I started keeping this list of things I was learning from cancer months ago, during the first rounds of chemotherapy late last year. I added to the list as the months and treatments went by. One note: this is written as if I am addressing another person but in fact, this was and is addressed to me. Still, maybe family and friends may learn something from reading it - about me.
Peace.
1. Listen to your body. This is not a suggestion that you become a hypochondriac, but when your body talks to you, don’t stick your fingers in your ears and ignore it. That’s just stupid. it seems obvious that dealing with things sooner rather than later leads to happier results in the world of cancer. You probably think this means you have to be brave. Don’t go there. You don’t have to face everything today. Just listen to your body and take the first next step. There will be time to be scared later. Nevertheless, if/when you find yourself with your fingers in your ears, don’t beat yourself up. Just remove your fingers and try to take that first step. If your fingers seem permanently stuck in your ears, find someone who loves you to help pry them out. Take that person with you when you take that first hard step.
2. You are not alone. Despite your fears and insecurities and sometimes appearances to the contrary, you are not alone in your walk with and through cancer. Perhaps without knowing it, and certainly without requesting it, you have been given citizenship in the country of cancer. (When you receive a cancer diagnosis, ipso facto, you become a cancer survivor because now you are living with cancer.) If you are caring for someone with cancer, you were given a permanent resident’s visa – cancer’s green card. You already know people who have had cancer. Talk to them; they will be glad to talk to you. You will soon find out other people you know have also had cancer, you just didn’t know it. They will seek you out. You are not alone.
3. People can be kind. You may be surprised at the kindness of people who learn you are traveling with and through cancer. Your own friends may surprise you, family, too. Of course you know they care about you, even love you. But are you prepared for their compassion and loyalty? As you negotiate through the corridors of cancer, you may soon find kindness wherever you look – among the medical professionals who don’t treat you as their “job,” among the family members of other cancer patients you meet, among your colleagues and co-workers, even among strangers. You may even find yourself determined to become a kinder person yourself. If someone fails to be kind, they may be afraid. You might try out your new determination to become a kinder person yourself - by giving them the benefit of the doubt.
4. You need nature. Your oncology/radiation team will prescribe all kinds of protocols, treatments, medicines, vitamins, supplements and diet changes. They know what they are talking about. But you still need nature to heal you. As often as possible go to a place in which plants – trees, bushes, flowers, grass, even weeds -- and creatures -- birds, squirrels and other wild things -- are the citizens. Where rocks lay still and water stirs and runs. Listen to wind's song and stay as long as you can. Walk, but also be still. Open your ears and your eyes. Depending on the season, try to actually see the leaves changing color, the ice hardening on a pond’s surface, the flower buds opening, the grass springing up. Try to learn the rhythms of nature to carry with you back to the halls of cancer. It will help you there.
5. Cancer isn’t a competition. Cancer is hard, it’s stressful and it will test you. But it isn’t a contest and you won’t win points for heroism. There will be bad days, and really bad days in the country of cancer. You will feel sad and you will feel mad as hell. You are allowed to cry, to yell, to scream. You will feel sick and tired of being sick and tired. You need to find your own path through your dark hours; someone else’s candle may not light your way. When it is really hard, you may want to pull in, withdraw and close down for a while. Do it. Do it without apology or wasting the time it takes to put on a brave face. But listen to and know your own heart. Know when it becomes too hard for you, too much for you to handle. When it does, and likely it will at some point, reach out for help.
6. Don’t become your cancer. Just because you have cancer, you don’t have to become cancer. Whoever you were the day before - the moment before - you received your cancer diagnosis, you still are. If you were smart, funny, hardworking and passionate, you still are. If you had habits that annoyed other people before you had cancer, you have them still, and they are still annoying. Having cancer doesn’t turn you into a saint. It might help you become a better person, but only in the same way that having to face any adversity might do. And if, before you had cancer, you had dreams, those dreams still belong to you. Your name is on them, no one else’s. Claim your dreams. Live for them. Be your dreams, not your diagnosis.
