Since Cancer

The worst thing that could be,
Has already happened to me.
The surgeon said I had
Cancer.

But I’m still standing,
No longer demanding
That God should (please!)
Take care of me.

Not hope, but faith
Is left in cancer’s wake
And survival has inspired me
To be bolder.

I know worry is a waste,
And I’ve left that hurried pace
Time is too precious and
Life needs me.

I take new steps each day,
Letting love light my way
And give wings to childhood dreams
Still inside me.

The worst thing that could be,
Has already happened to me
But my life is much richer since
Cancer.

Faith

It’s no secret that I long for someone beside me when I wake.
And survival has given me many gifts; the most precious is my faith.
Not hope, because that’s a “maybe,” when faith is sure and true.
So my future may lie in another’s arms, but oh darling, how I’ve loved you.

Cancer – A Public Service Announcement

I recently learned that a friend of mine died after a long battle with cancer. The news came to me while I was in a blissful state of mind, following a recent visit to my oncologist. I was told that I’m cancer-free and was filled with gratitude. I’d been contacting my family and friends, sharing good news and thinking how different these calls were, compared to those I’d made when I was first diagnosed. Now I’m picturing my friend’s family, making the saddest calls of all.

Cancer takes lives in many ways. It may last for decades, with alternating periods of illness and remission. It can claim its victims after a few years, because the organ it’s invaded is more vulnerable or the type of cancer is more deadly. And cancer might also be fatal within a few months, because it was diagnosed too late and treatment is futile. I’ve heard too many of these stories, lately. “He was gone in three months!” “She felt fine, but her new job required a physical and they discovered she had cancer.” “He was only 35; they don’t do a colonoscopy until you’re 50!” The last remark was made by a nurse who was tending to me during my recent check-up.

It’s common knowledge that the earlier cancer is detected, the better the outcome will be. Having periodic diagnostic tests is very important, but I’d like to discuss another important component of cancer prevention. I’ll briefly tell you my story, even though the details are very “personal.” My heartfelt intention is to help anyone I can by sharing my experience with this life-changing illness.

While I was at work one day, I used the bathroom and was surprised to discover a small amount of blood in the toilet. Obviously, I was somewhat concerned, but I felt fine, so I returned to my desk. About an hour later, I became a bit dizzy and called a friend who drove me to the hospital ER. After an examination, the doctor told me I had an internal hemorrhoid that had developed a blood clot. I asked what the treatment was and the doctor said no treatment would be necessary. She suggested I “wait until it becomes too annoying” and at that point contact a surgeon, who would remove the hemorrhoid with a simple procedure.

It’s my opinion that if something’s in your body that isn’t supposed to be there, it should be removed. Waiting can necessitate a more involved or extensive procedure; I prefer to nip my medical issues in the bud. So, the next day I called a few surgeons for a second opinion. During one call I was asked “Were you bleeding?” When I answered “Yes,” I was told “We need to see you today.”

During my visit, I was examined and three biopsies were taken. Four days later the surgeon called me to explain that I had a rare form of rectal cancer. Luckily, further tests revealed I was in Stage One, but the tumor was growing rapidly, so my treatment needed to begin ASAP. The goal was to avoid surgery through the aggressive use of chemotherapy and radiation. I met with my team of doctors, learned as much as I needed to be an active participant in my cancer treatment, spiritually prepared myself for “battle,” and with loving support from my family and friends went through four months of treatment, eventually emerging as a grateful cancer survivor. My tumor was completely destroyed and I did not need surgery!

When I tell my friends this story, almost every one of them remarks, “I would have just gone home and waited for the situation to worsen,” as was suggested to me in the ER. One of my physicians remarked that oncologists rarely see a case of rectal cancer in Stage One, because people assume they have an internal hemorrhoid or simply ignore their symptoms. I recently read that instances of this type of cancer are increasing, because most people wait until they’re in real distress before seeing a physician.

The point I feel compelled to make is this: Pay attention to your body’s signals and take action. I realize that many people avoid second opinions or doctor visits because they fear hearing “bad news.” However, if you let fear guide you, the news you get at a later date could be worse than what you’ll hear today. It’s been said that we’re motivated by either fear or love. Please, love your body and listen as it guides you!

I Have Survived!

Yesterday, my oncologist said, “You’re much too healthy to be hanging around doctors’ offices. See you in three months.” I shook his hand, hard, as our smiling eyes met. Then he turned and walked out of the office and into the rest of his day.

