Focusing on the Book

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?

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

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?

Mammogram Fun

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

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

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

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.