What a week!

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What is needed right here is a big eyes-crossed emoticon. But I’m too tired to find one, so you will have to make it up in your head.

This has been one crazy week.

On the bad side, my neck/shoulder pain has continued. I finally was able to figure out that it happens whenever pressure is put anywhere in the neck/shoulder/back/front region, on either side, although the pain is only on my left side. You can pretty quickly deduce that this is a condition that does not allow much rest. Just leaning back on the couch triggers it, and lying down in any way or shape, on either side, or front of back, triggers it. If I find a position that puts less pressure in these areas, it seems to involve odd neck positions, and that triggers it too.

So here is what that has looked like. At night I go to sleep and within a few hours the pain has reached the point where I have to get out of bed. I may not necessarily wake up for this. One night I found myself sitting in the kitchen chair with no memory of how I got there. Other times I wake up for the initial leave of the bed, but wherever I wander, I keep dozing off, as in my head flops over, I walk a little unsteadily, shall we say. Sometimes I catch myself starting to fall off, whether I am standing or sitting. One of the things that helps the pain is standing in the shower, so I have done that a couple of times. Last night I kept catching myself falling asleep standing in the shower. With just a few hours of sleep at night, I have been exhausted in the daytime as well. With only one exception, I haven’t been able to take a nap because as soon as I lay down it starts hurting and I get up again.

Needless to say, I have not been very productive this week, with two exceptions. The first is that on Friday I actually made it to a coffee shop after radiation and wrote for awhile. This was not due to planning and discipline, but to a stroke of inspiration I had on the way to radiation. The last chapter of my book started falling into my lap, and I knew if I didn’t get it down I’d lose the heart of it. I wrote on my iPad rather than my laptop, since I had not planned for this, so it was awkward, and I didn’t complete the chapter. I need to work on it some more, but I have allowed myself to put it off a few days because I know I am so tired I could not do it justice. But I was happy to at least make a start on this promise to myself.

This week I also hosted my first dōTERRA online class. It is a week-long class with ten participants, and I have to say, it has been a lot of work, and I have been a little dazed and confused for part of it, but it has actually been fun. I have made some really fun mistakes, like the time that my computer continued broadcasting live for quite awhile after I thought it had been turned off. I still have not watched it to see just how badly I embarrassed myself, but I know I whipped my wig off and sat down at the computer, and that I caught on video my comment that I had just slathered myself in marijuana, referring to the anti-inflammatory cream I have with cannabis trichomes, which I used to try to stop the pain. Not available through dōTERRA, by the way! Didn’t work either, just as the oils I did try did not work, and the Motrin does not work, and the muscle relaxants prescribed by the doctor on Friday did not work. Well, the muscle relaxants enabled me to get a few hours more sleep than I have been, but they did not prevent me from waking up in pain.

Nevertheless, I have discovered that what those dōTERRA people say is true: I actually do love this stuff, and I do love sharing about it. And I do love the people I have been sharing with. Some I know, some I know only from Facebook, others I don’t really know at all. When I set up the class, I said I had room for ten people to participate, and these ten people asked to be included. They actually all seem to have been showing up for the classes, whether live or the recorded version available later. They have been wonderful and supportive and kind. They have told me I am beautiful, even though I can see the video broadcast of myself and I am horrified! They have told me that I am doing a great job, even though I find myself reading from a paper and still stumbling over the words, whether from exhaustion or natural lack of talent. But I have really appreciated their kindness. Really.

Other bad things have been happening in my body recently as well. Whether they are related to my pain I don’t know. But I have been puffy, like steroid puffy, even though I am no longer on steroids. My fingers have been swollen, and so have my feet and ankles. The neuropathy left from chemotherapy has been more pronounced. Here is where the dōTERRA did supply some relief from discomfort, as the area around my toes was numb and inflamed, and a good application of helichrysum and frankincense in fractionated coconut oil made them feel much better. The general inflammation, however, has been pronounced, and could well have something to do with the pain I have been experiencing.

I need a deeper change, however, and I know that. I have been eating terribly. I have been eating very unhealthy food in unhealthy amounts, and I feel awful. I know that I also need to take control of my diet and my life because of this disease. It seems as though every week I run into someone whose cancer had beat cancer once only to have it return a few years later. That second visit is generally a lot harder than the first. Often, in fact, it is fatal.

So I am back to my vegan diet, and I will let you know how that goes.

Spiritually it has been an interesting week as well. While I was experiencing discomfort during one of my radiation treatments, I closed my eyes and tried to go to that place where I danced with Jesus on the water. (For those who are new, this is an image my pastor gave me when I was first diagnosed, of Jesus reaching out to Peter and inviting him to walk on the water with him. I have visualized that during some of my more difficult times, only rather than walking I found myself dancing on the sparkling Sea of Galilee.) Only when I tried this time I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t get out of the boat, because I knew I would sink, because I knew I didn’t have the faith that would allow me to walk. So I sat in the boat, and Jesus came and sat right outside of it, both our arms resting on the side, and we talked. “Well, you can’t really blame me, can you?” I asked. I’m not sharing them again here, but I have my questions and Jesus knows what they are. I remember some years ago when I brought them up (again) to one of my pastors, he said,
“Sharon, do we have to dance this dance again?” And I guess we do. I am locked into it, seemingly for a lifetime. I spin and spin and become dizzy, and can no longer tell which way is home.

I have given God ways to free me from it so I can rest in his arms forever. “God, please just let me have one full night of pain-free sleep.” Such an easy thing for the creator of the universe, yes? No, I guess not. It probably wouldn’t work anyway. I would probably just say, well, I got better. It was time, and my body healed my injury. Why would God give me a chance to fail and go back on my word again? But okay, this hurts and I’m tired.

I do see another doctor on Monday. My radiation oncologist prescribed the muscle relaxer I started taking last night. So by process of elimination, by Monday we will be able to say say it’s not that, and move on, and hopefully find what it is and what needs to be done. Unless God or my body chooses to heal it first. Either way is fine. The faster way is better, whatever that is.

So that’s what’s up right now. Thank you all for your support! Love to all of you!

Radiation therapy is NOT fun

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I can’t believe I have completed six days of radiation therapy already. That means only 19 days to go. Last treatment is scheduled for September 12th. And I have done nothing that I wanted to do, like take my laptop and go to a coffee shop to write for awhile after therapy. There have been a lot of busy days, a lot of disorganized days, and a number of painful days, but one way or another it just hasn’t happened yet.

