It's official: I've completed treatments and my oncologist has put me on follow-up mode, which I interpret as doctor-talk for "You're cancer-free". It's funny, but it just doesn't seem like something to celebrate though. I mean, I am very fortunate that the cancer was caught early and was treated with minimal complications. But I feel very wary about jumping up and down and shouting to the world, "I'm done! I've beat this! It's over!" Because the fact of the matter is, there is a lot of cancer out there. Now don't think I've suddenly turned pessimistic on you... I haven't; it's just that I think that there are so many people out there I know still undergoing treatments or have cancer that has metastasized, that jumping up and down seems arrogant. It's a fine balance between being excited and celebratory for myself, and being respectful and supportive for those who are in-treatment. I want to use my experience to be there for others in as positive a way as I can.
It might also be premature too. As I said, there is a lot of cancer out there and unless I change what I'm doing, I run the risk of developing more tumors.
There is a ton of research out there about cancer-fighting foods and the benefits of getting and staying in shape to reduce your risk, etc. I think the old adage about the definition of stupid...doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results.... If I don't learn from this experience that I need to make better decisions when it comes to healthy living, then what was the point? And that comes down to informed decision-making about what I do. I mean, there is nothing good in a potato chip and veggies taste amazing when they come right out of my garden and while it's easier to putz around my yard all morning long, a vigorous walk would be a much better choice.
I have to admit, I haven't made a lot of wise choices about my eating habits but it's never too late to change and learn new habits. Old habits, like grazing in front of the tv in the evening, are hard to break, but necessary. What has changed for me already is a new-found appreciation who or what I'm making these better choices for: it's not for looks, fashion, or what others think....it's for myself, my family, and my close friends. You see, I might be 50, but I plan to stick around for a lot of years yet. I've got kids to marry off, grandkids to spoil, holidays to celebrate, and bottles of wine to share, so I need at least another 30 years to accomplish that!
And come on, I haven't sung "O Canada" at a Canadiens game yet...and that's a bucket list item that I chose a long time ago and that is still waiting to be done.
Sunday, July 12, 2015
Sunday, June 14, 2015
The Gift of Choice
It's mid-June, the treatments for my breast cancer have been completed, and my life is resuming a regular rhythm with my return home to Luseland after 5 weeks of life in the city during radiation. So, it's only natural that I'm feeling a little reflective over the full year that I have been on this journey with cancer.
I also had the opportunity this past weekend to be part of a panel discussion at a women's event in Kindersley by Dahling Productions entitled "Stay Gold: She leaves a little sparkle wherever she goes". The panel, composed of five women from the Kindersley area including myself, had the opportunity to share experiences with the hope that our stories would impact others in positive ways. My portion of the panel focused on my leadership role as principal and on my cancer experience. It was a good chance for me to become even more reflective of the past year of my life.
Through all of it, I think the one underlying belief that has guided me in all aspects of my life is my need to be as positive as I can be regardless of what is happening. Whether I was overseeing the final year of operation of the little school in Major, taking on a new principalship in Kerrobert, moving to a new community and guiding my two younger kids through the transition of going to a new school, seeing my oldest son enter the workforce, or dealing with my cancer diagnosis, I was swamped with life changes but was determined not to become overwhelmed and driven to despair.
And that brings me to this post's theme: choice. While we can't change some of the things that happen to us, we can choose how we react to those things and our actions afterward. Specifically with my cancer, perhaps there are preventative things that might have reduced my risk of developing breast cancer, but I can't change that a lump was discovered and that treatment needed to follow. What I could do though, was ensure that I was not going to let my cancer become an overwhelming negative thing that would destroy me. I became determined to do everything I could, with the help of family, friends, and a multitude of community support to keep a positive mindset through it all. And as I dealt with things, one by one, they became manageable and short-lived, and I discovered new strengths in myself that I didn't know I had or were dormant and awaiting an opportunity to be rediscovered. I jokingly told my sister-in-law that I felt that the radiation treatments were turning me into a superhero, since I felt stronger and more energetic with each one instead of tired like the cancer clinic had warned. (Hmmm if I could choose a superpower, I wonder what it would be??)
I think our ability to choose our actions holds true in many aspects of our life; we can choose to help others or be self-interested; we can choose to think the best of people or think the worst; we can choose to push ourselves to discover new strengths or we can wallow in self-pity. The choice is ours to make.
I also had the opportunity this past weekend to be part of a panel discussion at a women's event in Kindersley by Dahling Productions entitled "Stay Gold: She leaves a little sparkle wherever she goes". The panel, composed of five women from the Kindersley area including myself, had the opportunity to share experiences with the hope that our stories would impact others in positive ways. My portion of the panel focused on my leadership role as principal and on my cancer experience. It was a good chance for me to become even more reflective of the past year of my life.
