My Story

What does the Lord require of you but to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with your God? 

-  Micah 6:8

Some of you know my story because you were there with me. Some because you came along later and heard me tell it. Some may just be reading about it for the first time. It’s not an unknown story. Many have a similar one. But I feel that my story is one of a miracle that must be shared. And it is a story that continues today, more than 10 years later.

It started in 2007 with a routine physical that referred me to an ultrasound that led me to a surgeon. It was the surgeon who first used the words “breast cancer.” As I lay on the examining table, being prepped for the first of several biopsies, I was surrounded by nurses and technicians who explained what would occur. They were nice, and spoke in calm, routine voices. A medical assistant stood by the table and held my hand. She talked to me as if we were friends. Knowing where I worked, she asked about mutual acquaintances.

I was surrounded by caring strangers, yet I felt disconnected. However, I had a sense of peace and comfort. The words from Psalm 46:10 were brought to mind: “Be still and know that I am God.” And somehow, I knew that everything was going to be alright.

I had surgery in November, followed by four rounds of adjuvant chemotherapy. I then underwent radiation treatment. It was during chemotherapy that I took the California bar exam and participated in my law school graduation. Having completed that major milestone I could not imagine what would come after I finished my treatments, but I knew I had a purpose.

Romans 8:28 speaks directly to what I know is God’s work for my life: “And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.” At the time I hoped that I would pass the bar exam on my first attempt (I did pass the bar exam the second time I took it) and go on to big things in both my career and this story about a woman who had survived breast cancer.

However, while I was undergoing radiation treatments my mother called to tell me that she had been diagnosed with breast cancer. I had the privilege of helping her navigate all that meant for her. While our cancers were very different, the trials of understanding the diagnosis and undergoing treatment are daunting. I am happy to report that we are both 10 years cancer-free.

But my story did not end there. In 2013 I became involved with transporting a friend’s mother to cancer treatment. She had a recurrence of breast cancer that had metastasized. Linda became part of my life when I helped take to her Boston for radiation treatments for the tumors on her brain. She became my friend, and we became companions as I routinely took her into Boston for chemotherapy in 2014. She passed away in March, 2015. Her death was a heartbreak like I’ve never experienced before. And yes, I would do it all again.

After Linda’s death I wondered what God would put in front of me. I call it “my next yes.” My experiences in the past three years have taken me in directions I never would have imagined. Upon reflection I realize that God has allowed me to continue to care for others who are dealing with cancer. I will admit that my heart breaks a bit each time a friend reaches out and asks, “Can I call you?” My answer is always yes. Yes you can.

You see, my story isn’t over. It did not end the day I finished treatment. Nor did it end when I reached my 10-year mark and I graduated from oncology. God’s story for my life is more than I could ever have imagined. My story is one of “yes.”  

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor. And on Twitter @relucsurvivor.

10 Years

On November 29, 2017 I marked the ten-year anniversary of my breast cancer surgery. I know that I have shared before that I think of that day as my cancer-free date. Ten years ago I was healing from a lumpectomy and facing a round of chemotherapy followed by radiation treatments. I was also finishing up law school with a graduation date of March 1, 2008. I was reviewing some correspondence to family and friends during that time and thought I’d share a few notes with you.

From November 2007:

“What is most amazing to me is number of people I am sending this to. God has truly blessed me with some tremendous friends. Your love and support is my strength.”

From December 2007:

“I had a call from my surgeon this afternoon. My lymph nodes were clear – no cancer. And she was able to get clean margins. Both of these are excellent news. The diagnosis is officially stage one.”

“We met with the oncologist today. The doctors continue to get good news. As a result of my various pathology reports the recommendation is to still do a series of chemotherapy treatments. However, the treatments will be a total of four treatments, every three weeks (as opposed to eight treatments every other week).”

“My doctor told me I was a remarkable patient because the news is continually better than expected. I know that it is the power of prayer.”

From January 2008:

“Thought I’d share a funny little side effect. I’ve been joking around at work that the chemo has compromised my immune system so my brain isn’t working right. Little did I know that there is a name for it: chemo-brain. Yes, I was reading last night that some chemo patients experience significant short-term memory loss. At least mine is minor enough to not cause too much damage at work.”

