Rise!

I don’t usually like two post two days in a row (I don’t want you to get too bored!); however, that’s the way the calendar falls. Happy Easter, everyone!

I suppose if you have to hear news like I heard earlier this week, Holy Week is a good time to hear it. The meaning behind this week is the reason I have not thought that much about death itself since my cancer diagnosis, because my faith tells me that it is death of the body only. Don’t get me wrong – I’m certainly not looking forward to leaving this early. I had hoped to enjoy another 20 years with  my children and grandchildren, sit by the lake, teach (well, maybe, not the full 20!), and perhaps get into a “little” more trouble. However, that was MY plan, and now I have to acknowledge that I am not the planner – God is.

What I HAVE feared is dying – quite a different thing from death. In addition to a worsening physical condition, I have a sense of urgency, from feeling guilty about never writing last year’s thank you notes to wanting to clean the closets, and there’s so much I want to say, the hardest of those being the “see you laters.” During my cancer journey, and especially during the last week, so many of you have commented on my courage and bravery, and I can’t thank you enough for such kind words and for that support; however, in reality, YOU are the ones holding ME up.

I am human and get sad. I do find comfort, though, that Jesus was human and sad, too. In the Garden of Gethsemane, he suffered thinking about his fate and prayed three times for God to “pass the cup” – to let him live. He also acknowledged that it be God’s will, not His. Because of His courage, bravery, and love, we have been blessed with the resurrection, which we celebrate today. We are ALL able to rise!

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Made it! No Regrets

Now that my condition has worsened, I don’t have much energy to write, so what strength I do have, I want to use here, because I still have a lot to say (so even though this post may sound like a swan song, it isn’t meant to be!).

In previous posts, you’ve heard me talk about the Reynolds Women – generations of strong, independent, faith-filled women – a group of which I am extremely proud to be a part. Three of them, in particular, helped shape who I am and the goals I would have for my life.

My Aunt Ruby was a female broadcast pioneer in the area in which I grew up. She helped me to solidify my choice of going to college to major in broadcast journalism and often delighted about the parallel our lives had taken.

My Aunt Sarah gifted me with a sense of quirkiness (she once dyed her hair green for St. Patrick’s Day) and, most of all, opened the world to me by introducing me to her love for travel. In fact, when she was much older and her husband had passed away, we decided to go to the British Isles together – quite the adventure! I don’t think that I included stubbornness – well, we like to call it “tenacity” – as another characteristic of the Reynolds Woman. Aunt Sarah was suffering from intense neck pain and wearing a TENS unit for pain management. Not surprisingly, that did not stop her from lying on her back and bending her head backwards so she could properly kiss the Blarney Stone. Yep! That’s a Reynolds Woman.

Then there’s my Aunt Peggy. When I was a teenager, she used to say to me her life goal was I.D.T.A. She explained that it stood for “I Did That Already.” Her goal in life was to be able to use that response to just about any topic that came up in a conversation. It became almost a secret code for us. I remember embroidering the initials once and putting it in a frame for her. Another time, I had it engraved on a necklace for her. All the while, I didn’t realize I was forming my own life philosophy: I didn’t want to get to the end of my life and have any regrets.

This is a philosophy that comes with many risks, mind you. However, I always felt it would be better to take the risk instead of sitting in a rocking chair one day wondering “what if?” I can’t imagine anything worse. Even if you fall on your face when taking the risk, you at least know how the situation turned out.

It is life mantra that has served me well, and, as I do near the end of my life (and not in a rocking chair!), I can honesty say, “I made it!” Of course, my life is not over yet, but I think I’m safe in saying that I’m at a point where I can declare that I have no regrets. To quote a lyric from one of my favorite songs, “I Lived,”:

“I owned every second that this world could give
I saw so many places
The things that I did
Yeah, with every broken bone
I swear I lived.”

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A Soldier’s Helmet

This post is going out to a lovely lady I met at Roswell over the weekend who is in distress over losing her hair. A first-time cancer patient, she just began chemotherapy and is starting to see the results it will have on her head. It sounds like the idea of completely losing her hair is a very traumatic one. I handed her husband this URL and hope she comes to “visit.”

