Forever Young

I have a cat who never grew up. Granted, she has the stocky build of her Persian breed and weighs in at 12 lbs. every time I take her to the vet. But this cat really, never has become a cat. She has the kitten curiosity and often expresses a puzzled kitten look. She plays and sleeps and cuddles. So, you’re probably thinking, she’s a cat. But, like a kitten, she doesn’t understand about edges and often unexpectedly rolls off the bed or sofa. I’ve watched her fall up the stairs. And she still puts her feet in the food dish to eat. Occasionally I hear a “thunk” and realize she has fallen off something and landed on her side or back. She is still my baby kitty even after (almost) four years.

Kitten Kiwi came unintentionally into my life. We had lost Horatio in August 2008. I was so broken hearted there was no way I was going to adopt another cat, leaving Beautiful Maria an only cat. My husband insisted that I call Maria’s breeder and place an order for Maria’s baby brother. [The breeder is a humane breeder who raises her cats in her home, without cages]. I understood his desire for Maria to have a companion, so between tears I made the call. No male kittens available, but litters on the way. We had first choice.

Weeks turned into months as one mother lost her kittens prematurely. Another had four kittens, but none were male. As Maria’s grief became more apparent to the point of becoming neurotic, I became desperate. After a day of trying to console her, comfort her, and allow her to cling to my side as I tried to work I picked up the phone and asked, “Do you have any kittens available?” There were three; all female. “I’ll take one!”

Baby Sister came home in November; right before Thanksgiving. She was cute and curious and not at all shy. She was goofy and playful. She wanted to do everything that Maria, the big cat, did, often with hysterical results. One day as she looked at me with a puzzled look, almost asking why she couldn’t jump up on the desk like Big Sister, I laughed out loud and said “You’re such a Kiwi.” So now you know how she got her name.

Beyond that, she brought joy and healing to three shattered lives. She did not know about our loss or grief. She did not know of my recent illness. All she knew was she was in a home with two humans and a big cat who loved her. She brought laughter to my broken heart and helped me see that God’s “other plan” is just what I needed to move beyond the darkness of the previous year.

Every time I look at her I smile. I think about how I had other plans. I remember what a gift she is to me; a gift to me, my husband, and Beautiful Maria in our time of need. I am reminded of God’s grace. And despite her limitations, I do hope she stays forever young.

A Story of Healing & Hope

Mine is a story of healing. And of hope.

In November 2007 I was diagnosed with triple-negative breast cancer. The triple-negative diagnosis simply means that the cancer cells tested negative for estrogen receptors, progesterone receptors and HER2. Approximately two out of every three breast cancers test positive for hormone receptors. And about 20-30% test positive for HER2 receptors. Triple-negative breast cancer is rare (about 10-20% of all breast cancers) and it is aggressive.

The bad news about triple-negative breast cancer are the many statistics that make it pretty scary. It is typically found in women in their 30’s and 40’s. I was 43. Women don’t start having annual mammograms until they are 40 so if you are in your 30’s it was probably found when you could finally feel a lump. Given its aggressive nature you can go from a clean mammogram one year to Stage III cancer the next. Statistically, triple-negative breast cancer is most likely staged at three, which means cancer is in your lymph nodes. And it means the tumor is more than 2 mm in size. It also has a high rate of recurrence in the first three years after treatment. Thankfully I did not know any of this until after my treatment and my doctors declared “no evidence of disease.”

Given its triple-negative nature, triple-negative breast cancer does not respond to hormonal therapy or Herceptin (a therapy that targets HER2 receptors). Triple-negative breast cancer is typically treated with chemotherapy and radiation; both of which I received. But my story does not begin with my diagnosis and treatment plan. It began months before.

My friend “P” is a very spiritual man. I would not call him religious in the sense of following a strict doctrine of a particular religion. Rather, he is a man of deep convictions and Christian faith that embraces many life style choices of the Buddhist faith. His faith, convictions and prayer life are holistic and consistent. He started praying for me months before the October doctor’s appointment that would change my life.