Through all of it, I think the one underlying belief that has guided me in all aspects of my life is my need to be as positive as I can be regardless of what is happening. Whether I was overseeing the final year of operation of the little school in Major, taking on a new principalship in Kerrobert, moving to a new community and guiding my two younger kids through the transition of going to a new school, seeing my oldest son enter the workforce, or dealing with my cancer diagnosis, I was swamped with life changes but was determined not to become overwhelmed and driven to despair.
And that brings me to this post's theme: choice. While we can't change some of the things that happen to us, we can choose how we react to those things and our actions afterward. Specifically with my cancer, perhaps there are preventative things that might have reduced my risk of developing breast cancer, but I can't change that a lump was discovered and that treatment needed to follow. What I could do though, was ensure that I was not going to let my cancer become an overwhelming negative thing that would destroy me. I became determined to do everything I could, with the help of family, friends, and a multitude of community support to keep a positive mindset through it all. And as I dealt with things, one by one, they became manageable and short-lived, and I discovered new strengths in myself that I didn't know I had or were dormant and awaiting an opportunity to be rediscovered. I jokingly told my sister-in-law that I felt that the radiation treatments were turning me into a superhero, since I felt stronger and more energetic with each one instead of tired like the cancer clinic had warned. (Hmmm if I could choose a superpower, I wonder what it would be??)
I think our ability to choose our actions holds true in many aspects of our life; we can choose to help others or be self-interested; we can choose to think the best of people or think the worst; we can choose to push ourselves to discover new strengths or we can wallow in self-pity. The choice is ours to make.
Stay Gold Women's event
Monday, May 11, 2015
The Gift of Being Busy
When I was first diagnosed with breast cancer, I thought things were going to progress quickly from diagnosis, to surgery, to treatment, to recovery. I knew others, including my sister, who seemed to be in a whirlwind of tests, appointments, and meetings. As someone looking in from the outside, things seemed to happen so quickly that I could barely keep up with what was happening with them. But when I was diagnosed, things didn't seem that way at all. It took forever to get back test results, get surgeries booked, get chemotherapy started, get chemotherapy finished....you get the picture.
In reality, the timeline for procedures wasn't slow at all, it just felt slower because it was happening to me. With my sister, I was busy with my daily activity and adding her cancer diagnosis to my schedule seemed to make time speed up for me, but probably not for her. I was very concerned about what was happening with her while managing a principalship and a family of five. Things were hectic, and it seemed like there were so many things that happened one after another in rapid succession. In fact, it was well over a year that she went through surgeries, treatments, etc.
For me, like many people, time comes to a standstill when something huge happens in your own life, and yet, in retrospect, it hasn't even been a year since the lump in my breast was found, and here I am, in the midst of radiation, which is the last leg of my year of treatment. While it hasn't always been easy, I really think the key for me to manage my cancer treatments has been to keep myself busy with a multitude of activity. Of course, there were days when sleep was essential and I didn't stray far from my bed, but when it was possible, I had to keep myself going with projects and activities.
I have to chuckle when I think back to when I decided to take sick leave from work at the end of January. My husband was a little concerned that I was going to go stir-crazy from a lack of things to do. His suggestion was a "bucket list" of things I wanted to accomplish while on leave. I made a list of small things (no mountain climbs or hikes through deserts for me). I looked at that list the other day. I have gotten to a few things on it, but to be honest, I have been too busy to get to everything. I am happy to say that I haven't spent a single day couch potato-ing, that I have only watched a total of three movies in the daytime when my family was at school, and that I made a point of getting outside every single day, if only to go pick up the mail or a carton of milk.
I think that for me, the key to recovery was to keep myself busy with things that were manageable at the time. Some days that meant baking cookies for the kids, other days that meant rototilling the garden or shoveling the driveway. But it was essential that there was always something, some goal that was going to be accomplished that day. I was determined that wasn't going to spend my days sitting around. I felt that I needed to be moving around and keeping myself busy. I had time in the evening to crotchet and watch tv with my kids or watch a movie with a bowl of popcorn with my husband; my daytime needed to be more than that. And the busier I kept myself, the quicker time moved from one appointment to the next, from one chemo treatment to the next, and from one weekend to the next.
As for the rest of the bucket list items, I still have 4 weeks of radiation and a summer holiday to get to them!
BUCKET LIST...created on December 30, 2014
Things I've done...
- afghan with leftover yarn
- do more writing
- start walking program
- read good books
Things I've yet to do....
- frame family photos for the basement (this summer)
- organize dance stuff (this June)
- play more guitar (fingers too sore with nails peeling...maybe this summer at the firepit)
Wednesday, April 8, 2015
The Gift of Opportunity
I'm sitting here this morning, looking out my dining room window with a blue sky above and a warm sun shining in on me. The coffee is hot, the house is quiet, and the day is full of promise, which gives me the perfect chance to sit down and type up this blog. Of course, I could have chosen to go back to bed after I visited with my son on his way to work, but after days of cold, cloudy, snowy weather (yes, it is April...welcome to SK!), I just couldn't pass up the opportunity to bask in the morning sun and write.
