for myself, too much absolution. In general, I am quite fond of Christ, even though I have not taken him as my saviour (even writing that expression freaks me out a bit, firstly, it assumes I need saving, secondly, it assume I am not up for the job myself, thirdly, it implies someone else can do that for me, quite presumptuous). He is an inspiration of how to live life with love, courage, compassion and grace. I have always held him as a brother, who has walked that path before me and can light the way and help me over rough patches. This fits with my perspective that I am a child of God too, so Christ’s special status as the Son of God, loses some of its mystique and authority. But even so, I have tons of respect and love for this powerful, caring, righteous man.

But back to this dying for our sins deal. Here is the way I see it that works for me. He was role modeling something we all can do. He didn’t do it for us, he did it for us. If you see what I mean. He was marking the path, establishing the route, leading the way. And he did what can be and usually is an inner journey, in an outer, visible, active way. So that we could all learn from it, and be less afraid of our own hard, dark moments. We all have the option to do what he did (not the hanging on a cross part, that is harder to get happening these days then back then), but the principles that he embodied.

To take responsibility for things that are happening even if we are not 100% to blame, or even to “blame”. Really, isn’t this what all the business guru are writing about these days, not to mention how long the 12 steppers have been living it: see your part in it and cop to it, don’t try to hide it or deny it or push it under the rug and blame someone else. It’s about personal responsibility. Which is different from being a martyr, or a victim, and sucking it up and taking responsibility for other people’s stuff. Fine line I know. Learning to walk it is the point. As is not hanging out in blame. This applies to cancer (and I am sure other diseases), what part of my health is my responsibility? How many choices do I decide (or not decide) to abdicate? Who or what do I blame? What am I willing to do to change the situation?

To go willingly. Not to say there wasn’t a time when he resisted, remember the garden. And thank goodness for that, it helps me a great deal, as just an ordinary person (as I am sure Christ felt himself to be as well), to know that the Great Jesus Christ had at least one dark night of the soul, a moment when he felt abandoned by God, and felt himself fumbling around in the dark, wondering, waiting, desperate, apathetic, struggling, resisting, and all the other fun bits that come along with it. Just like me, he had fears. Which is something that I need to know when I am faced with the painful road that I don’t want to journey. To know that it is ok: I can question God’s will, I can say I don’t like it, and stamp my feet and have a tantrum. And eventually I, like Christ, will make peace with my journey, and from there can willingly and powerfully step to the inevitable. I love the lines from Jesus Christ Super Star in the garden, when everyone is asleep and Christ is talking to God, and he says, “God, thy will is hard. But you hold every card. I will drink your cup of poison, nail me to your cross and break me, bleed me, beat me, kill me! Take me now, before I change my mind!”

To not take people’s projections of their fears personally. Boy it must have been hard to going from walking on water, and being the life of the party to being heckled, and mocked and attacked and demeaned. But don’t we all fall from grace one day or other, in some way or other? None of us are perfect (not even The Great One, in this case JC, not Wayne Gretsky, although that is relatively topical too). And all of us will be the recipients of people’s projections at some time or other too. Whether they think we are too big for our britches, too arrogant, not fighting for our fair share, not standing up to people. Whatever it is that people say about us, we all know it says more about the person who says it rather than the person it is said about. Still, boy it is hard not to take it on, not to take it personally. And Christ did that. He forgave them, right there and then, for all the crap they were dishing out to him. Even in his darkest hour, his biggest pain. Then again, knowing what I know about Dark Nights of the Soul, the days that followed the night in Gethsemane were not Christ’s darkest hour, by then he was already feeling God’s Love, and there is no human force that can lessen the beauty and magic when we are in that place. When we are in total acceptance, of ourselves, our situation and our relationship with our higher power, then equanimity and forgiveness is easy, almost unconscious.

These are all marks of the ever so important ego death that is necessary for our growth as human beings. That place where we let a part of ourselves, that we identify with strongly, go. We realize that it is not our true nature, not our deepest core being, but rather a veil we put on, a mask we wear, perhaps our Proper Self that keeps everyone else happy, and so, painful as it is to let go of that chunk of our identity, we do so. For our own evolution. And in the case of our brother, JC, for the evolution of all humankind, whether he knew it or not.

