Another b/c survivor wrote recently to a group of us to say "goodbye". Ada tells us that chemos are no longer working, that her choice has become a few more months of fighting and misery or a few more months of comfort and death, and she's chosen the latter.
More than one of us has written back to tell her, "Fight! Fight! Don't give up!" but at the same time, we "get it". We all know this time can, and will, come, for some of us, when and if our cancer metastisizes. "Positive thinking" is of course the mantra for cancer patients, but there are times to be realisitic, too. I "get" Ada's choice of a comfortable death over a miserable fight.
I learned recently that breast cancer is never considered cured - only in remission. Whether a person dies from it or not usually depends on age; the younger you are, the more likely you are to develop the metastatic disease that will likely lead to your death.
Today's cancer survivor (diagnosed in the last couple of years) has more weapons in his or her arsenal than ever before to prolong life. Tomorrow's cancer survivor will have more. In the meantime...sigh. Perhaps the only difference between a young breast cancer survivor and the rest of humanity is the knowledge of what the end of our lives will be.
So I emailed Ada, because, well, what do you say? (She lives far away from me and I'm not a close friend, but words of love and support still seemed appropriate - as I've written before, breast cancer makes fast friends!)
I wrote: "Hi Adita - I can't imagine how hard it must be for you to write that "last email" and to be facing what you are facing. I pray for you - peace; a pain-free passage; joy in these last weeks or months, however much time you are granted; forgiveness and love. May you be held gently in the arms of a higher power, and may the love of your family buoy you on to the next place."
God bless Ada and her family.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Haiku For a Friend
Holley, a member of my support group, passed away on March 22.
Her father wrote this haiku for her:
If they ask for me,
Say: she had some business
In another world.
Her father wrote this haiku for her:
If they ask for me,
Say: she had some business
In another world.
Monday, March 23, 2009
When Your Hut's on Fire
The only survivor of a shipwreck was washed up on a small, uninhabited island. He prayed feverishly for God to rescue him. Everyday he scanned the horizon for help, but none seemed forthcoming. Exhausted, he eventually managed to build a little hut out of driftwood to protect him from the elements, and to store his few possessions.
One day, after scavenging for food, he arrived home to find his little hut in flames, with smoke rolling up to the sky. He felt the worst had happened, and everything was lost. He was stunned with disbelief, grief, and anger. He cried out, "God! How could you do this to me?" Early the next day, he was awakened by the sound of a ship approaching the island! It had come to rescue him! "How did you know I was here?" asked the weary man of his rescuers. "We saw your smoke signal," they replied.
The Moral of This Story: It's easy to get discouraged when things are going bad, but we shouldn't lose heart, because God is at work in our lives, even in the midst of our pain and suffering. Remember that the next time your little hut seems to be burning to the ground. It just may be a smoke signal that summons the Grace of God.
One day, after scavenging for food, he arrived home to find his little hut in flames, with smoke rolling up to the sky. He felt the worst had happened, and everything was lost. He was stunned with disbelief, grief, and anger. He cried out, "God! How could you do this to me?" Early the next day, he was awakened by the sound of a ship approaching the island! It had come to rescue him! "How did you know I was here?" asked the weary man of his rescuers. "We saw your smoke signal," they replied.
The Moral of This Story: It's easy to get discouraged when things are going bad, but we shouldn't lose heart, because God is at work in our lives, even in the midst of our pain and suffering. Remember that the next time your little hut seems to be burning to the ground. It just may be a smoke signal that summons the Grace of God.
Thought For the Day
Life is short: Break the rules, forgive quickly, kiss slowly, love truly, laugh uncontrollably, and never regret anything that made you smile.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Forgive Us
After my ministry ended at Peace, one of my wonderful agnostic friends (I love agnostics - they keep Christians honest) admonished me to "not jump to forgiveness so fast." "You Christians are always jumping so quickly to forgiveness!" she grumbled. (Then we ate a wonderful dinner and the tenderness of my steak made me forget all about religion!)
She's understandably concerned that I don't bury my anger under a cloud of churchy nonsense. Or that I stay stuck in the "victim" slot. (Jesus already died for our sins, no need for a repeat performance on my part!) Moving quickly to forgiveness can be insincere, an avoidance of the real issue at hand. It lets people who do wrong, off the hook. Not acknowledging anger can be akin to taking the blame. And unacknowledged anger has a way of coming back and biting a oerson in the butt!
