A Broader Lens

When I first started my blog, I envisioned a place where other people who had been diagnosed with the same rare cancer I was, soft tissue sarcoma, could come and discuss their experiences.  Somewhere along the way, however, it grew into something else.  Instead of focusing on sarcoma, my little blog began to quickly evolve into a series of musings about life, and even though these thoughts were written through the lens of cancer, I found out that they were finding their way into people’s lives who didn’t have cancer – and they still held meaning.

I have deeply appreciated the readership support of my family and friends and am humbled by their kind responses to the blog: “I have been deeply moved by all your writing,” “Wonderful words of strength, courage, encouragement,” “We all have or will have similar challenges and it is helpful and inspiring to know that we are not, and will never be, alone.”  To say I’m touched would be an understatement.  I feel blessed that God has given me words to share that mean something to others and feel certain that this is part of a path I’m supposed to be on right now.

So today I’ve changed the tagline of my blog from “A Gathering Place for Those with Soft Tissue Sarcoma and Other Cancers” to “Learning About Life Through the Lens of Cancer.”  However, my original hopes for the blog remain the same as stated in the welcome message: “to have this little portion of cyberspace offer you calmness during uncertainty, light when it seems the darkest, and strength when you feel you have none left.  Sharing the strength, we can all get through.”  Thank you for all your continued encouragement, support and inspiration.

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Just Brow-sing

When you’re surprised, your eyebrows go up.  When you’re angry, they furrow.  Eyebrows are a nonverbal way that help other people know the emotions we’re feeling.  But what happens if you don’t have any eyebrows?  Losing the hair on your head is typically associated with undergoing chemotherapy, but many people don’t know that you often also lose your eyebrows.  Mine are almost gone.  My eyelashes, too.

I probably would not have chosen to be bald.  However, I actually don’t mind it.  I figured out I’m saving at least $600 in salon expenses!  In addition, the time I spend getting ready to go out has been cut in half, and I rather like the exotic look of scarves and turbans.  Losing eyebrows and eyelashes, on the other hand, causes a bit more of a problem because of their usefulness.

While eyebrows assist in us conveying our feelings, eyelashes frame “the windows to the soul.”  They serve a major purpose – they protect the eye from debris getting in it and act as a sensor when something gets too close to the eye, not to mention they enable you to give butterfly kisses and make wishes when one falls on your cheek.  Of course, the multibillion dollar cosmetic industry will tell you that those eyelashes are meant for flirting (and, well, that’s true, too!).  The allure of making up the eye goes back to ancient Egypt and has become only more popular through the ages.  In fact, sales continue to rise in an ever-increasingly competitive marketplace.  Mascara is one of the top sellers in the cosmetic industry.  A woman will spend an average of nearly $4,000 on mascara in her lifetime and nearly $3,000 on eye shadow (actually, these figures seem a bit low to me).

So, what’s a girl to do when she’s missing these important facial features?   There are makeup tricks for chemo patients, like eyebrow stencils, but I don’t dare try them for fear of ending up looking like Joan Crawford.  Eyeliner is suggested as the solution for missing eyelashes, creating an illusion that lashes are still framing your eye.  Well, just try to apply that without having eyelashes as a guide.  I have enough trouble putting it on when I have eyelashes; without them, my eyeliner looks more like a road map than an outline of an eye.

My solution is to simply ride it out, because it actually is no big deal in the major scheme of things.  However, it would helpful if you remember a few things.  Next time you see me with tears in my eyes, there’s a good chance I’m not crying.  My tear ducts are taking over the job of my missing eyelashes and trying to keep foreign matter out of my eyes by watering them.  If I’m flapping my eyelids together, I may also be trying to do get something out of my eye, not flirting (then, again, perhaps I am . . .).  And if I have deep wrinkles in my forehead, I’m probably not angry; I’m more likely puzzled about something.  Of course, the one facial expression that clearly relays its true meaning and is not affected by chemo is a smile. You can’t go wrong with that one, and I intend on keeping mine!