While I certainly can’t speak for all cancer patients, I can offer my own opinion of facing this challenge. For women, especially, hair is so personal; we use it to help identify who we are. Hopefully, the following information will help allay some fears, or at least present some different ways to view the situation (I actually enjoyed my hairless journey!).

Coping with Hair Loss (in no particular order)

• You’ll save lots of money because you won’t be going for regular appointments at your salon. I saved about $600! Use the savings to do something special for yourself.
• Consider getting a buzz cut before your hair starts falling out, or at least cut it to less than an inch. We have so little control when we’re fighting cancer; however, this is something over which we can take command. It’s also less intimidating to see small strands on your bathroom rather than clumps of long ones when your hair starts falling out. My long-time hair stylist shaved my head and it was a very touching moment for the two of us.
• Don’t forget you will be losing more than the hair on the top of your head. You will lose ALL your hair. YAY – no more shaving!
• A visit to what I call the “Chemo Salon” will most likely render you with completely different hair when it comes back in. Even if you love your hair the way it is, now you can see yourself in a different way without going to the hair stylist! My chestnut, auburn-streaked, fine, straight hair came in black, thick and curly. As a bonus, I got a “skunk stripe.” People pay good money for that! I’ve had three hair colors and different styles since I started visiting the “Chemo Salon.” A visit is like a box of chocolates – you never know what you’re going to get.
• Bring out your inner child and play dress up with wigs and scarves. Personally, I loved the Bohemian look of the scarves and never wore a wig.
• Rock it! Put on makeup and get some bold earrings. Bald IS beautiful!
• Although I said these were in no particular order, I do think this one is most important. You are in a fight for your life. You are a cancer warrior. Think of your baldness as a soldier’s helmet and wear it proudly.

I would love to hear other coping mechanisms from my readers out there, so please leave a comment to add to the list. And to my new acquaintance, I hope this will offer you some solace.

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Well, Shut My Mouth

OK, friends. I have a long overdue confession. It’s finally time for me to admit this. I have (anxious gulp) bad . . . days. Yes, it’s true. My mental attitude is not always sunshine and rainbows. Occasionally there are cloudy days, and I’ve had more than a few of them the last couple weeks as the symptoms of my cancer have decided to make themselves more noticed. I’ve observed a subtle change in my vocabulary as a result.

One thing I believe in strongly is the power of words. I believe what you put out to the universe, such as words, becomes a truth to you. Think about it – if we know the negative things we say to others can hurt them, why wouldn’t the negative things we say to ourselves hurt just as much? Although that hurt may be subconscious and we may not realize it, it’s still damaging.

Although I’m feeling fine, the cancer apparently is wreaking havoc inside. In the last couple weeks, my doctors have been using words that I perceive as negative, such as “serious” and “realistic.” I know my optimism sometimes gets in the way of me being realistic; however, I certainly understand the seriousness of my situation. I have found myself starting to focus more on these words and adopt the doctors’ negative terminology. This is not a good thing. I have quickly noticed that I also don’t smile as much and am whining more. I don’t believe these things are a coincidence. It’s like an abyss has opened, and I am aware that I could easily fall into it if I am not cautious.

The title of this post — “Well, Shut My Mouth” – is an old Southern saying I grew up with that is usually uttered in amazement in response to something. In my case, this time I’m saying these words literally – I really need to shut my mouth! This includes the words that don’t actually pass my lips. I must stop the intrusion of negative words entering my vocabulary. I have always relied on my positive spirit to lift up my physical body, when needed. I believe that, without the power of my optimism, my body does not get the positive infusion it needs – and that infusion seems to be the only thing working toward my wellness right now.

So, I’ve been focusing my efforts on getting back on track and have started to feel much better the past couple days. I sense the abyss will be closed soon. In the meantime, know that it’s OK to have cloudy days. Just be sure that sunshine is in the long-range forecast.

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Welcome 2017!

In 2015, I wrote a post about new beginnings, specifically not waiting until the new year (or a Monday or the first of the month) to make changes in our lives. I still believe that – every morning when we wake up brings us a new opportunity to change ourselves for the better. There is a feeling that comes with the calendar changing to a new year, however, that makes one feel a bit different.

For me, it’s like being reborn (I guess that’s why the new year is represented by a baby!). Jan. 1 brings a feeling of cleanliness, shaking off the impurities that have accumulated during the previous 365 days. It brings excitement about the unknown, like the feeling you get when you anticipate a gift, and, most of all, it brings hope – hope that our wishes for ourselves and others will come true.

