On survivorship

While walking this morning I realized I actually have too many thoughts on which I want to write about.  I think this is because I set aside less time to write and I have been engaging life more.  I look at this as good.  The main theme of my many thoughts is around holding the space of survivorship, or recovery post cancer treatment.

When I was first diagnosed, I had a wise person say to me, "You are just taking a walk beside cancer for a short while, don't let it take over your life." This is so true.  I know in the depths of treatment last summer I felt like all my decisions and ways of being were influenced by my health issues.  As the lengthy treatment became less demanding I started focusing on more of what I want.  Now that treatment is basically done (except Tamoxifen which I am to be on for 5 years) I am really trying to re-engage life.  I am starting to part ways with cancer, but the disengagement is slow.  I think this is what survivorship is.  The struggle between re-engaging life and disengaging the "walk with cancer" as cancer (treatment) tends to have such a strong presence.

Somehow, I thought, despite seeing several family members' struggles with cancer treatment, that after I finished the bulk of treatment I would somehow be at a better energy level by now.  I thought that I could just jump right into my old life somehow, but it doesn't work that way.  Somehow while walking with cancer I ended up on a different path.  Not entirely different from before, but the path changed.  I look at how I spend my time differently, I look at my health differently, I want to shift the work I do to use the knowledges I have gained in the past few years to help others.  These are changes for sure.  I hope they are better changes that will create an even more enriching and balanced life.

The other thing about survivorship is that I look "great" according to people around me and "you would never know that you are a cancer survivor".   Somehow this lends itself to thinking that it is time to get right back to where one left off prior to diagnosis.  But it's not that easy.  Take this past fun and enjoyable weekend. There was a pool birthday party; time with my folks; taking in Buskerfest; learning to make home-made gnocchi with my mom-in-law; meals with friends and family, so I didn't even cook, I just drove my son and myself around to the various outings. I know I slept solidly each night; and many friends would say anyone would be tired after so much activity. But honestly, I know I am exhausted today and likely going to sleep for a good portion of today.  It's a tricky balance.  I want to live life fully and offer a lot of variety and richness to my son's life; and then there is what I notice I can handle... and likely the responsibility of work, as I know the return will come soon, is really going to challenge the balance I want.

I suspect many cancer survivors feel this way.  I know in early summer, of the other women I met through the Rethink Breast Cancer group, three of the women went back to work early for various reasons.  I know all three reported they should have taken their time to go back and not rush into things.  I am trying to heed this advice and not worry about the return to work, nor overthink things.  I know there are changes I want to make as I re-engage in life and I think about my work life quite a bit.  However I know I should not rush things.  This is again, one of the challenges of survivorship, how to pace oneself and give yourself permission to take your time. Just because I envisioned myself having better energy and being more fully back into the activities I immerse myself in, does not mean I need to be there.  More importantly I am trying to be in the moment: not to overthink the future nor dwell in the past. 

More Art & Art for Cancer Foundation

I meant to post this entry a couple of weeks ago, I think because I meant to add photots of my art from the workshop and forgot about, so here it is.

The other week I participated in another Art for Cancer Foundation (www.artforcancerfoundation.org) workshop.  This one was using watercolours.  However it was using watercolour crayons and these are really intense wet-on-wet watercolour paints that I had never encountered before.  I've only used the watercolour pucks in past.  The results I think are quite amazing, although I think I need more technique to get used to the movement of the paint with water and to be cautious about over saturating the colour. Nonetheless, lots of fun.  And, another perk of the workshop was seeing a few participants that I've met before.  It is nice to reconnect while doing art.
Another Art for Cancer event is their upcoming Gala in the end of October and then they will be releasing a book that documents the City Hall exhibit that I was part of. Here's a preview:  http://artforcancerfoundation.org/upcoming-events/toronto-city-hall-event/the-book/

One of the things I've realized with meeting other patients at some recent Art for Cancer events is the uniqueness of the recovery stage past treatment; whether considered "without evidence of disease" or continuing to live with disease and perhaps even run out of treatment options.  I find when I meet other people who have recently completed treatment there are definitely shared experiences.  It is reassuring to meet other who are just as sensitive about what they injest. To start understanding the "new normal" that has arisen.  To understand how the fatigue and continue for months, and sometimes years after treatment.  That somehow the experiences of cancer and its treatment creates some similar shared perspective on life: to not sweat the small stuff; to really be focused on creating meaningful existences; and be mindful to take care of our fragile yet resilient bodies.