The Power of Words

During this journey I’ve be on, I’ve thought a lot about words, which may seem strange considering I’m a communication professor who primarily teaches writing.  For years, I have taught the value of words and picking just the right one to concisely communicate one’s purpose.  I’ve explained the importance of connotative vs. denotative meanings: how the words “cheap” and “inexpensive,” although they basically mean the same thing, conjure up very different mental images.  I’ve stressed how the poor placement of words in a sentence may alter the writer’s true intention: “My father took me to my first horse race at the age of 8” – he’s got to be the youngest father in history!  I’ve pleaded with students to stop using “they” as a pronoun for everyone and everything.

Yet those aren’t the “word rules” I’ve been thinking about.  In a previous post about affirmative prayer, I talked about focusing on positive outcomes and the idea that what we put out in the universe comes back to us.  That includes the words we choose to speak.  Since I was first diagnosed with cancer, I’ve tried (and been mostly successful) with avoiding words like “sick” or “ill.”  I had cancer, period.  I felt just fine, so I didn’t want negativity worming its way into my psyche.  Since my surgery, I’ve tried to avoid saying I have cancer; it was removed and is no longer in my body.  I’m on the path to wellness, I’m healing, I’m getting stronger.

As I have been thinking more about the power of words, I have come across several readings reinforcing this thought.  Last month, I read the following passage in my daily devotional: “The words I speak and write carry energy and power, so I choose them with care and clear purpose . . . My chosen words are sacred.  What I send into the world returns to me multiplied.”  More recently, I came across another reading taken from “The Twelve Powers of Man,” a 1930 book written by Charles Fillmore, a leader of the New Thought movement. He taught that one of the 12 powers is at the root of the tongue and that the throat is “the door between the formless and the formed,” meaning that words shape ideas into reality.  He said that “every word makes an imprint.”

I believe this to be true.  Our words can have enormous impact on others – they can console, nurture, motivate, teach, celebrate, degrade, hurt.  Why wouldn’t our own words not affect us, as well?  I have worked in public relations for 29 years and understand the concept that perception is reality.  If you or others around you perceive what you say to be real, those words elicit very real emotions and reactions.  Have you ever wished you hadn’t said something because of the effect those words had on someone?   If my words create my reality, then I choose a reality where my words work for good and bring encouragement, positive energy and healing to my life and the lives of those around me.

“So shall my word be that goes out from my mouth; it shall not return to me empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose” —  Isaiah 55:11

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A Symphony of Blessings

There are some times when all seems right with the world.  This week has been one of those times.  In a previous post, I talked about the importance of being present in the moment – not worrying about yesterday or tomorrow, but rather recognizing the blessings in front of you so you don’t miss the tapestry of today.  It has been easy to recognize my blessings this week.

The week began on Mother’s Day – my favorite day of the year (yep, it outranks Christmas and my birthday!).  The day started out with a nice long chat via Skype with my daughter, with my adorable 18-month-old grandson making random appearances.  My son then treated me to a wonderful lunch, during which I ran into some friends I hadn’t seen for a long time.  Well wishes from my step-children and Facebook posts from former students to their “PR Mom” followed.  I went to bed that night feeling so blessed!

The next day, the thermometer hit 74 degrees – time to remove the winter seal on my lakefront window, open the front door, and enjoy a soothing breeze.  In the community where I live, an open front door means “stop on by” – something I really like – and people did stop by to see how I was doing.  I’ve spent so many weeks behind closed doors between surgery and winter that I hadn’t seen my neighbors too much. It was nice to visit with them.

The temperature rose 10 degrees the following day and that breeze got even more delightful.  I had to do a lot of grading and it was a good day for it – so peaceful.  It was quiet except for the chirping of birds and an occasional splash of lake waves against the rocks.  I couldn’t help but pause occasionally and smile because the day was so nice.  When it was time for a break, I took a nap, indulging in the peace and quiet that surrounded me.

On Wednesday, I made the trek to the cancer institute in Buffalo for my in-between chemo checkup.  My white blood cell count was way up, which was great news.  Several weeks ago, it had gotten so low that chemo had to be postponed. The next round of chemo is a go for Monday, and I’m ready.