The most difficult phone call I had to make was the one to my mother. I received the official news on a Friday and did not call her until the following Saturday. About eight days. It seemed like a month. How do you say the words “I have breast cancer” to your mother? [My husband had been with me the whole time so I never had to say those words to him. The fact that he had been with me at that initial conversation with the doctor is another miracle of God’s hand. But that's another story]. My mother is also a very religious person. More than that, she belongs to a church that has the gift of prayer. Well, my mother has the gift of prayer as well. I tell people that if she is praying for you, God is listening!

So after breaking the news to Mom that Saturday morning she went to church the next day and wrote a simple prayer request to put in the prayer box: “For Heather who has been diagnosed with breast cancer.” The church does not care who you are, or even if you specify your need. They pray. And God listens.

My husband’s home church, the one he grew up in, also prayed. They still pray for me and my health. In the end I had dozens of people praying for me; some I don’t even know. God heard voices from all over New England asking that I be healed.

I surely should have received bad news because looking back I realize I had symptoms that I did not identify with breast cancer. After all, it wasn’t in my family history. Also, the symptoms subsided. But I think about those symptoms and the statistics associated with a triple-negative diagnosis and I realize it could have been worse. I was ultimately diagnosed with Stage I cancer.

About 18 months after my treatments were finished I asked P if he had known what was wrong or did he simply know something was not right. He told me that all he knew was that something was wrong so he prayed. Yes, prayers before a tragedy that protected me from the worst possible diagnosis. And prayers during treatment. It should have been worse. Even my doctors are amazed at how well I did. The truth is, it is difficult to write about being touched by the hand of God; even though I have told my story to numerous individuals. But here it is.

RESOURCES: www.breastcancer.org; www.tnbcfoundation.org; www.cancer.org

A Walk In The Woods

Live in the moment. That was the advice I was given by my co-worker, another breast cancer survivor, after I was first diagnosed. At the time I wasn’t sure what she meant because I thought that was exactly how I lived my life. For today.

It’s more than that. For a while I could not make plans into the future. When my husband booked a luxury cruise four months in advance to celebrate the (challenging) year being over, I made him buy trip insurance. Eventually I was able to make plans but I could not anticipate them. I seemed focused on the here and now; what was on this week’s horizon. Now I make plans, and even look forward to them, but I am cautious and hold in the back of my mind that things could change and I’ll have to cancel.

I am slightly OCD. I like lists. I want a schedule. I want to know what is expected and when. This drives my husband crazy. His professional life is so full of demands that come the weekend he just wants to “go with the flow.” I’ve eased up on him a bit over the years. And he has gotten better with communication and planning (when it is necessary).

Living in the moment is about not being so rigid. It is about not overly anticipating that next big event or trip. It is learning that plans can be changed. Appointments can be rescheduled. This past week my friends invited me to visit for the day. I said yes. We took a walk in the woods. That wasn’t the Tuesday I had planned. It wasn’t on my calendar. But it was the best Tuesday I’ve had in a while. And it was well worth it.

 

There is a Season

When I was 14 I fell in love for the first time. Like every good childhood romance, it ended. I saved everything he had ever given me. I put his cards, letters and small gifts in a box. As I packed for college, I placed the box on a shelf in the closet of my bedroom in the hopes that one day I would see him again. Time passed. I grew up, fell in love and married the man who is my soul mate and has been my husband for more than 25 years. There were times over the years that I thought about that young man; wondered where he was and how his life had turned out.

When I was 43 I was diagnosed with triple-negative invasive ductal carcinoma. I had breast cancer. My treatment included surgery, chemotherapy and finally radiation. From the time of my diagnosis, throughout my treatment and even after, I received cards and notes of encouragement from friends and family. My friend Annie kept track of my treatments and mailed me a card so that it arrived in my mailbox every Thursday after a Wednesday chemotherapy session. My friend Ray bought me baseball caps. (I had chosen hats over a wig). My friend Joanna kissed the top of my head every time we met. These are only a few of the angels who took care of me in my time of need. Every card I received I placed in a basket that sat on a window sill in my living room.