7. Cancer offers more than one "What If". When your cancer treatment finishes, the first thing you are likely to think is, "What if my cancer comes back?" It's true; it might come back. But that's not the only "what if" you are offered. What if your cancer doesn't come back? What then? Of course, it would be better if we could all dispense with "What If?" entirely and live each day of our lives just in that day, in that moment, letting the future take care of itself. We all know this. Many of us strive for this with more or less success. But to ask What if? is human. Still, a year before your cancer diagnosis, did you lay awake at night, tossing, turning and wondering "What if I get cancer?" It's true, some do. But most do not - we are busy living, dealing with the myriad "what ifs" of daily life, when cancer arrives unannounced and most unwelcome. Now, when your cancer treatment is finally finished, what if your cancer goes back to where it came from and never returns? Could you handle that? Are you ready to keep on living?
Monday, August 9, 2010
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Sunday morning
Today is picture day. I've taken my little digital camera to the park a few times recently and taken photos. I'm going to try to upload a few here. Let's see if I can figure it out. To the left is a photo of the northerly portion of the larger side of the pond, looking south.
Next is a photo of the gaggle of Canada geese now calling the pond home.
The group includes the juveniles who are now almost as large as their parents.
To the right is the rock garden where I often sit on a bench and sometimes practice T'ai Chi (and where Jessie "hunts" for chipmunks who tunnel in the red clay and frolic in the crannies of the rock walls.)
Finally, Jessie and I saw the fox again today - actually I think we saw both foxes, out hunting in separate parts of the park. I think we happened on the second one when it was stalking Mallards grazing in the grass by the pond (I think there are a pair and they have hungry kits in a den somewhere, waiting to be fed.) Because we disturbed the Mallards, they jumped in the water and that caused the fox to turn tail and run. When it ran, I saw it and snapped its picture. I only had a second to take the photo, so it's blurry, the fox's eyes have that weird eye-glow thing that some times happens. But what makes me most sad is that the frame cut off the fox's tail, so you don't see its snow white tip. Well, now that I know the pair is there, I'll try to be better prepared next time.
Peace.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Saturday morning
We saw the fox this morning twice, or possibly, 2 foxes. The second time we were far enough away that I couldn't say for sure whether it was the same fox we had seen earlier. He/she is rusty red with darker brown or black tips to some of his/her fur, and a white tip to his/her tail. The first time we saw him/her, he was crossing the road that winds around the eastern loop and dashing into the brush. I think he/she saw Jessie and me before we saw him/her. But we were fairly close. The second time was later, toward the end of our walk around that loop, after sitting in the rock garden a bit, and he/she was running next to the line of trees that edges the meadow in the middle of the eastern loop, back toward where he/she had disappeared in the brush earlier. That's why I think it might be another fox - perhaps the mate of the first fox we saw. Anyway, beautiful. The second time/fox we saw for some seconds as it ran down the edge of the meadow. Its stride is liquid, as if it is floating an inch or two above the ground rather than actually bounding forward, up and down on it. It's seems a bigger creature than I expected, but light, delicate. I expect it's the long, long tail that makes it seem "big".
A good morning walk, especially considering I'm engaged in a battle with what I hope is a cold (and not a flu) virus, urging my immune system to get up, get out and get going and do its job, crushing that virus and kicking it out. Meanwhile, cold medicine and orange juice and the couch.
These days mostly I post here for my own purposes, because I find that putting my meandering thoughts and feelings down here in black and white - about my journey past (god willing) cancer and life generally - is good for me, but for those who may still be checking in here from time to time, I want to share something my friend J reminded me of:
Sunday, August 1, is the eighth anniversary of the infamous memo by Bush “Justice” Department officials John Yoo and Jay Bybee condoning torture. J says he will be out in front of the Federal Building on Los Angeles Street in downtown L.A. with his “Torture is Un-American” sign. He suggests if people want to do something and don’t feel like fasting, we might want to call our Congressional representative and senators and say we want to see high government officials prosecuted for their role in approving torture. I agree with J that even if we can’t do anything, it's important to remember this noxious anniversary. At a time when our "Democratic" president appears to be expanding the right of government to wiretap and otherwise monitor private citizens' communications, this anniversary is relevant for all of us.