Can we hold two things in tension - righteous anger and the peace that passes all understanding? One thing that has always bothered me about forgiveness is this idea that somehow we have to forget and go on as if nothing happened. In a sense, we expect people to bury their emotions under the spiritual rubric of "forgiving". That doesn't seem healthy to me. It makes more sense when, in an ideal situation, we learn from mutual mistakes and grow, never forgetting but not wallowing, either. The "forgetting" part moves us to go on with life despite our injury.
Anger is only a problem when it's consuming, when it causes ongoing physical or emotional trauma. When we keep chewing on it and worrying it like a dog with a tasty bone - some folks even savor their anger, nurturing it along until the opportunity to strike back presents itself. They (we) strike out, and our victims may have no association with the crime.
But anger isn't "got rid of" so easily, and can't conveniently be buried under the Christian admonishment to "forgive and forget". It needs to be labeled, named, worked through. I'm still unpacking the world of hurt my congregation's leaders handed me - manipulation, dishonesty, insensitivity. Add to that the sense of pleasure some folks seemed to get out of treating me like a factory worker instead of a sister in Christ. I know my own heart pretty well by now. And I have peeked into the hearts of others. None of us is pure.
What makes the anger less consuming, and the forgiveness easier to reach, is knowing those who've hurt you as human beings. "God, forgive them, for they know not what they do" is probably the most apt phrase in the Christian lexicon. We don't recognize how we act out of our human-ness, our issues, our hurts and angers, how we are products of the hand life's dealt us. But when we KNOW the other person, know their life's struggles, we know it's healing they need and not judgement. The preacher who is cold and rigid; the woman who is suspicious and mistrustful; the pastor who lashes out after a lifetime of losses - in the best possible world, we can become instruments of peace. Another phrase I love, circulating around the 'net, is this one - "Remember that every one you meet is fighting some kind of battle."
Too many Christians fail the challenge to forgiveness, because we have come to believe that only the deserving should have grace. Isn't that a contradiction? Why would we need grace if we deserve it??? Yet grace and forgiveness are where the rubber meets the road in Christian faith.
We hold these things in tension - "I've been hurt" and "I understand". We may not accept or approve. We may need to protect ourselves. It doesn't mean the pain instantly disappears. But it no longer becomes our reason for living. It doesn't swamp us.
In a generic way, it's hard to remember this (just as agape love, love devoid of self-interest, is pretty much a concept, instead of a reality, for most of us). But in a COMMUNAL way, it's much easier. When you know your victim or your enemy, when you know the battles they fight and their personal demons, you know that much of what happens between the two of you comes out of a world of hurt. No one is immune from this - very few people live perfect, untouched lives. We all, always, stand in need of grace and forgiveness.
She's understandably concerned that I don't bury my anger under a cloud of churchy nonsense. Or that I stay stuck in the "victim" slot. (Jesus already died for our sins, no need for a repeat performance on my part!) Moving quickly to forgiveness can be insincere, an avoidance of the real issue at hand. It lets people who do wrong, off the hook. Not acknowledging anger can be akin to taking the blame. And unacknowledged anger has a way of coming back and biting a oerson in the butt!
Can we hold two things in tension - righteous anger and the peace that passes all understanding? One thing that has always bothered me about forgiveness is this idea that somehow we have to forget and go on as if nothing happened. In a sense, we expect people to bury their emotions under the spiritual rubric of "forgiving". That doesn't seem healthy to me. It makes more sense when, in an ideal situation, we learn from mutual mistakes and grow, never forgetting but not wallowing, either. The "forgetting" part moves us to go on with life despite our injury.
Anger is only a problem when it's consuming, when it causes ongoing physical or emotional trauma. When we keep chewing on it and worrying it like a dog with a tasty bone - some folks even savor their anger, nurturing it along until the opportunity to strike back presents itself. They (we) strike out, and our victims may have no association with the crime.
But anger isn't "got rid of" so easily, and can't conveniently be buried under the Christian admonishment to "forgive and forget". It needs to be labeled, named, worked through. I'm still unpacking the world of hurt my congregation's leaders handed me - manipulation, dishonesty, insensitivity. Add to that the sense of pleasure some folks seemed to get out of treating me like a factory worker instead of a sister in Christ. I know my own heart pretty well by now. And I have peeked into the hearts of others. None of us is pure.