Yesterday and today, I went to campus.  I even drove myself (the first time in three months) and had enough strength to run errands each day.  It was so nice to do something normal; when you are diagnosed with cancer, normalcy seems to disappear.  During the two days, I met with all 42 of my seniors to review their capstone projects.  In the process, we reflected on how fast four years had gone by and discussed graduation and their futures.  These are bittersweet moments – experiencing pride and happiness at all they’ve accomplished, yet sadness at having to say goodbye, feeling rather like a mother bird pushing her young out of the nest.  Tears, laughter, and hugs were the hallmarks of these meetings.  A couple students left behind cards with beautiful sentiments.  One student proudly presented me a picture of a flower she painted, another gave me a beautiful quartz bracelet in my favorite color, and a third gave me a plaque of a starfish (I have a long-standing tradition of giving each of my seniors a starfish with a copy of the “starfish story,” encouraging them to make a difference in the world).  On the way home, I felt a great sense of fulfillment.  The semester was over.  Despite all the obstacles, I was able to finish it.

Yes, it’s been a good week.  I feel that God, acting as a Heavenly Maestro, orchestrated notes each day that have culminated in a beautiful symphony – a symphony of blessings.  Even as I write this, I look out my window at a beautiful sunset over the lake, the color of which ranges in blue tones from navy to turquoise, and I’m aware of the warmth that surrounds me from a prayer shawl that a complete stranger knitted for me.  Many blessings indeed.

The things that happened this week were not extraordinary.  I just took the time to notice them, to feel them, to appreciate them.  Did you hear the symphony in your life this week?

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It’s in the DNA

Yes, I know it.  I’m terribly stubborn.  I can’t help it; it’s in the DNA.  Anybody who knows my sister and me will quickly agree.  We know we get it from the family patriarch – our father – who is 101 and has one helluva stubborn streak (probably one of the reasons he’s lived so long!).  I really do try to work at not being quite so stubborn, because I know it’s very taxing on those around me – especially these days as I’m continuing cancer treatment.

I finished my second chemo cycle last week.  It went a little smoother than the first go-round.  I’m getting a bit better at identifying how my body is going to react to the various medicines being injected and planning ahead for them.  After the five-day hospital stay, I came home and continued to exist in what I refer to as my “chemo la-la land,” a fuzzy place that causes me mostly to just sleep.  This is followed by several days of weakness and dizziness, as my body starts to recover, and this is when my stubbornness starts to surface.

Today I insisted on going to the university where I teach to see the first round of my senior students give the most important presentation of their collegiate careers – their capstone, which involves presenting a public relations campaign they have been working on all semester (and working on under difficult circumstances, I might add, because of my health).  It took me an hour and a half to get ready and I couldn’t drive myself, but, by golly, I was going to get there come hell or high water.  I won’t lie; fighting the weakness and dizziness was difficult at times.  However, seeing my students conduct themselves so professionally and successfully to a real client made my heart soar.

I realize that pushing myself may not have been the greatest decision in the world – that it would’ve been better for me to spend the day resting at home.  This is when my stubbornness drives those who love and care for me crazy, because they know I would be better off doing that, too.  They also know it’s fruitless to try to stop me once I put my mind to something.  I appreciate their frustration because I know they only have my well-being at heart, and I really have tried to not be so difficult.  After my first chemo treatment, I accepted some limitations that I never thought I would – drastically changing my teaching schedule – so I wouldn’t push myself.  However, there are some things that are just too important to give up, and today was one of those things.

One of the ways in which I define myself is by the love I have for teaching and my students, not the cancer from which I’m recovering.  I needed to see them today – they needed to see me – and I will be there for the students presenting their projects in two days, as well.  And tomorrow, regardless of how I’m feeling, I’ll be stubborn again and attend a funeral for the mother of one of my best friends. I’m being reasonable (well, at least what I think is reasonable).  I didn’t go to the viewing and I won’t go to the graveside ceremony or the funeral breakfast, but it’s important to me to be at the funeral to pay my respects and say goodbye to a woman who I called “mom” and to support my friend and her family.