From February 2008:

“Wednesday is my third treatment and everything went about the same after treatment #2 as it did after treatment #1. Therefore, I'm pretty confident that I know how things will go. I did buy some hats and am enjoying them. It is kind of fun to pick out a hat to go with today's outfit. I have enough variety to keep it interesting.”

From March 2008:

“Saturday, March 1 was graduation. It was a wonderful and very special ceremony. My classmates are my heroes. We accomplished something truly amazing. We made it through law school and earned our degrees.”

“My update comes as the result of a slight set-back. I was admitted to the hospital Monday night due to a very low white blood count.”

From April 2008:

“I am feeling better. My white blood count is up over 5,000, which is where it should be. My head cold has gone away, though I still have a residual cough. My energy is best in the morning and good in the evenings. I have a “2 p.m. slump” but I think that is normal. I am told that I may begin to feel more fatigue after two or three weeks of radiation treatments. It’s a cumulative effect. However, I’ve been encouraged to do some light exercise; specifically walking (or the treadmill at the gym). Now if we could just get rid of winter.”

“Thank you for taking care of me over these months. Your prayers and love have been my support.”

From May 2008:

“Radiation treatments are routine and there is not much to report.”

“My hair is coming in nicely. I am still self-conscious about the length and the amount of gray so I will keep wearing hats for a while. Now that spring is here (I think) I’ve switched over to my beautiful baseball caps. I have received many complements on my different hats and it is kind of fun to pick out a hat to wear each morning.”

“I hope this finds everyone well. I am thankful for your love, prayers and support. I could not have gotten through this without you.”

November 29, 2008

Dearest Friends & Family –

One year ago, on November 29, I had my surgery for breast cancer. I celebrate today as my one year anniversary of being cancer free. I know I faced other challenges with chemotherapy and radiation over the past winter, by I count those as preventative medicine. I truly believe that I was cancer free as of my surgery. I owe each and every one of you a huge debt of gratitude for your love, prayers and support. I learned that you can get through anything with the love of your friends. I also believe that I received the gift of healing between the time of my diagnosis on November 2 and my surgery. Even my doctors were amazed at my various test results. I know that came from the faith that each one of you carries.

While the past year was filled with challenges and losses, it was also filled with grace, love and many gifts. I am thankful for so many things: my health, passing the bar exam, and my new kitten to name a few. However, love and hope remain the greatest gifts I received. Each one of you expressed your love in a unique way and I treasure each one. I send this with a virtual hug and plan to give you one in person the next time I see you. Please celebrate with me at this time of thanksgiving.

Today

With much love and gratitude, thank you for ten years of life.

 

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor. And on Twitter @relucsurvivor.

Be Still and Know That I Am God: Being a Mary in a Martha World

I recently had the privilege of sharing at a women’s group in my home church. Below is what I shared. Please note, this is not a transcript. Rather it is my preparation notes, edited for clarity.

The Joy Gathering has been studying the theme of Having a Mary Heart in a Martha World, from author Joanna Waver. It comes from the story of Mary and Martha in the Gospel of Luke. “Now it happened as they went that He entered a certain village; and a certain woman named Martha welcomed Him into her house. And she had a sister called Mary, who also sat at Jesus’ feet and heard His word. But Martha was distracted with much serving, and she approached Him and said, “Lord, do You not care that my sister has left me to serve alone? Therefore tell her to help me.” And Jesus answered and said to her, “Martha, Martha, you are worried and troubled about many things. But one thing is needed, and Mary has chosen that good part, which will not be taken away from her.” 

I did a search on Mary and Martha and found two more references to these sisters in the Gospel of John. “Now a certain man was sick, Lazarus of Bethany, the town of Mary and her sister Martha. It was that Mary who anointed the Lord with fragrant oil and wiped His feet with her hair, whose brother Lazarus was sick.” John 11:1-2 (NKJV)

“And many of the Jews had joined the women around Martha and Mary, to comfort them concerning their brother. Now Martha, as soon as she heard that Jesus was coming, went and met him, but Mary was sitting in the house.” John 11:19-20 (NKJV)

But Mary was sitting in the house.