And that's when it came to me that I could do just that...without taking a sick leave to battle my breast cancer, I would not have had the time or opportunity to enjoy mornings like this in this relaxed way. I then realized that kinds of other opportunities have presented themselves to me during my cancer journey.
On a small scale, it's given me the chance to appreciate just how cold a bald head gets at night and what my husband must go through daily (mental note to self...buy him a night toque this Christmas). It has also helped me relive those days of anticipating the growth of hair...of course, in the past it was on my babies' heads and not my own, but it's still fun waiting for the little sprouts of growth! It has also given me a chance to grow brand new fingernails...mine were never very strong and tore regularly. Since they all slowly came off during my chemo. I hope that the new ones will be twice as strong and beautiful! Lastly, it's given me the opportunity to let my family experience what having a stay-at-home mom is like...my husband and I worked while the kids were growing, and this is the first leave I've taken since my last maternity leave. My stay-at-home mom time has kept the house full of groceries, baked goods, folded laundry, and tidy rooms, not to mention hot suppers ready on time.
On a larger scale, going on this cancer journey has provided me with opportunities to discover my treadmill and strengthen my determination to become healthier. While I wasn't a full-fledged couch potato in the past, I certainly wasn't in good shape. Knowing how important exercise is to recovery, I have adopted a new fitness program that I didn't make time for before and know that I will continue.
I have also gained a new insight into what others with cancer, esp. breast cancer, might have gone through or are still going through. The old adage that you need to walk a mile in a person's shoes is really true in this case. Cancer can be really scary...so many doctors, so many appointments and tests, so many terms and drug names to remember, so many emotions to deal with. But cancer can also be managed, and doesn't have to be all there is to you... in fact, I feel like it has also given me the opportunity to learn more about myself: I know what I can do and when I need to ask for help; I know what my priorities are and what isn't that important to me; and I recognize that while others may not completely understand what I'm going through, their concern is genuine and more than likely, it comes from their own brush with cancer, be it friend or family.
Which brings me to realize yet another opportunity provided by this experience: I have been given the opportunity to share my experiences with others with a resolve to acknowledge, regardless how difficult the situation, there are positive gains to be found. I am determined to focus on ways this journey can make me a better person, and will help me take this same approach with other challenges I will face in the years to come. And on beautiful spring mornings like this one, you can't help but feel that the day is full of opportunity!
And that's when it came to me that I could do just that...without taking a sick leave to battle my breast cancer, I would not have had the time or opportunity to enjoy mornings like this in this relaxed way. I then realized that kinds of other opportunities have presented themselves to me during my cancer journey.
On a small scale, it's given me the chance to appreciate just how cold a bald head gets at night and what my husband must go through daily (mental note to self...buy him a night toque this Christmas). It has also helped me relive those days of anticipating the growth of hair...of course, in the past it was on my babies' heads and not my own, but it's still fun waiting for the little sprouts of growth! It has also given me a chance to grow brand new fingernails...mine were never very strong and tore regularly. Since they all slowly came off during my chemo. I hope that the new ones will be twice as strong and beautiful! Lastly, it's given me the opportunity to let my family experience what having a stay-at-home mom is like...my husband and I worked while the kids were growing, and this is the first leave I've taken since my last maternity leave. My stay-at-home mom time has kept the house full of groceries, baked goods, folded laundry, and tidy rooms, not to mention hot suppers ready on time.
On a larger scale, going on this cancer journey has provided me with opportunities to discover my treadmill and strengthen my determination to become healthier. While I wasn't a full-fledged couch potato in the past, I certainly wasn't in good shape. Knowing how important exercise is to recovery, I have adopted a new fitness program that I didn't make time for before and know that I will continue.
I have also gained a new insight into what others with cancer, esp. breast cancer, might have gone through or are still going through. The old adage that you need to walk a mile in a person's shoes is really true in this case. Cancer can be really scary...so many doctors, so many appointments and tests, so many terms and drug names to remember, so many emotions to deal with. But cancer can also be managed, and doesn't have to be all there is to you... in fact, I feel like it has also given me the opportunity to learn more about myself: I know what I can do and when I need to ask for help; I know what my priorities are and what isn't that important to me; and I recognize that while others may not completely understand what I'm going through, their concern is genuine and more than likely, it comes from their own brush with cancer, be it friend or family.
Which brings me to realize yet another opportunity provided by this experience: I have been given the opportunity to share my experiences with others with a resolve to acknowledge, regardless how difficult the situation, there are positive gains to be found. I am determined to focus on ways this journey can make me a better person, and will help me take this same approach with other challenges I will face in the years to come. And on beautiful spring mornings like this one, you can't help but feel that the day is full of opportunity!
Tuesday, March 24, 2015
The Gift of Bells
It feels like it's been a long time since I blogged last, but I guess it's only been a few weeks...and what a couple of weeks it's been. I've been busy!