In a previous post, I talked about my life philosophy being not getting to the end of my life and regretting not doing something.  The things I’m pushing myself to do this week are things I would regret not doing.  So, yes, I’m being stubborn right now (or we could just call it being perseverant or strong-willed!).  In any case, it’s how mind my works.  I promise I’ll behave later (well, sort of).

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Lessons from the QB

I’m learning a lot from Jim Kelly right now.  Kelly is a big deal in Buffalo; not only did he lead us to four consecutive Super Bowls (yeah, it would’ve been nice if we won, but at least we got there), but he also remained in Buffalo when he retired and became an active citizen.  We love it when athletes come here to play for one of our pro teams and end up staying (to paraphrase Sally Field: “You like us, you really like us!”).

While my everyday life is far from that of a pro football Hall of Famer, we do have some similarities right now.  Along with the City of Buffalo and the sports world, I was disappointed to learn last month that Kelly’s cancer had returned less than a year after he was declared cancer free.  Last summer, he was diagnosed with oral cancer that took part of his upper jaw.  However, no post-surgical therapy was deemed necessary.  Then, in March, it was reported that the cancer was back and had spread.  I immediately thought two things: 1) this is why I’m glad I opted for chemo; and 2) cancer sure doesn’t discriminate.  Here is a big, strong, tough guy, yet cancer has found its way back into his life in less than a year.  How devastating it must be to get such a diagnosis.  I won’t lie.  It shook me up a bit because I thought, “This really can happen to anyone.”

The cancer is now in his sinus cavities and it turns out that surgery is currently not an option; instead he is undergoing a rigorous regiment of chemo and radiation.  Like me, after his first chemo treatment, he got sick and had to go on antibiotics, thus postponing his second chemo cycle.  I had been so down when that happened to me; watching how he handled the same thing, with faith and grace, was truly an inspiration.  Kelly’s wife, Jill, has been quoted as saying: “It’s such a great opportunity for Jim to be on the same level as everyone else, for people to see him struggle and to identify with him.  It gives everyone strength.”  And that’s true.  Their faith has been unwavering during this journey and watching them HAS offered strength.

I believe Kelly is supposed to start chemo again today, just like I am.  However, he is facing a much larger battle than I am right now and a painful one at that. I was very blessed that I never had any pain with my cancer.  Also, I’m cancer free now; my chemo is an insurance policy against it returning, not a treatment.  So as I start my second cycle today (with my white blood cells having returned to fight), I’ll reflect on the faith lessons recently learned from the quarterback and his wife — that we must embrace the path we’re on, with all its bumps and detours, because it is a divine path — and I pray his recovery will be swift, and he and his family comforted in the meantime.

“We are confident in the one who leads the charge! And we celebrate Him” – Jill Kelly

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What? I’m NOT Superwoman?

It’s been nearly three weeks since I started chemo.  I’m sad to report that while I was in the hospital, the doctors discovered something critical:  Apparently, I do not have a superwoman “S” on my chest like I always thought I did.  Surely this team of experts was wrong!  I come from a family of superwomen – collectively we are known as “the Reynolds women.”  We have an array of super powers, most of which must remain secret to the rest of the world (although I can tell you that leaping buildings in a single bound and X-ray vision are not among them).

Hopefully my “S” is still there and has just become invisible due to its apparent vulnerability to not just kryptonite, but also chemo cocktails.  Quite simply, chemo kicked my tookus.  I ended up having to stay an extra day in the hospital to help get some side effects under control, and it was at least a week before I started feeling like I could function again.  I never thought chemo would be easy; however, I felt my body, mind, and spirit were strong and I would get through it.  I was prepared for those side effects – or so I thought.  Fatigue and light-headedness quickly made me realize I was going to have to make some changes to my plans to resume teaching in the classroom – I simply didn’t have the strength to do it.  Nor was it a wise idea to expose my now-low tolerance to so many people.  A hallmark of the “Reynolds women” is their perseverance.  Not being able to do something is not part of my genetic makeup, and I don’t like it one bit.