End of my rant.
Peace (if only).
A good morning walk, especially considering I'm engaged in a battle with what I hope is a cold (and not a flu) virus, urging my immune system to get up, get out and get going and do its job, crushing that virus and kicking it out. Meanwhile, cold medicine and orange juice and the couch.
These days mostly I post here for my own purposes, because I find that putting my meandering thoughts and feelings down here in black and white - about my journey past (god willing) cancer and life generally - is good for me, but for those who may still be checking in here from time to time, I want to share something my friend J reminded me of:
Sunday, August 1, is the eighth anniversary of the infamous memo by Bush “Justice” Department officials John Yoo and Jay Bybee condoning torture. J says he will be out in front of the Federal Building on Los Angeles Street in downtown L.A. with his “Torture is Un-American” sign. He suggests if people want to do something and don’t feel like fasting, we might want to call our Congressional representative and senators and say we want to see high government officials prosecuted for their role in approving torture. I agree with J that even if we can’t do anything, it's important to remember this noxious anniversary. At a time when our "Democratic" president appears to be expanding the right of government to wiretap and otherwise monitor private citizens' communications, this anniversary is relevant for all of us.
End of my rant.
Peace (if only).
Monday, July 26, 2010
Monday night
A lovely last day to my 4-day birthday weekend. Jessie woke me at 5:15 and we were out the door by 5:30, and at the park shortly thereafter. It was a beautiful morning. Cool enough that I took a jean jacket and wore it on our walk. Later in the morning my friend L came over and we loaded my kayak on her car and drove down to the shore. We meandered through Stonington Village and found a funky little place to eat lunch, and then put in the boats at Barn Island. I'm used to going to Barn Island on the weekends, and in the summer the weekends are Power Boat City. There were quite a few cars and trailers parked, but it wasn't a zoo. We put in and paddled back over toward Stonington Harbor. Very stiff breeze, probably 15 - 20 knots, and the current against us on the way out. A few dicey moments, nothing truly dangerous, just challenging. On the way back we stopped at Sandy Point, pulled the boats out, and walked a bit. I didn't realize it is some sort of wildlife refuge. Sea gulls had nested there and were not happy to see us. We saw mother/father gull feeding 2 fishes to 3 juveniles. One very unhappy adolescent sea gull! One of the lucky youngsters was having trouble swallowing his/her fish and spit it out. Zoom, the other raced over toward the well used fishy dinner but the spitter saw him/her coming and re-swallowed the fish. Anyway, it was cool. I looked up the gulls when I got home and I think they were Great Black Back Gulls. Also saw many pink jellies, some cranes, cormorants, one pigeon (not sure what it was doing out on this spit of land in Little Naragansett Bay but didn't seem to be bothering the gulls).
The weather was perfect - mid to low 80's, breezy, low humidity. High fluffy clouds. Beautiful.
I tired - hard paddling against the wind and the current - but good tired. I think I can face a 4-day work week tomorrow.
Peace.
The weather was perfect - mid to low 80's, breezy, low humidity. High fluffy clouds. Beautiful.
I tired - hard paddling against the wind and the current - but good tired. I think I can face a 4-day work week tomorrow.
Peace.
