Peek-a-Boo!

Yes, this IS the old Ann, poking my head up above ground cautiously like a groundhog on Feb. 2. I don’t see my shadow, so I’m predicting pleasant weather ahead. I’m happy to say that my optimism and faith are almost back to where they were before I got my recent diagnosis. In a recent post, I talked about wanting to find my sparkle again — my spark. I’m not sure about the sparkle – you’d have to ask others about that. However, I can say the spark is back. And that’s important. Emmet Fox, a New Thought leader, once said, “A small spark can start a great fire.” We know that to be true (just ask Smokey the Bear!), so I’m not going to underestimate that little light.

I’ve had so many people prop me up during the last month while I tried to restore the optimism and faith I had before my last doctor’s visit. Many of them have told me stories of people they know who have defied the odds, and they have insisted that I have it in me to be another one of those success stories. Such encouragement has made a huge difference. I’m focusing less on the things I might miss down the road if the doctor’s prognosis is correct and more on all I have in front of me right now. A dear friend of mine has always said that it’s OK to attend a pity party, as long as you don’t stay for dessert (shout-out to YO!). Well, I had not only been staying for dessert, but also staying so long that the hosts were looking at their watches. I’m back to enjoying appetizers only.

As I mentioned in a previous post, I don’t want this precious time when I’m feeling well to be squandered. I’ve been trying to spend my time constructively . . . enjoying time with friends; planning the next road trip; advising my students for next semester; participating in the Relay for Life on my campus; and, of course, writing. I’ve been practical, too. Although I love and respect my current oncology team, I’ve been persuaded to seek a second opinion and, logically, that is sound advice. It is not as easy as it seems, though. There have been obstacles, such as the rarity of my cancer and the scarcity of the experts who treat it, as well as insurance restrictions. Emails and phone calls to Johns Hopkins in Baltimore and Dana-Farber in Boston went unanswered. A trip to Cancer Treatment Centers of America’s facility in Philadelphia looked promising until my HMO insurance said “no.”

Frustrated by the doors closing at every turn and feeling adrift at sea in a tiny boat being overtaken by raging storms, my sister took a walk to clear her mind and calm her spirit. During her stroll, she said she became assured that everything would be OK and, that day, everything did, indeed, turn around. She relayed this in the last post, “Walking on Water.” In her post, my sister said, “Then almost as if by magic, the boat landed immediately at the place to where they were going.” Who knew it would be the Big Apple?! What seemed to be an insurmountable quest to find someone, someplace, to look at my case has finally been successful, in no small part, we believe, to the prayers many of you have been lifting up on my behalf.

After her walk that Tuesday, my sister reached out to the chief of sarcoma oncology at Memorial Sloan Kettering in New York City, the world’s oldest and largest private cancer center. He responded immediately to say his staff would review my case. The next morning, his assistant forwarded me information on what to do next. Sloan Kettering’s Patient Access Services started a medical record for me and told me exactly what files they needed from my current oncologist (and there were a lot!). Then I was switched to the insurance representative who gave me detailed information on how to appeal to my insurance company for “out-of-network” treatment. By Wednesday afternoon, I had done everything I had been told. My physician faxed the appeal to the insurance company Thursday morning, and it was approved a few hours later. At 4 p.m., approximately 48 hours after my sister returned from her walk, Sloan Kettering called me to say that they had received all my files and gave me an appointment. As I write this, I’m on the train to New York City. If anything is a miracle, it’s when two doctors’ offices, two large cancer centers, and an insurance company work together and achieve this outcome in two days!

I’m sorry this post has been especially lengthy. However, as you can see, much has happened in a short time, and I want you to know the difference you’re making by continuing to lift me up in prayer.

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Walking on Water

After hitting several roadblocks attempting to get a second opinion on my recent diagnosis, my sister, Vanda — frustrated, sad, and tired — set out on a walk last week. She told me that as she strolled she was gradually inspired. This beautiful story, based on the Gospels and this website, is the result. I’d say she was inspired indeed:

 

“What happened when we let Jesus in the boat . . .

“On March 17, my sister Ann and I hopped into a small wooden boat to escape the bad news from a CT scan of her chest. Ann’s cancer had spread to both of her lungs and there were multiple little tumors. ‘Eighteen to 20 months,’ the doctor said. The waves carried us out further to sea than we had intended to go. Ann and I rowed hard and realized we were in serious trouble; the waves were getting higher and higher. No one could hear our cries for help from the middle of the sea. As the wind gusts and the waves beat down upon us, we felt helpless and hopeless. Then, we began to feel foolish. What were we thinking . . . taking off in such a small boat all by ourselves in this weather? Despite our efforts, we could no longer control the boat.

“Every time we survived a wave, another one came and knocked us down. Each time it was harder to get back up from the deck of the boat. There was no sign of the storms letting up any time soon. ‘Lord,’ we prayed – ‘just give us enough strength to withstand one more wave and, hopefully, eventually the waves will just go away.’ But the wind was still against us and neither of us could swim . . . .

“Jesus, watching from afar on the shore, finally said, ‘Enough is enough. I will walk out to Ann and Vanda and tell them to not be afraid, even though they should know better by now.’  So Jesus came walking across the water, yet we still found it hard to believe that He could work miracles. After all, why did He allow us to get trapped in this situation in the first place? But, we invited Jesus into the boat anyway. Suddenly, the wind and the waves stopped. I sobbed and sobbed with relief; Ann crouched low on the deck, tormented by fear and exhaustion. And then we remembered what our father and the Scriptures had taught us — Jesus always comes to us in the storms of life.

