50 Years, Almost

 

I have a mug that has the following inscription: “Friends. Our lives were brought together for a reason and I will always be grateful. Thank you for your love, your wisdom and your understanding. Thank you for you being a part of my life.”

This was Amy’s mug. I gave it to her one Christmas as a gift. Now it is mine.

Amy and I met when we were ten years old. Her sister and my brother met and became friends in Junior High School. They discovered they had sisters in the fifth grade who liked to write letters. So we became pen pals. And then one day we met in person. We sat on a bench at a softball game, awkwardly looked at each other, thinking “Who is this person? Will she like me?”

When we reached Junior High School we were already friends, so it was natural that we hung out with each other. The school was bigger. It had more students. There were strangers. And we had several classes together.

At the beginning of eighth grade, tragedy struck when her sister and father were killed in a car accident. We bore the grief and trauma of that incident. My brother had lost his friend. Amy had lost her sister. We became like sisters, sharing our lives through high school graduation.

After high school Amy went to Bible School. I went to a Christian Liberal Arts college. We stayed in touch. We married. We moved away from our home towns. At one point we lost touch with each other, but miraculously a letter she wrote and sent to a very old address made its way into my hands because the postal employee knew my husband and hand delivered it to him at his office.

When Amy’s children were still little, she moved back to Connecticut. Our home state. We would get together for tea and long talks when I was home visiting my mother. She and the kids even came to visit us in Massachusetts.

She stayed in the area while her kids were in school. She sang at my father’s funeral. And she took care of my mother by cleaning her house when my mother got too old to take care of such things.

At some point, Amy moved south. And while we did not have as much correspondence, we never lost touch again.

Amy eventually settled in Pennsylvania. Through email and eventually text messaging we stayed in contact. We spent hours talking on the phone. I would go to Connecticut to see her when she was visiting the area. Social media added a layer of fun; sharing pictures and funny jokes.

In 2020, Amy shared the news that she had been diagnosed with cancer. She had a treatment plan. I made arrangements to care for her during her last two weeks of treatment, knowing that she would need the most care at that time. Due to changes in her treatment plan, and a change the airline made to my plane ticket, I ended up spending a long weekend with her in November. It was a weekend filled with peace and grace. We developed a gentle routine that needed no words. It just worked. We stayed up late. We ate when we were hungry. We did some sightseeing. We shared our faith.

Over the next two years there were more texts, more phone calls. Knowing how cancer progresses, I knew her health was declining. Eventually, my husband said, “You need to go see her.” My supervisor told me to “go” even though it was a busy time of year. And I went. I spent three peaceful days with my friend again. We shared memories and music. We talked about our faith. We prayed.

Amy passed away three weeks later. I cried. She is my friend. I picked up my phone the next day to send her my daily text. I remembered she would not see it. I wanted to call her over the weekend to see how she was doing. There will no longer be those marathon talks. There is more than the emptiness of loss, there is a hole.
She is no longer here. 

The inside rim of the mug has this: “The bonds we have are everlasting.”

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

Finding Joy

Used with permission from David Loose

I cried when I learned there was nothing more the doctors could do.

There were no tears when I heard of your death.

Grief is like that.

It is the living in the hard places.

The desperate wish that things would be different.

You asked if you could call me.

My heart sank when you told me the news.

There were tears when I told my husband.

The grief started then.

All those months ago.

There is always hope.

But I knew differently.

I never want to be that person.

The one who insisted “you’ve got this beat.”

Because life is not like that.

Life is messy.

It caught me off guard.

And hurts in the deepest part of my soul.

Until I remember more of the good times together

Than the past few, painful months.

That is when I find joy.

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.

Ten Years Later

I recently had my third colonoscopy; my first one was ten years ago and I am on the every-five-years plan. The quick explanation is that I have a family history of polyps, I have a history of cancer, and the doctor always finds polyps when I have one done. If you know anything about colon polyps, it is not a question of “if” they will turn into cancer, it is a matter of “when.” Since it seems that I am predisposed to cancer I do not mind this procedure.