So thank you Mr. Christ, for living out loud, and letting us be witness, and so granting us permission for our own journeys.

Biopsy

2006-04-11T21:34:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow someone else that I know is having a biopsy. They are being tested to see if they have cancer. Did I say epidemic? This thing has gotten so out of control. And, yes, I probably hear about more than the usual cases of cancer or testing and so on than most, since, as a survivor, people can count on my compassion and understanding. And darn right, I say. I have a ton of compassion for this process. In my journey, it was the biopsies that were the worst of the experience; they were more violent than any of the other procedures. Wait, let’s even rethink what I just said. Because what about health care should be violent, I mean really. But that is the truth, violent. Or maybe it is just because I wasn’t heavily sedated for that procedure, expecting it to be pretty easy, let’s face it the lump was huge, near the surface, hard to miss. I will say that again, HARD TO MISS. So why did it take such force to get a few cells and why did it require such repeated and aggressive pumps of the doctor’s arm. It still boggles me. And it wasn’t just that I have a distorted memory, I went in for two of these, and both we equally bad (now they were with the same doctor, and maybe that was the problem, in fact that is what had me change diagnostic centers). We are facing not just “what is wrong with our world, that there is so much cancer”, but also “what is wrong with our system, that the treatment is sometimes worse than the disease.”

So not only do I have huge compassion for this person, going under the needle. I feel a sort of empathic response. Tonight, thinking about what tomorrow will hold for them, my body cringes, my head swivels away and I wince. And my heart aches. It is an alone feeling (no matter how many friends you bring in, no matter how close they hold you while the doctors are busy making matters worse), just you and the doctor and the instruments. Yes, there might be other people in the room, but those don’t seem to take the thoughts away, or soften the fears and the feelings. Sort of like in bad dreams or distorted childhood memories, the needle looks 3 feet long, the doctor is looming, and lurking, the antagonist of the story. It has the capacity to hit such a primal place, reduce us to our small selves, and hold us in such a vulnerable spot.

These are some of the moments that define us as people, and reveal who we are at the core. How do we respond in these tough spots? Who are we when the rubber hits the road? Then again, considering how poorly I handled this situation, perhaps I should rethink what I just wrote. In many cases it is the biopsy that starts a journey, and inevitably who we are at the beginning of that tale and who we are at the end is very different. I recall a friend who went through breast cancer some years after I did, when I would chat with her, and when I visited her in the hospital post surgery, she would ask me “how did you come to be so powerful around this, so strong in yourself and in your convictions?” I don’t have a specific answer, only that I walked through the fire (and trust me, I would have opted out if I could have), and you will be this person too (or rather, your version of it), once you have walked through your fire. This process and procedure almost becomes the benchmark against which we can measure ourselves when we have come up from the depths, reborn. Seeing what we have learned about self-care, about asking for help, about standing up for ourselves and taking back our power.

I invite prayers and love for this special person, both for an easy and gentle procedure and that the results from it are in their favour.

Fighting Our True Nature

2006-04-09T11:22:00.000-07:00

Unlike choosing joy, this is not something that I recommend. In fact, I sometimes wonder if it is the root of all evil (no offense intended toward money of course, just saying). This is the one thing that gets in my way more than any other thing. It gets in the way of my happiness, it gets in the way of my productivity, it gets in the way of my relationships, it gets in the way of my life’s work. It should be banned. And yet, it continues. And an external ban or trade tariff or the like would do no good, because this is an internal battle (aren’t all the good ones?). Yes, it’s true, choosing to be our clear, authentic, fully expressed self, that is an inside job. And we do need structures to keep us on track, and we do need friends and allies that can remind us and help us see when we stray or how we stray. But, in the final equation, it is up to us and us alone to fight the temptation to be as we think we ought to be (in my case, nice, proper, well-behaved, and a few other disappointingly bland characteristics), or to be as we think others think we ought to be or tell us to be, or to be how we think that job needs us to be, and so on, and so on, and unfortunately, one more “so on” (doesn’t it feel never ending to you, it sure does to me).