I’ve thought about those few simple words. “Mary was sitting in the house.” Was she sitting quietly? She was probably receiving guests because “many had joined the women around Martha and Mary to comfort them.” You see, their brother Lazarus had been in the tomb four days. He was dead, and in the Jewish tradition the family received guests in their home for seven days after the death of a family member. But just like in the Gospel of Luke, Mary was sitting.

In Joanna Weaver’s book she has a chapter entitled The Diagnosis, and she writes about anxiety. Her lessons on anxiety have to do with worry. Worrying about the safety of her husband and children. Worrying about cleaning the house. Worrying about getting things done in time for the next Church event. Do you worry like that? I think we all do at some level. Some more than others. At times my own worry is less than other times.

What about anxiety? You know anxiety; that heart racing, physical reaction that feels like you are completely out of control? Do you suppose Martha and Mary were anxious? I'm pretty sure they were. The scripture tells us about Martha going to Jesus and imploring him to come to her home because her brother Lazarus was sick. By the time Martha and Jesus connected, Lazarus was already dead. But Mary was sitting in the house.

I want to share a bit of my back story so you have an idea of where I’m going with all of this. It begins October 30, 2007. On that date I had an appointment with a surgeon to consult on a recent ultrasound. The doctor knew from the ultrasound that I had cancer but she needed to confirm the diagnosis with a biopsy. After our consultation she asked that on my way out I schedule a follow-up visit for the biopsy at the reception desk. As I stood in line she came up to me and asked if I could stay. Apparently, she’d had a cancellation.

In retrospect, I think she lied. I think she saw something on that film, or in my records, or on my face and knew she needed to help me that day. I’ll forgive her that lie. It was out of the goodness of her heart. I often wonder how often she reaches out to patients in just such a way. I do hope God blesses her and her practice. You see, I did not stay with her but chose to be treated in Boston. But I digress.

On that day. A Tuesday in October that I remember all too well, I found myself lying on an examining table with a medical assistant holding my hand, asking me questions about where I worked and the people we might both know. A nurse was setting up the tables and instruments, explaining to me what was going to happen. A radiologist was setting up the equipment so that the doctor could be guided by the images that were displayed. And while I knew I was not alone I did not feel connected to these women. I knew their purpose, and they were trying to help ease what they thought was my fear. My anxiety.

However, as I lay there aware that I was alone in a crowd I did not feel alone. I felt as if I were wrapped in a warm, soft blanket. I often describe it as a down comforter. And if you know me, that is one of my favorite things; being wrapped in warmth. As I lay there feeling protected and comforted these words from Psalm 46: 10 came to mind:

“Be still and know that I am God.” Psalm 46:10 (NKJV)

But is wasn’t just that this scripture verse was brought to mind, it was more like I “felt” the words. Now don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t hearing voices. No need for a clinical diagnosis here. However, I knew at that moment that everything was going to be alright. To this day I am convinced that my body was cancer free the day I had my surgery. I also know that God has used my cancer experience for other times in my life.

After my diagnosis and treatment I thought for sure that God had big plans for me when it came to sharing my testimony. I was sure that I was the miracle story that needed to be told. And I still believe that is true. It’s just that God had other plans. You see, God has said “yes” but the doors that were opened were not the doors I expected.

“And we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose.” Romans 8:28 (NKJV)

Mary sat at Jesus’s feet. Mary sat at God’s feet and listened. You see, it was my time to be still. Be still and listen for God.

In 2011, four years after that initial diagnosis, a friend called me from California and said, “Let’s do a walk in memory of Jan.” Molly, Jan and I had attended the same law school. Jan had been a student leader and had recently died from cancer. The idea was to honor Jan’s memory by doing something constructive; something concrete. Something Jan would do for others and for the causes she loved. I said “yes” before I even thought about it. Molly and I researched the two national breast cancer walks and chose the Avon Walk. I believe my “yes” came from God. It was the right thing to do and I didn’t even hesitate. I often say that my heart said “yes” before my gate-keeper brain could think about it. All along, during the months of training and fundraising, my heart was filled with joy. But when my head thought about it I was filled with anxiety.