My son's hockey team advanced to midget semi-finals and now they are in finals for both league and provincials; and yes, I am one of those pom pom-shakin', cow bell-ringin' hockey moms whose loud voice can always be heard cheering on the team with a "Go Tigers!" ringing through the rink! If buttons were still in fashion like they were when I played hockey, my jacket would be covered, much to my children's embarrassment (I know my mom embarrassed the heck out of me with hers).
And then, there's my alter-ego....Dance Mom... actually it's the same super-excited, super-proud me cheering loudly at the two dance competitions my daughter has recently attended, but the cow bell stays home and I'm limited to a few hoots and loud clapping at the dance's end. The only bell that rings is the one that the dance adjudicator rings to start each dance. But when that bell goes, I'm on the end of my seat waiting with sheer excitement for the performance to come. The last two competitions have been very successful and a lot of fun and I'm looking forward to the next two.
I also celebrated a milestone in my cancer treatment last week. I received my last chemotherapy treatment. It was an odd moment in many ways. In some ways, I was elated. No more toxic drugs coursing through my veins with the potential to cause heart damage, neuropathy, and extreme tiredness; no more PICC lines dangling outside of my left arm (they were removed allowing me to have a normal shower (without plastic wrap) again (it's funny how we take some of those things for granted). I was moved by the excitement of the nurses in the chemo ward, who proudly showed me the new bell they just installed to be wrung when a patient finishes treatment.
But somehow, deep inside, there was a hesitancy....self-doubt crept up with thoughts like, "Am I really going to be done?" "What if there are complications?" "How do I know for sure that the cancer is gone?" I know that these thoughts are completely normal and let's face it, there are no guarantees in life. Like the line in the movie, The Pursuit of Happyness, there's nothing written that says we are guaranteed happiness, we are only guaranteed the pursuit of it. Bad things might happen, but that doesn't mean we should keep trying for better.
Perhaps that's where my indomitable positivity comes from. I don't believe that any of us are guaranteed a perfect life where everything works out beautifully, but we are all given the power to keep a positive mindset and make the most out of everything that comes our way. We can choose to worry and doubt everything..... or we can find those bell-ringing moments and make the most of them. And whether it's hockey, dance, or the chemo ward, I say, "ring those bells, baby!".
My son's hockey team advanced to midget semi-finals and now they are in finals for both league and provincials; and yes, I am one of those pom pom-shakin', cow bell-ringin' hockey moms whose loud voice can always be heard cheering on the team with a "Go Tigers!" ringing through the rink! If buttons were still in fashion like they were when I played hockey, my jacket would be covered, much to my children's embarrassment (I know my mom embarrassed the heck out of me with hers).
And then, there's my alter-ego....Dance Mom... actually it's the same super-excited, super-proud me cheering loudly at the two dance competitions my daughter has recently attended, but the cow bell stays home and I'm limited to a few hoots and loud clapping at the dance's end. The only bell that rings is the one that the dance adjudicator rings to start each dance. But when that bell goes, I'm on the end of my seat waiting with sheer excitement for the performance to come. The last two competitions have been very successful and a lot of fun and I'm looking forward to the next two.
I also celebrated a milestone in my cancer treatment last week. I received my last chemotherapy treatment. It was an odd moment in many ways. In some ways, I was elated. No more toxic drugs coursing through my veins with the potential to cause heart damage, neuropathy, and extreme tiredness; no more PICC lines dangling outside of my left arm (they were removed allowing me to have a normal shower (without plastic wrap) again (it's funny how we take some of those things for granted). I was moved by the excitement of the nurses in the chemo ward, who proudly showed me the new bell they just installed to be wrung when a patient finishes treatment.
But somehow, deep inside, there was a hesitancy....self-doubt crept up with thoughts like, "Am I really going to be done?" "What if there are complications?" "How do I know for sure that the cancer is gone?" I know that these thoughts are completely normal and let's face it, there are no guarantees in life. Like the line in the movie, The Pursuit of Happyness, there's nothing written that says we are guaranteed happiness, we are only guaranteed the pursuit of it. Bad things might happen, but that doesn't mean we should keep trying for better.
Perhaps that's where my indomitable positivity comes from. I don't believe that any of us are guaranteed a perfect life where everything works out beautifully, but we are all given the power to keep a positive mindset and make the most out of everything that comes our way. We can choose to worry and doubt everything..... or we can find those bell-ringing moments and make the most of them. And whether it's hockey, dance, or the chemo ward, I say, "ring those bells, baby!".
Thursday, March 12, 2015
The Gift of Patience
Patience.....the definition of this word, according to Google, is "capacity to accept or tolerate delay, trouble, or suffering without getting angry or upset".
I have to say, this is one gift that has not come easily to me. I am a get-it-done-now kind of girl. I like to get to where I'm going, do what I have to do, have a detailed timeline of how long it's going to take me, and when all that doesn't quite pan out, I don't always get angry or upset, but I want to know what the delay is, why it's happening, and what I can do to get around it or solve the issue causing the delay. What I don't like is to wait around for things to happen, or for it to take forever for something to get done. I don't like that a lot!