But I want to whine a little, even though I know I have no real grounds for whining. Radiation therapy is nowhere near as enjoyable as chemotherapy was. Now I know chemo can be hell for a lot of people, but it wasn’t for me. It was somewhere I went once a week to spend a few hours in a recliner reading, writing, chatting, while being taken care of by the nicest nurses. In contrast, radiation therapy is a rapidly moving assembly line. First, it is every single day. Each session lasts from 15 to 45 minutes depending on whether or not they want ex-rays (which they seem to have wanted more often than not). I not only don’t get a comfortable recliner, I get squished into a cardboard-like mold to hold me still in the most uncomfortable of positions. And I’m not allowed to move. If I wiggle my toes a voice comes through the speaker telling me to keep my foot still.

Note that part about the voice through the speaker. There are two techs who take care of me every day, but that consists of asking my birth date, then tugging me into position on the table while speaking to each other in numbers. “98.” “73.” My primary relationship in this therapy is with a large machine that rotates around me while I lie on a table.

Once I am squished into that position, suddenly I itch in all sorts of places. My wedding ring feels like it has slipped too far down on my finger and really needs to be moved NOW. I suddenly realized that my muscles had been tense, which had lifted my back slightly off the table when they positioned me, and now it really wants to relax. Then even though it’s an open machine, as the larger part revolves to where it is above me, there is a moment of claustrophobic panic. But most of all, it’s uncomfortable. Even though they presumably made this mold around my body the first time I went in, there are ridges where ridges should not be, and there are parts that were just never comfortable to begin with.

Perhaps coincidentally, I developed a pain in my left neck and shoulder around the fourth day of therapy. I will admit I don’t have a high tolerance for pain in the first place, but this is a very painful pain. Occasionally it has been painful enough that it has made me want to vomit. During the day it is somewhat relieved, and even occasionally subsides completely, with large doses of Motrin. But at night it always becomes severe, and is not relieved however much Motrin I take. I haven’t had a full night’s sleep for five days and it has gotten to the point where I am actually afraid to try to sleep, because I don’t want to wake up in pain.

Not due to the radiation, the techs told me. The area of pain is immediately above the area they irradiate but not within the field. But they suggested I tell the doctor when I see him on Friday anyway, which I will. It could be due to spending large amounts of time in unnatural and uncomfortable positions, they said. So maybe I can blame radiation. But on the other hand, it could also be from picking up my grandson wrong, or from sleeping in a strange position. Goodness knows I have tried to figure out how to improve my sleeping position, but that has been difficult considering the fact that moving even a fraction of an inch causes great, shooting pain. I have kind of self diagnosed it as maybe a pinched nerve in my neck, although the muscles were quite tender when my daughter tried to massage the area, and I’m not sure if that would happen with a pinched nerve. But whatever it is, it hurts, and I am tired of it, and when I lie there in those odd positions for radiation, my shoulder starts to hurt and I think, oh no, this is making it worse, but there is nothing I can do about it.

Then, too, I have thought about pain itself. I have thought about those I know who have died of cancer, who have reached excruciating levels of pain in the process of dying. And I think, I can’t even tolerate a little shoulder and neck pain.

So far I have been just as tired from radiation as from chemotherapy, even before the pain in my shoulder started robbing me of my sleep at night. I was taking three or four naps a day before I started being afraid to lie down.

But it’s just a really impersonal treatment. It’s annoying, uncomfortable, and lonely.

I guess it’s going to be up to me to transform the experience. Twenty percent of the treatments are finished now. I hope I don’t waste the rest of this time.

Last chemotherapy treatment

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I had my last chemotherapy treatment today. I made it through 20 long weeks! The staff and my nurses at Epic Care were wonderful, as always. As I finished my infusion they came out with pompoms and an award and gave me a cheer. It was embarrassing, but fun! The woman sitting next to me today was having her very first chemo infusion. She had the same disease, and the same chemo regimen. I was really happy to tell her that it was nowhere near as bad as I had feared it would be. The drugs are good. Take them and you won’t suffer from the unremitting nausea and vomiting chemo used to be known for. She had her concerns and had done her research, and had a good plan. Then I told her how wonderful the staff at the clinic were, and how they made chemo actually pleasant. For some reason everybody, including the staff, laughs when I say that. But really, the infusion is not painful or uncomfortable in itself. For me it was a time to relax, read, nap, be taken care of.

I expected to dance out of my last chemo and start celebrating immediately. I was given the all clear to enjoy some foods that have been denied me for awhile, and I considered that I needed to go out to a couple of restaurants and do that. I guess I forgot that on the last day of chemo I actually received chemo! It decided to remind me that it wasn’t all pleasant. Very, very tired today, a little achey, even a little nauseous. My brain has turned to complete mush. I can’t tell you how many times I have walked out to the other room today, only to say, “Why am I here?” once I got there. But I know by tomorrow I will be feeling better for the most part. In a couple of days I am starting a cleanse to get all the toxins out of my body. The happy dance is coming soon.

I was glad to have a woman having her first chemo sitting next to me this morning. If there is one thing I want to come out of my experience, it is to be able to say to others who are heading into it, “Don’t be afraid.” Yes, there are side effects to chemo, but for most of us, most of the time, they are manageable. Life goes on, with a few extra naps, and a few less food choices.

I had ordered a new necklace through the internet, and it just arrived today. It is a mommy and baby elephant. Have I mentioned how much I love elephants? Probably not. Well, now you know. Better yet, it is made of dragonglass! More commonly known as obsidian this side of the Seven Kingdoms, dragonglass kills the Others, the White Walkers who are coming to destroy the world. Interestingly, it created them as well, as when it was plunged into the hearts of humans that is what they transformed into. In the opening episode of this most recent series, those who were reading over Sam’s shoulder also discovered that it is a cure for greyscale, a fatal disease in which all of a man’s (or woman’s, or child’s) skin is turned to stone. I was planning on slaying a few demons and being healed, so a little bit of dragonglass coming along right now can’t hurt, can it?

So here is my current plan. I am going to spend every day marking how much better I feel than the day before. In between chemo and radiation, I hope to be able to recapture just a little bit of strength in my muscles. I am going to mark each and every way I feel better. And I will spend a little time every day studying my hair to see how it is growing. Already I have a blanket of peach fuzz on my head, as you can see in the above picture, some of it long enough to make little drifts over the top of the temples of my glasses! I have gotten to really hate scarves and head covers, so I am anxious to never have to wear them again!