The watercolours:

 

Summery Shifts

Today I'm pondering shifts.  I'm thinking of either merging my blog with my website or at least changing the byline on my blog.  I think I am at a point where despite the significant events of widowhood and becoming a cancer patient which have dominated my life, they are not all there is to me.  Further, I've been finding as I heal I want to shift the focus from "the problems" to just perspectives on life.  Certainly my experiences with cancer and widowhood inform my perspective, but I don't think I want them to take a leading role, per se.

The other factor influencing me is time.  I love writing, doing art, playing piano. I also love spending time with friends and family, which will likely fill much of my time into August. So with that in mind, I hope anyone reading this experiencing summer is enjoying the hot weather and finding many summery activities to be engaged in.

I'll share an unusal summer activity I found to do this week: play a piano in a park.  In Toronto, there is a promotion for the Pan Am Games and there are 41 pianos placed around the city for the public to just play.  What a delight to see a piano in nature and then the trepidation to play as I am terrible at memorizing any piece in its entirety.

Be tuned in, I may be doing a book review or two on the site before the end of summer.

More Art

I wanted to share the results of my terrific experience participating in Art for Cancer Foundation's trial 5 week workshop. The workshop was great on so many levels.  I learned new techniques and got to experiment.  The art is so engaging for me that I don't think about anything else, except creating art.  I met interesting people, perhaps it says something about the people who would seek out this kind of support during thier cancer journey.  One of the neat things is that we don't formally talk about cancer and since it isn't the focus, there is a break from the constant focus that being a cancer patient demands.  Likewise for those who are actively engaged in treatment, there is no explanation needed for all the side effects.  Everyone present has been engaged in a similar process on some level, so no explanation needed.

Here's my art from the 5 sessions:

untitled: pastels

Sunflower & Butterfly: ink, acrylic, gesso

Picked: tissue paper, napkin paper, fiber, acrylic, ink

Golden Hills: gesso texture, sand, acrylic and metallic glaze

the screening dilemma resolved: tissue paper, newspaper, gesso texture, acrylic, glaze

reflections on end of treatment

Here I am staring at a blank page wondering what to write.  Perhaps it is because I'm at what appears to be the end of my cancer journey. Ten days ago I had my last Herceptin treatment and this Friday I have the port removed. In the past month since my last entry (I can't believe how quickly time has passed by) I've been on a yoga retreat, submitted art to more shows, lots of the usual social outings, and the usual household and mommy stuff.  All pretty good and positive. However ending treatment is odd.  I'm definitely happy to not have to be showing up to and anticipating having the port removed makes me a bit giddy and long with the anticipation to just live my days without showing up to a hospital every few weeks or more frequently.  There also is apprehension: about what next? how will I adjust to returning to work? will I be able to retain my health?
The wisest words I've come across is just keep stepping one foot in front of the other. Really, now matter what happens, it is most important to be in the present moment and keep living life to its fullest.

Poem

I thought I would share a poem I wrote about a week or so ago.

Crossing the Finish Line

The super sticky
white
steristrips
are looking dog-earred
and grey
day by day
one falling off here
another there.

The last reminants
of the year long
cancer treatments
that ravaged
my body
and wearied
my brain.

Avenging the reckless
little tumor that
decided to try
and make a home
in my left breast.

In addition to the poem, I'll share what happened a few days ago when I did take the last of the steristrips off.  I took them off at night before bed.  The next morning my son came into my room and that was the first thing he notice: "Momma, you don't have any band-aids!  Momma, that means we can tussle" (play fight). I affirmed, this is true.  Then my son said, "Momma, we need to celebrate.  We need to make chocolate pancakes." So we did.

What would you do?