I have enjoyed a feeling of contentment during this holiday season. That was not necessarily the case in the last two years. Although I enjoyed Christmas, it was rather bittersweet. As I trimmed and untrimmed the tree, I would look long and hard at each ornament, thinking it might very well be the last time I would see it. This year was different, however, probably because I had passed my “expiration date” and all was still well. I enjoyed every minute of time with family and friends, and as the clock struck midnight on Dec. 31, I was truly happy and full of anticipation of what 2017 would bring. I was free of the tethers that had bound me since my doctors had told me I was terminal.

I realize that my roller coaster ride of fighting cancer will continue in the new year, but 2017 will also bring many gifts — some of which I’m already aware of, like being able to continue teaching full-time, and others that have not been unwrapped yet. Heck, 2017 itself is a true gift!

I hope you, too, will begin the new year feeling excited and hopeful – looking forward to the blessings of 2017 and letting go of anything that happened in 2016 that did not meet your expectations. That’s the beautiful gift a new year brings — renewed hope.

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Laughter is the Best Medicine

I’m a big fan of laughter. I don’t think there’s anything better than a good ole’ deep-from-the gut, tear-causing, snort-filled, can’t-catch-your-breath laugh. It’s like a clean rain washing over you, erasing anything that’s ailing you. I have a pretty boisterous laugh, which is recognizable to some and annoying to others; however, it’s always honest and from the heart.

Not too long ago, I wrote a post about how smiling, even if you don’t really mean it, can lift your mood. Laughter, likewise, also has physical, mental and social benefits. According to the website, helpguide.org, “Laughter can reduce stress, anxiety, and depression, strengthen your immune system, and diminish pain.” WebMD adds, “We change physiologically when we laugh. We stretch muscles throughout our face and body, our pulse and blood pressure go up, and we breathe faster, sending more oxygen to our tissues.” I’m going to add another benefit to the list – it can help reduce cancer, or, more accurately in my case, the number of tumors one has.

Yep, you read that right. Many readers of this story will find it amazing, some might find it unbelievable, some might think it’s – well, gross. In fact, if you’re squeamish, be forewarned.  As for me, I found what happened to me when I was laughing miraculous and pretty funny – well, that is, after I got over the initial shock.

My story begins shortly after Thanksgiving. I had developed a cough and had started wheezing when I breathed. The doctors were concerned and sent me for tests, which confirmed that I had a tumor inside one of the smaller bronchi and it was blocking almost the entire tube. I was sent immediately to a thoracic surgeon who said it was a serious situation and that the question at hand was not if my lung would collapse from the blocked airway, but when. Surgery was scheduled for two weeks later during which he would attempt to place a stent in the tube to open it up so air could get through. Where’s the humor, you ask? Wait, it’s coming.

Less than a week later, on a Sunday night, I started laughing about something – hard! That led to a coughing fit. I coughed, and I coughed and I coughed, and – SQUEAMISH ALERT – I coughed up something and spit it out. After I screamed, I realized I had coughed up the tumor blocking the bronchi. Once I got the coughing under control and got my wits back about me after being scared to death, I noticed I was breathing like normal again, and I thought to myself, “Ann, this could only happen to you.” In fact, when I Googled the topic, I found only two instances where this has happened. I called both my oncologist and surgeon the next morning; both agreed it’s rare but such a thing can happen.

The surgeon still wanted to perform a bronchoscopy on me, just to see that everything was alright. That procedure was performed about a week ago and went well. He saw the “stub” of the tumor that was left and got rid of it, and since I was breathing normally again, there was no need for a stent. This episode taught me two things: Laughter is indeed the best medicine, and, more importantly, miracles come in many disguises and often in the most unexpected ways. Merry Christmas everybody!

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No Expiration Date

It may not be evident from reading my posts, since they’re usually written about cancer, but I actually don’t think about my disease very much. I go about my daily routine without any thoughts about my health. There are those times, however, when I’m likely to think about it more. November is one of those times, for it marks the anniversary of when I found out I had cancer.