When I get to radiation, since I have to be there every single day, I plan to take my laptop and go to a coffee shop afterwards. I don’t have LTE on my laptop, so I won’t be tempted by Facebook. I will have to concentrate on Word, and the two books I have swirling around in my head waiting to take form on the page. If you are one of my praying friends, or one who sends puffs of positive energy, I’d appreciate that now. I’m not sure which book to concentrate on first, and while they are swirling they are not fully formed. I need all the help I can get to bring them to birth. I am also taking recommendations for coffee shops in the Dublin area, since that is where I am having radiation therapy.

Meanwhile, as best I can, I will wait and see. I will try to live in each moment rather than in fear of the future. There is one thing I know, and that is that life can turn on a dime. You can wake up one morning and when you go to bed that night your entire world will have changed. Sometimes, those changes are even for good. I believe in those things. I’ve had a little voice in the back of my head that has said several times, “Something really good is going to happen.” I generally shush it, calling it wishful thinking, the fantasies of someone right before they drown maybe. But I’m going to listen instead, embrace it, be open to it. However big or however small, I am certain that something really good is going to happen, and I will be grateful.

Thank you all for your support through this part of my journey. It means more than you could know. I love you all.

Facing into the dark

In nine days I will have finished chemotherapy. It has not been nearly what I’d feared it would be. The side effects were subtle. The nausea was fairly easily controlled with medication. I got one mouth sore, and my fingertips cracked and peeled. I have a tiny bit of nerve damage in three fingertips on one hand. I had a lot of weariness, and a huge amount of paranoia, but I was okay. Soon I will get a vacation, and then radiation for five weeks, and then reconstruction.

I know a number of people with cancer, however, and for many of them, treatment for the disease has itself been a trip through hell. I know people who have been on the same drugs I have been on who were unable to continue them because the side effects were so severe: muscle aches, fevers, inability to even get out of bed, bleeding. A friend’s nephew experienced severe mouth sores and numerous apparent brain bleeds (small strokes they think) that had him living in another world, and had those who loved him thinking he might be preparing to leave this one. I have known of people whose bones were so brittle from the treatments that sitting on them caused them to fracture. From the treatment, and from the cancer itself, there has been unremitting pain.

You call me brave? You call me a warrior? I have not been in those trenches. If I am in the war against cancer, I am one of the people sitting in the air conditioned office. I am not on those front lines.

Beyond that, however, is the deepest darkness of cancer, and that is death. This is something I have not even really considered for myself. I know I am not going to die at this time, at least not from cancer. I know that at this moment I am cancer free and I am undergoing aggressive treatment in order to try to prevent its return. I know it can return. There is a 20 to 40 percent chance of that, and if it does, it returns as metastatic breast cancer, Stage 4, considered incurable. Treatable, but incurable. I’m not sure exactly what that means, to tell you the truth. But I have a friend who had Stage 3A breast cancer, went through treatment and was in remission. Her doctors told her she would not die of breast cancer, that she would likely die of something else. But then the cancer returned, metastasized to her liver this time. She was fighting it, was receiving treatment with Taxol, the drug I am currently on. We had many conversations about breast cancer, but then I didn’t hear from her for awhile. People always seem to want to encourage me. Nobody ever wants to tell me that they are not doing well. I just read yesterday from her sister that she had been admitted to the hospital. Her sister asked for prayers for my friend’s adult children, for her husband, for her siblings. But she did not ask for prayers for my friend, which told me that she had probably gone to the hospital to die.

Another woman I know, a delightful human being, who hired me for my first job back in the work force after having been a stay at home mom for a number of years, recently lost her battle against cancer as well. She’d fought a particularly aggressive form of thyroid cancer for a couple of years, and had well outlived her original prognosis. She encouraged me in my own battle, gave me helpful hints for dealing with some side effects of treatment. She was always positive, and when asked never really said she was not doing well. Recently she’d been diagnosed with breast cancer as well and underwent a lumpectomy. That doesn’t sound like someone who was facing a terminal diagnosis for another condition, does it? Then I heard she had gone to the hospital, and then released to home. Her mother came, her sister was there, and they stayed with her all day and all night. Perhaps it could be assumed, but nobody said she was dying, and I didn’t believe it, until the message came that she was gone.

It is so difficult to grasp how people can be so alive one day, and gone so soon after. It is so difficult for the body to be here without the animating spirit, never to speak again, never to hold the ones they love again.

It also brings home to me the fact that this disease I am fighting is not a trivial matter. It is deadly. I remember feeling so blasé about it all when I was asked to return for a second mammogram and ultrasound. Oh, it’s nothing, I thought. I remember walking from my car into the clinic, through the shaded tunnel, along the sidewalk with the squiggly path paved into it, and thinking, “Oh, wait, this might be an important moment,” and being both shocked by that thought and unable to really internalize it. I think I have carried that with me through this whole thing. Deny it and it will be okay.

I finally picked up a book I’d had on my shelf since before my diagnosis: When Breath Becomes Air, by Paul Kalanithi. This is the memoir of a doctor who died of lung cancer. I hadn’t been able to read it before, because I was not willing to look into that darkness. Then for some reason I decided it was time. The darkness had touched me, in friends who had been fellow warriors in this battle dying on the field. I began to feel a need to look into that place, to assess whether I would have the courage to face it if that time came.

Kalanithi was a neurologist, who had a fascination with the juxtaposition of the physical and the spiritual. He wanted in particular to understand death. He had obtained a masters degree in English literature from Stanford University. For his thesis he wrote about Walt Whitman’s quest to understand “the physiological-spiritual man.” He found no answers there, however, and decided to go to medical school. “It would allow me a chance to find answers that are not in books, to find a different sort of sublime, to forge relationships with the suffering, and to keep following the questions of what makes human life meaningful, even in the face of death and decay.” To this end, he chose the field of neurology. He witnessed much, but if he came up with “the” answers, I didn’t grasp them from this book. He knows now, of course. But he can no longer tell us.

What he did convey was how we might live life in the face of our dying. “Grand illnesses are supposed to be life-clarifying,” he wrote. “Instead, I knew I was going to die — but I’d known that before. My state of knowledge was the same, but my ability to make lunch plans had been shot to hell.” What do we do from day to day when we know there are not an inexhaustible number of them left? “Maybe,” he concluded, “in the absence of any certainty, we should just assume that we’re going to live a long time. Maybe that’s the only way forward.”