It gets worse.  When I had my follow-up doctor’s appointment last week, I was told that the chemo had taken a toll on the core of my body.  Chemo reduces the number of white blood cells, which are important to stave off infection.  My count has fallen below the minimum to continue chemo next week.  Add to that, the “cold” I have been fighting for two weeks is actually pneumonia.  I had prepared myself for everything except that which I couldn’t control at all.  I have to wait for the antibiotics to treat the pneumonia, and I have to wait for my white blood cells to increase.  The ability to wait for something to happen because it’s out of my control is not one of my virtues.

I feel totally betrayed by my body.  I keep picturing the gigantic alien tripods in “War of the Worlds,” powerful beings immune to all the fighting power of the U.S. military only to fall susceptible to common germs.  Part of me feels like a failure to my clan, who is undaunted in the face of a challenge; other “Reynolds women” have successfully completed chemo.  Why did I have to have trouble out of the starting gate?

Accepting things out of my control and being patient – two big lessons for this superwoman to have to learn.  God must think I need them to further prepare me for this journey He has sent me on.  Who knows?  Maybe they will end up being the most powerful superwoman traits of all.

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Ch-ch-ch-ch-changes

Radiation – check.  Surgery – check.  Now, phase 3 of my recovery begins.  Today, I start chemotherapy, which is sure to bring many changes.  Of course, it could be argued that changes started to occur the day I received my diagnosis.  But those changes have mostly been invisible (except for my leg, which can be hidden).  Chemo will bring more obvious changes that can’t be hidden, and it’s OK – I’m ready.  Interestingly enough, today’s topic in my daily devotional is “bloom” – and that’s a wonderful way to look at this next part of my journey.

I’m receiving in-patient chemo, which means I go into the hospital on a Monday and receive three medications via infusion until Friday.  I get a two-week break and then repeat.  I should be finished by June or July.  I’m curious as to what the first week will bring and how it will feel, but I’m not really nervous about it.  I consider myself to be cancer-free and chemo to be my friend – an extension of my little army, killing any rogue cancer cells floating around my body (think “Fantastic Voyage”).

Chemo isn’t always very effective with my type of cancer and I understand a lot of patients don’t opt for it.  However, my oncologist says I’m young (God Bless him!) and healthy, and since my tumor was aggressive, chemo is a no-brainer.  The truth of the matter is that I would’ve opted for it anyway, which follows my life philosophy — not getting to the end of my life and regretting not doing something.  Of all things, I don’t want to regret not doing everything possible to ensure the cancer doesn’t return.

On Friday when I leave the hospital, I’m going straight to my hairstylist and have him shave my head.  I couldn’t control cancer entering my body, but I can control some of its effects.  Those of you who know me know that I’m not the type of person to wait around for my hair to fall out.  I’ll take that matter into my own hands, thank you very much.  My hairstylist has been very sweet and says he considers the shave a privilege.  He’s already gotten me a short red wig that he says will mirror my current look.  (I actually toyed with going blonde and becoming “Anastasia,” but trust me when I say that look wasn’t for me!)  Actually, I really don’t see myself in a wig at all, except for a couple special occasions coming up.  I think the next time you see me, I will much more likely to be sporting a rock and roll bandana.

“Strange fascination, fascinating me. Changes are taking the pace I’m going through” — David Bowie

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This Too Shall Pass

It has not been a good week.  On Tuesday, I underwent an outpatient procedure to have a MediPort placed underneath my collarbone through which chemotherapy will be administered.  Because I would be sedated, I had to have an IV.  (I hate IVs.  I have small veins so they always get put in my hand, and then I feel like a puppet.) I had been told by the medical personnel as well as others who had gone through the procedure that it was no big deal, but, for me, it was.  I’ve experienced a great deal of pain at the site the past couple days.

I’ve tried to keep in mind an adage that one of my dear childhood friends has always said: “This too shall pass.”  When I was in the hospital, I not only had one IV, but also a second IV as well as three other tubes connected to me.  I couldn’t move without making sure that they were all where I could see them for fear of pulling something.  I was frustrated and agitated.  Now, looking back, I realize the discomfort lasted only a week, which is not long in the big scheme of things.

