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.

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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

Share the strength.

 

 

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.

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!

Share the strength.

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.”

Share the strength.

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”

Share the strength.

Hi, God. It’s Me, Ann.

Are you there? Hello? Hellooooo? Of course, I really do know He’s around — somewhere; however, my faith has been shaken to the core the past week. As a result, this post is especially difficult to write. Since I started this blog a year ago, I’ve shared many views on life as I journeyed through a nine-month battle with cancer. I have written a lot about faith, optimism, affirmative prayer, living for today and not worrying about the future, and counting one’s blessings. Just last month, I wrote about looking for the silver lining when life knocks you down – using God’s study guide of faith to pass life’s exams.  However, right now, this “glass half full” gal is seeing the glass half empty.

You see, last week I was told that my cancer has returned and spread to both lungs – an “incurable” condition, according to the doctor. Translation: I’m terminal. The doctor says the average life expectancy for someone in my condition is 18 months. Bummer. I imagine I know what you’re feeling right now as you read these words, especially if you know me. Stunned . . . shocked . . . sick. That’s how I felt. I didn’t expect that news either, and I deeply apologize to the many of you who are finding out about my condition this way. Telling people has been extremely difficult. After the recent losses of my father and brother, I feel like I’ve been kicked while I’m down. How much is one person supposed to take? I feel deflated and defeated.

I truly – deep, deep down truly – thought I had beaten cancer. I thought I was going to be a beacon, the shining success story that could inspire others who might face the type of rare, aggressive cancer I had – correction, have. I didn’t want that for egotistical reasons, but rather so that something good might come of a bad situation. I thought that was the purpose behind my first battle – that God was giving me the gift of words to start this blog and provide encouragement to others, people who were not just experiencing cancer, but also any difficult situation.

The first time I found out I had cancer, I thought, “Why not me? What makes me so special that something that horrible couldn’t happen?” This time, however, I am indulging in the classic “Why me?” question. I thought I had done everything right last time. I maintained my faith – in fact, it got stronger – and I shared it with others. I tried to face my challenge with poise and optimism. So I feel slightly abandoned by God right now. Yes, I know, saying that may be perceived as blasphemous by some. I rather feel like Pinto, Tom Hulce’s character in the classic movie “Animal House,” when his date for the toga party passes out in his bedroom and an angel appears on one shoulder and a devil on the other, resulting in a tug of war to decide what he should do next. My mini angel and devil certainly aren’t uttering the dialogue they had with Pinto, but they’re there nonetheless – arguing acceptance and anger, patience and indignation, faith and doubt.

I’ve always felt like I had a personal relationship with God. My prayers have often taken the form of a conversation. And just like you experience a range of emotions with a close friend, including frustration, so have I expressed, and am expressing, that emotion with Him as well. I’m not going to feel too bad about that, either, for even Jesus, in the Garden of Gethsemane, asked God to let death pass Him by and later cried out on the Cross, “My God, why have you forsaken me?”

I can’t begin to fathom why this is happening. As I have said in other posts, I don’t believe God causes bad things. I’m disappointed He didn’t step in to stop this from occurring, though. Once I adjust to this news, I will, hopefully, be like Job, who accepted numerous sorrows without losing faith. Right now, however, I’m more like David, when he entered the cave – afraid and lamenting.

Share YOUR strength — please.