Perspective is such a strange thing.  Yesterday I was at the chemotherapy unit (and I am very happy to say I have one more treatment left). It was unusually quiet and I settled into my book with a few other patients milling around.   A few minutes into my wait, a young couple came into the wait area, the man was in a wheelchair and promptly collapsed himself onto the bench seating nearby me exclaiming how everything hurt, making an oh so familiar sound of discomfort. His partner put his head on her lap and was stroking it.  I was quickly transported back four years to when I was trying to support and be there for my husband.  It became hard to not scrutinize this young couple further, but I really didn't want to stare. 
As we sat waiting for our respective treatments, I couldn't help but feel the desire to reach out to them.  I wanted to say, "Hey, I've been there" or "If you want to talk to someone who knows that space, here's where you can reach me." But I didn't say a thing. I felt at the same time I'd be intruding; really, a moral dilemma.  They, of course, had no idea what knowledge I hold, and I did not want to impose.  I found myself starting to compose a letter:
Hi anonymous young couple,
I don't know your situation, nor do I want to intrude. What appears is something I strongly relate to.  Perhaps you, the young woman, could be me 4 years ago - my husband was diagnosed with a rare cancer which then became terminal.  If you want someone to talk to that's "been there" you're welcome to contact me...
The couple got called for treatment before I finished the letter and had a chance to discreetly slip it to the young woman. I learned something from this.  I have been thinking a lot about "what next" for my future and pondering the possiblity of doing work with families impacted by cancer/bereavement.  I figure if I had such a strong desire to reach out, that perhaps this is an area to explore despite my hesitations, despite logically wondering if I want my life experiences of the past few years to become my work life and career.

Another lost to cancer

After writing a couple posts ago I may be less active, instead I have become a more active writer; go figure.
Anyway, today I just found out David Servan-Schreiber, the author of Anticancer: A New Way of Life died of terminal brain cancer last July.  I was actually going to check out his site to make sure it was linked correctly as I was going refer to it for something else, and I found the link dead.  So I looked up a few things to find he had died.
This saddens me.  His book Anticancer provided me with so much hope.  Again it often seems that there is no control in regards to cancer.  I hear so many different stories of people who have had healthy lifestyles who have been diagnosed or who have died of cancer, but likewise there are many who are not living so healthy that don't seem to be touched with health issues.  I still believe a healthy lifestyle can make a difference, but, perhaps we have way less say over our mortality than we think we do. Although, at best, I can say that the changes I have made in lifestyle have enhanced my general well-being and create a better balance in my life.

On appearances

Today I was reading a blog entry, ‘Looking Good’ by Sam Albert (http://ultra-sounds.org/author/skipthewheatgrass/). She writes about how people are always telling her how good she looks, as if there is an expectation that she may look worse, being ill.

This made me reflect on a recent interaction I had with a colleague whom I meet occasionally.   This time, she said, you know you are really looking good, if someone came to our table and we said one of us had cancer they wouldn’t know which one.  I questioned this and she added that I don’t have the dark circles under my eyes or the hollow look around my eyes any more.  I would say, I actually do have dark circles under my eyes still, but not as defined as before. Furthermore, this colleague on previous occasions has told me I look great, which I’m pretty sure was not the case; or perhaps the expectation, as Sam Albert surmised, is that someone whom is “battling" cancer would look worse.

This makes me think that either my supports are either trying to bring me up and make me feel better by telling a “little white lie” or they have really grave perceptions and are amazed by how well I fared through treatment.  Really, what does a cancer patient look like?  Certainly I see at the hospital and other places really ill and frail looking patients who have likely been battling for awhile and/or the cancer has progressed far enough to seriously impinge on bodily functions.  I saw this with my husband.  But even in his case, he really didn’t look gravely ill until the last 4-5 months of his life.  Short of the hair loss from certain chemotherapies and the weight loss side effects (both which are not givens in cancer treatments but common to cancer treatments), often cancer is an unseen illness for many patients, much like mental illness or chronic fatigue syndrome.  Many patients “pass” as healthy without any health concerns if one looks at outer appearances.  In the chemotherapy waiting area, it is interesting to look at the people and sometime the only thing giving away the patient is the hospital wristband.