I suppose the notion that something bad, hurtful, or uncomfortable will pass is an idea we need to embrace throughout life.  It’s an idea we are exposed to fairly early – we learn how quickly a boo-boo can heal, how disappointment can dissipate, how the heart can mend after we are certain it has been broken.  Looking back on my life, there are several major experiences I never thought I would get through.   But I did.  We all do.  We put one foot in front of the other and, before you know it, we have moved beyond that which we thought we would not be able to leave behind.

I can already sense this in my latest journey.  It seems ages ago since I received that devastating diagnosis – those days passed.  The 25 days I spent driving 100 miles every day to receive radiation seem like a memory – they passed.  Even the surgery and hospital stay seem like a long time ago, leaving only the physical reminder of the procedure – it passed.  I know such will be the case with my latest discomfort. This too shall pass.

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That’s an Affirmative

As a Christian, I grew up learning to pray, and prayer has been something constant in my life.  However, it wasn’t until I was diagnosed with cancer that I learned about affirmative prayer.  My neighbor gave me a book of inspirational writings and scripture, and it was here that I first heard about this type of prayer.  Looking into it more, I found out that affirmative prayer is said with the expectation that whatever you need has already been given to you.  I first thought, “Well, that seems a bit presumptuous!”  In fact, it made me downright uncomfortable to be assuming that God would grant me my request rather than asking that He consider it if it was His will.

I continued to look into it further and found that there is a basis for this type of prayer in The Bible:  “So I tell you, whatever you ask for in prayer, believe that you have received it, and it will be yours” (Mark 11:24).  The key phrase here is “have received,” not “will receive” or “may receive” but “have received.”  If we believe that God already knows our needs, it makes sense that He would not wait for us to identify them to Him.  I also saw yet another example of my mustard seed at work, believing that, with faith, all things are possible.

Wikipedia refers to affirmative prayer as “focusing on a positive outcome rather than a negative situation.”  There’s also the idea that what we put out in the universe comes back to us, whether it’s a smile, kindness, or positive thoughts.  So I changed my prayers to being more affirmative and, for me, I have felt a difference.  I feel more positive and calmer during this life-changing journey I’m on, and I do believe it has played a large role in my healing.  But that’s another story.

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With a Little (a Lot of) Help from My Friends

I am not one to ask for help.  Box too heavy to lift?  I’ll carry the contents piece by piece.  Can’t figure out a math problem?  I’ll work on it until I do.  Ask for directions?  No way.  For me to now be in a position where I must ask for help has been very difficult.  Since my diagnosis, I’ve been blessed to have many friends and colleagues offer their support in any way I need.  Because it’s not in my nature to accept help, I have graciously declined, opting instead to figure out a way to do things myself.  However, my surgery has greatly restricted what I can do, and I now have been forced to rely on the generosity of others.

I’ve always been very independent, so asking for help makes me feel weak, even lazy.  However, my perspective has changed a lot in the past couple months, thanks to the wisdom of two close friends.  As my radiation was nearing an end, I was having lunch with one of them and we were talking about my independence and hesitance to accept help.  My friend has known me for a long time and knows my personality well.  He asked me to look at the offers for help in a different way.  He said that perhaps God had put it upon people’s hearts to help me and, if I didn’t allow them to, I was actually depriving them of something they felt inspired to do.  I like to think of myself as someone who cares deeply about others, so this really struck a chord.  More recently, a colleague commented on a Sharing the Strength post by saying, “ . . . those who care about you want a chance to be strong for you, too!”

I realize now that accepting help from others helps them as well as me.  It is gradually becoming a bit easier for me to acknowledge my physical limitations and ask for, and welcome, assistance when I need it.  My cousin, who is a cancer survivor, told me, “Strong is being smart enough to know the day(s) you have to let down,” and she’s right.  I am very blessed to be surrounded by those willing to give so much of themselves to help me.  I know I will not always be as restricted as I am right now and, one day, I hope to be able to return the deep friendship, love, graciousness, and generosity that have been shown to me.

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The Tapestry of Today

I’m not going to be alive in three years. I won’t see my grandson grow up. I’m so full of life – why is it being cut short?