So there it is, the thing to avoid, the problem at hand, now how do we find and honour and keep choosing our true natures? There is no one test that can tell us all of what it is. There isn’t one magic workshop we can enroll in that will reveal all. There isn’t a psychic or astrologer or priest that can divine the pearls of wisdom that will change our lives forever. So what’s a human to do?

Here is what I have discovered so far (and know that I have devoted most of my adult life to this cause, as I feel, at a very deep level that this is at least half of why we are here, to know ourselves, to know our true natures, to stay true to that. And then, life throws tests in along the way to help us deepen and sharpen that knowing. I am not sure where or who this quote is from, but it captures a piece of what I am saying here: God created man so that God could know God) about FINDING our true natures:

1) It is an ongoing process. We discover something about ourselves and we need to test if it is true, we need to try it on and make sure it resonates for us. That takes time. And some of it will stick and some of it will not. Then comes a challenge to “take what we like and leave the rest”. Say we take a workshop, or come in to a new teaching, and the guru gives a cookie cutter solution, perhaps he says “men are from mars and women are from venus”. It makes sense, in the context (especially the context of you having just spent $500 for the workshop, if you don’t think what he has to say it useful, it is egg on your face not his). And you like the sound of it, and what is might do for your life. But you need to go try on the Techicolour Dreamcoat for a while before you decide to buy or in other words whether this is who you are. And some of it might not ring true, partly because if it was a cookie cutter solution or idea, well it can’t be 100% true for all 100 people in the room, right? But there might be pressure for the new peer group (you know, the fellow workshop junkies) to buy in, to believe it, to start living it like it is the real you. This brings us face to face with the “what others think we ought to be, or tell us to be” problem. So with this pressure and influence it might take us a while to see if it really, truly is a match for us. And so that dance continues, ongoingly, always refining as new information comes our way.

2) Who we are changes over time. Or does it? When I was 19, and I choose to take a Commerce degree, no one batted an eyelash. It seemed totally in line with the little girl who had counted her dad’s change, and stacked it in neat little piles, just for fun. Then when I graduated and moved out west I swung hard, very hard to the flaky side (I don’t think that left and right even captures that scale I was playing on, although for the record, on the usual scale I have always been left, even as I got my Commerce degree). In the end (well, then again, it is not the end yet, let’s wait and see where things go from here), I am somewhere in the middle, although my recent return to interests of business suggest that perhaps I am heading back to something (maybe that is why I don’t want to believe that money is the root of all evil). Which one is the real me? At any one stage in my life I would have asserted that wherever I am now, that is IT, the real me. It is who I am, absolutely, unequivocally. And then promptly changed course. Maybe the truth in not in the external manifestation, but rather the core or essence of my personality. When I was in the height of my flaky phase, I remember being back east visiting my parents, and I was presenting to my father some of what I had been learning of myself in my explorations on the coast. And I said to him “I am airy fairy. And I am touchy feely.” To which he said, with a little mischief in his eye (good to know I got it from somewhere), “No dear, you are witchy bitchy.” I burst into laughter (much to my father’s relief I am sure, as it must have been a bit risky to say such a thing to someone who is in denial of her witchy bitchy-ness, and therefore a bit of a powder keg), what a great joy it is to be really known and really seen. In my essence. Because it is my powerful, direct, hell raising self that has been a part of the entire journey I have been on regardless of the details and the changes.

3) In certain circumstances it serves us to be “someone else”. But make sure you don’t mistake that for yourself. Your True Self. For all that I took that business degree, and for all that I wore the burgundy Commerce jacket around campus for 3 ½ years, something was amiss. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but I didn’t quite fit in. I can see now that it is because I am a hybrid (always have been, foot in many camps, wait, how many feet do I have again?). But to get through it all, to get that degree over 4 grueling years (and yes, I took drama classes whenever I could to break the monotony) I had to step into the persona of the Commerce student. To survive. To get by. To get through. But I never lost myself there (mostly because I surrounded myself with the right friends that kept reminding me who I REALLY am). I never started believing that I was that person. I knew it was a suit that I was wearing. And that one day I would take it off. More and more though, maybe as I am getting older and wiser, and seeing myself more accurately, I do that less and less. Now I always bring all of me into a job interview (let’s face it, if they hired the Proper Signy, they would then expect me to be the Proper Signy for 8 hours a day, yikes!). And I am still working on bringing all of me out on first dates (my deep seated fear being that I blow these poor men out of the water, so instead I use that liquid to water myself down).