Now, you may think this post is going to move on to slam the medical system and the delays in doctor's offices or the wait for tests and procedures, but you would be wrong. For the most part, I've been pretty happy with that. I don't think there's a single person that I know that doesn't expect to wait at least 20 minutes to see a doctor, or at least a week or two for a test or procedure at a hospital. That's something we've all come to expect.
What I am referring to is my own inabilities due to cancer treatments. While I am nearly through with chemotherapy now (only one treatment left to go), I still have issues with tiredness, occasional brain fuzziness, and general soreness that comes with chemo. And because of this, I just can't do everything I used to, and THAT drives me crazy! The fact that I have to wait for the kids to come home from school so that we can do some of the housecleaning chores of old, the fact that I have to get my husband to drive me on the 4 hour return trip for treatments, and the fact that it takes me sooooo long to do things that would only take minutes previously is frustrating! And there goes my patience....right out the window!
But I have to say, that I am getting better with this. I have learned that slowing down a bit is not such a bad thing. I've also learned getting upset about things that would previously have driven me crazy, doesn't hurt anyone else but me. I can't change the fact that it takes me almost an hour to shower and get dressed in the morning, so why get angry? I wasn't going anywhere except to pick up the mail anyway. I also know that it's nice to see the kids helping out as much as they do without the usual complaining. And besides, those long road trips to the city for treatments with my husband? It's good couple time and in the words of one of my friends who just finished her cancer treatments, she'll take date time with her husband in whatever form it comes! Me too!
Sunday, March 8, 2015
The Gift of Chaos
Growing up, my house seemed to be in a constant state of chaos. Between issues with mental health and mood swings by members of my family, and the lack of organization and planning that other families seem to have, I was never sure what I might come home to after a day of school or after a shift at work. It certainly created moments of anxiety, tension, and sometimes even pure hell on earth. But it also kept you on your feet, anticipating what might be hitting the proverbial fan, and it sharpened reaction time to whatever crisis was occurring, which improved rates of coming out unscathed.
Since moving out on my own in my early 20's, life became much more complacent. Of course minor events arose; that's what life is all about...the old "rolling with the punches". Whether it was journeys overseas, untimely deaths of family and friends, or tricky pregnancies, things seemed to be manageable and I felt in control of my reactions, my emotions, and my ability to have some say in what my role was in the event. And then cancer came a-knockin'.
I've written previously about how powerless I've felt; not only with the diagnosis, but also with the treatment regime. Perhaps I have allowed that to happen...feeling overwhelmed can render a person into a helpless victim role, and I have fought hard to stay on the positive side of that situation. But breast cancer and perhaps all cancers, are just so complicated. Even with virtually the same diagnosis as another person, treatment isn't always the same since there are so many variables.
On a side note, I like to crotchet. My daughter had asked me last year to make a series of slippers for her friends in a range of variegated colours, and after the completion of these, I amassed quite a collection of yarn balls. After I made the decision to go on sick leave after semester one of school (I am the principal of a K-12 school and teach senior English), I also decided I would start making granny squares and use up these bits of yarn and make an afghan. I didn't put a lot of thought into the finished product until I was nearly 120 squares into the blanket. It was then that I realized that some yarn balls created 5 squares, some created 14 squares. Some colours looked great together, and some clashed miserably. Coming up with a pattern for these colours to make an aesthetically pleasing finished product was not going to be easy.
Then I had a light-bulb moment: this was my cancer quilt. Cancer has no rhyme or reason. While some factors increase your chance of developing cancerous tumours or growths, it affects any age, any gender, and any lifestyle. Cancer is random, and if this was going to be a keepsake of what I have battled for a year of my life, it needed to symbolize that randomness and the lack of organized structure.
So, I stopped worrying about finding patterns and structure within the afghan. I just simply stuck colours together and slowly the blanket took shape. And as I sewed each little granny square together, I realized that I was that blanket. There are oddly shaped colours randomly pieced together to make a complete collection, much like the complexity of treatments and the random side effects to them. And despite the chaotic nature of the colours shaped together, the finished product was complete and whole. And I know, that once my treatments are done and the cancer journey comes to a close, I will be also be complete and whole and will do what I can to wrap others in my strength and warmth.
Since moving out on my own in my early 20's, life became much more complacent. Of course minor events arose; that's what life is all about...the old "rolling with the punches". Whether it was journeys overseas, untimely deaths of family and friends, or tricky pregnancies, things seemed to be manageable and I felt in control of my reactions, my emotions, and my ability to have some say in what my role was in the event. And then cancer came a-knockin'.
I've written previously about how powerless I've felt; not only with the diagnosis, but also with the treatment regime. Perhaps I have allowed that to happen...feeling overwhelmed can render a person into a helpless victim role, and I have fought hard to stay on the positive side of that situation. But breast cancer and perhaps all cancers, are just so complicated. Even with virtually the same diagnosis as another person, treatment isn't always the same since there are so many variables.