The Connection that Continues

In the next couple of days I will be approaching the three year date since my husband’s passing.  This is a somewhat odd point in my journey of life.  First, on the concrete timeline aspect, I have actually been widowed longer than I have been married.  That sure is strange; yet it doesn’t feel like I have been away from my husband for three years.  I think this is because I not only think of him daily, but I experience his presence frequently.  Now, this may seem a bit weird to some, but what I have found is that as I talk about death with some of my closer friends, many of them have had experiences of the presence of a loved one after they have passed.

One of my friends suggested that I make a list of these experiences, so I figure that on this significant anniversary, why not share some things that have occurred.

There are some experiences that perhaps have been tricks of my brain, although since there has been so much frequency, I doubt it at this point.  In this category was the feeling of a breeze caressing my arm on the morning of my first wedding anniversary after my husband passed. More recently, after a very late night celebrating my birthday I was woken up early with a call from my brother to turn on my computer to Skype (he’s travelling Asia right now); I groggily went downstairs, started my computer; started a stovetop espresso and started emptying the dishwasher.  I know my habits and before taking off espresso off the stove I check to ensure the coffee has filled to the top; except I got caught in thoughts and forgot about my espresso until I finished unloading the dishwasher.  When I realized I forgot my espresso, I turned to the stove, thinking oh no my espresso, but the stove was off.  Perhaps I groggily turned it off, but I’m sure I didn’t.  The espresso was made perfectly.  My only explanation is my husband did it for me and I thanked him.

Other incidents, of a somewhat more concrete nature: walking into my home after being away all day and smelling espresso (my husband loved his coffee) throughout my house; going into a supermarket and hearing “Green Eyes” by Coldplay – a song that my husband knew I associated with him... and a song that I don’t think is typically played in public places, I don’t think it was released to radio etc. So, strange coincidence, perhaps, but I like to think it reflects my husband’s presence, and perhaps it makes the grief process more bearable, that somehow he is still with me in spirit. I like to think about it as part of our ongoing connection and ways to communicate despite being in different dimensions i.e. the physical  vs. the non-physical spiritual world.

Yesterday there was the weird thing of my cell phone not working when I was going to call my therapist to say I was late.  It kept resetting when I went to my contact list.  I arrived at my therapist’s and shared my apology for being late and explained my cell was doing weird things.  She shared her phone did something weird temporarily that she associated with the loss of someone she was close to and this lead to her sharing reflections written by one of her colleagues that she is collaborating with. The reflection actually answered a struggle I‘ve been having with my extended family.  In fact, if I did not share about my phone difficulties, I doubt that my therapist would have shared this with me and I don’t know if that would have become the content of the session, but this was the right thing for me to gain from session.  Interestingly my phone is now working properly.

So, make what you want out of these incidents (and there are more than I have shared). I personally like to think of it as connection that continues.

Always more to learn

Today I started attending a group run by Rethink Breast cancer (www.rethinkbreastcancer.com).  I thought it would be good to have a place to meet other women/mothers who are in a similar situation.  After the first session, definitely good.  I'll be looking forward to it and my son, I think, enjoyed the children's group.
As gathering with any group of people there can be new things learned. One thing, in this group of women, there seemed to be the startling prevalence of breast cancer development while nursing; and subsequent misdiagnosis because of nursing, thus putting these particular women at further risk becasue their tumors were growing quite large at alarming rates prior to being properly diagnosed.  I know this was not the whole group's experience, and perhaps this group of women is not representative of younger women with breast cancer (although I suspect it is), but it was a theme that occurred a few times and seemed to sit with me.  Again I feel lucky that I have doctors who listened to me and were active in referring me to the high risk screening program. Again, I think that it is so important to listen to you body and be a strong advocate for yourself.

I also heard many stories that reflected my experience of treatment and the feelings of isolation as typically one's friends are not going through cancer treatment with you and although fully supportive and empathetic, it can be hard to feel others truly understand at times.  One of the neat things out of today's group was finding out about a website that is a platform for organizing volunteers, www.lotsahelpinghands.com. This site is designed to enter the e-mails for your support community and to list the tasks that you need support with.  I sure wished I knew of this site when I was first diagnosed as I had many offers to help and it would have been a way to organize them rather than just calling people ad hoc or relying on accepting whatever was being offered in the moment.