One day, after my treatments were over, I decided to gather up all the cards, notes and gifts I had been given. My first thought was to throw them away. But something deep inside me said, “No. Save these. Share them with Kiley when she is 25.” (Kiley is the baby girl born to my niece eight days before my last radiation treatment). So I found a box that was big enough to hold my day timer, the cards, letters, pink ribbons and chemo. diary I had kept. I put the box in the furthest back corner of my bedroom closet because all I wanted to do was throw its contents onto a bonfire.

In 2009 I reconnected with my childhood friend. And my husband and I moved. As part of our move I decided I would go through each box that was in the closets and under the bed in our home. I wanted to revisit what was in them; throw out anything that was unnecessary. The fun part of going through these archives is reminiscing. I had a friend in high school that drew me cartoons. I found pictures from summer camp. In one box I found three letters and two cards from Scott. I got a little teary as I read them for the first time in almost 30 years. Mostly I smiled, remembering the friendship that we had shared.

I was struck with a sense of affirmation that saving those cards of encouragement from my cancer treatment days is the right thing. So I dug out my “cancer box” from the dark recesses of my closet and it traveled with me to our new home. It sits on a shelf in a closet marked November 29, 2032. I hate that box. I despise what its contents represent. It takes effort to keep from throwing it onto the fire. But I know that box is filled with love and friendship. It is that love and friendship that I want to remember.

To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven. - Ecclesiastes 3:1 KJV

Connections

I believe in connections. I mean deep, hard core connections. You know the type; that friend who has always been there. Then there is the friend that I met and within 20 minutes we had known each other forever. I have a friend that in the short time that we worked together we had known each other a lifetime. And I have several friends (you know who you are) that we go months, even years without seeing each other but then pick up where we left off.

I have many stories of “connectedness.” My favorite story is about Shelle. Shelle had moved to the west coast and was back visiting friends in Boston. I remember wishing I could see her but realized it just wouldn’t happen. Well, Shelle decided to visit a friend of hers at his place of work; he was my boss. Coincidence? No. God had answered my prayer; either for me or for Shelle. It doesn’t really matter. Some believe that coincidence is God’s way of remaining anonymous. I believe that coincidence is God’s way of shouting, “I am real.”

But what about the friend who goes away and then shows up years, even decades later? Like Shelle, God had answered a prayer I didn’t even know I had said. I guess some connections were made to last.

A lawyer walks into a bar . . .

Sounds like the start of a good joke. Actually, it’s the title to an independent film that I just watched on Netflix. It brought back memories of my own experience with law school and the California Bar Exam.

My story started while I was in law school. I attended Concord Law School (one of my inspirations). It has a wholly on-line delivery system and is not like any other law school I’ve ever heard about. We created on-line Yahoo Groups in which to “chat” and share ideas. We developed study groups and were able to study together on-line through audio chat rooms that were available at the time. There is a Student Bar Association. We worked together to succeed rather than compete with each other for class ranking. And I developed life-long friendships.

Six weeks before the end of my coursework I was diagnosed with breast cancer. I told no one. My husband knew because he was there. With less than a month to go, a major paper due for my internship course and a capstone class to complete I had surgery. I spent the majority of November at Beth Israel Deaconess Medical Center in Boston. I attended my classes and handed in my assignments but felt as if I were going through the motions. I just had to get through law school and finish my classes.

My coursework was done by mid-December. I had undergone surgery and was facing chemotherapy. I was also facing the February 2008 bar exam and a March 1, 2008 graduation ceremony. At this point a small circle of my friends, including some of my classmates, knew what was happening in my life. I was flooded with an outpouring of love and support from all directions.