On a side note, I like to crotchet. My daughter had asked me last year to make a series of slippers for her friends in a range of variegated colours, and after the completion of these, I amassed quite a collection of yarn balls. After I made the decision to go on sick leave after semester one of school (I am the principal of a K-12 school and teach senior English), I also decided I would start making granny squares and use up these bits of yarn and make an afghan. I didn't put a lot of thought into the finished product until I was nearly 120 squares into the blanket. It was then that I realized that some yarn balls created 5 squares, some created 14 squares. Some colours looked great together, and some clashed miserably. Coming up with a pattern for these colours to make an aesthetically pleasing finished product was not going to be easy.
Then I had a light-bulb moment: this was my cancer quilt. Cancer has no rhyme or reason. While some factors increase your chance of developing cancerous tumours or growths, it affects any age, any gender, and any lifestyle. Cancer is random, and if this was going to be a keepsake of what I have battled for a year of my life, it needed to symbolize that randomness and the lack of organized structure.
So, I stopped worrying about finding patterns and structure within the afghan. I just simply stuck colours together and slowly the blanket took shape. And as I sewed each little granny square together, I realized that I was that blanket. There are oddly shaped colours randomly pieced together to make a complete collection, much like the complexity of treatments and the random side effects to them. And despite the chaotic nature of the colours shaped together, the finished product was complete and whole. And I know, that once my treatments are done and the cancer journey comes to a close, I will be also be complete and whole and will do what I can to wrap others in my strength and warmth.
Friday, February 27, 2015
The Gift of Vulnerability
This gift may seem at first as though it's not really a gift at all, but let me spend a few moments elaborating on this point. I don't consider myself a vulnerable adult. In fact, I've worked quite hard throughout my life, probably starting in my teens, to ensure that I was strong-minded, self-reliant, and determined to make my own choices in as many ways as I could. I worked part-time jobs from age 15 on and pretty much paid my own way through college. While I had the support of family and friends and did rely on their advice, humour, and occassional financial offer, I was, for the most part, an independent woman with strong self-esteem and self-direction. Then cancer came my way.
I'm not saying there weren't other minor setbacks before I was diagnosed with cancer; there was the two-year trip to Japan with my husband that presented many challenges, there were challenges with the variety of teaching positions and principalships that I have been assigned to (mostly good challenges, I have to add), and I experienced three high-risk pregnancies that each presented new and interesting challenges. But while I might have felt some moments of vulnerability with each of these challenges, I don't remember them comparing to what I have felt with breast cancer.
I think part of the challenge this time is that I'm about to turn 50 this year and that makes an illness like cancer seem a little more real. I mean, don't we all feel like we're going to live forever when we're young? We are invincible and thoughts that time is limited don't really come into focus. Now, at the age of 50, just one year younger than when my mom died, and three years younger than when my oldest sister died, things seem not quite as "forever". Not that I mean to go on a morbid rant here, but I think these points add to the sense of vulnerability. I see my breast cancer as very conquerable and am still very dedicated to winning this battle, but every once in a while, the thought does come to me that maybe I'm not doing enough, maybe I won't be as successful as I plan, and if the cancer just showed up out of nowhere the first time, what's to stop that from happening again?
After speaking to a few friends of mine this past week who are also battling cancer, I know that they have these same thoughts and I think I would fooling myself to say that the thoughts have never crossed my mind. But despite this vulnerability and sense of dread, I still have to go back to my sense of positivity to see my through. That's when my brain takes over and says, "You could get hit by an oil rig on the highway tomorrow...you could slip on the sidewalk and end up in a coma....you could slip off your treadmill and break a leg....get over yourself and think about the millions of positive things that could happen each day and say a small prayer of thanks for the all the amazing people and things in your life". And it's at that time that I'm glad my brain is so smart!
I'm not saying there weren't other minor setbacks before I was diagnosed with cancer; there was the two-year trip to Japan with my husband that presented many challenges, there were challenges with the variety of teaching positions and principalships that I have been assigned to (mostly good challenges, I have to add), and I experienced three high-risk pregnancies that each presented new and interesting challenges. But while I might have felt some moments of vulnerability with each of these challenges, I don't remember them comparing to what I have felt with breast cancer.
I think part of the challenge this time is that I'm about to turn 50 this year and that makes an illness like cancer seem a little more real. I mean, don't we all feel like we're going to live forever when we're young? We are invincible and thoughts that time is limited don't really come into focus. Now, at the age of 50, just one year younger than when my mom died, and three years younger than when my oldest sister died, things seem not quite as "forever". Not that I mean to go on a morbid rant here, but I think these points add to the sense of vulnerability. I see my breast cancer as very conquerable and am still very dedicated to winning this battle, but every once in a while, the thought does come to me that maybe I'm not doing enough, maybe I won't be as successful as I plan, and if the cancer just showed up out of nowhere the first time, what's to stop that from happening again?