Those initial days three years ago come flooding back, and I once again relive the anxiety, the doctors’ visits, the tests, the biopsy, the diagnosis, the fear. I’ve written in previous posts that, although this is uncomfortable, self-reflection is necessary for each of us because it is important to remember where we’ve been in order to see how far we’ve come. This November, a new feeling is being added to the list – that of victory – and that is the real topic of this entry.

When I was first diagnosed, I told my doctors I didn’t want to hear statistics, like survival rates, and I decided that I wouldn’t ask any questions to which I really didn’t want to hear the answer. This wasn’t denial, mind you. I just didn’t want a self-fulfilling prophecy lurking in the deep corners of my mind. And then I asked a question.

When I was told I was terminal in March 2015, I asked how much time I had. I felt it was a practical question – knowing how much time I had to get my affairs in order. The answer was that the average length of survival for someone in my condition was 18-20 months. Right there and then, I put an expiration date on myself. Even though I didn’t think about it often, it was there, looming like the countdown clocks that read “32 days till Christmas.” Well, guess what? It’s 20 months later and I don’t feel like I’m going anywhere any time soon. In fact, I feel a sense of freedom, of achievement, of happiness by reaching this page on the calendar. I feel like I’ve beaten some odds. I’ve torn off that expiration label, and a new one will not take its place.

It’s made me ponder how often we must go through life listening to things people tell us (or even the things we say to ourselves) and then end up letting those things define who we are. I’m making a choice at this point to get rid of any “best by [insert date]” labels in my life, especially one that suggests how much time I may have on this Earth. Only the Great Physician knows that. I will no longer feel shackled by an approaching date on the calendar, even if those shackles are not always foremost in my thoughts. Perhaps November will be a time of self-reflection for you as well – a time for you to get rid of any labels you have and approach the holidays fetter-free.

As this Thanksgiving draws near, I give thanks for those of you who read and comment on this blog; my family and friends; my hands-on caregivers; and, the distant caregivers who give support through their thoughts, love, and prayers. I am so grateful for all my blessings. Here’s to a Happy Thanksgiving – and one without labels.

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Rainbows and Moles

My, what a difference a day makes. I started composing this post three days ago as I was driving to work. It was raining, yet the sun was out, so I started looking for rainbows. I’ve been seeing them a lot lately, or, at least, the conditions that produce them.

It started a couple weeks ago. I was leaving the hospital after being rejected for chemo because my bone marrow was in bad shape, having not recovered from the previous treatment. I was disappointed, to say the least — another two weeks of not actively fighting the cancer. Then I saw the biggest rainbow I had ever seen. I don’t recall ever seeing a full arch rainbow ever in my life – this one, however, could not be missed. It seemed like it covered the entire sky, stretching miles from end to end. I pulled over to take a picture, but it was so big that I couldn’t get the entire arch in the frame. In addition to its size, there was the beginning of a second rainbow right beside it. It would have to remain, as one of my friends says, in the photo album in my mind.

Since then, there have been an unusually high number of days where the sun has been out while it was raining. Some of the resulting rainbows I could see, others I couldn’t, usually because I was driving. I suppose that’s what faith is like – knowing that something is out there, but not being able to see it.

As I was driving through the “sunny rain” two days ago, it occurred to me that maybe the rainbows had been another hummingbird experience. After all, in the Bible, the rainbow represents God’s promise. I reveled in the idea that God was sending me promises.

That was supposed to be the end of my post. Then the next day came.

I went to the hospital to start another 24-hour round of chemo (the one that had been postponed two weeks earlier), only to be rejected again. My bone marrow still hadn’t recovered, so still no cancer treatment for me. I just heard bits and pieces of the conversation that followed; I couldn’t find any silver lining to what was being said and my usual optimism started to dwindle.

I left feeling like I was playing “Whack-a-Mole” and I was the mole. I’m sure you remember this arcade game, which was especially popular at county fairs. You try to hit moles that pop up at random with a mallet to push them back into their holes. I thought, “How much disappointment, setbacks, and bad news am I supposed to take? How many times am I going to be hit with the mallet and pushed back into my hole?” — an especially frustrating thought when I’ve tried to be so optimistic and faith-focused during this battle. I went home and had quite the pity party.

