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!
Friday, February 27, 2015
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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