Writing of this great support through Rethink and of the new site I learned of today, reminds me of another great support, ART for Cancer Foundation, which is hosting two watercolour workshops in the next couple of weeks.  If you are in the Toronto area and interested, check out http://artforcancerfoundation.org/programs/
By the way, for people following my blog, the art exhibit through ART for Cancer Foundation went well. Here's my art on display:

The written blurb included with the art is as follows:

Somehow I came to the most unexpected, rough patch on the bumpy road of life. As a clinical social worker I thought myself fairly well resourced, but even the well resourced need to have their outlets.  Painting became mine.

My paintings reflect different points in my healing journey. I started to engage visual art during studio time while taking an Expressive Art Therapy training.  The smaller painting, Dead or Alive (oil on canvas, 8” x 10”), is my first visual art piece I created that emerged out of a movement based class that ignited an alternative reality experience that I knew I needed to paint.  At this point, I had only been writing as a means to address the loss of my husband to cancer six months before.

By springtime, about a year after my husband’s death, I was painting more abstract. I found myself playing with colours and movement on canvas, often painting in the little windows of time in my busy, hectic life.  The larger painting I call Gestation (acrylic on canvas, 24” x 30”) was created around the time I first felt some interest in actively engaging in life again.

Just under two years after my husband’s passing, I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I spent time trying to release anything that could be a blockage or a detriment to my health.  In a guided meditation focused on release, I had a strong visual image of the painting that became Firewoman.  I believe this was a point of emotional and spiritual transformation which I have continued to develop as I proceed through the rigours of treatment.

When I started painting, I found that I could not stop.  Even as a single parent of a small child, I felt I needed to carve out time to have this mode of self-expression. Painting became a means of expressing what could not be expressed by words: an elixir to release the complicated emotions inside and a salve to the pain I was carrying within.

I thought I would share.  If you are interested in seeing more of my artwork, please check out my website, www.abelcreation.com

Art for Cancer

Just a quick little note.  Tomorrow is the opening of an art exhibit I will be part of.  It is by a new organization called Art For Cancer Foundation which provides art workshops for cancer patients and their caregivers.  The exhibit opens tomorrow and runs through to February 24 at the Toronto City Hall Rotunda.

trailer: http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=oiCN6avKrl8
website: http://artforcancerfoundation.org/
listing of event: https://wx.toronto.ca/festevents.nsf/a2f14808aae0d4f1852572ff0066124a/ab754150d3bf6214852579a000417a9f?OpenDocument

 

If you are interested in seeing more of my art, please see my newly launched website: www.abelcreation.com

Sharing of yourself

Today is another day for gratitude and appreciation for stories.

I, again, met someone who was widowed at a young age. I see this as something remarkable.  In some ways before I was widowed, I don’t really recalling meeting young people who were widowed on a somewhat regular basis.  Perhaps I just didn’t note the people’s circumstances, but truly, even of clients, as a social worker, I recall only meeting a small handful of people who describe their life story as having been widowed at a young age.  Yet, nonetheless, I’ve been meeting widowed people all over the place it seems.  Just in the past month I met two older women who were widowed young. I listened to what they revealed about themselves with great interest.  Both had a multitude of children (one had 9 when she was widowed, the other 6). One had had a number of partners since and the other I’m not quite sure, both now have grandchildren and even great grandchildren. One was met at a cancer related workshop.  What both have given me is perspective. At times I feel I struggle with one child to raise on my own, how about nine? Of course there are unique aspects to each.  With multiple children you have older kids who can help with the younger kids and the older children have much to share about their father with the younger kids. But that is also 10 mouths to feed and a home to keep large enough for ten. Anyway, the most important thing is perspective.