The book also teaches us a lot about the real essence of life and death, and that is love. Those we love, and those who love us. It’s the theme I return to over and over again in the face of my own loss of my nine-year old daughter to a kidnapping that remains unsolved almost 29 years later. Once we understand the actual fact of loss, we understand what an act of outrageous courage it is to love. But at the same time we can see the beauty of love in a way we couldn’t before. During the course of his illness, Kalanithi and his wife decided to have a child together. The last words he penned here were for his daughter:

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Oh, what an ache in those words. His daughter will not know what she is missing, but here she will find it. But they capture the essence of love, and the essence of loss. I have though many times that I am not afraid to die. I know I cannot say that until I face death myself. But if there is a fear, if there is a reluctance, it is here. His joy is sated? Does not hunger for more? But how can that be? How can your heart not grasp at that joy, at that love, desire an ever-deepening infilling? How can you not be unwilling to stop, to ever let go?

The last part of the book was written by Kalanithi’s wife, Lucy, after his death. In many ways, this is my favorite part of the book. She wrote of Kalanithi’s purpose in writing this book: “He wanted to help people understand death and face their mortality…. ‘That’s what I’m aiming for, I think,'” she quotes him as saying, “‘Not the sensationalism of dying, and not exhortations to gather rosebuds, but: Here’s what lies up ahead on the road.'” Did he fulfill that purpose? Well, yes and no. I don’t think any of us can be prepared for this journey until we are on it ourselves. But it helps to know that others have gone through it before us, and have found courage along the way.

His wife spoke of their love. The marriage had been a bit rocky before the diagnosis. They were both medical interns with very stressful schedules. But they pulled together. She wrote, “At home in bed a few weeks before he died, I asked him, ‘Can you breathe okay with my head on your chest like this?’ His answer was, ‘It’s the only way I know how to breathe.'”

And she wrote of the impact of living with life and death.

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This is a special gift, honestly. For those of us who are living who have been touched by death, life assumes a different color and texture. We see it through the stained glass prism of having experienced loss and death. If there is a gift, an understanding, that I could pass on to my children, this would be it. I have two daughters who tell me I have to live forever, but regardless of when or where or how, I know I won’t. When I do leave, I want them to be strong. I don’t want to leave until they have all that they need in life to survive, and having that, I want them to be able to see through the best colors in the stained glass story of our love. It is possible to cave in the face of death and loss. It is possible to turn that prism into something dark, comprised of fear, anger, hurt. But in the natural course of events, that prism actually brings a new beauty to life. You know if a sunset lasted forever, you would not be drawn to it as you are. It is because you know it will be gone quickly that your desire is to soak it in, make it a part of yourself. In that way, its fleeting beauty will become eternal within your heart.

Lucy Kalanithi also spoke of her husband’s courage:

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This is where I think I fail. I do not cry. I did not cry when I was diagnosed. My youngest daughter was with me, and her eyes filled with tears, but mine didn’t. Somehow I think perhaps I am not fully alive, as Kalanithi was. Many years ago I told my therapist, “I feel dead inside.” “Well, how did you feel when you were feeling?” she asked. “Like hell,” I replied. “That’s what the problem is,” she told me. “When we feel bad enough for long enough, we shut down our feelings.”

It’s self defense. It’s helpful. When I had my mastectomy, a number of nerves were severed in the surgery. I still have numbness, and it bothers me just a little bit. Funny enough, places that are numb can itch, but then can’t feel the scratch. For the most part, however, I have been really grateful for it. My post operative pain was far less than I’d thought it would be, and I am sure this is why. “Can you please sever the nerves?” will be my standing request whenever facing surgery, and I will only be half joking. I don’t like pain. People are always telling me how brave I am, but it’s not true. If I was brave, I would be able to embrace the pain. I wouldn’t spend my life running from it. Before the day comes when I do die, my desire is to make that journey into the storm of love and grief in the center of my heart, and set it free. I want to do this for myself. I want to do this to fulfill my purposes here on earth. I want to do this for my children. I want to do this to teach my children the most important lessons in life:

How to live.
How to love.
How to let go.
How to die.

Life is horrendously fearful. Life is gloriously beautiful. It is not to be wasted. It is not to be squandered. It is not to be hidden under a rock. We need to let our spirits do what they want to do, and that is to shine. That way we will have a light when we wander through the dark places, for ourselves, and for others we may help guide. I am not pretending to be there. I am not pretending to have the answers. But what little I have, I will share.

On the inside cover of When Breath Becomes Air, I scribbled a couple of lines. Whether they came from the pages of this book or elsewhere I don’t remember. But for my friend, for each and every one of us, on one near or far day, I speak these words:

In peace may you leave the shore.
In love may you find the next.

Blessings to you all, my friends.

p.s. Just as I was publishing this blog, I received news that my friend had passed on. God bless you, Carla. I will miss you.

Coming to life!

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While on the outside these are kind of scary days when many things in my life are uncertain, on the inside I feel like something is coming alive in me. It is like a bubbling up inside of me of joy and excitement. Only people who have followed my blogs for a long time are likely to recognize what I mean when I say this, but the ocean waves have set me on the shore once again, and outside of that water I can see the brilliance in color and clarity of the world around me. There is a song in the distance that was muffled before, but now calls to me.

I will write more about this in days to come, but the bubbles just wanted to get out and be known. Enough for now.

Shine little light! Grow bright!

I need to be brave

Blog what if fail or flyAs I was sitting in the waiting room at chemo yesterday, I read a blog by a fellow cancer patient and amazing person, Nanea Hoffman, in which she talked about being referred to as a warrior. But she said she felt more like the battlefield than the warrior. I couldn’t agree more! Even reading the title and intro to the blog, I was thinking, I am not a warrior. I am not doing anything heroic here. Just like everything else in life I get kudos for, I am just taking one step at a time, “following directions” as Nanea put it.

But I’ve been doing a bit of inner assessment lately, and I have decided that perhaps being the battlefield is not enough. Perhaps I really do need to hit that warrior pose.