You can’t get much more negative than that. Yet, those were the exact thoughts going through my head during the first few weeks of my cancer diagnosis. As a result of what I was reading on the Internet, I felt I had been handed a death sentence that was going to be carried out in swift action. I spent almost an equal amount of time kicking myself for things that I “should’ve” done: How could I have missed this? Why didn’t I go to the doctor sooner? If I had gotten an MRI on my arthritic knee, maybe the tumor would’ve been found by accident when it was small.

With thoughts like these swirling through my head, it was difficult to function. When one foot is in the future and the other in the past, you’re not going to move anywhere. In addition, the problem with negative thoughts – besides being downright depressing – is that they take the place of so much joy that could be experienced instead. I knew I had to stop if I was going to make any progress on my path to wellness. It was about this time that my mustard seed focused me on the faith I needed to not obsess about the future so I could focus on today instead.

Someone somewhere once said, “Today is a gift; that’s why we call it the present.” My daily devotional has referred to a tapestry of life that is woven daily. Both are representations I embrace. When we think of the future and what might happen, we take time away from the certainty and beauty of today. We are surrounded by so many gifts if we just open our eyes – love, family, friends, nature, a job, transportation, a home, food – each of them waiting to be unwrapped, all coming together to weave a one-of-a-kind design that we’ll miss if we are not present in the moment. We can never get back today – and that’s really all we have for certain, regardless of whether you have cancer.

I’m human, and it’s natural for negative thoughts to sneak into my head sometimes no matter how hard I try not to let them. When they do, however, I try to refocus on the many blessings in front of me so that I don’t miss the beautiful tapestry of today.

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This We’ll Defend

If the mustard seed has become a symbol of my faith on this journey, dozens of little green plastic men have become the symbol of my actual battle.  They began fighting cancer nearly six years ago, but not with me.

My sister was diagnosed in April 2008 with breast cancer.  When she began chemotherapy and subsequent infusion therapy, I sent her an envelope filled with plastic Army men every treatment – for 18 months.  Unbeknownst to me, she kept her army, and several days before my first radiation treatment, the soldiers started returning to me.  They had been retrained to fight a different kind of cancer and redeployed on a new mission!  The soldiers continued to arrive each week of radiation, accompanied by “battle orders,” creatively written by my sister.

I always had a soldier with me – in my pocket, my purse, my hand.  Every day, as I lay down on the radiation table, I would hold one.  The little green man became quite the talk among the radiation technicians, who said they had never seen a patient carry something like that.  Angels and crosses, yes; soldiers, no.  So on my last day, I left a solider with each of them.  I ran into one of the technicians recently who said the soliders were still in formation, protecting the radiation room and those being treated in it.

After inflicting heavy damage to the enemy (my tumor) during the radiation treatments, the soliders got a well-deserved rest.  Then one unit accompanied me to the hospital for my surgery; the next day, more rolled in on a vintage G.I. Joe vehicle, ready to stand guard to my room as I began my recovery.  Now that I’m home, they will continue to be a visual reminder of the battle I’ve undertaken and how I am winning.  After all, these forces have a proven success record; my sister, who also had an advanced, aggressive form of cancer, has been cancer free for almost six years.

“Accept the challenges so that you can feel the exhilaration of victory” — Gen. George S. Patton

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The Mustard Seed

Even if you’re not religious, you most likely have heard the story of the mustard seed.  It appears in Matthew 17:20, when Jesus is talking to his disciples: “You don’t have enough faith,” Jesus told them. “I tell you the truth, if you had faith even as small as a mustard seed, you could say to this mountain, ‘Move from here to there,’ and it would move.  Nothing would be impossible.”

The mustard seed has become a major part of my fight against cancer.  I am a Christian and was raised to hand things over to God and not to doubt or worry – much easier said than done, even on a good day.  But when you’re diagnosed with cancer, it’s hard not to worry – about everything.  Every time I would start to fret about my treatment, my future, my finances (the list goes on), I would then start worrying about worrying!  It was like a constant mental tug of war.  I felt that if I truly believed that everything was going to be OK, I wouldn’t (and shouldn’t) be worrying.  It was a vicious circle with which I became obsessed.