So it seems the journey never ends. But I suspect it is related to those ladies who say, “When I am old, I shall wear purple”. They know who they are, and they won’t compromise it for anyone!!!

The Power of Powerlessness

2006-04-07T20:40:00.000-07:00

Well, while I haven’t yet had the blinding flash of light, or the revelation of the complete surrender (which I hate, because that is what has been happening for about a year now, I come close to surrendering, really close, and then get a sort of deus ex machina, not a real, heart moving solution, but just enough awareness to stop the pain, and the letting go, dang, just put me out of my misery once and for all!), I have had some insights.

I am not in acceptance of my situation, of my life as it stands right now, of reality. There are things I want that I don’t have. And I have been hoping and wishing and trying and praying to get acceptance around not having those things (naturally that step came after the step where I was hoping and wishing and trying and prayer to get the things I want, so really this is progress). And nothing changes. Nothing changes. And so I assume that my praying wasn’t done right, or good enough, or something, and so I try harder. And harder. And still nothing changes. Still I don’t have what I want.

Of course at some level I am assuming that accepting my situation, accepting that I don’t have what I want will change my not having what I want, that through the acceptance I will get to have what I want. It is sort of like having my fingers crossed behind my back when talking to God. It is a form of bargaining, “If I accept that I don’t have this thing, and get ok with it, then you will give it to me, right?” Which sometimes does happen. But not recently, not on this round of “wants”. The real win, the real power behind this spiritual principle, is that when I do accept my situation, really accept my situation, then I change, and I look at the world differently and I am less inclined to be longing for something outside myself.

So picture me, face all screwed up tight in the effort, trying to think my way to acceptance. Acceptance of these things I don’t have and I want. And then it hits me. I don’t need to accept that I don’t have these things; I need to accept that I don’t have control over when or whether I get the things. That is the real issue here. I want to be able to decide when and what and where and how I get the thing(s) I want. I want to be able to make the change happen. I want control over the outcome. Power over the outcome. And what I need to accept is my powerlessness (12 stepper that I am, this is not the bad word it might be in other circles, not powerless as in victim, but powerless in that I believe that there is a power greater than myself that guides me and life, and I can trust in that).

Accepting my powerlessness. Ouch. And yay! Seeing that I am not all powerful, seeing that I am not in control of every last detail, that gives me the room to breathe, to stop being so hard on myself, to trust that it is all exactly they way it is meant to be. Oh holy relief. A mini breakthrough (not that this is entirely new, but each time I must be getting it deeper, right?). Enough for a reprieve at any rate. And maybe if I keep exploring it and really living into it, I will let that lesson of the head percolate all the way down into my heart and then the relief and release will be long lasting and profound. But I don’t much have control over that either.

So what do I have control over, really control? Whether I live my life, fully, today. Whether I express myself completely, today. Whether I line myself up with God’s will for me, just for today. And let tomorrow take care of itself.

Dark Night of the Soul

2006-04-05T20:42:00.000-07:00

What can I tell you, I am still here, in the Dark Night of the Soul (feels more like dark year of the soul, but never mind). That place where I feel the aching lack of God. I feel abandoned by Her and am lost. It sucks here. And I want to not be here, and I think I should be happy, since I am healthy. And I want to fix it, and I want to find a way out of it. And I feel like it is a punishment for something I have done, done wrong, not done well enough. And I want it to be different than it is. And I want a magic answer. And I want to look good and not be writing about this AGAIN. And I want, and I want, and I want. But that is not what is. And so here I am writing from this place. Humbled in my powerlessness to change it (yes I can put on a brave face, or I can deny it is happening, but that is not the same as changing it). I feel like I need to have a reason, an excuse to be more exact, to feel this way. Like poor health, or the end of a significant relationship, or working is going poorly, or going bankrupt. Something dramatic, something big, something WORTHY. Or even something reasonable, like I am only now letting myself have my feelings that I certainly couldn’t afford to let myself have when I was going through surgery.