One thing I have become even more aware of, and it seems silly to write this as a therapist, is how all of us have a story.  What seems clear to me is that few of us share our stories. Even fewer share publicly, although, that may be changing with this world of internet.  Again and again I have been meeting people whom I have the greatest admiration for given the challenges of their story.  I think, perhaps, these stories of tragedy and triumph are actually quite common, but for some reason no one lets on this is the pain they carry with them and of the strengths that carried them through tough times.  I think if we are more able to share our lived experiences in various ways (in creative, not overbearing or in needy, ways) that perhaps, it is gift that we are sharing with others:  to inspire, to help them through tough times, to help each other understand that we are not alone. In a way, it is an act of love to take the opportunity to give the gift of sharing of yourself.

Happy Valentine’s Day!

Art for Cancer Workshop

This past Monday I took part in a workshop by Art For Cancer (www.artforcancerfoundation.org).  It was definitely a great way to meet other cancer survivors/patients/warriors (as one participant described herself). One of the interesting things was most of the participants I talked to thought they were in pretty good shape and we each felt blessed. I even met others who have lost loved ones to cancer when they were younger.  It was reassuring in a way to meet them and know that one does have a life after such tragedy.

The workshop consisted of learning some basic painting techniques, a meditation and gaining a piece of art by the end. I got to work with a palette knife for the first time.  I wished there was more time or more of an ongoing class than a workshop for a few hours. Here is my piece of art from the workshop:

I’ll soon be writing more about Art for Cancer as I’ll be part of the Art for Cancer Foundation art exhibit at Toronto City Hall Rotunda from Feb 17 – 24, 2012.  Here’s a trailer to the show:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oiCN6avKrl8&feature=player_embedded&noredirect=1

If you are interested, the art show is in a public space, so you can come by to check it out any time if you are in the Toronto vicinity.  And, also if in the Toronto area and you would like to be present for the opening night and silent auction to support Art For Cancer and future workshops, please contact me and I will e-mail you the e-vite

The space in between

This is a strange stage in regards to dealing with cancer. I am done the heavy duty treatment and I am somewhat recovered from the intense impact on the body from the heavy duty treatments.  I continue to take Herceptin and I have fatigue still, manageable if I plan my day out.  I’ve tried going without a nap, but I have discovered that doesn’t work so well, and I need to be on for my son in the evenings. I have had a clear mammogram and I generally feel pretty good.  I am starting to embark on more art and writing, or at least figure out how to put more of that into my days.  I continue to try and eat well, exercise pretty much daily and enjoy as much as possible out of life.  It seems to be a stage where I’m not quite ready to take on the intensity of being back at work  and managing as a single parent of a small child, but I am more able to engage life (outside of cancer) again.

I was wondering how this fits with the metaphor of this blog.  That this almost feels like I’m starting to finally emerge from the chrysalis at this point. Perhaps I was in the cocoon, before while really engaged with treatments, even while grieving. Now it feels like I’m starting to go and meet the world, a new world that I’m just getting to know, my old world seems to be fading away. I’m noticing that my whole world is shifting and that my direction and path may be changing.  There are some connections that I have made recently that I am meeting with optimism.   At this point, I don’t know for sure and I don’t want to write on what I hope to happen, but I am feeling positively optimistic about the potential opportunities and happy about impending change. But, that is part of life and being anyway.  It is really an illusion to believe that we know how our life is going to be.  And even though I may have a vision for my future, I don’t really know how that will come to fruition. The best I can do is engage life as fully as possible and live for the moment. Even as I write this, I am at my mechanic’s waiting for him to take a look at my car.  I could be unprepared and sit, bored, but I decided to bring my computer, a notepad, a book and see what I can create while here.  I have discovered that creating is my passion and it is best to access creativity as much as possible.

New Year

New Years is a strange holiday. I know many people who say they dread New Years Eve because it is such a let down. There is often much hype to party and celebrate, at least here in North America, to really just enjoy the beginning of something new and the end of something seems to be lost.  Personally, I have a history of hosting New Years Eve parties or get togethers; however the past few New Years have been quiet with family. In some ways, when it is quiet, I like the opportunity to reflect on the past year and to think about my goals for the upcoming year and to have quality time with those I love.
This past year, even though it appeared to be difficult with receiving treatment for cancer (and treatment for cancer is difficult, this isn't to disguise that fact), I felt like I had time to settle myself emotionally.  That I gained more opportunities to explore my creative side and really just enjoyed home life with my son. I think this past year has given me incentive to figure out how to restructure my life so that I have a better balance for myself and I look forward to seeing how this may evolve in the upcoming year; yet another benefit of dealing with cancer this year.
Happy New Years to all that may be reading.