Monday morning
David and I went kayaking Saturday night down on the shore. We put in around 7:30 p.m. at Mystic, paddled around the Seaport a little while and then headed out under the draw bridge. David suggested we turn and go out under the swinging railroad bridge (which is usually the way we come back). It was a quiet night - not a lot of boats (despite it being a really lovely late afternoon-early evening, hot but beautiful). The estuary was full of small beautiful smokey pink jellyfish. The full moon was just over the horizon as we left, and as we paddled out, rose higher and higher. When we came to the shore where the Osprey nest is placed, there were 2 juvenile ospreys in it (and another one in a tree nearby), calling out in the fading light. We kept paddling, going up a little waterway toward what looked like a dead end, but proved to have an opening so we circled a little island and came out going west back toward Mason's Island. By then it was really dark, moon about 45 degrees above us in the south east, sun fully set in the west, the water smooth and still and dark, like ink. A few boats coming in toward shore, but not many. We came in toward Ender's Island (where I had my weekend "retreat") and could hear a big party at the Mason Island Yacht Club. Odd to hear the "cocktail chatter" from the dark still water. We passed under the bridge that joins Mason and Ender's Islands, and then had the long paddle back around Mason's Island back to the harbor. We passed through really shallow water where the small silver fish were swarming. Our paddling stirred them up and some leaped out of the water, but none landed in my boat. We were quite late getting back. Just as we passed under the Mystic draw bridge, a party of drunken kayakers sitting dangerously in the channel there broke up and raced back to the launch area, passing us. So we had to wait while they hauled 8-10 kayaks out of the water. By the time we had put our boats on the car and gotten on the road, it was midnight. An hour and a little more to get home. The latest I've been up in a long time.
That made Jessie and I late to arrive at the park yesterday - 6:30. Hot hot hot and humid. A quiet walk.
What a difference a day makes. The cold front came through and today the humidity is gone. I think the dew point temperature dropped 20 degrees or more. This morning we got to the park about 5:40, sun barely over the horizon, cool to the point of suggesting fall. I wore a jacket. We didn't see the heron or the muskrat. The Canada geese were lined up on the shore of the large side of the pond. The Mallards spread around. The coolness made it a lovely walk; the air itself felt different and seemed clearer, so that the sky, the trees, everything seemed clearer and crisper. The hard thing to do is to appreciate a morning like this for itself, and not to become invested in it, thinking, ah the dog days of summer have passed on. They haven't. We're supposed to be back in the 90's with humidity mid-week. But for today - the final day of my 4-day weekend - it is beautiful. My friend L and I are going kayaking down on the shore. It should be lovely.
Peace.
That made Jessie and I late to arrive at the park yesterday - 6:30. Hot hot hot and humid. A quiet walk.
What a difference a day makes. The cold front came through and today the humidity is gone. I think the dew point temperature dropped 20 degrees or more. This morning we got to the park about 5:40, sun barely over the horizon, cool to the point of suggesting fall. I wore a jacket. We didn't see the heron or the muskrat. The Canada geese were lined up on the shore of the large side of the pond. The Mallards spread around. The coolness made it a lovely walk; the air itself felt different and seemed clearer, so that the sky, the trees, everything seemed clearer and crisper. The hard thing to do is to appreciate a morning like this for itself, and not to become invested in it, thinking, ah the dog days of summer have passed on. They haven't. We're supposed to be back in the 90's with humidity mid-week. But for today - the final day of my 4-day weekend - it is beautiful. My friend L and I are going kayaking down on the shore. It should be lovely.
Peace.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Saturday morning
Thanks to each of you who sent birthday cards, greetings, presents, etc. I had a lovely quiet low-key birthday. Perfect.
Today is supposed to be 96 or 98 degrees and humid, so when I awoke at 5:15 a.m., I dragged myself out of bed and Jessie and I went to the park. We were rewarded by being the first non-local creatures out and about. Already I could feel the humidity building. The pond and the grassy meadow were foggy. It's beautiful to see. Again the Canada geese were missing; didn't see them in the field north of the pond. A few were on the shore of the pond, but not the entire group I've come to know. I bet they'll be back. The Mallards seemed subdued; my guess is due to the rising humidity. We walked both loops and came back and were passing the bigger part of the pond when I realized the heron was back perched on the float in the big side of the pond where I used to see her so often last fall. I now know that "float" is related to a source of water that gets turned on - not sure if a person does it, or it is set on a timer - periodically, either to add water to the pond or at least to aerate the water that's there, stir it up so to speak. (At this point I think it probably has so much Canada goose and Mallard poo in it, you could - although you would probably choose to die before doing so - walk on it). It was lovely to see the heron.