Boy, do I have a hard time just validating my feelings, just as they are, that simple. And then if other people come along and invalidate my feelings, dismiss them or discount them or mock them. Whew, I am a goner, I side with them over me, to my face no less! Ouch. Abandoning myself for abandoning myself. Double ouch. Very tricky territory for me.

I am also very clear I don’t have time for this (ah, the little tricks my mind used to make me stop, to disorient and shame me). I need to do taxes, need to clean my place for a Discovery Session on Friday with a new client, need to finish the e-course for the website. Oh, here is a good one, I need to blog. No time for feeling, I need to blog. Hmm, here is a thought, blog about your DAMN feelings! You know, so you are coming from the heart instead of the head, that stuff you recommend for others, but get a little nervous to do yourself. Little too exposing. Well, isn’t that the power of it? Sigh. This being human, it is so, intense, so draining, so over and over. And it is not like I haven’t been here before (may would say at a different part of the spiral, this is deeper, and so on – but is that just to make me feel better, why the hell am I back in hell?) Ahh, my inner parts are at war. Nothing new. Just like these feelings, age old. Part of being a seeker, right? It is just that I wear them on my sleeve, all messy, for everyone to see. No mystic monk on the mountain top, me.

I make up that I am whining (as oppose to expressing a powerful truth that just is), and god knows that is not acceptable, god forbid I be a victim. Which is why I am being so darn hard on myself in this place (also something I am choosing to not edit out, uncomfortable as that is), because not only do I not want you to feel sorry for me here, I don’t want you to think I actually tolerate my own victim stance, but rather take a firm, hard stand with myself. [Wow, this is quite the Signy Unplugged I’ve got going here.] Further on the “god forbid I be a victim” front, after enough new age propaganda, I think that I should be able to say some affirmations and think better thoughts and then it will all go away. Essentially that this is all my fault. And I better pull up my socks and DO SOMETHING. Anything. Well, here is what I am going to do. I am going to sit with it, and hopefully, I am going to feel it. And I will see what happens next. And I will trust where I am drawn. And I might even try a bit of gentleness along the way.

New Ideas in the Fight

2006-04-05T08:39:00.000-07:00

I was cruising around cancer sites (yeah, now that is a fun pastime, clearly I need to get out more, to beef up my fun quotient) and came across a wee article on breath tests to determine breast cancer. This ties into a new area where dogs are being used to sniff out cancer in people (different article, same site). What I love about this is how simple it is. What we wait to see is how effective it is.

I like the site in that it has little sound bites about different things going on with cancer, and cancer cure and cancer prevention, and so on, which has me be more up to date while being less overwhelmed. Works for me.

Quality of Death

2006-04-03T17:05:00.000-07:00

Sad news today
Through the email
A passing Friend

Sad news today indeed. Stephanie, a woman of grace and courage and love, died of brain cancer last Friday. The story is heartbreaking, the woman inspiring. In her early thirties, this gal had already twice fought against this disease valiantly and bravely, rallying and embracing life each time. And now she leaves behind her scores of mournful people. I didn’t know her as well as they did. My loss. What I do remember of her is her bouncy strawberry blonde hair with a mind of it’s own, her ready smile and the dancing twinkle in her eye. What a precious soul.

When our mutual friend, Jenny, got me up to speed on the situation (she was kindly waiting for my results to come through before sharing her load) she asked what, if any, suggestions I had for how to be with Steph as her days got short. I have said it before, I am no expert of this part of the process, and once I am I won’t be around to give any more suggestions on much of anything. But here is what I imagine is important (and I would love input from people who have supported loved ones through this, or any other insights from people):

1) Quality time with the people she loves.

2) Knowing she will live on in some way, through memories, through stories told about her, through ongoing donations to cancer organizations in her name.

3) Being reminded what impact she has had, that her life has huge meaning and that she contributed. She is an inspiration and a gift, and she needs to know and feel it.