At a recent trip to my oncologist, I asked about my prognosis. Funny how it took all these months to get to that question, but it did, and then I only asked it because my daughter wanted to know. So here is the answer. Right now I am cancer free. However, because I was at Stage 3C, there is a 40 percent chance of the cancer reoccurring. That’s why I am undergoing chemotherapy and radiation, to reduce those chances.  My five year survival rate is 72-82 percent. My ten-year survival rate is 55-65 percent. Now those odds are better than even, right? I have more of a chance of surviving than I do of dying, but honestly those are also pretty good odds of dying.

Yesterday evening I was talking to one of my son-in-law’s friends who is studying nursing, and he said that he has full respect for medicine, but that he also believed there was more to it than that, and that our will plays a large part in our healing. And I had to wonder, where is my will in all this? Because I have been feeling awfully defeatist lately.

I am at a point in my life where I just feel kind of lost. I have no idea what the future holds, and no real firm plan for it. I’m just kind of tossing filaments of hope out there and praying something comes back on them. Or to put it more accurately, I am spinning filaments of hope, when what I really need to do is get off my butt and start tossing them. They are not going to reap anything sitting in a pile on my bed.

Physically, I have been on a deep downward spiral. Some of this can be attributed to chemotherapy, for sure. I seem to have blessedly escaped most of what I had feared with chemo, but its effects have been certain. Before I began chemo, I was a vegan, and I will not equivocate on the fact that a vegan diet is established as that which is most likely to prevent and help heal breast cancer. When I asked my oncologist about diet, that was the first thing out of his mouth: there is some evidence that a diet free of animal products is effective in cancer prevention and treatment. But the next thing out of his mouth was, don’t worry about that during chemo. Just eat whatever you are able to eat.

And oddly enough, one of the first things I was unable to eat was most vegan foods. Things that had been the main staples of my diet suddenly made me gag. In my first chemo cycle (AC — adriamycin and cytoxan), I had trouble with a lot of foods. There seemed to be one thing that I’d latch onto and I’d eat that almost exclusively until that too made me gag, and then I’d latch onto something else. These were not vegan foods. There was boiled chicken and rice, well known for nausea abatement after all, then quesadillas, then tuna sandwiches on Beckmann’s Whole Wheat Bread. At one point, I became unable to drink coffee any longer. In the space of a week I threw two full Starbucks iced almond lattes in the garbage after just a couple of sips. At home I switched to tea. Now if you know me at all, you know that coffee has always been my “comfort food.” Such is the power of chemo!

Now, four infusions into my second chemo cycle, Taxol, I am feeling completely different. At this point I am ravenous. I am hungry all the time. I believe I am feeling the effects of the steroid, decadron, that I get with my infusions. Why I would feel it more now I don’t know. I got it in the first cycle, 10 mg by IV with the chemo infusion, then 8 mg a day for three days after. That came to 34 mg every two weeks. Now I only get it with infusion, but I with the Taxol I get infusions every week instead of every two weeks. That means I am getting a total of 20 mg of decadron every two weeks, which is a lot less total, but perhaps it doesn’t have a chance to clear my system as well? It has given me insomnia, and the heebie jeebies, and it has made me want to eat all the time. And I have slipped back into some really negative eating patterns of unhealthy foods in unhealthy quantities, and I even started drinking diet sodas again. It’s a vicious circle, I know. The bad foods and sodas only make you crave more bad foods, regardless of what made you start eating them in the first place.

So I am thinking that with my revived appetite, it might be that I can start eating the vegan foods I used to enjoy. And then maybe I can cut out the bad foods I have been eating.

I initially had a lot of paranoia about foods as well. Actually I had paranoia about everything, because, you know, diminished immune function due to chemo leaves you open to infections. So spring flu season rolled through shortly after I started chemo and I did catch a chest cold, and yes it was worse than the chest cold that everybody else had. It turned into a fever and had to be treated with antibiotics, and then it turned into a cough that hasn’t completely gone away eight weeks later. It does seem I have had some troubles with food. I really couldn’t eat food that had been left out for a long time, or leftovers, without getting quite an upset stomach. But my white blood cell count remained high through the first cycle of chemo because I was getting Neulasta, which boosted white blood cell production higher than normal.

In this second cycle, I no longer get Neulasta because the effect of the Taxol on your immune system is not as drastic. My white blood cell count has continued to fall every week, however. This week it was at 4.5, which I think is low for a normal person, but okay for someone on chemo. Nevertheless, my chemo nurse has told me that I can eat those forbidden vegetables. I’d been told to avoid any fruits or vegetables that can’t be peeled. That took a lot of joy out of a lot of things, like simple sandwiches, never mind actual salads. I substituted doTERRA Terra Greens, a powder which you can mix with water and drink. It wasn’t awful, but you couldn’t put it in a sandwich like lettuce and tomatoes. It didn’t have that crunch, and you couldn’t stick a fork into it, like a salad. It lasted 30 seconds, because you don’t savor it. You get it down. I’m sure of its health benefits, but it’s not a meal.

I know chemo will be over in eight weeks, but I don’t want to spend those eight weeks slipping further down this slippery slope.

The answer to my problems is not all diet, however. It is a battle in my mind, and in my spirit, and in my body. It is a battle against fear, and against this deep down sense that I am not worthy, or just simply that I am not able to achieve success.

I have spent a long time dwelling in my mind and honestly ignoring my spirit and body. My mind demands to be entertained, to be kept busy. I couldn’t stand still in a line at a store without getting out my cell phone to occupy my brain. There are probably a lot of good reasons for this. There are a lot of deep dark holes in my life that my brain has done a darn good job of keeping me out of. Distract and deny. That is perhaps the secret to this “strength” people keep accusing me of possessing. But it is not real strength. Real strength lies in the ability to look into those dark holes and turn on the light.

Even my spiritual practice has rested in my mind. It consisted primarily of reading the Bible and having brief one-way conversations with God. Well, I have pretty much given up the Bible reading at this point. I know there are ways to read it and ways to not read it, but I couldn’t master those. I just kept tripping over things, stopping and saying, “Wait. Is this really what you are like, God?” I have read the Bible many times over the last 40+ years, in many different frames of mind. I have read it and have not seen all the things in it that I cannot avoid now. I will probably go back to it at some point, because it has drawn me all my life, but for now I have put it down. I am thinking perhaps it is time to spend some time allowing God to speak to me, that it is time to still the mind’s incessant need for input and let my spirit be quiet so I can hear. God, who are you? Who am I? What do you want from me? Or, more to the point, God help!