“And Ann asked Jesus to let her walk on the water, too. But as she did, she became afraid and started to sink, crying, ‘Lord save me.’ Jesus grabbed her hand and asked, ‘Why did you doubt me?’ Then almost as if by magic, the boat landed immediately at the place to where they were going. Jesus had not wasted any time answering our prayers and the prayers of family, friends, and strangers.

“In an instant we understood that Jesus had waited until the boat was as far from land as possible, when all our hope was gone, before approaching us. He was removing every human prop. Why did Jesus walk on the water? To show Ann and me that the very thing we feared — the raging, seething water — was merely a set of steps for Him to come to us and revive our trust. Jesus came to us as we crouched in the little boat of fear and paralysis in the middle of a vast stormy sea called ‘cancer.’

“And although Ann and I have a long way to go in our life walk with Jesus, we are growing in our faith day-by-day and keeping our eyes, ears, and hearts open to the angels he is sending our way. Amen.”

Angels have been sent, and He has indeed walked on water. I’ll tell you how in the next post. Thanks, Sis!

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Queen of De-Nial

Just call me Cleopatra. While I’m regaining my footing after receiving the recent news of my cancer returning, I’ve decided to hang out with one of my old friends – denial. I’ve always been pretty good at not focusing on negative things because I am, by nature, an optimist. However, I have wondered if sometimes my optimism wasn’t really denial in disguise. In a post last year, I pondered the point at which positive thinking turns into denial. I also wondered if denial is a bad thing if it keeps your attitude positive, or, in my current case, helps my positive attitude return.

Now that I’ve gotten past the awful chore of telling family, friends, and coworkers about my cancer recurrence, the shock I’ve been experiencing the past three weeks is starting to subside, and I’ve decided that denial sounds pretty good to me. Added to this is the fact that I haven’t really been myself since my father died; I have felt like a big piece of me is missing – like I lost my sparkle. That light got even dimmer when I got the news about the cancer. Hell, it pretty much went out. But two weekends ago when my sister was visiting, I found myself laughing a little more and crying a little less. It felt good.

The time between now and the start of chemo may very well be the best I ever feel, and I don’t want to spend that time dwelling on what’s to come. Physically, I feel great, so it’s becoming easier for me to just pretend that life is normal, and, quite frankly, I think that’s OK. There will be lots of time for reality checks in the coming months. My last post was based on the movie “It’s a Wonderful Life,” and I’ll borrow from that classic film again. At one point, Clarence turns to George Bailey and says, “You see, George, you’ve had a wonderful life. Don’t you see what a mistake it would be to throw it away?” Amen, Clarence!

Embracing denial doesn’t mean I plan to avoid talking about what’s happened or pursuing some steps that I need to take, such as looking into getting a second opinion. And I still get sad, often. My mind cannot automatically turn off thoughts of what is to come. However, I  don’t want this yucky situation to be the axis on which my life spins right now. I’m also aware that denial is not just an old friend, but also the first stage of grief, so perhaps going from shock to denial is just a natural progression.

In any case, I want to be able find my spark again; maybe if I get some fresh air, take a deep breath, and allow some oxygen in, it will ignite. As for the cancer, for now I’ll evoke another famous film character, Scarlett O’Hara: “I can’t think about that right now. If I do, I’ll go crazy. I’ll think about that tomorrow. After all, tomorrow is another day.”

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I Have a Lot of Clarences

Since announcing the return of my cancer, I have felt a bit like George Bailey in “It’s a Wonderful Life.” The outpouring of concern, support, and prayers has been overwhelming!

“It’s a Wonderful Life” opens with numerous voices praying to God on George’s behalf. George, you see, is in trouble. His uncle has misplaced an important bank deposit, an error that will surely lead to George’s family business, the Bailey Building and Loan, going bankrupt. The sinister Mr. Potter, who controls much of the town and who for years has wanted to close the Building and Loan, finds the money, keeps it, and seizes the opportunity to issue a warrant for bank fraud against George. While George ponders suicide, the voices lifting him up to the Heavens reach God’s ear, who, in response, sends Clarence, a guardian angel, to show him the difference he has made in others’ lives and all the reasons for which he still has to live. Ultimately, Mr. Potter’s devious attempt is foiled.

Cancer is my Mr. Potter – evil, conniving, controlling. The character was No. 6 on the American Film Institute’s list of the 50 Greatest Villains in the history of American cinema. A 2007 article in the Nashua Telegraph about the death of Lionel Barrymore, who portrayed Mr. Potter, described the character as “Scrooge, the Grinch and Simon Legree in one craggy, crabby package.” Yep, that’s my cancer.

And just like George Bailey’s friends prayed for him when he was being attacked by Mr. Potter, I know I have hundreds of voices praying for me right now. Although my faith was shaken when I heard my cancer was back, I do know that God hears prayers and I believe in the power of prayer. I’m hoping that when He hears so many voices, He will choose to work a miracle. I know He has already sent me many Clarences. Some I know and some I don’t. I’m not sure I’m worthy of the beautiful, warm comments I have gotten from so many people telling me what I have meant to them. I’m grateful and humbled if I’ve been able to make a difference in their lives. In fact, it’s one of the main things that has gotten me through the past couple weeks. It is comforting to know that, when facing a terminal illness, a life has been well spent. Hearing that is a blessing that not everybody gets to have. All too often, we wait until after people are gone to acknowledge the role they played in our lives.

I hope that I will ultimately have much more time than the doctors say because, as is the case with everyone, there’s still much I want to do. In the meantime, however, I appreciate the support, encouragement, strength, and love being sent my way and the prayers lifting me up. Thanks to each and every one of you!

“Remember, George: No man is a failure who has friends” – “Clarence”

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