I had never done something like this. I am not an athlete. I was traveling alone to another city. This was so outside of my comfort zone I often heard the self-talk saying “what have I gotten myself into?” But my heart never wavered. That is how I knew it came from God. There is this saying “God does not call the equipped. He equips the called.” I held onto that quote. When I questioned my abilities I remembered that saying and would say a quick prayer: “God you got me into this, so you better equip me.” As a result of that first fundraising walk, with an awesome team from my law school, I (we) have made it a goal to walk in each city that hosts the Avon Walk. So far I have walked in five of the seven cities. This year, in New York City, will be number six.

In 2012 a colleague’s mother was diagnosed with a recurrence of breast cancer. At the time I simply said, “Let me know if there is anything I can do to help.” How many times have you said the same thing? Did you really mean it?

Little did I know that in November of 2013 I would say my second big “yes” to God; to my colleague and friend Tina, and to her mother Linda. I have written extensively about my journey with Linda in [this] blog. Linda passed away a little over a year ago but every moment; every early morning, every trip into Boston, every long day in the hospital with Linda was pure joy. I was never tired. I never dreaded the early morning. I never had to drive in a snow storm, and for Boston that’s pretty miraculous. I was never resentful of the days I gave up to be with her.

Another “yes,” but this time with no worries. No anxiety.

Getting back to anxiety I want to ask you, are you anxious? Philippians 4:6 reads: “Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God.” And Matthew 6:27 & 28: “Which of you by worrying can add one cubit to his stature? So why do you worry about clothing? Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow: they neither toil nor spin.” (NKJV)

They neither toil nor spin. They are beyond worry. Sometimes anxiety feels like we’re spinning. Yet we are told not to worry. Not to spin.

Sometimes I wake up in the morning and I have a feeling of dread. I feel as if I can’t face the day. When that happens I go through a mental check list of my day. If it’s a work day I think about what is on my calendar. If it’s a Saturday I think about what’s on my “to do” list. Going through this exercise I realize that there is absolutely nothing to be afraid of. My job is one I am suitable for in terms of experience and education. It’s one I love and is a perfect fit. My weekly chores are certainly ones I can handle. I know how to do laundry and clean the kitchen. I enjoy baking. And making a grocery list is not difficult. Don’t get me wrong. This does not happen every day. Not even every week. But when it does happen I wonder why. So I ask myself: what am I afraid of? The last time this happened, I asked God that question. Why am I afraid?

I realized – or God brought to mind – that I sometimes feel as if I’m faking it. You know: the difference between being an adult and being grown up. As social media occasionally reminds me: I don’t want to adult today. I’ve also learned about something called impostor syndrome. That sense that I’m just faking it and one day, some day everyone is going to find out I’m a fraud. Maybe you’ve had that feeling. Wondering why you have been given the many blessings that you have. While thanking God for His grace you worry that the ever-elusive “they” will find out you don’t really know all that much and you just fell into your job. Or maybe that you don’t really deserve what you have. But am I an impostor? No. Not at all. God brought me to a place where He said: “Be still. Be still and know that I am God.”

God has brought me through a journey of experiences that I never could have imagined eight years ago. All because I was still and I waited. Mary, too, waited. Mary was sitting at home.

When I think about the passage in Luke where Mary sat at the feet of Jesus listening to his lessons while her sister Martha rushed around I am struck by the analogy that is our current society. Isn’t the world like Martha? The world rushes around us. It makes a lot of noise. There are constant demands on our time and attention. We become distracted by things and tasks and chores; our “to do” list. We have to watch Dancing With the Stars so that tomorrow morning we can talk about who was dismissed with our co-workers. We spend say too much time on Facebook or other social media. I know I do.

I have a morning routine that includes reading email from four different email accounts. Four. Then of course I have to check my FitBit account to see how many steps my best friend got yesterday. And I cannot forget Instagram and Facebook or I might miss something that is brought up during coffee break. I wonder why it takes so much time to get ready for work in the morning. How can I possibly add an extra five minutes in my routine to even read a short, daily devotional? The thought of adding one more thing to my day can make me anxious. It can make me worry.

Yet God calls us to be still. Like Martha, He says to us “you are worried and troubled about many things. But one thing is needed, and Mary has chosen that good part.”