All in the Timing

The past couple of weeks have been a whirlwind of activity. With Halloween, I spent a large number of hours making a dragon costume for my son.  It looked great and I think he had a lot of fun, and now has lots of candy in his trick-or-treat pumpkin.  There have been a lot of social activities and a spattering of medical/paramedical appointments. Pacing my days seems to be a challenge.  I think I have planned/managed my time, but then again, I find I have over extended myself.

I decided to visit a friend out of town, deliberately planning to drive in the mornings as I have more energy then and could rest with my son during his afternoon nap time (thankfully he still naps). I didn’t realize how tired I would feel after the few days away.  I found that after I was exhausted for days.  Ultimately I have figured out at this point in time I can’t really handle more than one appointment, event or activity per day, and I still need a two hour nap.

I’ve been looking at my energy like a glass of water.  Every day that I have a decent night’s rest I start with a full glass. Sometimes I don’t start with a full glass because my son has woken up in the middle of the night or I have a busy brain and have not settled down to sleep as well as I could. Each activity uses some of the water in the glass until it is almost empty and then my nap is a refill.  This analogy has been used with as a candy jar on the Livestrong/Oncolink Care Plan website. Even though I have started to do a little jog or exercise, this does not re-energize me as before, it takes a certain amount of energy and has to be weighed carefully as every other activity.  Over-extending myself may initially result in an abundance of fun and enjoyment of activities and outings I love to do, but then I need to set aside time the following days to recoup afterwards.

This is the most obvious change since treatment.  It is strange, but really the treatments have changed my body in many ways.  And, I don’t know if it will be permanent or passing.  Recently I noticed I bruise, cut easily, my veins are more difficult to access with needles, in general, my body’s been delicate since treatments. This creates a whole new level of needing to be cautious.  I may feel I can just go back to activities the way I would prior to the cancer treatments, but I am finding this s not so.  There are the obvious results of cancer treatment (the hair loss including lashes and brows – now growing in quite well), the side-effects from treatments and so forth, but there seems to be a whole layer of subtle changes that doctors don’t really share (especially before one embarks on these intense treatments) that can exist months, possible years or permanently after treatment. Like my finger tips and toes remain numb and that should clear up within the year, but may not. Then there are the drugs that probably cause infertility, which many younger woman arrange to have eggs harvested and frozen so they can try from pregnancy later, even though pregnancy later in life is a risk factor to breast cancer.

What all this musing leads to is again, relating to being present in the moment.  Can I live fully in the moment not comparing to what I was able to do prior to treatment?  Can I build myself up to be even healthier, with stress better managed, being in the moment.  Truly, as Thich Nhat Hahn writes ”with every in breath and every out breath we each are different.” In a moment, our world can be different, sometime greatly: for example with my husband’s last breath, my, and my family’s worlds were changed dramatically; or minimally: with the breath I breathe in this moment, I am digesting my breakfast and something changes within my body, although, perhaps undetectable by me. I hope in being in the moment, I can stop looking at what was, or how my body was, and start being what I need today.

I Did It!

This morning I completed my second jog.  Yesterday was my first. My Dad called me up early in the morning and said, “Do you want to go out for a run?” He then proceeded to say, “We can come over there before we go bowling.” Mom and Dad go bowling with friends most Sunday mornings. And I agreed. So I did a mini run with my dad, a good first run.  Today I kept myself motivated and ran again, this time a little further and took a break at my favourite meditation spot by the lake (yes I meditated too). All very good: because it is good for me to start becoming more active; I noticed that I came back with energy and motivation to tackle my growing to-do list; most importantly, because I have read that breast cancer reoccurrence can be reduced anywhere for 40% - 70% simply by regular aerobic activity for about a half hour per day. Most recently I read 50% in Prevention magazine. 