Ok. I’m lying. If you’ve ever had a colonoscopy you will understand when I say the prep sucks.

But let’s do a reality check. If you were told that you could prevent cancer by having a scan every five years wouldn’t you take it? I would. And that was my perspective this time around. As a result, it didn’t seem so bad. I knew what to expect, and I knew that I’d need a day to recover after the procedure. So I took care of myself and took a couple of sick days from work.

The thing that struck me was how things have changed in ten years. Ten years ago you could not take aspirin or anything that would thin your blood for the week prior to the procedure. So of course that would be the one week I’d get a headache. Also, ten years ago you had to go on a “low residue diet” for a whole week in advance. Basically that means no nuts, seeds, whole grains or fresh fruits and vegetables. A difficult task for someone who eats a lot of fresh produce every day. Prep day was “clear liquids” which meant no coffee or tea.

This time was different. I could take aspirin if I wanted. I’m happy to report I had no headaches or joint pain this week. The low residue diet was only three days before the procedure; i.e. the two days before I what I call “purge day.” And the “clear liquid” list included black coffee and cranberry juice. Since I drink my coffee black I was ecstatic.

Purge Day consists of lots of clear liquids: water, ginger ale, apple juice, etc. Of course I had my morning coffee.

Breakfast



Lunch Options

“Food” consists of Jello®, broth or bullion, and popsicles. But nothing “red.”






And then, of course, there is the “purge” itself. What you have to drink is the worst part of the procedure. I call it “drain-o.” I’ll leave it at that.



Over ice & thru a straw is recommended

For me, it really is the worst part of the procedure. Even though I buy the lemon flavored I find it hard to get down.

As for the rest of it, I knew I’d be hungry on “purge day” so I wasn’t as hungry as I remember. The procedure itself is straightforward and the drugs you are given are great; a combination of Morphine and Fentanyl. It’s no wonder the doctor tells you not to drive or make any major decisions that day.

The good news is that my polyps continue to be benign.

P.S. If you have a family history of polyps or colorectal cancer, please get yourself screened.

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.

Survivor's Guilt

The notion of survivor’s guilt has been presented to me several times over the past couple of weeks, which makes me think I should address it. By definition, survivor’s guilt is “feelings of guilt for having survived a catastrophe in which others died.” [Dictionary.com]

The most recent challenge came from a dear, close friend who asked, “Have you ever questioned God as to why you survived and Linda didn’t?” The answer to that question is quite frankly, no. It has never occurred to me to ask God “why.” Rather, I ask “to what purpose?” I believe that everything has a reason; the Book of Ecclesiastes speaks to that very philosophy. For what reason was I spared?

Even from the very beginning I did not ask, “Why me?” I felt on overwhelming calm, and from that moment I knew I was alright. Each step of the way, every twist along this road has kept me asking, “What do you want from me God?” Along the way my heart has said “yes” and my life has been forever changed.

Maybe, just maybe, it’s not about me.

I miss you every day, my friend.

Kitties Get Cancer, Too

This is Miss Maggie (aka Princess Margaret or Margaret Penelope Underfoot). She lived with my mother.

Maggie was 13 years old when she went over the Rainbow Bridge. I was fortunate enough to say “good-bye” to her the morning before.

You see, Maggie was my cat, too. She would always know when I was coming to visit my mother. She would stand in front of the door to the spare bedroom, asking my mother to open it up. My mother tells me that at other times she would ask to have the room opened, as if to say “If you open it, she will come.”

Maggie was a shy kitty, but she let me hold her. Sometimes she’d sit on my lap. Often, she would sleep with me.

My last visit with my Mom I knew would be my last visit with Maggie. She had developed tumors, stopped eating, and was losing weight. As I was leaving Maggie followed me to the garage door to say “good-bye.” My mother held her while I gave her scritches and kisses. She reached out her paw and took my hand, holding it close to her frail body.