During the past eight years I have found myself waiting to hear from God about my mission. What was the purpose of cancer? What is the story I must share from chemotherapy and radiation? Rather than charge ahead and try to make it happen, I waited. As I mentioned, several times I thought a door had been opened to what I wanted; but not what God had in mind for me. He gently closed those doors. When that happened I thought “in God’s time.” He then presented me with opportunities that I never would have considered. Opportunities that I would not have chosen had I not gone through the experience of cancer. Mary had chosen that good part that cannot be taken from her. We are called to be like Mary. To stop. To listen. To sit at Jesus’s feet to listen and learn. To be still. Be still and know that He is God.

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor. And on Twitter @relucsurvivor.

One Year Later

It was a year ago that my friend Linda passed away. March 17, 2015. Time passes, and the grief is still there. But I don’t want this to be about grieving because it’s about joy, and the love that she brought into my life. It’s about the practical lessons that she taught me.

Over the past year, as the days and months passed I would often pause and reflect on where we were the previous year. Some memories were easier than others. At my birthday I remembered my party, and was thankful that she had been able to attend.

I missed her on her birthday in September. At Thanksgiving I reflected on the fact that our journey together began just before Thanksgiving 2013. Then came Christmas and January. I think about her when I hear Can’t Beat Kennedy on the radio. Or I walk into a 99 Restaurant®. Or when I have an oncology appointment. All of those things bring a mixture of emotions.

I can’t help but smile, while my heart feels sad. I guess that is what is meant by bitter-sweet. She taught me to love in a way that I’d never loved before. She admonished me to take care of myself, and made me promise to pay attention to changes in my body.

As the months passed and we grew closer we always said good-bye by saying “I love you.”

Me:       “I love you.”

Linda:   “I love you, too.”

Me:       “I know you do.”

Yes, Linda. I know you do.

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor. And on Twitter @relucsurvivor.

I Wear Pink

I wear pink. I wear pink because it is my favorite color. I especially like the pastel shades.

It’s October.

For a few years after I was diagnosed I wore a pink ribbon pin every day during the month of October. I even gave out pink ribbon pins.

Over the past two years I have learned that breast cancer is not about awareness. It is not pink footballs and ribbons on food packaging. The truth is that cancer, any type of cancer can and does kill. When it comes to breast cancer in the U.S., over 40,000 women are expected to die this year alone. Additionally, it is estimated that over 2,300 men will be diagnosed with breast cancer in 2015. And 85% of breast cancer occurs in women with no family history of breast cancer. [www.breastcancer.org].

My friend Linda is one of this year’s statistics. A statistic that has remained relatively unchanged in 40 years. [See Ann Silberman's blog]. As a result of my very real experience with breast cancer and breast cancer death, my perspective has changed. It has changed from one of pink cheerleading to one of avid research supporter.

Last year, I lost my pins. Literally. I took that as a sign. I wear pink because it is my favorite color; not for awareness. We are aware. What we need is a cure.

 

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor. And on Twitter @relucsurvivor.

A Jumble of Emotions

I recently walked in my fifth Avon Walk. It was my fifth city, and my home city of Boston. There were many issues leading up to the weekend that could have derailed my participation, but the Walk is a commitment and a goal for me. I refused to get discouraged or give in. This was a significant year for so many reasons.

Back in December, as I was thinking about the Walk and talking with potential team mates I realized that the weekend was personally significant. It was May 16, 2008 that I had my last cancer treatment. Seven years later I was walking in the Boston Avon39 - the Walk to End Breast Cancer on May 16.

On March 17 I lost my friend Linda to breast cancer. I knew back in January that she would not be with us when I walked. While it was sad, I thought it was part of the “acceptance” stage. April 17 was significant to me; she had been gone a month and my heart still hurt while life around me seemed to go back to normal. It then struck me that Day 2 of the Walk was May 17 – two months after the death of my friend.

This year Avon gave out “connection bands.” Each band states the reason for walking. I could have taken a band that read “For Myself,” but it was the “For Someone I Miss” band that touched my heart. So I wore it for Linda, and thought of all the others that I have lost over the years.

I had known that this year would be difficult because my focus was on Linda and my loss. My reason for walking had changed. Opening and Closing Ceremonies are always emotional. This year, more than ever. I am thankful for the friends who have survived. And I thought of them as statistics are cited. We are the lucky ones. I cried when “loved ones we have lost” were mentioned.