Then a few yards further on I realized there was a creature in the grass about 20 feet in front of us and about 10 feet from the pond itself. It was the muskrat! Out on the shore, taking advantage I guess of the early human-less (almost) hour to dry out and eat a few tender blades of grass and dig a few juicy insects (what do muskrats eat? I'll have to look into it). Anyway, he/she made a beeline for the water, which caught Jessie's eye, and she strained to chase the little critter. But splash! The muskrat was able to dive back in the pond. I thought he/she would swim away, but while Jessie sniffed the air and smelled the ground, I saw the muskrat swim back to the shore right near where we stood. I wondered if he/she was waiting and hoping to be able to come back out on dry land again. We left to give him/her the opportunity. It was fun to see the WHOLE body of the little creature out on land and only a few feet away from us.
I'm so looking forward to having Monday off, too. It somehow makes today feel more relaxing to know that it will be following by 2 more non-working days. If the weather cooperates, David and I may go kayaking tonight in the full moon's light, probably down at the shoreline. Should be wonderful. Once before when we went moonlight paddling there, at a certain point as we paddled out the Mystic River estuary into and through the harbor where the river meets the sound, schools of small fish (alewives?) were stirred up by every stroke of our paddles, leaping and jumping out of the gleaming water, shining all silvery in the moonlight. Some jumped into my kayak. One died there, when it slipped below my seat and I couldn't get it out (until we returned to shore). That was an autumn full moon paddle; wonder what a mid-summer full moon paddle will bring?
Peace.
Today is supposed to be 96 or 98 degrees and humid, so when I awoke at 5:15 a.m., I dragged myself out of bed and Jessie and I went to the park. We were rewarded by being the first non-local creatures out and about. Already I could feel the humidity building. The pond and the grassy meadow were foggy. It's beautiful to see. Again the Canada geese were missing; didn't see them in the field north of the pond. A few were on the shore of the pond, but not the entire group I've come to know. I bet they'll be back. The Mallards seemed subdued; my guess is due to the rising humidity. We walked both loops and came back and were passing the bigger part of the pond when I realized the heron was back perched on the float in the big side of the pond where I used to see her so often last fall. I now know that "float" is related to a source of water that gets turned on - not sure if a person does it, or it is set on a timer - periodically, either to add water to the pond or at least to aerate the water that's there, stir it up so to speak. (At this point I think it probably has so much Canada goose and Mallard poo in it, you could - although you would probably choose to die before doing so - walk on it). It was lovely to see the heron.
Then a few yards further on I realized there was a creature in the grass about 20 feet in front of us and about 10 feet from the pond itself. It was the muskrat! Out on the shore, taking advantage I guess of the early human-less (almost) hour to dry out and eat a few tender blades of grass and dig a few juicy insects (what do muskrats eat? I'll have to look into it). Anyway, he/she made a beeline for the water, which caught Jessie's eye, and she strained to chase the little critter. But splash! The muskrat was able to dive back in the pond. I thought he/she would swim away, but while Jessie sniffed the air and smelled the ground, I saw the muskrat swim back to the shore right near where we stood. I wondered if he/she was waiting and hoping to be able to come back out on dry land again. We left to give him/her the opportunity. It was fun to see the WHOLE body of the little creature out on land and only a few feet away from us.
I'm so looking forward to having Monday off, too. It somehow makes today feel more relaxing to know that it will be following by 2 more non-working days. If the weather cooperates, David and I may go kayaking tonight in the full moon's light, probably down at the shoreline. Should be wonderful. Once before when we went moonlight paddling there, at a certain point as we paddled out the Mystic River estuary into and through the harbor where the river meets the sound, schools of small fish (alewives?) were stirred up by every stroke of our paddles, leaping and jumping out of the gleaming water, shining all silvery in the moonlight. Some jumped into my kayak. One died there, when it slipped below my seat and I couldn't get it out (until we returned to shore). That was an autumn full moon paddle; wonder what a mid-summer full moon paddle will bring?