So what’s a girl to do next? I woke up yesterday to a new day, put my big girl pants on, and started looking for rainbows. I have yet to see one, but, then again, the last two days have been sunny, which is a good thing. I know the rainbows will be back, though. After all, as Michael Krauszer stated in one of his blog posts, “It [a rainbow] can provide us with comfort, knowing that even after a terrible storm, God can and will be with us.”

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My Sister’s Smile

“Smile! It increases your face value.” That’s one of my favorite quotes from “Steel Magnolias.” I’m a firm believer in smiles. It’s common lore that smiling uses more muscles than frowning, but there is mixed research on whether that’s actually true. Did you know, however, that there IS scientific evidence that shows smiling can affect emotion – that if we make ourselves smile in a negative situation, it will reduce stress. Newer research suggests smiling is also beneficial for the heart. In any case, I’d rather have smile lines than frown lines. My sister apparently feels the same way.

I love my sister’s smile. It’s genuine and almost always on her face. She has said that people have come up to her simply to say it was nice to see someone smiling. Such was the case last year when she and her husband were eating at a restaurant in a District of Columbia suburb. It turned out the person was a photojournalist who wanted to know her story. So she told him a love story – how love and cancer intersected in her life. This is a vignette that resulted:

Many thanks to Stephen P. Robertson, the producer, for giving me permission to share his work on Sharing the Strength.

 

“When there are clouds, in the sky, you’ll get by if you smile, through your fear and sorrow.  Smile, and there’ll be tomorrow” – Judy Garland, “Smile”

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The Hummingbird

This story has been on my heart for a year. Last summer, I was visiting my sister at her cabin in the beautiful West Virginia mountains (there’s a reason people call it “almost heaven”). As usual, I woke up before she did one morning and went out on the porch with my daily dose of caffeine. It is so quiet and peaceful there! As I watched the morning sun starting to shine its rays through the trees and listened to crackling twigs as wildlife wandered around, I couldn’t help but want to commune with God.

However, this time was a bit different. I tend to do a lot of talking in my conversations with Him and don’t spend enough time listening, so I said, “God, I’m going to shut my mouth this morning so you can tell me whatever you want to tell me.” I closed my eyes, felt the breeze, and listened to nature’s rustling. Almost immediately, I heard a fluttering and opened my eyes. There was a hummingbird right in front of my face! Just as quickly as it arrived, however, it flew away. When my sister awoke, I couldn’t wait to tell her what I saw. Her response was that there were no hummingbirds in the area. Very strange.

When I returned home, I started seeing hummingbirds all the time. If I was sitting on my porch, they would fly right up to me, as if to say, “hello,” and then go next door where the nectar was. They became such a frequent site, I finally looked up the meaning of the hummingbird. On a website called “Spirit Animals and Animal Totems,” this is what I found:

“The hummingbird generally symbolizes joy and playfulness, as well as adaptability. Additional symbolic meanings are:

• Lightness of being, enjoyment of life
• Being more present
• Independence
• Bringing playfulness and joy in your life
• Lifting up negativity
• Swiftness, ability to respond quickly
• Resiliency, being able to travel great distances tirelessly”

Well, I was speechless. Everything I read applied so accurately to my battle with cancer and the lessons I have learned from living with a terminal disease. The details on each bullet point could not have rung more true. God truly did speak to me that day. He reminded me of all these things through the fluttering of tiny wings.

The story does not end there, however. A couple months later, my sister came to visit and as she was looking around the living room, she let out a gasp and turned around to give me the strangest look. She saw something I had never noticed before. She was looking at a picture of our mother, who died when I was 19. The picture had been in the same frame for decades. On the frame was the painting of a hummingbird.

“Be still and know that I am God” — Psalm 46:10

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Mea Culpa

Or perhaps I should have titled this “She’s Baacccckkk.” In either case, after a prolonged hiatus, I’m hoping to start writing again, thanks to the urging of family and friends. This first post of 2016 will be a bit different, however – more of an update than one of my thoughts brought to life on paper – and I apologize upfront for the length of the post. I am covering 10 months, after all!

During the early days of summer, I was at a family function at which I was greeted by a lot of relieved-looking faces. I was surprised to learn how many people had been worried about me because of my absence from the blog and Facebook. I’m so sorry to have caused such concern, and I’m going to do my best from letting that happen again.