This year I walked with the Solo Strutters; a national team that participates in each walk. It was formed so that no one would walk alone. Along the way I walked with others. Each person had their reason for walking. Each faced their own challenges over the weekend. I walked with Hillary for a while and we talked about walking alone and realizing that we are never truly alone. Both literally and figuratively.

This weekend was a jumble of emotions. Joy at being a survivor. Grief over the loss of a friend. Awe over the care that others bring and the connections that are made. And thankfulness for God’s grace through it all.

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor. And on Twitter @relucsurvivor.

Mundane Faithfulness

Back in October I came across Kara Tippetts and her book The Hardest Peace: Expecting Grace in the Midst of Life’s Hard. I don’t remember how I found her, but I’m sure it was a connection to a connection among the on-line breast cancer family. You see, Kara was dying of breast cancer. She died a few days after Linda.

Kara has a website that is now being maintained by her friend Blythe Hunt. What I found in Kara was a grace that I know is difficult. Her posts spoke to me in a way that I haven’t been able to articulate. While she was dying I found that her messages were for me; the living who knows someone who is dying. In between the lines I knew Kara was struggling, and hurting both physically and emotionally. Yet her on-line presence spoke of seeking God’s face and finding grace every day.

As the New Year rolled around my husband subscribed me to a daily devotional that is delivered to my email inbox. Each morning I read the scripture presented and read the commentary of that day’s author. As the months have progressed I find myself pausing during my day and thinking about how God would want me to respond in the moment. I often fail. In fact, one day last week I completely lost it over an oversight and immediately regretted my reaction knowing that God’s grace was certainly not in that moment. (Fortunately, I stepped back and took a deep breath before proceeding).

During the Easter season I was reminded of Christ’s struggle of faith. It is recorded that he prayed “Father, if you are willing, remove this cup from me. Nevertheless, not my will, but yours, be done.” [Luke 22:42 ESV] just before being arrested. I, too, struggle with who I’ve been asked to be; what I’ve been asked to do. Those who have followed this blog from the beginning know the “why” behind The Reluctant Survivor. You also know that I’ve said “yes” to the Avon Walk; a physical challenge that this non-athlete is amazed to undertake each year. So I seek grace to be able to step up to the challenge.

Linda was a “yes,” and her journey was very different from Kara’s. Yet very much the same.

I don’t know what my next “yes” is, but for now I still have the Avon39 Walk. And as I seek grace I will strive to be faithful in the mundane.

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor. And on Twitter @relucsurvivor.

I Was Not Prepared

“God does not call the equipped. He equips the called.” - Unknown

I have seen this quote, or a variation of it, for several years now. I tried to find its origin, but failed. I like to think someone like Albert Einstein said this. He was a brilliant man with a deep faith in God.

I often write about “saying yes” before my practical brain has the opportunity to close the gate that is my mouth. My “yes” seems to come when my heart knows it is the right thing to do and my eyes see no barriers. Once I’ve said “yes” I sometimes doubt my abilities, but then I remember this quote. (Don’t get me wrong, I have learned to say “no” when it is appropriate).

When I said “yes” to the Avon Walk in 2010 it did not seem daunting until I started training and planning to go to Houston for the 2011 Walk. I have now walked in four cities and will walk for the fifth time in Boston this year. My goal is to walk in each city where Avon hosts an event. Based on the list of cities, I have two additional walks in my future.

I never doubted saying “yes” to my friend Tina when she needed help with transporting her mother to Boston for cancer treatments. I had the time. I was treated at the same facility so I knew the ropes. As it turned out, every trip into Boston was uneventful. The winter days were sunny and the roads were clear. I never had to drive in a snow storm. Unplanned trips occurred when I was available; at times that I was not normally free. Getting up and leaving my house early was never a chore. Each event, each day with Linda reminded me of God’s grace. It was never difficult for me to do what needed to get done.

At the time my husband lovingly asked if I really wanted to do this. Was I prepared for how this was going to end? I assured him that I was aware of the risks and I knew what I was getting into. And I was prepared, because as our time together progressed I watched Linda deteriorate. I witnessed the tear-filled anger. I watched as her body wasted away. It was clear that she would become one of the 41,000 people in the U.S. who will die of breast cancer this year alone.  