What makes the anger less consuming, and the forgiveness easier to reach, is knowing those who've hurt you as human beings. "God, forgive them, for they know not what they do" is probably the most apt phrase in the Christian lexicon. We don't recognize how we act out of our human-ness, our issues, our hurts and angers, how we are products of the hand life's dealt us. But when we KNOW the other person, know their life's struggles, we know it's healing they need and not judgement. The preacher who is cold and rigid; the woman who is suspicious and mistrustful; the pastor who lashes out after a lifetime of losses - in the best possible world, we can become instruments of peace. Another phrase I love, circulating around the 'net, is this one - "Remember that every one you meet is fighting some kind of battle."
Too many Christians fail the challenge to forgiveness, because we have come to believe that only the deserving should have grace. Isn't that a contradiction? Why would we need grace if we deserve it??? Yet grace and forgiveness are where the rubber meets the road in Christian faith.
We hold these things in tension - "I've been hurt" and "I understand". We may not accept or approve. We may need to protect ourselves. It doesn't mean the pain instantly disappears. But it no longer becomes our reason for living. It doesn't swamp us.
In a generic way, it's hard to remember this (just as agape love, love devoid of self-interest, is pretty much a concept, instead of a reality, for most of us). But in a COMMUNAL way, it's much easier. When you know your victim or your enemy, when you know the battles they fight and their personal demons, you know that much of what happens between the two of you comes out of a world of hurt. No one is immune from this - very few people live perfect, untouched lives. We all, always, stand in need of grace and forgiveness.
Wednesday, March 11, 2009
Perfecting Buttercream
Cancer diagnosis and treatment: $300,000
Heart failure diagnosis and treatment: $400,000
The time to spend a cold, sleety afternoon perfecting the art of buttercream frosting with my daughter:
Priceless.
Heart failure diagnosis and treatment: $400,000
The time to spend a cold, sleety afternoon perfecting the art of buttercream frosting with my daughter:
Priceless.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Little Losses
Weather Report: Six inches of snow, then rain...and turkeys lurkin' in my swamp!
Back when I was busy running a church, running a family and running to chemo, I didn't have the time to participate in a support group for B/C. They usually meet at night and meet far away. I do now (hah!), and am so glad to have found this place of support and respite. We share a common perspective - from the inside out on the cancer journey. We "get" each other, even if we don't like each other sometimes. Funny how small annoyances are really small annoyances in the bubble of this group of women. (And there are scientific studies that show support groups both improve longevity and quality of life for survivors).
One thing that immediately stands out for me, as I talk and as l listen, is how the losses mount up for cancer patients. A doctor mentioned the first thing you lose is a "certain future". All the plans you were making, for retirement, for that summer vacation, for school or job, are now in flux. Other losses, big and small, pile up...the women mention loss of hair, loss of estrogen, loss of friendships, loss of income, loss of strength and energy, loss of time, loss of freedom (can't plan too far ahead, say, for that cruise). One woman, too worried about her declining health, gave away all her beloved pups, except one - and she's trying to find a home for that one. (When my kids beg me for another cat, dog, or bird, I automatically wonder if I'll be able to afford to take care of it AND be in good enough health to take care of it!) People lose their homes, either because they can't afford them anymore, or because the upkeep is too much. (For me, losing my home - which will eventually happen - means losing my garden, my cozy nest, and my view of the mighty fine swamp, aka "the marsh").
Losing one's livelihood is a big loss - work gives purpose to life. So losing livelihood is also losing purpose. (And frankly, that's a drag - to have one's purpose reduced to doctoring one's self.) For some of us, "purpose" becomes the pursuit of drug and treatment information, waiting for that magic cancer bullet.
Another woman lost her children - gave them up when she became too sick to stay on top of the parenting load. (Her ex is a generous man; they live nearby, and the girls spend a great deal of time with their mother, a great comfort to her!)
I'm continually amazed, however, that there is little wallowing or self-pity. There's room for humor, grief, anger, confusion, and the occasional self-indulgent whine. But mostly there's getting up and "doing what needs to be done" in the words of Garrison Keillor. I find their bravery, intelligence and compassion truly amazing. I wish everyone could know these women, know the stuff they are made of. It's odd to think of cancer as bringing out the best in people, but somehow, it does. Their light takes the darkness out of the diagnosis and treatment.