When the new year started, I was strongly feeling the effects of chemo, which made me tired all the time, among other things. Still, I went back to school to teach full-time. I was able to do it, but not much of anything else. As a result, writing – whether it was on a blog, Facebook, or communicating in general — went by the wayside.

So, here’s the latest (which means rewinding a bit):

At the time of my last post, I had just started a clinical trial at Roswell Park Cancer Institute that combined an approved chemo drug with an experimental one. The purpose of the trial was to see if the experimental drug would increase the efficacy of the approved one. In my case, it worked – for a while. After two months, my tumors had shrunk, overall, by about 25 percent. One of the biggest tumors was shrunk in half. However, by that time, the drugs were starting to take their toll on my body. Welcome, 2016.

The next five months would be a roller coaster ride (see the About Me page if you want details). My body was so battered by the end of May that I was sadly taken off the clinical trial, which I was convinced had given me an extra seven months of life. My body was in such bad shape that my oncologist said I had to stop all treatment for at least two months – not something a Type A cancer warrior wants to hear! I made the best of it, however, and the best was great!

As my body healed and I became stronger, I was able to have a WONDERFUL summer! I finished a long-held dream to drive all of Route 66, nearly 2,500 miles through eight states – a dream I started making come true 12 years ago. I got to visit with family and friends near and far as I “road tripped” to Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Wisconsin, Missouri, Oklahoma, Texas, Kansas, the Carolinas, Virginia, West Virginia, Maryland, and Pennsylvania. I sat on my patio to watch the sun set over the lake, hung out with friends at the beach, watched scary movies with my sister, and enjoyed quiet moments at her cabin in the West Virginia mountains. Last weekend, I attended my 40^th high school reunion.

Now I’m back to work – in more ways than one. I am once again teaching full time and, as a write this, I’m in the hospital receiving a new chemo treatment. It’s probably no surprise that since I was not undergoing any treatment during the summer, the cancer progressed. Several tumors are now at 2cm, a “line in the sand” if you will. When they get bigger than that, symptoms can start. I have experienced some already, but they have been short-lived. Our goal now is to stabilize the tumors so they don’t get bigger and to stave off new ones. I am on the waiting list of a couple clinical trials focused on immunotherapy, which the oncologist says is my best option right now, but they have yet to open and I’m at the stage where we can’t wait any longer to do something, so I’ve started a new chemo drug that was approved by the FDA less than a year ago for my specific type of cancer and has had some success in Europe. I’ll return to the hospital to get it for 24 hours at a time every three weeks.

In the meantime, please keep praying for this drug’s success and for a clinical trial to open soon and, while you do that, I’ll be writing.

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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.

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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.

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I’m a Weeble

I don’t remember the last time I got really good news from my oncologist. Just when I think things are going well, BOOM, something gets in the way. So far, the only progress that has been made regarding my health has been made by the tumors, which continue to get bigger and have gotten more aggressive recently. Almost every time I have gone to the doctor in the last few months, a bomb has dropped and my spirits drop with it. There have been times when I thought I would never regain my positive outlook on life, or even stop crying for that matter.

In August, I was taken off chemo after just barely starting because it was doing too much damage to my liver and bone marrow. The news was devastating to me – how was I supposed to fight cancer without any treatment? I felt like a soldier without a gun. I usually try to be stoic in the doctor’s office; however, this time, the news was a little more than I could handle. I crumbled – and, once again, I thought there was no way I would be able to crawl out of the depths of my disappointment. But I did. I’ve discovered I’m a Weeble.

People of a certain age remember these egg-shaped character toys that featured the tagline, “Weebles wobble, but they don’t fall down.” There have surely been times during the last two years that I have been parallel to the floor, but somehow I keep returning to an upright position. I’m not sure why this is. It most likely was the way I was raised. My father had a wonderful, positive outlook on life; he expressed his faith through his actions every day.

In a post last year, I talked about denial, optimism, and faith – a combination that I believe are characteristics of Weebles, at least they are for this Weeble. Denial comes in handy when I look in the mirror and don’t see a sick person, and I’m as active as I ever was. A stranger would never know what’s going on inside my body. In fact, I refuse to identify myself as being sick and have banned the word from my friends’ vocabulary, as well. Don’t get me wrong – I am not pretending that I don’t have terminal cancer; however, it doesn’t need to be my main focus in life.