After speaking to a few friends of mine this past week who are also battling cancer, I know that they have these same thoughts and I think I would fooling myself to say that the thoughts have never crossed my mind. But despite this vulnerability and sense of dread, I still have to go back to my sense of positivity to see my through. That's when my brain takes over and says, "You could get hit by an oil rig on the highway tomorrow...you could slip on the sidewalk and end up in a coma....you could slip off your treadmill and break a leg....get over yourself and think about the millions of positive things that could happen each day and say a small prayer of thanks for the all the amazing people and things in your life". And it's at that time that I'm glad my brain is so smart!
Sunday, February 22, 2015
The Gift of Advocacy
As an educator, one of the goals that I have for my students is to help develop their ability to advocate for themselves. I want them to be able to look for the tools and resources they need to answer questions they have about their future and to instill a sense of determination to make educated choices.
After I was diagnosed with breast cancer, I had a need to find out information about my type of cancer, standard procedures, healthy eating, etc. I wanted to ensure that I had all the information I needed to make informed medical decisions. I was also aided by the amazing surgeon and cancer care centre that not only informed me, but sent me lab results to go over and keep. I was very impressed with the early days of my treatment.
Then I was referred to the next stage of care at the Cancer Clinic. I found that there were many issues that frustrated me with this facility. I felt that there was a paradox to the care I received; on one hand, they were not willing to provide detailed written information about the treatment plan and the way they came to decisions about dosages, medications, etc, but at the same time, they had an expectation that I would come to the doctor's appointments with detailed information about daily symptoms, drug interactions, additional medications, and willingly provide this with no discussion on what they would do with the information. When my blood sugar started to skyrocket, the clinic's response was to tell my doctor (GP), but my GP's response was to tell the clinic since he was not being forwarded information about my treatment. I was also told that my local home care was to provide services for my PICC line, but when I contacted them, Home Care had not received any notification from the clinic that I would require care. Then I was asked to fill out a survey by a pharmacy student. Through that process, I found out that all pharmacies in SK have access to online prescription files (which I agree with), except for anything prescribed by the cancer clinic (which I don't agree with).
What I have come to understand through this process is that I am very fortunate to be educated enough and healthy enough to work my way through this system and to advocate for myself. While at times it feels like I'm working for SK Health instead of SK Health working for me, I think the more informed we are as consumers of our health system, the better we can advocate for our own patient rights and protection. And as I tell my students, self-advocacy is a very important skill to have.
Then I was referred to the next stage of care at the Cancer Clinic. I found that there were many issues that frustrated me with this facility. I felt that there was a paradox to the care I received; on one hand, they were not willing to provide detailed written information about the treatment plan and the way they came to decisions about dosages, medications, etc, but at the same time, they had an expectation that I would come to the doctor's appointments with detailed information about daily symptoms, drug interactions, additional medications, and willingly provide this with no discussion on what they would do with the information. When my blood sugar started to skyrocket, the clinic's response was to tell my doctor (GP), but my GP's response was to tell the clinic since he was not being forwarded information about my treatment. I was also told that my local home care was to provide services for my PICC line, but when I contacted them, Home Care had not received any notification from the clinic that I would require care. Then I was asked to fill out a survey by a pharmacy student. Through that process, I found out that all pharmacies in SK have access to online prescription files (which I agree with), except for anything prescribed by the cancer clinic (which I don't agree with).
What I have come to understand through this process is that I am very fortunate to be educated enough and healthy enough to work my way through this system and to advocate for myself. While at times it feels like I'm working for SK Health instead of SK Health working for me, I think the more informed we are as consumers of our health system, the better we can advocate for our own patient rights and protection. And as I tell my students, self-advocacy is a very important skill to have.
The Gift of Inner Beauty
There are days when it's hard to look in the mirror and like what you see and that is even more so when chemotherapy wreaks havoc on your body. I mean, I knew my hair was more than likely to fall out: the nurses and doctors at the Cancer Clinic all forewarned me. I pre-bought a wig while I still had my luscious locks of white, and I saw how full the comb was each morning during my morning routine. But despite all the pre-warnings and prep work, it's still hard to take the stark baldness (or near-baldness in my case...I have what I endearingly call my "chemo comb-over"). I decided that humour was the best remedy for me. I decided to write my Christmas classic, "I'll Be Bald for Christmas" (lyrics below) and opted to wear pirate kerchiefs (with big hoop earrings of course) and an assortment of hats, including my beloved Montreal Canadians ball cap in lieu of the very stylish wig (waaay to itchy!). It didn't change the fact that I was a 49 year old bald woman, but it was manageable.
Then, the eyebrows thinned, and the eyelashes thinned and were barely noticeable even with mascara. Then the chemo puff set in (I don't know if it's officially called chemo puff, but my face gained an unsightly puffiness around the eyes, the cheekbones and under the jaw) which, when accompanied by the lack of hair, made for a very round, very chubby-looking face. Nice.