Peace.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Friday morning
Good morning. Happy birthday to me. A nice day so far - up early, to the park with Jessie. A good walk. I noticed as we passed the pond the first time that the Canada geese were gone. I thought maybe the adults' new year's wing feathers had finally come in and the juveniles were able to fly, and they were off to more northerly (and less HOT) climes. Did seem to be a little early. However, later as we completed the eastern loop and came back toward the pond, I heard the unmistakable call of Canada geese. Turns out the flock was grazing in the grassy field north of the pond. A lot of bird calls this morning, perhaps because it was a bit less humid and cooler. I did my T'ai Chi form in the rock garden, while Jessie dozed. We also walked the western loop and then came back to the pond to sit on a bench. Quiet (of course, with the hum of automobiles in the background where they speed down the city street that is the north border of the park). Again Jessie snoozed in the grass at my feet (did I get her up too early this morning? or was she just relaxing?) I was sitting quietly on the bench when the muskrat swam by. This time, not just his/her little head above the water, but the whole body visible, just dog paddling along quietly. Jessie didn't notice him/her, which is good. Then across the pond where the gaggle of geese was grazing, a couple of Canada geese appeared to get into a dispute and one fell in the pond with a big splash. A quiet lovely morning in the park.
I saw Dr. R yesterday for my first 3-month checkup. Everything fine. It was an incredibly busy morning at the Cancer Center. Are more people getting cancer? Or more people with cancer choosing this hospital? Or just one particularly busy day? Standing room only in the waiting rooms. (Reminded me of when I went for chemo #3, I think, around Christmas time (actually, I recall - December 23 it was). There literally were people waiting in line for their chemo, but that was because they had double booked so that the hospital staff could have Christmas day or maybe Christmas day and Christmas eve off of work). I asked Nurse E about my blood counts - had forgotten to ask Dr. R -- and she said they were all fine, white cell count slightly low, but normal, and hemoglobin better than hers. Next appointment is with Dr. M on August 31. I have a CT scan scheduled for end of October - just over 1 year after the original surgery - and then an appointment with Dr R to review the results. That will be a little anxiety-provoking.
I am looking forward to my 4-day weekend. I need to make real plans for taking more time off, decide for sure about a class at the boat school in Maine (they are having a special - 30% off - on some seamanship classes, including a class called Craft of Sail for women only. That is another possibility. I hope to decide in the next few days.)
I'm feeling good. Apart from general anxiety about the state of the world, about my cousin C';s recovery, my aunt M's arthritis, my children's and their spouses' livelihoods and general happiness, my grandson's future, the state of health care in the US, poverty, AIDS, racism,.... okay, I'm obsessive. But basically I am happy and wish everyone in the world had the opportunity to feel good, live in peace, health and well being.
Peace.
I saw Dr. R yesterday for my first 3-month checkup. Everything fine. It was an incredibly busy morning at the Cancer Center. Are more people getting cancer? Or more people with cancer choosing this hospital? Or just one particularly busy day? Standing room only in the waiting rooms. (Reminded me of when I went for chemo #3, I think, around Christmas time (actually, I recall - December 23 it was). There literally were people waiting in line for their chemo, but that was because they had double booked so that the hospital staff could have Christmas day or maybe Christmas day and Christmas eve off of work). I asked Nurse E about my blood counts - had forgotten to ask Dr. R -- and she said they were all fine, white cell count slightly low, but normal, and hemoglobin better than hers. Next appointment is with Dr. M on August 31. I have a CT scan scheduled for end of October - just over 1 year after the original surgery - and then an appointment with Dr R to review the results. That will be a little anxiety-provoking.
I am looking forward to my 4-day weekend. I need to make real plans for taking more time off, decide for sure about a class at the boat school in Maine (they are having a special - 30% off - on some seamanship classes, including a class called Craft of Sail for women only. That is another possibility. I hope to decide in the next few days.)
I'm feeling good. Apart from general anxiety about the state of the world, about my cousin C';s recovery, my aunt M's arthritis, my children's and their spouses' livelihoods and general happiness, my grandson's future, the state of health care in the US, poverty, AIDS, racism,.... okay, I'm obsessive. But basically I am happy and wish everyone in the world had the opportunity to feel good, live in peace, health and well being.
Peace.
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