I think that denial helps me be optimistic. I have found that once I absorb the bad news from the doctor’s office, I can pick out a nugget of news that is positive, making the bad news fade into the distance of denial. Yes, I had to have a lung resection, but two of the tumors taken out were the biggest ones at the time. Yes, I have a lot of tumors, but there aren’t any new ones. Yes, the tumors have gotten bigger, but now I’m eligible for a clinical trial. I can hang my hat on those nuggets and be optimistic again, hoping for the best.

Then, of course, there is faith. Once shattered when I found out the cancer has returned, my faith is stronger than ever. For the first time, I intimately understand something my father always said: “I don’t worry because I’ve turned all my troubles over to the Lord. If I’m still worrying, I haven’t truly turned them over.” I don’t know if I’ve quite done that; however, I do know that I have a calmness that I haven’t experienced for a long time.

I hope the Weeble in me continues to do its job – just wobbling, but not falling down.

Share the strength.

Eclipse of the Spirit

There was a hit song in the early ‘80s called “Total Eclipse of the Heart” (I sense a lot of you are smiling and nodding right now!). Last night, as I was watching the lunar eclipse, I thought of that song. Not only did I think about how our heart can be eclipsed, but I also thought how often we have an eclipse of the spirit. Lunar eclipses can be rather fleeting. Eclipses of the spirit, however, can be more lasting – if we let them — because, unfortunately, they are not caused by the rotation of a planet.

At various points in our lives, our moon will shine brighter than any star.  Other times, shadows will encroach upon the brightness. But sometimes, those shadows engulf all light, extinguishing even the smallest glow around the edges. Only we can determine how long our personal eclipse will last – and that may be difficult.

How do we try to find light when we are in a dark place? One way is to remember that lunar eclipse last night. If you looked up at the sky at a particular time, you may have seen a spectacular full moon. If you looked up at another time, all you may have seen is darkness. That’s the same way we tend to experience the snapshots of our life – all we can grasp is what we see at that moment. We can’t always see the trajectory of the planet rotating – moving us beyond the eclipse.

NASA says the total eclipse lasted only a little over an hour. In other words, it passed — rather quickly — and the moon eventually shone brightly once again. We just need to hold on and have faith – faith that whatever is causing our eclipse will pass as well.

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” – John 1:5

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New Beginnings

The calendar on the wall says fall has arrived; however, my mind is contemplating spring. Not because I’m wishing for a startover of warm weather (although that would be nice), but rather because of a feeling that spring gave me earlier this year. Spring has never been my favorite, or even second favorite, season. But this year, something different was in the air.

In the early days of spring, I was sitting in the car at a drive-thru and my attention turned to some small flowers pushing their way up through the winter soil. I then noticed small colorful buds on bushes and miniature green growth on trees. Nature was starting to become alive again, offering a new beginning.

Spring is often associated with new life — new beginnings. So I started thinking about how I have viewed new beginnings throughout my life. They have usually been associated with the calendar – New Year’s Day, the first of the month, Mondays. I’m not talking about significant life events like weddings and babies, but rather that point when many of us are most likely to make changes in our lives.

It occurred to me that, all too often, we wait for the calendar to tell us when to change when, in actuality, we could make changes any day. We don’t have to wait until New Year’s Eve to make a resolution. We don’t have to wait until the first day of the next month to start looking for a job. We don’t have to wait until Monday to start that diet. We can choose to do it anytime – we just need to choose to do it.

How wonderful it is to know that every day we wake up, we have a new opportunity to change ourselves for the better. We can certainly set our goal for a major change like seeking a new job, buying a house, or losing weight. We can also seek smaller changes — being more patient, smiling more, offering an act of kindness.

I certainly have a lot of things on my list of changes to make. What changes will YOU make tomorrow?

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Carpe Diem

I was shocked when I realized that my last post was in May – nearly four months ago! However, I have a good reason. I was busy seizing the day.

Earlier this summer, I spent time at my sister’s cabin in the beautiful West Virginia mountains, not far from where I was raised. Because of the rural location, there’s no Internet connection or cell phone service. I won’t lie – the first couple days were hard as I went through a serious case of electronics withdrawal. Then a funny thing happened. I started paying more attention to my surroundings – the gentle crackling sound of small animals running through the woods, the rustling of leaves as breezes wafted through the trees, the chirping of birds and the music of cicadas. I started to enjoy not having a laptop and cell phone as body appendages. It was a feeling I would keep all summer long.