Back when I was busy running a church, running a family and running to chemo, I didn't have the time to participate in a support group for B/C. They usually meet at night and meet far away. I do now (hah!), and am so glad to have found this place of support and respite. We share a common perspective - from the inside out on the cancer journey. We "get" each other, even if we don't like each other sometimes. Funny how small annoyances are really small annoyances in the bubble of this group of women. (And there are scientific studies that show support groups both improve longevity and quality of life for survivors).
One thing that immediately stands out for me, as I talk and as l listen, is how the losses mount up for cancer patients. A doctor mentioned the first thing you lose is a "certain future". All the plans you were making, for retirement, for that summer vacation, for school or job, are now in flux. Other losses, big and small, pile up...the women mention loss of hair, loss of estrogen, loss of friendships, loss of income, loss of strength and energy, loss of time, loss of freedom (can't plan too far ahead, say, for that cruise). One woman, too worried about her declining health, gave away all her beloved pups, except one - and she's trying to find a home for that one. (When my kids beg me for another cat, dog, or bird, I automatically wonder if I'll be able to afford to take care of it AND be in good enough health to take care of it!) People lose their homes, either because they can't afford them anymore, or because the upkeep is too much. (For me, losing my home - which will eventually happen - means losing my garden, my cozy nest, and my view of the mighty fine swamp, aka "the marsh").
Losing one's livelihood is a big loss - work gives purpose to life. So losing livelihood is also losing purpose. (And frankly, that's a drag - to have one's purpose reduced to doctoring one's self.) For some of us, "purpose" becomes the pursuit of drug and treatment information, waiting for that magic cancer bullet.
Another woman lost her children - gave them up when she became too sick to stay on top of the parenting load. (Her ex is a generous man; they live nearby, and the girls spend a great deal of time with their mother, a great comfort to her!)
I'm continually amazed, however, that there is little wallowing or self-pity. There's room for humor, grief, anger, confusion, and the occasional self-indulgent whine. But mostly there's getting up and "doing what needs to be done" in the words of Garrison Keillor. I find their bravery, intelligence and compassion truly amazing. I wish everyone could know these women, know the stuff they are made of. It's odd to think of cancer as bringing out the best in people, but somehow, it does. Their light takes the darkness out of the diagnosis and treatment.
Monday, March 9, 2009
A Bit "Hormone Confused"
I loved it when one of my sisters on the breast cancer ("b/c") listserve recently described herself as "hormonally confused" I can't remember if she was confused about her hormone treatment, or if her brain was suffering from lack of estrogen.Many of the women on the b/c listserve describe themselves as "thirsty" for estrogen; one woman commented that before she dies, when she's off all meds or chemos, she's going to ask for estrogen, just so she can die with a clear head, soft skin and glowing cheeks!
The adriamycin put me into menopause (as well as heart failure). A number of chemotherapies do this. I'm not sure HOW it does this, whether it's by destroying the fast growing cells of the ovaries or estrogen deprivation. My eight months of treatment found me struggling to concentrate, to find the right words, to pull information out of my memory. I worked hard to focus.Now that I'm off adria, my mind is back (um, somewhat! What gets me now is fatigue - I've doubled my dosage of carvedilol, a drug for the heart failure, and that makes me sleepy and sluggish for a few days as the dosage changes). (I'm ready for a nap now, and I might just take one!)
It's NICE to have my mind back. I am officially in menopause this March, and it has gone better than I expected. I DO have a bit of "post menopausal zest". The tamoxifen I take to manage the cancer post-treatment gives me some wicked hot flashes, but a sleeping pill I take which doubles as an anti-depressant makes them bearable. Before the anti-depressant, the hot flashes were so frequent (hourly) and so intense (sweat running down the side of my face, turning red, and the unacceptable urge to rip off my clothes right where I stood just to freakin' cool off!) I was miserable. Now I have a few a day, but I still dress light - so I can rip off my sweater to cool down. I've also heard that Vitamin E is a good vitamin for hot flash management. I might add that to my vitamin regimen.
Still, the mind isn't back where it was a decade ago. I'd guess most of us would say that!
Put this on a t-short: "Don't Mind Me, I'm Hormonally Confused."
The adriamycin put me into menopause (as well as heart failure). A number of chemotherapies do this. I'm not sure HOW it does this, whether it's by destroying the fast growing cells of the ovaries or estrogen deprivation. My eight months of treatment found me struggling to concentrate, to find the right words, to pull information out of my memory. I worked hard to focus.Now that I'm off adria, my mind is back (um, somewhat! What gets me now is fatigue - I've doubled my dosage of carvedilol, a drug for the heart failure, and that makes me sleepy and sluggish for a few days as the dosage changes). (I'm ready for a nap now, and I might just take one!)
