An Open Letter of Thanksgiving

I have so much to give thanks for this holiday. While it’s true November is a time of sad anniversaries for me, it is also an opportunity to openly thank the people who are lifting me up in so many different ways.

There are those who are providing “hands-on” care: an ex-husband who takes me to my medical appointments every week; a dear friend who drives nine hours just to spend 24 hours hanging out with me; the neighbors who will do anything for me on a moment’s notice; and, my faculty colleagues who stop in to see how I’m doing and bring me food.

There are many others who aren’t here in person, because they don’t live close by. Yet their role in assisting me is equally important: my sister and cousins, the strength and love of whom I feel with me every day; the people I grew up with in my hometown of Martinsburg, West Virginia, who are constantly keeping me in prayer; other friends, family, professional colleagues, and alumni who send me notes of support, books, and little surprises that make me smile on a regular basis.

There are even strangers who have gone out of their way to help me, such as the folks at Delta. I hate to fly. I mean, I REALLY hate to fly. It’s to a phobia level. My general rule of thumb is to drive if I can get to where I need to be in the time allotted; however, sometimes I don’t have that luxury of time. Such was the case when I needed to get to Denver for my nephew’s wedding. I bit the bullet and purchased my airline ticket; however, my phobia didn’t turn out to be the main problem. I realized as soon as I got to the airport that, physically, this was going to be a challenge.

Thank you to the woman at the check-in (whose name I believe was Cathy) who zeroed in on this right away and offered me wheelchair assistance for the first flight, my connecting flight and my destination. Thank you to the sky caps who whizzed me through terminals, up and down elevators, and in and out of shuttles. Thank you to the flight attendants who checked on my comfort. Thank you, Delta – you love to fly and it shows!

Finally an especially big thank you to those of you who read this blog. Nothing has made me so fulfilled in the last 20 months than sharing my thoughts with you. If I have touched even one person, I consider that a blessing. When a tragedy strikes, whether it’s a life-threatening illness or something else, you almost always ask “Why?” From the beginning of this blog, I felt like I was supposed to go through cancer in order to write, share, and hopefully lift up others. Every visitor, every comment, every follower, every “like” on Facebook links to posts means more to me than I can say and I thank you from the bottom of my heart.

The list of people I owe thank you notes to is lengthy and dates have long passed (my mother would not approve!). I’m sorry for not being better at minding my etiquette during this second battle with cancer, which has zapped me a bit more than the first. However, please know that I am grateful for all your gestures, big and small, and give thanks for having you in my life.

The Ides of November

“Beware the Ides of March.” Yes, I realize it’s not quite the 13^th (or 15^th, for that matter) of the month and it’s not March. I’m rather conjuring up the phrase that has now evolved to being a metaphor for impending doom. I know what you’re thinking: “Wow, this will be an uplifting post!” It’s true that this won’t be all sugar and spice and everything nice. However, it’s not all gloomy and I think the topic is important.

I am very good at not focusing on bad things, which is why I wrote a post earlier this year on being “Queen of De-Nial.” I think it’s OK to practice denial. However, sticking your head in the sand and totally ignoring what’s happening in your life is not healthy. It’s good to have reality checks once in a while, and that’s what November does for me.

November 2013 held a lot of firsts for me. I went to my doctor about the swelling on my leg on Nov. 1. Although she didn’t think it was anything to worry about, she finally conceded to my getting an MRI after lots of anxious begging. I had that MRI two years ago today. On Nov. 12, she called me into her office to tell me about the “suspicious mass” that was most likely soft tissue sarcoma. Then it was Roswell Park’s turn. On Nov. 14, I met my surgeon for the first time. A biopsy followed on Nov. 19 and, on Nov. 26, my worst fears were confirmed: I had Stage 3 leimyoscarcoma, a type of soft tissue sarcoma that was rare and aggressive.

It’s hard for me to ignore these “anniversaries” and I don’t think I should. When each of these milestone days arrive with the turn of the calendar, I think about where I was and what I was thinking – and that’s positive, because it shows me how far I’ve come in two years. Yes, I still have cancer and, yes, it has spread; however, the bottom line is I’m still here after all I’ve been through – daily trips for radiation, hospital stays, surgeries, transfusions, chemo, and on and on — and that’s something to cheer about.

I believe that, once in a great while, it’s OK to acknowledge and reflect on the negative parts of our life, looking at where we have been — and where we are now.

Share the strength.

A Break in the Clouds

A brief weather report from yesterday:

I was driving home from work and noticed the cloud formations in front of me – a series of ripples that almost looked like waves, with no sun in sight. There was just a bunch of horizontal lines of clouds, piled one on top of the other.

I looked to my right and saw dark gray clouds over the lake. That’s never a good sign. They were very threatening looking, and I knew they held nothing positive within them.

I looked to the left (yes, I really was still paying attention to my driving!). The sky was covered with so many clouds, you could actually see the layers. The clouds appeared in different shapes and colors, ranging from white and fluffy to light and dark gray. Then I saw it – a little patch of blue – and I knew the sun was out there somewhere waiting for the clouds to pass.

It made me think how often we get tunnel vision and get fixated in looking at things one way, and sometimes that can lead to only seeing things negatively. We may need to change the direction in which we’re looking a couple times before we can find something positive, something hopeful. Next time it looks completely cloudy ahead, change the direction in which you’re looking or try out that peripheral vision you have – you might just see a small patch of blue.

Share the strength.