I pulled on my coat and began walking out of the office, twirling a scarf around my neck as I wove through the maze of rooms. The lab, the infusion room, the glass-walled reception area, all so familiar and now fading into the background. I flung the door open and the bright sun and freezing air stunned me. I jumped into my car and after slamming the door, I let out a joyous yelp. Within a few minutes the Grateful Dead tune, “Touch of Gray” began to play on the radio. I turned it way up, grinning ear-to-ear and sang all the way home, as happy tears bounced off the steering wheel. Sure, people looked at me when a red light stopped us, but I didn’t care. (My bumper sticker reads, “Driver Singing. Use Caution.”)

Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! To all my dear friends and family, thank you! To my doctors, nurses, care-givers and EMT’s, thank you! To each and every one of you who – without even knowing – lifted me up, thank you! To God, this magical universe and the warrior that revealed herself within me, thank you! To my beloved angels up above who hovered close and answered my prayers, thank you! I need words bigger than “Thank You,” but for now they’re all I’ve got.

There’s so much I want to say, but I’ve got the rest of my lifetime to do so. So for now, I’ll celebrate and toast my fellow survivors. I’m also praying for the cancer patients who are fighting back right now, with all the bravery and strength they can muster. And I’m remembering those who’ve lost the battle, because all the medicine, treatments, love and fighting spirit weren’t enough. I will say this: Life is a beautiful gift. So please, be grateful and live every precious day like you MEAN IT!

Radio Cancer

As usual, the dawn is breaking when my eyes flutter and open softly, taking in the grid of the window panes before me. I can tell by the shadows and masked objects in the room that it’s time to greet the day. Before that thought is complete, my heart begins to beat faster, begging for my attention. My thoughts start slowly, then begin to race, as the unbidden fear that has become my companion emerges from it’s slumber.

Radio Cancer starts to play in the distance, as if to say “I’m still here…” It’s changed it’s form in the aftermath of treatment; no longer a tumor that can be seen growing inside me, it’s a state of mind that I fight with tightly-fisted hands and all the will I can muster. Or not…I often do the opposite, surrendering to this new reality of hard edges and cold surfaces and the icicles hanging outside that have come to represent me, no longer flowing with life’s rhythm, but frozen in a state of mind that is delicate, brittle and vulnerable.

There is grace in my surrender. I’m not giving up the fight, but allowing a force greater than I am to take over as I let go. There is kindness in my surrender. I stop scolding myself when my feelings paralyze me and I lose hours and days that are so precious to me, especially since I’ve become a survivor. There is hope in my surrender. I know from experience that a challenge can seem impossible, but if I have faith and love myself right now, imperfect as I may be, miracles can occur.

I’m fighting a new battle born from cancer, which dropped a seed into my consciousness before it left. When I wasn’t looking, the seed sprouted into a thought, “I am not safe.” So now, beginning my day includes the ritual of morning meditation, when, for a few minutes I feel peaceful, protected and calm. With practice, I know a new seed will grow and the fear will eventually fade, as time passes and sweet comfort takes root. Radio Cancer may still inhabit a place deep inside me, but someday soon it’s frequency will fade and the music of my spirit will begin to play, stronger and sweeter than ever.

Dedicated to Melanie St. Ours

It’s Comin’ on Christmas…

All the presents are wrapped, waiting to be packed in boxes and sent south to NJ. They’re leaving ahead of me, since I’m traveling by train. I’ve grown to love “The Vermonter.” Just me and a book, snug in my seat, rocking peacefully for a few hours as the towns glide by outside. It feels romantic and nostalgic, too, as if I’ve stepped inside the world of a vintage travel poster.

The end of my ride is Penn Station. Claire will be there to meet me crying, “Mama!” and greeting me with bright eyes and her wonderful smile as we rush towards each other. We’ll take a cab to her place; Bailey the cat will cry with longing when the key jiggles the lock. He’ll see it’s both of his girls and lap up all the love and cooing we bestow upon him. It’ll feel so good to be there.

There. Not here in this apartment of mine, where I’ve spent most of this year, sick, then mending and eventually longing for the day when the scenery around me would change. This year took me on a different kind of journey, filled with new and often frightening territory, although I soon realized I didn’t have time to be scared. I had cancer and I needed to prepare for battle, body, mind and spirit. The cancer journey isn’t for the faint of heart, this I know is true. But there are silver linings, both small and momentous and the word grateful has never crossed my mind as many times as it did this year.

My strength is coming back and my hair is growing in. The fight is finally over. It’s fitting that it’s year’s end, since I’m eager for the next chapter, my re-entry into the world. I’m a wee bit shaky and my emotions still trip me up, but I know I’ll be OK. I just need to remind myself, I’m a survivor.