Then one day I was reading a daily devotional and the scripture for the day was about the mustard seed.  I felt a calmness and assurance I hadn’t felt in a long time.  Have you ever seen how small a mustard seed is?  It’s tiny!  I thought to myself, “I already have that much faith.  If I believe in that, everything will be OK.”  My outlook changed that day.

When I was a little girl, mustard seed necklaces were popular – glass spheres with a mustard seed suspended in the center.  I didn’t have mine anymore, so I made one.  I ordered a perfume vial, about the size of a dime, from eBay and put a mustard seed in it.  I began wearing it the first day of my treatment and have continued to wear it ever since.  Coincidentally, shortly before surgery, one of my childhood friends from my hometown gave me a mustard seed bracelet, not knowing how important the mustard seed had become to me.  It is visual reminder that a little faith can go a long way.

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Your Best Friend and Worst Enemy

The Internet.

Admit it – it’s the first place we go when we have a question.  Enter a few words into a search engine and, voilà, pages of answers automatically fill the computer screen before us.  But there is a fine line between becoming informed and finding out too much.

If you’ve searched the Internet for “soft tissue sarcoma” (and I know you have because you’re here!), what you found was probably not the most uplifting reading.  But, because of the rare and special nature of this disease, it is vital to be educated, especially in the beginning when approaching it the right way can make such a big difference.  At some point, however, you need to stop reading because we are people, not statistics, and our stories are individual, not necessarily reflective of a scientific study.

I’ve told many people that my inquisitive nature on the Internet saved my life.  When I first started to question the puffiness in my leg, I Googled something like “swelling on thigh” and immediately learned about a serious, rare cancer called soft tissue sarcoma.  Armed with the information, I saw my primary physician who didn’t think the swelling was anything to worry about it.  I was persistent and she finally agreed to an MRI.  Had I not read about soft tissue sarcoma, there’s a very good chance I still wouldn’t know I had it (my mass was buried deep in my thigh).  The Internet information also played an important role in the biopsy.  When the MRI showed a suspicious mass, I was offered the opportunity to have an immediate biopsy by a general surgeon, but I had read how important it was to have a sarcoma specialist conduct it, so I waited.  The importance of the proper biopsy procedure was reinforced many times by the specialists at Roswell Park Cancer Institute.

The helpfulness of all the information that had flooded my computer stopped there.  Reading information on staging and survival rates was like watching a train wreck – I couldn’t stop looking, and now, unfortunately, those facts are seared onto my brain.  Most of the time, I can push them back to a tiny spot way in the back of my head and forget about them.  I have found, however, that when they surface, that’s when I have my down days.  Chances are that you, too, have already read too much.  If this is the case, let’s encourage each other to remember that those Web pages, while helpful, don’t necessarily tell OUR story.

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Being Strong is Hard

“You’re stronger than you know.  I can see that.”  That’s what the front of a card said that I received the day before my surgery.  Inside, a student had written: “This card was perfect for you, mainly because every time your name comes up in a conversation, I feel that ‘strong’ is the word that describes you.  This, of course, is 100% accurate!  If you have never thought of it before, your strength is what defines you and it is a trait that we all can see.”

“Strong” is a word I’ve heard frequently in the many well wishes I’ve received since being diagnosed with cancer.  I suppose I always did see myself as a strong person, although I’m not sure I knew what being strong really meant (perhaps it was just another way to say I’m stubborn!).  And I certainly never thought other people could see something like strength — what IS it they see that makes them think someone has this characteristic?

But being strong is hard, especially when everyone seems to hold you up on a “you are so strong” pedestal. No one can be strong 100% of the time.  So what happens on the down days?  Is it a weakness to cry?  Do you have to do it alone and quietly so no one sees you in order to keep up the illusion that you are that strong person everyone thinks you are?  Even as I write this, I’m wondering whether I really want to post this and expose that, yes, even I am vulnerable.

While I may not always see the strength in me that others apparently do, I’m grateful to them for telling me and I hope they will continue to do so, because reading those comments gets me through the rough days.  Perhaps that’s what strength is – knowing when you need to rely on others to lift you up.

Share the strength.