Here are some examples of what I was doing while I was “off the grid”:

• Enjoying visits from hummingbirds
• Rediscovering how much I enjoy jigsaw puzzles
• Sitting on the beach with lifelong friends with our toes in the water
• Playing on the floor with my grandson
• Napping to the sound of waves hitting the shore
• Eating brunch on the patio
• Traveling a favorite portion of Route 66 – not once, not twice, but four times
• Sharing laughter and tears with my children
• Staring in awe at beautiful, multicolored sunsets
• Driving on back roads with the windows down singing “Bohemian Rhapsody”
• Sitting by a bonfire on the beach watching people light Chinese lanterns
• Going out for lots of lunches, suppers, and happy hours with family and friends
• Writing future blog posts in my head
• Watching thunderstorms move in across the lake
• Looking at clouds so crisp, fluffy, and white, it seemed like you could reach up and pluck one
• Holding my new granddaughter when she was less than two days old
• Hanging out at the beach bar or the pier with friends listening to music, music, and more music
• Sitting quietly with my sister in the mornings on her cabin porch or my patio
• Watching movies like “Animal House,” “Caddyshack,” and “Young Frankenstein” that never get old
• Closing my eyes, tilting my face to the sun, and feeling the breeze caress my face

Yes, it was a magnificent summer indeed. Not one day went by without enjoying it to the fullest. No Internet or cell phone needed.

I know summer is winding down, but no matter the season and no matter where you live, there are simple things in life that you can enjoy, if you just give yourself the time to do so. Start seizing the day – today.

Share the strength.

 

 

It’s All about Choices

“It’s all about choices.” That’s a phrase that a dear friend and I use at least once a week. Indeed, each of us is the sum of the choices we have made throughout our life — each decision leading us down a path that we are customizing just for us.

We make dozens of choices on a daily basis – whether to hit the snooze button one more time, what to wear, whether to go through the drive-thru instead of making dinner, to name just a few. For the most part, these aren’t going to drastically alter our life. However, there are many other decisions that will: where to work, who to marry, where to live, whether to have children. Then there are the choices you can make when it seems that you don’t really have a choice at all and that’s what I want to talk about in this post.

As a professor of public relations, one of the things I teach is crisis management. This term is actually a misnomer, because you can’t really manage a crisis; you can only manage your response to it. Life is no different. You can’t always control what happens to you; however, you CAN control how you react, and it’s those reactions that will not only determine the direction of your life, but also may reveal the person you are deep inside. The Dalai Lama said, “When we meet real tragedy in life, we can react in two ways: either by losing hope and falling into self-destructive habits, or by using the challenge to find our inner strength.”

There’s no doubt that life knocks us down at times. Sometimes it takes longer than others to get back up. But get back up we must. As I mentioned in my last post, I have started to regain my old optimism after allowing myself to indulge in a month of self-pity. While that latter attitude might be well-deserved, it won’t enrich my life. Life is what we make of it – how we react to it. I’ve never had much patience for people who complain about a situation they can control (such as hating a job, yet not looking for a new one). I realize it’s harder when it’s a situation that you can’t control. However, perhaps it’s in those situations that our choices are most important. A lifelong friend just sent me a plaque that reads “You never know how strong you are until being strong is the only choice you have.” Very true. You have to play the hand you’re dealt and, hopefully, you can do that with courage and grace – a bit of humor won’t hurt either!

I expect to have to make some important choices in the next few months. As a brief follow-up to my last post, I went to Memorial Sloan Kettering in New York City last week for a second opinion and was told that I had been getting excellent care in Buffalo. The doctor also said that the treatment I had received and that has been proposed is the same she would’ve recommended. That’s comforting and reassuring. She did tell me about several upcoming clinical trials (in Buffalo and New York City) for which I might be eligible, thus the decisions coming my way. I hope I will make the right one; in the meantime, I know I’ve made the right choice in how to react to the things I can’t change.

“In the long run, we shape our lives, and we shape ourselves. The process never ends until we die. And the choices we make are ultimately our own responsibility.” — Eleanor Roosevelt

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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.

Share the strength.