I am thinking it is time to spend more time in my body as well. My strength has been zapped. The first chemo made me feel tired all the time. In this round, I think I might have a little more energy, if only from those darn steroids. I haven’t been able to use it much, though, because my muscles and endurance have suffered and getting them warmed up and going again is no easy thing.

But this I know. Days drift by, and I need to catch them before they have all disappeared and I am left adrift in the mist. I am afraid of the future, and it has created in me a kind of paralysis. I don’t want to move. I think of things do be done and I am filled with a deep lethargy. I have got to break free of this. I need to find a way to support myself and my family, and to fight this battle like a warrior. For this very moment, perhaps the best I can do is utter that prayer: “Help, please.” Show me the way. Give me the strength to walk the path, even when it leads me up the mountain. Help me to not only endure, but to succeed, to conquer the darkness that wants to swallow me.

Let me ‘splain something to you

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I have never, ever in my whole entire life been able to sell something. I could not sell a glass of water to a rich man who had been wandering lost in the desert. I could not sell a blanket to a wealthy family in a snowstorm with a baby. I could not sell the cure for cancer if I happened across it. Nope. Nada. It’s just not me.

This stems from my inability to take things from people. Can’t do that either. Not even help. I am not sure why this is. Perhaps it has to do with my deep seated feelings of unworthiness. Or perhaps it is simply that I have a servant personality. Those rich people who are dying of thirst or freezing? You’d better believe I’d supply them with water and blankets, but I’d GIVE them to them, not sell them.

Nevertheless, a couple of factors have converged in my life. One of them is financial anxiety. I have been receiving California State Disability while getting cancer treatments, which has been fine. But it will run out in just a couple of months now, well before my cancer treatments are finished. I will have at least two more months of chemotherapy and radiation treatments after the disability runs out. Then I will have to wait four to five months and will have to have a major surgery. It is reconstructive surgery, but without going into gory details, at this point it is not elective. I have complications from the mastectomy that are going to have to be taken care of. I wasn’t working when I was diagnosed with cancer, so I don’t have a job to go back to, and I can’t imagine finding a new job right after treatment with a fairly lengthy leave needed within just a few months. In addition, there are other things going on in my life, places where at this moment my attention is needed, enough that it would make holding down a full-time job difficult.

So what to do??? I am thinking at this point of retiring, getting social security. That would not be enough money to live on, however. The nice thing about social security, as opposed to disability, is that you are allowed to earn money to supplement your income, and there are a few possible avenues. I could do free-lance paralegal work for local attorneys, but that is not likely to produce a steady stream of income. Hey, I could finish those books I have been working on! I could even self publish for practically no money, and maybe a few people would buy one. This has been my main plan for awhile. Or perhaps I could become a Walmart greeter like so many other social security recipients.

But no, please, don’t make me become a Walmart greeter!

So into this life of mine comes something new. doTERRA. I have a friend, Erika, another cancer patient, who was a doTERRA Wellness Consultant. I also have another friend who had told me about her sister, who’d had Stage IV Breast Cancer (Stage IV is considered incurable) who had become cancer free even though she had not been able to complete chemo due to side effects. She used a few supplements, including several from doTERRA, and swore by the doTERRA Frankincense oil that she put on the sole of her feet every night. So I asked Erika about the products. Now the retail price of some of these things is more than I can afford, so Erika suggested that I could become a Wellness Consultant myself. That way I could buy things at wholesale prices, and also receive points back from my purchases, which I could use to get other products.

So that’s what I did.

I have really enjoyed the doTERRA products. I have diffusers around the house, and I have had oils in them most of every day. Some I choose just because I like the smell, and some for the purpose of improving my life. I’d had a nasty chest cold and cough for awhile when I first received my doTERRA shipment. The cough had me up numerous times during the night, and not even the codeine syrup my doctor prescribed could stop it. That night I put the Frankincense on my feet, and I put the doTERRA Breathe blend in the diffuser in my bedroom, and a little bit on my chest. I laid down and just felt so peaceful as I drifted off to sleep. That was the first full night of sleep I’d had in several weeks!

I have really enjoyed learning about the doTERRA products. I know people in MLM schemes where the entire focus seems to be on the MLM scheme rather than on the products. Not so with doTERRA. The products are great. I have tried a lot of the products and look forward to trying more in the future. The doTERRA group I belong to has a Facebook page on which education videos are posted pretty much daily. None of these are about sales and recruiting. They are all about the essential oils, or on various needs people face and how to meet them with the oils.

At any rate, if I make money at this it will be amazing. It will be a miracle! But it is something I can try to do. At the very least I am getting benefits from the products, and that is also something I can share with family and friends.

If you are interested in doTERRA products, I invite you to visit my website, at www.mydoterra.com/sharonmurch. Spend some time learning about essential oils, and the company. In the upper right hand corner, there are three lines. If you click on those three lines, it will allow you to access links where you can shop, or look into joining doTERRA. At the bottom of the page is a link to the product catalog, which has a lot of information on the products, and the wholesale as well as retail prices of them all. And if you happen to be local to the Castro Valley area, send me a message or an email and perhaps we can meet up. I am happy to share with you what I have and what I know, and to give you some free samples. I don’t have anything on me to sell right now, so if you wanted to buy something I’d have to order it. But you know me: I love to give stuff away.

Thanks so much for reading this, which I hope doesn’t sound too much like a pitiful cross between a sales pitch and a plea for help. But in with that, it’s an offer, too, for some great products which I absolutely believe will benefit your life and the lives of those you love.

Foolishness, Wisdom, Love

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It is Sunday morning, and I am not going to church today, because my white blood cell count is down, and I am not brave like my friend Erika who puts on a surgical mask and gets out there in the world. Of course, Erika looks pretty adorable in her mask, and I just look kind of scary. Seriously, what do you think when you see a person wearing a mask? “I wonder what sort of terrible disease that person has?” And this, of course, brings up another question, which is why can’t I get over this concern over what other people think of me???

Anyway, since I am not going to church, I thought I’d write a Stumbling Scripture Studies blog, since I’ve had a thought or two, perhaps even interesting, that is shareable. And as always, please don’t think I write these blogs just to tell you what I think, or what you should think. I am very interested in your pertinent, nice and creative perspectives. And your prayers. These Stumbling Scripture Studies, at least at this point, are a record of my own struggles in this journey.