I don’t know that Maggie’s tumors were cancerous. According to WebMD, cancer is not as common in cats* as it is in dogs. Probably half the rate. Cats have a tendency to mask illnesses, so it is harder to detect. This often leads to later diagnoses.

It doesn’t really matter the cause of the tumors. What is important was the love she gave while she was with us. There is a hole in our lives, but we are better for having lived with her. Rest in peace, Miss Maggie. You will be missed.

*Changes in the behavior of your animal companion should be checked out by your veterinarian to rule out any medical issues.

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.

Grateful

Grateful: warmly or deeply appreciative of kindness or benefits received; thankful. - Dictionary.com

Being grateful goes beyond being thankful. As I reflect on the years that have passed since my surgery I think of all the things for which I am thankful. In that first year, I graduated from law school, Kiley was born, and I passed the bar exam.

In the years since, we bought a beautiful new home, I changed jobs to one that is a perfect fit for me, and I have had the opportunity to travel. I’ve made many new friends, and reconnected with old. Along the way I have lost friends to cancer, and am losing a dear friend to this terrible disease. Despite the loss, I reflect on how blessed I am that God chose to bring these friends into my life. And I am determined to do what I can to help find a cure.

Often my thoughts turn to my husband and all that he means to me. Of course a husband is supposed to be supportive in sickness and in health; we took that vow almost 30 years ago. But I think of his tenderness, his fear, and his daily care. Where would I have been if I did not have him? Yes, he took me to every doctor’s appointment, but beyond that he has literally supported me physically, emotionally and financially. I am overcome by a deep sense of how much I appreciate our relationship.

It is only now that I get a glimpse of what my friend Diane meant by being grateful. It is not just a “thank you” to God for providing support, love and comfort during difficult times. Being grateful is a deep sense of appreciation for what has been given.

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.

When You Need A Friend

As you know I struggle with the label "cancer survivor" because I do not want it to define who I am. I started this blog as a way to share my personal journey with family and friends. What I needed to say was too long for a status update. Over the past couple of months I have been struggling with the title I have given myself as the Reluctant Survivor.

Cancer does not define who I am. Though being a cancer survivor is part of my definition. As I state, I am a wife, a daughter, a sister, an aunt, a cousin and a best friend. I am a poet, a lawyer, and a survivor. However, I could remove the second part of that definition and I would still be wholly and fully me.

I have discovered that this blog is more than who I am as a survivor. It is, in fact, my life after cancer. It is filled with my story of healing and hope. But it is also filled with joy, education, experiences and opinion.

I recently had an experience that challenged me to change the name of my blog and update my social media presence. I’m not going to do that. However, I did update my Twitter account to show my name, but still be @relucsurvivor.

What is most important to me is that I remain true to who I am, as well as be open and available to others. I will always be a wife, a daughter, a sister, an aunt, a cousin, and a best friend. I am also a survivor who wants to share my story of healing and hope. But I am also a survivor who understands and knows the reality of this deadly disease called cancer. And so I am also a survivor who will hold your hand when you need a friend.

 

 

 

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.

Raspberries

I love raspberries. Raspberries are my favorite berry. I’d say they were my favorite fruit, except that I love bananas as well. In fact, I could eat raspberries and a banana every day. I am fortunate that I can find Cascadian Farms frozen raspberries at my local grocery stores. They are handy to have around when fresh raspberries are out of season.

With 6.5 grams of dietary fiber per 100 gram serving, raspberries have one of the highest fiber content of any fruit. They are rich in vitamin C and are considered a low glycemic index food. And raspberry leaves can be used fresh or dried to make a yummy tea.

Most raspberries you see in the store are red, but there are also black, purple, blue and yellow raspberries. Now wouldn’t that make a colorful and yummy dish?

Best of all, raspberries are high in antioxidants, which are known to help fight cancer.



Enjoy!

 

 

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.