Highly motivating, or it should be. Some days it is hard to be motivated. Even yesterday after my little run, my son and I decided to go bowling with my folks and to have lunch with their friends. After I was exhausted, so even though I am picking up in activity and energy, I still need to pace myself and plan for when my energy level crashes. I am wary about what running may be like once snow starts to fly and ice starts covering the pathways and sidewalks.  I think this is where my Dad and a couple of other friends who are experienced runners will become great supports, either in running with me or by giving me tips to endure the elements better.

The other piece that somewhat comes to play is the envy and self-pity of dealing illness. This morning, as I ran from my son’s daycare to the lake, then back up to my home, I pass by a main street with a MacDonald’s (which, by the way I haven’t had anything from MacDonald’s in years, likely almost a decade). As I jog by there is someone entering the parking lot, by car, smoking and going to the drive-thru. I have the self-righteous thought of how can people not care about their bodies like that! Then there is the thought of how can people just do that and not have these (health) problems? Then I remind myself that I don’t know what their life is and their struggles. I also remind myself that perhaps my body is just more sensitive and I need to do my best to take care of it; others will make their own decisions.

Most importantly, I went for my second run for the second day in a row. I know this is a good step for me and all I need to do is make it a habit (takes about a month for form a new habit or break a habit, as I recall from my counselling work). Off and running for now J.

I'm not fighting, I'm living

Another blog, by another breast cancer survivor, that I occasionally read has made the point that one does not fight cancer, rather, one treats cancer and the treatments work (or not) to varying degrees. Further, cancerous cells always exist in our bodies; they are simply our regular cells that have not responded to the natural "die" functions that our body gives. It is our body's natural abilities to stop unnatural cell growth that prevents tumors from developing and us being diagnosed with cancer. Beyond this, if one dies of cancer, it is implied that they didn't give a good enough fight.  Fighting cancer is like saying I am fighting my own body. I tend to think I am attempting to engage my body/soul/self in it's best way of being; no matter what the outcome (although I feel unprepared to check out of life at this point and I know the timing is not my choosing) I am living my life the fullest I can. Rather than hijack someone else's blog, I'd like to share the article that she included in her blog about Jack Layton and cancer from the Globe & Mail by Carly Weeks : http://m.theglobeandmail.com/life/health/new-health/conditions/cancer/jack-layton-didnt-lose-a-fight-he-died-of-cancer/article2137736/?service=mobile

Radiation & Prayer

Last week I started radiation.  It's seems like nothing in some ways yet I know the side effects are cumulative. Not relishing this may occur as I am still working through ongoing side effects from chemotherapy.  I'm trying to make this experience as positive as possible. Initially I imagined the radiation to include some visible rays of light - which it doesn't. So rather than visualizing in an imaginative way I have found myself reciting a prayer that was given to me to give to my husband when he was ill.  It goes as follows:

Divine light shine in me.

Divine life permeate and (heal) every atom of my being.

I am the resurrection of Life.

Heal is in brackets as I added that word to the original prayer.

Prayer is found in research to be associated with better outcomes in comparison to those who do not engage spiritual practise.  As many who know me, they would say I am not a religious person.  I do not engage in organized religion (as in attending church on a regular basis); however I do believe in a High Power/ the Universe/the Cosmos as having some divine direction that impacts us all and connects us all.

Let us look deeply at a wave in the ocean. It lives its life of a wave, but it lives the life of water at the same time. If the wave were able to turn toward itself and touch its substance, which is water, then it would be able to attain nonfear. The wave does not have to search for water, because water is the very substance of the wave. ~ Thich Nhat Hanh, No Death, No Fear

 

As I journey on this complicated and path of my life (at this point) I continue to hold onto the thought that all will be well in the end and that I am not on this journey without some reason that will develop further growth within. I always have been a firm believer that I experience Life for further development of myself and to share myself with others for our shared growth.  Of course there is a tiny little piece of me that questions my beliefs and rages at my circumstances.  However I hope my beliefs are not for naught; as my life continues to evolve I hope it continues to reinforce my view of the Cosmos.