The Bible reading track I am on is currently in 1 Corinthians chapters 2 and 3. These chapters have really captured the essence of my problem, which is the wisdom of this world coming up against the foolishness of the message of the gospel. Hey, that’s not my assessment. That is Paul’s. Time and again in these chapters, Paul states that the things of God are foolishness to the natural man, and that “If anyone among you seems to be wise in this age, let him become a fool that he may become wise. For the wisdom of this world is foolishness with God.” (1 Cor 3:18-19)

The point where I am in my faith is that I have resolved that I have been called to it, and that I am going to return to it however many times I run away. But it seems impossible for me to read the Bible or study my faith without looking at it through the  lens of the skeptic’s glasses. When I read this stuff about the wisdom of the world and the foolishness of God, half of me says, oh, aha, that is my problem, while the other half of me says, maybe this is because it really is foolishness. I can actually lay out that argument far more easily than the argument for faith’s wisdom. There is no argument for it. It is impossible to “witness for” the faith. When I read the scripts laid out for this purpose, it makes me cringe.

Faith, to me, is purely experiential. It can’t be argued, it can’t be taught. It has to be experienced. There have been enough times in my life that God has spoken to me, has acted in my life, that I have to open that door to him. But I think this is something anyone needs to experience for themselves. “Witnessing?” This is the only thing that I have ever been able to say to anyone that has made any sense: ask God to reveal himself to you. Say, “God if you are real, show me.” I used to say this with absolute certainty that God would do just that if given an opportunity. I still believe that. But in the many, many, many years since I first became a Christian (44 years to be precise), I have learned that resistance to the voice of God is deep.

Paul gives us a promise, however. He tells us that if we get over our wise old selves and allow ourselves to be fools, that the deep wisdom of God will be revealed to us. And I want that deep wisdom. I long for that deep wisdom. So let me be a fool.

If I should be wrong, and God doesn’t exist, and Christianity is just foolishness, what harm will be done if I am a fool? NONE. This is not to say that harm isn’t done in this world in the name of Christianity. It most certainly has been done, from early days through our own times. In this country today, the marriage between Christianity and the political right has been a spiritual disaster. It has bred a hate and intolerance that is completely out of step with what Jesus taught. It has bred a lack of caring for the needy among us that is purely Pharasaical, and which has been condemned by the Bible from start to finish. The Old Testament laws looked out for the poor, instructing landowners not to glean all from their fields, but to leave some for the poor among them to use. The early chapters of Isaiah may talk about the judgment on Israel for being unfaithful to God, but over and over again it talks about the greed of Israel and its lack of care for the poor. Isaiah says:

Wash yourselves, make yourselves clean; put away the evil of your doings from before my eyes. Cease to do evil. Learn to do good. Seek justice, rebuke the oppressor, defend the fatherless, plead for the widow.

Jesus, when he lived on this earth, did not hang out with the rich. He did not fulfill what the Jews of the time wanted, which was to overthrow the Roman government and restore the glory of the Kingdom of Israel on earth. He came and cared for the poor and the sick. He had compassion on those who were hungry and fed them, and on those who were sick and healed them. He taught us that the greatest commandment is that we love God with all our hearts, and second only to that is that we love one another. He gave us a very specific picture of what this means in Matthew 25: 34-46:

Then the King will say to those on his right hand, “Come you blessed of My Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food; I was thirsty and you gave me drink; I was a stranger and you took me in; I was naked and you clothed me; I was sick and you visited me; I was in prison and you came to me.”

Then the righteous will answer him, saying, “Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you drink? When did we see you a stranger and take you in, or naked and clothe you? When did we see you sick, or in prison, and come to you?” And the King will answer, “Assuredly I say to you, inasmuch as you did it to one of the least of these my brethren, you did it to me.” 

Then he will also say to those on the left hand, “Depart from me, you cursed, into the everlasting fire prepared for the evil and his angels, for I was hungry and you gave me no food; I was thirsty and you gave me no drink; I was a stranger and you did not take me in, naked and you did not clothe me, sick and in prison and you did not visit me.”

Then they will also answer him, saying, “Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty, or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not minister to you?” Then he will answer them saying, “Assuredly, I say to you, inasmuch as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did it to me.” And these will go away into everlasting punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.

As far as I can see, the right wing agenda falls squarely on the left hand, and it has given the world a bad taste for Christians and Christ. But this is not who Jesus was. Many of us want to hide our faith because of this perception, but we can’t. As a recent article in Sojourner magazine put it, “We must learn how to ‘come out’ as Christians.” We need to show people that we live the love that Jesus taught. It is not up to us to judge the world. If we have faith, we should be absolutely assured of God’s ability to communicate to each individual what he wants for them in their own lives. If we have faith, we should not fear that we don’t have enough to share. If Jesus could feed 5,000 people with a few fish and loaves of bread, surely we could take in some refugees!

I have a long, long way to go to meet the standards of love that Jesus taught. I need to get off my duff and do it instead of just talking about it. Following Christ without reservation can only foster that in my life, and hopefully let others know that God really does love them. It will help me to become a mature believer to whom the deep things of God may be revealed. If I am a fool, well I will be a fool who has led a better life, and been a better person, for traveling the road I have chosen, or which has chosen me.

Midway through second chemo cycle

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Well, this second chemo cycle has definitely been more “exciting” than the first. I had quite a few more symptoms, including a fluttering in the chest, which ended up with me having to get an EKG and possibly having to wear a halter monitor at some point. It was almost constant the first few days after chemo but has gradually decreased to where I don’t have it at all now. At one point my home blood pressure monitor told me I had an irregular heartbeat, but the doctor said that it is likely harmless, that the dangerous irregular heartbeats are generally accompanied by a feeling of light headedness or faintness. I guess we will see in the next cycle what happens.

A couple of my family members, who I live with, got sick during this cycle as well. You all know my germophobia, which has been exacerbated by all the warnings about avoiding infections during chemo. So I have been worried. I don’t think you can live with someone who is sick and not be exposed. Generally the period of contagion starts the day before any symptoms even show themselves. I was also less concerned because my last white blood cell count had been 13.7, which is higher than normal. My labs this week, however, showed it had plummeted to 2.9, which is below normal.

This has honestly been the hardest part of chemo for me. Because I am already a germophobe and self conscious about it, I feel awkward. Asking other people to be aware of not just my idea of what I need, but my doctor’s assessments of what I need, often feels like I am inconveniencing them. It is awkward to say, “You are sick, so blah blah blah,” or “Please stay away from sick people,” or “Wash your hands and use hand sanitizer.” I feel as though it comes off like a part of my pre-existing phobia, when in reality it is not.