I spent time with Linda less than 24 hours before she died. She appeared to be sleeping and was unresponsive to my greeting, which was new. However, her nurse lovingly assured me that I should talk to her. So I did. I told her about the weather, and that I got a new car that I thought she’d like. I read from the Book of John. I knew she was going to die.

I thought I was prepared. I wasn’t. I wasn’t prepared for the devastating heartbreak or the tears. I wasn’t prepared for the loss or helplessness that I would feel. Yet God equipped the called and I know this experience will forever be with me.

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor. And on Twitter @relucsurvivor.

Unwritten

My friend Linda passed away. She died at 12:24 p.m. on Tuesday, March 17, 2015. I have no words for the grief I feel. Nor do I have any words for the devastating heartbreak that I experienced. I only know that my life has been changed forever. I have no regrets, except that I did not spend enough time with her while she was here. I know that the past 16 months together are important. I know that they have taught me something. I know that my perspective on this disease that is cancer has changed.

What am I going to do with it? It don’t know. I don’t know because I don’t know how I can or will take what I’ve learned and translate it into anything.

What I do know is that I would do it all again.

I love you Linda, in a way that I have never loved anyone else. You fought every single day, every single fight. Every new treatment protocol was a new opportunity. You even told me that being in an experiment was important for the next person. But you did not live. You did not achieve remission. You did not reach the Land of NED.

In the end you wanted to see the beauty of heaven where there are snowcapped mountains, and shells along the beach. I read to you from the Book of John. Jesus collected his disciples. He collected you. And you, my friend, taught me Grace.

And yes, I would do it all again. In a heartbeat.

 

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor. And on Twitter @relucsurvivor.

Magic Wand

She hands me tiny seashells

Plucked from atop her pillowcase.

Together, we visit the beach

That is in her mind.

“I’ve never done this before,” she confides.

I know.

Neither have I.

At our beach, the sun warms our bodies

As it reflects off the sand.

We breathe in the smell of the ocean

That fills her room.

Through tears she says, “I just want it all fixed.”

Me too.

I wish I had a magic wand.

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor. And on Twitter @relucsurvivor.

Boston Herald

As you have often seen me write, I wonder why. What is this all about? Mine is a story of healing. It is a story of hope. It is a Lifetime Television Movie. Yet I wonder why and for what purpose it all has meaning.

Recently I was reminded that for “Everyone to whom much was given, of him much will be required.” – Luke 12:48 ESV. Yes. Much has been given. Therefore much is required.

And then I met Herald.

My dear friend Shelle introduced us. I kept wanting to call him Hal or Henry, but I knew that wasn’t right. With a twinkle in his eye he said, “Think of the Boston Herald. It’s even spelled the same way.” But Herald is not from Boston. Throughout the evening we shared our stories. How I met Shelle. How my time with her was continually extended. How our friendship grew. The fact that God allowed me to be with her during the passing of her mother. None of which was meant to be in the original scheme of things. Yet God provided her with a friendship that she needed at the time; a friendship that I didn’t understand at the time. Now I do.

As my own story unfolded Herold pulled out his “smart phone” and pulled up a Bible verse. “Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our affliction, so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction, with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.”  – 2 Corinthians 1:3 & 4 ESV

I still don’t get it. I still don’t understand “why me?” I am not an angel. I have so many doubts of my own. I question so many things. But not my faith. I believe in God and His purpose. But why would He choose someone who cannot reconcile her own beliefs, let alone reconcile this journey? I lived against the odds. I celebrate the hope and the pink ribbon. But I am conflicted with the truth that is my friend Linda.

She will die.

Within the next few days. Within the next few weeks. She will not be alive when I walk in the 2015 Boston Avon Walk to End Breast Cancer. I don’t get it. I truly don’t understand. Yet, for Boston Herald, I know that I have been given much. Therefore, much is required.

Opposite Ends

On October 30, 2007 I sat in a surgeon’s office as she told me and my husband that I had breast cancer. Seven years later I found myself at Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center with my friends Linda and her daughter Tina as we navigated our way through appointments and difficult conversations. I watched as both nurses and doctors explained options and prognosis in neutral tones; explanations that palliative care does not cure. It only delays the inevitable.

I was impressed by the neurological oncologist who gently examined Linda and then discussed what was happening. While his voice was calm his face betrayed his concern. He listened with his eyes when Tina and I nodded our agreement to one of his suggestions.