Before undergoing my first chemotherapy treatment I discussed taking the exam with my doctors. I had decided to study for the exam and take it. After all, I had already registered and it was past the deadline for a refund. As I discovered, studying also gave me a focus and purpose beyond the cancer diagnosis. (In October, before the doctor’s appointment that started it all I had been told that my job contract would not be renewed at the end of December). In many ways I had lost everything; my job, law school had ended, and it appeared that I had lost my health. But I am stubborn and did not believe that this was the end. Rather, I knew that God has a purpose for all of this. This was just the beginning.

After losing my hair to the chemotherapy I realized that I would be showing up to graduation bald. I had chosen not to wear a wig during treatment. Instead, I wore hats. I have a wonderful collection now and occasionally take one out to wear again. I knew that my appearance would shock my classmates and professors if I didn’t let them know what was going on in my life. So I sent out more emails.

What happened next was an outpouring of incredible magnitude. I emailed one of my Capstone professors who is actively involved in bar preparation as well as a pivotal member of the graduation ceremony. She lives in California. I live in Massachusetts. I sent my email around 9 a.m. one morning. Within minutes my phone rang and it was her! At 6 a.m. she was reaching out to me with kindness, compassion and encouragement. She did not try to talk me out of taking the bar exam. Rather, she was supportive of my decision and was genuinely glad I had decided to make the trip for graduation.

Yes, I took the bar exam that February. I was not successful at that administration of the exam. I “missed” by 17 points.* But God had blessed me with love, kindness, support and determination. I was bald at graduation but would not have changed anything for the world.

*I went on to take and pass the July 2008 California Bar Exam.

Psalm 46:10

When I was 43 years old I went for my annual physical. Like any good patient and woman over 40 I figured I’d get a clean bill of health and an appointment for my annual mammogram. Rather, my doctor told me she felt something in my right breast that she wanted examined with an ultrasound. I delayed the appointment by ten days because I was going on vacation. Plus I thought it was just my routine mammogram; she was being overly cautious because I am always called back for a second mammogram due to cysts.

Twenty days after that initial appointment I sat with my husband in an examining room at a local breast clinic hearing the words “you have cancer” for the first time. When the surgeon uttered those words my first words to her were, “No I don’t.” I explained my mammogram experiences and my family history. There was no breast cancer in my family. My mother had a benign tumor removed when she was about my age. What she suspected from my records was just that.

This doctor (the first of many I would see over the next month) gently, yet firmly explained that she was certain what she was seeing on the ultrasound was cancer but she would need to confirm with a mammogram and biopsy. So I stayed and had a mammogram. After the mammogram she once again sat with us and used the word cancer. She told me to make an appointment for a biopsy as I checked out of the clinic.

Nothing about what she said made any sense to me. It was not possible. As we checked out of the clinic the surgeon approached me and said she had a cancelation if I would like to stay and have the biopsy that afternoon. In retrospect I’m pretty sure she was lying. But she must have seen something in my eyes; a deep fear of doubt that might keep me from coming back. Or maybe the full medical picture she was reviewing made her realize I needed immediate treatment. (I was ultimately diagnosed with triple negative breast cancer; a rare and aggressive form of the disease).

We stayed. As I lay on the bed in the procedure room I had a radiology technician, a nurse and a medical assistant at my side. They spoke calmly, settling me into the position that was needed. They explained the procedure, how things would feel and what they were doing. I also signed the required forms and tried to appear positive. The medical assistant stood next to the bed, holding my hand and asking me about mutual people we might know from my place of work. She stayed by my side, holding my hand through the whole wait as well as the procedure, assuring me that it was alright to squeeze her hand if I felt any pain.

It was during that quiet moment between setup and meeting the radiologist; somewhere during that time when I lay with my eyes closed holding the hand of a stranger that deep inside I felt these words from Psalms 46:10: Be still and know that I am God. And so my story began.