4) Helping her find her way to peaceful thinking about this. I called it "quality of death" in one of my postings, and I don't know what it means exactly, but it is captured in the inspiring story of a friend of a friend who had breast cancer, metastasized to her brain. In the later stages of the disease and therefore of her life, she found the way to make friends with the cancer and with the experience, found the magic and the rightness in something so very, very wrong. She found a way to be grateful and to see what was good. She was able to keep remembering and knowing with all of her being that she is a precious child of God and everything will be ok, in the end.

There is little left to say, except that the world will be a less friendly place without Steph. My heart is with her and her family and friends. And though you may not have known her, please send prayers and love for her family and friends on Friday as they celebrate Steph and the magnificence of her life.

What's So Funny?

2006-04-01T17:53:00.000-08:00

Ok, so if laughter is the best medicine, let’s take a look at this miracle cure. I googled “types of humour” and got this long list of words or expressions we use for laughter (remember Eskimos have 20 words for snow, in other words, we really love our laughter)

Laugh
Belly laugh
Guffaw
Chuckle
Chortle
Cackle
Giggle
Snigger
Titter
Smile
Smirk
Grin
To kill oneself laughing
A roar of laughter
Shrieks of laughter
A fit of the giggles
To crease up
To be convulsed
To be rolling in the aisles
To be in stitches
To bust a gut

Laughing out loud. Or to ourselves. It is healing, no? We might all have different senses of humour, different things that crack us up (lord knows, some things people think are hilarious, just make me go huh? And I am sure others feel the same about me and mine, hard to imagine, I know), but finding the thing that makes us laugh ‘til we cry, and the people that share that way of seeing the world, boy it makes all the difference.

Now I am not the kind of gal who looks for research and studies (although after writing this post, I came across this related post, check it out) to prove the things that just feel right for me intuitively (to many people’s criticism, I might add, but I laugh in their face, mouhhahaha), so I can’t prove to you that comedy cures cancer, or that humour heals hearts. But I know it’s true. On the days when I get that funny email, or have a chat with the friend who has me gasping for air between gales of laughter, or I watch the movie that hits my funny bone the right way, I just plain feel better. My muscles and organs have gotten a workout. Smiles come quicker in all situations. I am more tolerant when I am driving or dealing with difficult people (funny I put those together, clearly I think they are one in the same, and refuse to see that the driving thing might be about me and not them!). I am more willing to see my own part. The world is a better place. Hmm, and I am a better person.

And here is an interesting idea to ponder. We won’t be able to laugh when we don’t have bodies (or cry, or dance or have sex for that matter). I am even going to venture to say that laughter is a privilege that comes of being in a human body (am I missing out on other things that laugh, for instance, do laughing hyenas really laugh or is this just a manner of speaking based on what seems to us like laughter, or do chimpanzees laugh, or other members of the family tree). Maggie doesn’t get to laugh. She does this little thing that I could swear is smiling, but never, ever has she laughed (perhaps she has just not had the occasion to laugh as we don’t share the same sense of humour?!?).

So how can I make sure I get my laugh a day to keep the bogie man away? I mean it is not like an (organic) apple that I can just pick up and eat. Obviously I need to know what makes me laugh. Is it visual gags? Or witty comments? Or pathos? Or satire? Do I like irony, or farce, or sarcasm? Is it slapstick and buffoonery or parody or mimicry or absurdity that do it for me? And once I know what I like, what are the quickest routes to get it? What are the primary sources of that style of humour? And what is an almost guaranteed laugh? And what makes the difference between a chuckle and a thigh slapping, gut splitting, fighting for air, at its mercy roar of laughter? Frankly I don’t know, since I have never taken the time to break it down, analyze it or explore my preferences. Well, I think it is high time!

To get us started, here is Wikipedia’s definition of humour:
Humour (humor in American English) is a form of entertainment and a form of human communication, intended to make people laugh and feel happy. The origins of the word "humour" lie in the humoral medicine of the ancient Greeks, which stated that a mix of fluids, or humours, controlled human health and emotion.

Along with a site that starts us on the road of exploration.

And over the next wee while, interspersed with rants and whatever else is current and important, I will bring you what I learn about different types of humour.

Maintenance

2006-03-30T22:17:00.000-08:00

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?