It's NICE to have my mind back. I am officially in menopause this March, and it has gone better than I expected. I DO have a bit of "post menopausal zest". The tamoxifen I take to manage the cancer post-treatment gives me some wicked hot flashes, but a sleeping pill I take which doubles as an anti-depressant makes them bearable. Before the anti-depressant, the hot flashes were so frequent (hourly) and so intense (sweat running down the side of my face, turning red, and the unacceptable urge to rip off my clothes right where I stood just to freakin' cool off!) I was miserable. Now I have a few a day, but I still dress light - so I can rip off my sweater to cool down. I've also heard that Vitamin E is a good vitamin for hot flash management. I might add that to my vitamin regimen.
Still, the mind isn't back where it was a decade ago. I'd guess most of us would say that!
Put this on a t-short: "Don't Mind Me, I'm Hormonally Confused."
Saturday, March 7, 2009
Why Am I Reading the Obits? March 4, 2009
I hate to admit this, but one of the few "guilty pleasures" I've acquired along the way is reading the obituaries. "Pleasure" doesn't seem like the right word. It's something I do that I don't readily admit to doing, except as a joke - "Oh, I'm getting to be that age where I read the obituaries..."
The real reason I read the obituaries is to check out the ages of those who have died. When my doctor told me I had cancer, one of my first thoughts was, "I'm too young to have cancer!" At age 50, I was right on the edge between having an aggressive cancer (a young person's cancer) and having a slow-growing cancer (a senior cancer! Laugh!) In all seriousness, my doctor informed me it was an aggressive kind. And so I started my watch...for all the young people who die from this deadly disease.
There are wayyy too many of us.
Today's newspaper contained the obit of a man named Chris who died at age 46. Sometimes you have to read down through the obituary to figure out what someone like Chris might have died from - the clue is in the memorials. Chris' memorials were directed to the Upper Michigan Brain Tumor System. A brain tumor takes a man in the prime of his life. He leaves behind something like six children, a wife and extended family. I wonder how his passing went. I imagine the devastation. I hope they have a spiritual support they can cling to. I say a little prayer for him and for everyone he loved.
I'm not sure what draws me to the obituaries - am I hoping, on any given day, to find only the old and infirm listed there? Is it fear? Am I looking for confirmation of that one bit of wisdom I've gained, knowing that life turns on a dime and no one can escape that fact? Do Ineed to know (and am habitually disappointed) that young people don't die from cancer in this day and age? That it is not only happening to me, but it happens, in a very real way, to others? I'm not sure.Another cancer survivor admitted to me that she, too, checks the obits daily. And she's not so sure why, either. Only one thing is certain - we hope we never find ourselves there!
The real reason I read the obituaries is to check out the ages of those who have died. When my doctor told me I had cancer, one of my first thoughts was, "I'm too young to have cancer!" At age 50, I was right on the edge between having an aggressive cancer (a young person's cancer) and having a slow-growing cancer (a senior cancer! Laugh!) In all seriousness, my doctor informed me it was an aggressive kind. And so I started my watch...for all the young people who die from this deadly disease.
There are wayyy too many of us.
Today's newspaper contained the obit of a man named Chris who died at age 46. Sometimes you have to read down through the obituary to figure out what someone like Chris might have died from - the clue is in the memorials. Chris' memorials were directed to the Upper Michigan Brain Tumor System. A brain tumor takes a man in the prime of his life. He leaves behind something like six children, a wife and extended family. I wonder how his passing went. I imagine the devastation. I hope they have a spiritual support they can cling to. I say a little prayer for him and for everyone he loved.
I'm not sure what draws me to the obituaries - am I hoping, on any given day, to find only the old and infirm listed there? Is it fear? Am I looking for confirmation of that one bit of wisdom I've gained, knowing that life turns on a dime and no one can escape that fact? Do Ineed to know (and am habitually disappointed) that young people don't die from cancer in this day and age? That it is not only happening to me, but it happens, in a very real way, to others? I'm not sure.Another cancer survivor admitted to me that she, too, checks the obits daily. And she's not so sure why, either. Only one thing is certain - we hope we never find ourselves there!
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