Even I don’t take it seriously enough. After my lab appointment this week I went to Target, where it seemed everybody was coughing and hacking. I guess this is Spring Flu Round Two. I hate it. I spent a lot of time holding my breath, avoiding people, and pulled my shirt up over my face a time or two. But I had medical masks in my bag, and I should have just put one on. I have been talking to a young woman in her 20’s who is currently receiving chemo for Hodgkins, and she has put me to shame, because she is actually wearing those masks when she goes out! I mean, what is wrong with me?

Well, in my defense, I also wear glasses, and when I put on a surgical mask it makes my glasses fog up. I bend, push, shove around, but still the glasses fog. Anybody have a solution for this? Any medical people out there who wear glasses?

Here is a funny story, though. I have been washing, sanitizing, and using gloves when I do things like change my grandson’s diapers, like I am supposed to. So the other morning I was babysitting, and he had made quite a mess with is breakfast, so I decided to just take him straight to a bath. I filled the sink, took him out of his high chair, then held him over the garbage can and released the diaper into it. When I did that he laughed, which should have been my first clue that something was wrong. So a minute later, there he is, in the sink, and I see things floating in the water, and I think, that doesn’t look like cereal. Turns out the diaper I’d popped off him had been poopy! So there I am, up to my elbows in poopy water. I scooped his wet self up, let the water out of the sink, cleaned it briefly with disinfectant, rinsed it, then put him back in and filled it with water and bubble bath. So much for my sterile techniques! And yes, afterwards I did bleach the sink out, along with all toys and washcloths that had been in it! And somehow I seem to have survived.

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So I have got to resolve to start taking better care of myself. And that includes diet. My diet before chemo was really good! But since chemo started it has gone all bad. Of course, I was told that I was not supposed to eat raw vegetables. I used to eat a variety of vegan sandwiches, but honestly eating them without vegetables made me gag. There are many vegan foods I used to like that suddenly I just couldn’t stomach. So I have been off my vegan diet, and I have been making pretty unhealthy food choices I must admit. I have had wild cravings for carbs for one thing.

This could be due to the crazy things being done to my blood sugar associated with the chemo. I take steroids for four days after every chemo infusion, and because steroids are known to raise blood sugar, the medication I was taking for diabetes was increased. I was even told that I might have to go on insulin. As it turns out, the effect on my blood sugar has been minimal. It goes up modestly after the steroids, but goes right back down. Meanwhile, I am continuing to take the increased medication, and given that my A1C before the increase was 5.9, I am not sure I needed it. I am perhaps happy to have it right now, because even eating all the carbs I am, my blood sugar is not reacting badly. But could it be why I am having the cravings in the first place?

Who knows? My body is under attack from many sides right now, so who knows which attack is doing what? But I don’t need to be adding to the assaults. I need to treat it gently, to give it all the good things it needs and to protect it from the bad.

Mentally, I have resolved to do the one thing that I have deliberately not done, and that is ask my doctor for a prognosis. On the one hand, after surgery and the PET scan, I told myself that I was cancer-free and all I had to do was mop up with chemo and radiation and then I’d be fine. But I was reading a breast cancer forum the other day, and at the end of each entry is a blurb about the person who wrote it, giving the date of diagnosis, the type of breast cancer, stage, treatment types and dates. I couldn’t help but notice the number of people who ended up with Stage 4 cancer after surgery, chemo, and radiation. As one woman put it:

Last treatment! All done.

Oops, never mind. Mets on liver.

My main concern just continues to be how I will get on with my life after this. I don’t have a job. My state disability will run out before my treatments are finished. I have a little bit of money to get me by for awhile, but not forever. I am wishing I could find a way to be self employed, something I could do sick or well, when white blood cells are high or low, while I am recovering from reconstructive surgery that I hope to have down the road, or even if I should need more treatment in the future. I don’t know if I will even be able to get a job! I know that you are not required to tell a prospective employer that you have just finished treatment for cancer, but I am too honest not to when they ask what I have been doing these last months when I haven’t been working. I’m praying really hard about this! I still have a family to help take care of!

For now I am hanging out in my room, reading, writing, snuggling my little dogs, bandana on my head and a mask on my bedside table, trying to focus on today and not to worry about tomorrow.

This is me without hair 😊

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Thank you all for your Facebook comments and messages trying to help me decide what to do with my hair. I made a decision, and what you said actually had an influence on me.

One friend said that she knew whatever decision I made, I would be fine with it, because I am such a positive person. Well, I knew that of all possible worlds, there was one thing I was not feeling positive about, and that was the ugly hair falling out all over the place! I figured if I cut it all off I would find a way to be fine with that, but I was never, ever going to be fine with this nasty mess.

Another friend sent me a message from someone she knew who had been through cancer treatments. She said, “Take your own hair before cancer takes it.” She suggested a party with wine, but I just had a few moments with my daughter in the bathroom, and coffee!

One other thing that influenced me was when I looked at this blog and saw the photos of just what my hair looked like. It was not attractive. It made me look unhealthy, and whether I am or not we don’t need to emphasize that.

But probably the thing that motivated me most was when I looked at my pillow from last night, and it looked like it had grown a fur coat. That was just disgusting. And this morning when I was babysitting my grandson, when I’d hold him up on my shoulder I was afraid he would be inhaling all these flying hairs. So anyway, it’s gone. It was a full on shock when I saw myself for the first time. I looked like a man, for one thing. And not a young sexy one at that! But it feels good. It feels good not to have to worry about the hair falling out, and it feels good to get on to the new phase and start experimenting with scarves and the like. And Lori’s friend was right, it felt empowering, to take back at least one thing from cancer.

So you aren’t likely to see me wandering around with a bald head, but here it is, this one time, in all its glory.

I have received a number of special little gifts during this ordeal, but one of my favorites is a bracelet from my daughter Libby, which is pictured at the top of this blog. I have tried to take photos of the whole thing, but because of its size and shape I haven’t been able to.  So I will just tell you what it says:

What Cancer Cannot Do … cripple love . shatter hope . corrode faith . suppress memories . silence courage . steal eternal life . conquer the spirit . kill friendship . destroy peace . invade the soul

IMG_0016So now there is one more thing I can add to the list of what cancer cannot do. It cannot make my hair fall out! I

Love you guys, and really, thank you for everything.

And by the by, this is me. 😊