The team is made up of at least three oncology doctors, one who is the primary team leader. The team also consists of two oncology nurses. One nurse is a nurse practitioner who works with the primary oncologist. She also works with my oncologist, so I have known her for almost seven years. She sat with Linda; completely focused on her while she delivered the most difficult news. In the end we all knew that the decision to move forward was the direction we will go. We will continue with the next round of treatments.

Before the nurse practitioner left Tina asked her how she could possibly do her job every day. As she shared that every patient is different, every journey and outcome unique, I was struck by the fact that in that room, at that moment, Nurse had two of her patients with her. Patients who are on opposite ends of the spectrum.

Being involved in Linda’s life has changed me. I still love the pink ribbon and I smile at the “Save the Tata’s” teams during the Avon Walk because they bring hope. However, while my story is one of healing and hope, Linda’s is not. For me, it is no longer about saving a woman’s breasts. It is about saving a woman’s life.

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor. And on Twitter @relucsurvivor.

Statistically Speaking

Recently a friend contacted me because she was called back after her annual mammogram. And she was scared. As we talked she quoted statistics to me. I wanted to give her a positive response and say that everything was going to be fine; that she had nothing to worry about. But I couldn’t. She was scared because she knows my story. What I did say was this: “Its ok to be scared. You are right; the chances are that everything is going to be all right.” (But if they are not, I’m here for you).

That got me thinking about some of the key facts that are often shared during the month of October. In 2014, there will be approximately 232,670 new cases of invasive breast cancer (this does not include Stage 0) diagnosed in women here in the U.S. And about 40,000 women will die from breast cancer this year. Breast cancer is the second leading cause of cancer death in women, exceeded only by lung cancer.

The 5-year survival rate is often quoted, but all that means is that you are still alive 5 years after being diagnosed. These rates are excellent for early stage breast cancer.

Stage	5-Year Survival Rate
0	100%
I	100%
II	93%
III	72%
IV	22%

Unfortunately all this tells us is that at the 5-year mark, chances are you are still alive. This doesn’t tell you the chances of recurrence or your chances of metastasis. Statistically, 20-30% of all breast cancer that is limited to the breast (early stage) will metastasize. For women who are first diagnosed with cancer in their lymph nodes as well as the breast, 30-60% will metastasize. These statistics have remained relatively unchanged for decades.

Statistically speaking, we need a cure.*

Resources:

American Cancer Society. www.cancer.org

Breastcancer.org www.breastcancer.org

Healthline www.healthline.com

National Cancer Institute www.cancer.gov

*A cure for one cancer is a cure for all.

 

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor. And on Twitter @relucsurvivor.

Rockin' the Pink Ribbon

There is a lot of backlash to the “pinking” of October. I understand it. Actually, I am getting a little tired of everything being pink; items being sold with a pink ribbon on them, and companies jumping in with pink promotions all in the name of “awareness.” However, I am not anti-pink. Nor am I anti-pink ribbon.

I appreciate the celebrities who advertise for a company promoting a pink item because I think they truly care. I just hope they’ve done their homework and know exactly how much money is going to the charity of choice. And how much that charity actually does for breast cancer research; both for prevention and a cure. Turning our disease into a money-making opportunity while pretending to care has got to stop. And companies that use their usual marketing campaigns but simply pink-wash the ad and say that it is “in support of” breast cancer awareness only trivializes the reality that is breast cancer. And it is hurtful to those who are dying of breast cancer. This is what is making everyone so angry.

I understand the anger, but I am not going to give up my pink ribbon during October. I am going to continue to wear my pink ribbon pin because for me the pin is a symbol and a badge of honor. It is also an open invitation. Wearing the pin lets people know that I support the cause that is breast cancer. When someone sees the ribbon they might choose to ask me why I wear the ribbon. It happens. The ribbon also provides an opportunity for someone to share, without my being intrusive.

I am not a brave person but my pink ribbon says, “Yes, we can talk about breast cancer if you’d like.” And so I will continue to wear it as a survivor, in support of others with the disease, and as an opportunity for conversation.

 

If you enjoy my blog and would like to follow me on Facebook, I can be found at The Reluctant Survivor. And on Twitter @relucsurvivor.