Then the feet and hand tingling and neuropathy set in. While this only lasted a painfully short week, it left behind peeling skin that gave my hands the appearance of a wrinkly 90 year old's hands.
All told, I have to admit that the total package hit me right in my pride. While I wasn't exactly runway material to start with, I did have a very healthy self-esteem and took pretty good care of my appearance. As the little things started to build, I found myself wanting to look in the mirror less, go out less, and even attempt to do the little routines (like morning mascara, cuticle and nail care, and pedi-care. It seemed like it wasn't worth it since things were going to pot anyway.
But, just when things were starting a slippery slide into self-loathing, I caught myself and gave my head a good shake. The old adage came back to me: there is someone out there who has it a hell of a lot worse off than you, so count your blessings! And it's so true. I made a list of things that I still had going for me and I felt a little foolish for being so vain about the little things that were happening and were more than likely short-term. I had my appetite (many have so much nausea that they can barely eat), I had my sense of humour, I had really smooth skin on my face, I had time to pamper myself with daily workouts when possible, books to read, and time to write creatively. Most importantly, I still had my determination to keep a positive focus on the goal of conquering my breast cancer. I didn't need hair, thick eyelashes or brows or smooth hands to keep that focus. And besides, the Habs are having a great season, so who wouldn't want to wear the Montreal Canadiens ball cap as much as possible?
I’ll
Be Bald for Christmas
(to
the tune of I’ll be Home for Christmas)
I’ll be bald for Christmas
You can count on it;
Before you know, my head will glow,
And I might look like sh...
Christmas Eve will find me,
With chemo in my vein….
I’ll be bald for Christmas
If only I stay sane!
Monday, February 16, 2015
The Gift of Gratitude
It's been a while since I blogged last, but January was such a whirlwind of events that I just didn't have the chance to sit down and work on anything but work. As a senior high school teacher, January is the month of final examinations for students and between chemo treatments #2 and #3, and the insertion of a PICC line (not the easiest surgical procedure on my arm, apparently), not to mention tidying up my office for my replacement, it was a busy month. But through all the chaos, I realized that I had a whole school behind me as I continued my cancer battle. Let me explain.
As the principal of a K-12 rural school, I have a staff of 36 dedicated teachers and EAs, and this is a school staff that has been very supportive of me. Despite being new to the building this fall (yes, I began a new job shortly after my cancer diagnosis...and I moved to a new town too with my family of five), I have been wrapped in their concern and affection as I go through surgeries and treatments. They are a fantastic group of colleagues. I also have many of the students who encourage me daily as I walk through the halls, whether with questions of concern, hugs, or compliments about my latest headwear, since nearly all my hair fell out back in mid-December. I have been thankful for all of this, but the most overwhelming moment came when the Student Leadership Council held a "Pink for Paula" day, just before exam week. They asked the students and staff to wear pink in support of my battle and held a one-day bake sale, with the proceeds going toward breast cancer research. As with most dress-up days, I expected the usual 70% of students to pink it up. But when I walked into the gymnasium, I was blown away by nearly the whole school lined up for the keepsake photo. When I was asked to address the group, I shed tears of humility and shear gratitude for what they had done.
As the principal of a K-12 rural school, I have a staff of 36 dedicated teachers and EAs, and this is a school staff that has been very supportive of me. Despite being new to the building this fall (yes, I began a new job shortly after my cancer diagnosis...and I moved to a new town too with my family of five), I have been wrapped in their concern and affection as I go through surgeries and treatments. They are a fantastic group of colleagues. I also have many of the students who encourage me daily as I walk through the halls, whether with questions of concern, hugs, or compliments about my latest headwear, since nearly all my hair fell out back in mid-December. I have been thankful for all of this, but the most overwhelming moment came when the Student Leadership Council held a "Pink for Paula" day, just before exam week. They asked the students and staff to wear pink in support of my battle and held a one-day bake sale, with the proceeds going toward breast cancer research. As with most dress-up days, I expected the usual 70% of students to pink it up. But when I walked into the gymnasium, I was blown away by nearly the whole school lined up for the keepsake photo. When I was asked to address the group, I shed tears of humility and shear gratitude for what they had done.
As for the bake sale, the event raised over $500 for cancer research, and with funds raised from the football team's annual breast cancer awareness game in October, nearly $1000 was donated to breast cancer research by my school. I am so grateful for all that my school has done to support me in my cancer battle and for the many friends and family who show their support through visits, treats, and texts. I know that many who battle cancer do so with the support of close family and friends and that is the perfect amount of support for them. Others battle cancer with next to no support...they are sole strugglers whose battle is silenced by either their own choice or by circumstances that leave them alone in their battle. But for all who have been touched by cancer, I want you to know that there are more people out there for you than you could know. Whether they are your personal cheerleader or they are the guy on the street who donates $20.00 for the latest cancer fundraiser, they are rooting for you....and I am grateful for that.
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