Scapegoating Unaware

Yesterday was my first six month post cancer check up. I sat in the waiting room and thought about all the people who would be getting bad news that day and felt grateful that it wasn't me. I shared that with the doctor when I saw him. He's seen me through the worst of the tamoxifen/cancer related depression and my inability to find a speck of gratitude so he knows a glass half full is improvement.

A friend of mine in recovery told me last week how he accidentally broke the turn signal handle off his car the second time he was diagnosed with cancer because he was so rattled by the news. He's a crusty old bugger with a warped sense of humour and a deep well of compassion, too. I only winced when he told me on parting that I was stronger than cancer. I decided to let it go. Maybe he has to tell himself that in order to keep putting one foot in front of the other after having faced cancer several times.

I've been back at work for nearly three weeks now. Mostly I have been observing myself in relation to others. Grateful for the moment when the word 'detach' popped into my head while a co worker was sharing some work related drama. There is a lot of scapegoating happening and I keep reminding myself that people cannot scapegoat in awareness. I've stopped myself several times from getting up from my desk and whining to others about the person being scapegoated. I come home and tell Dearest One about the times I was tempted to say this or that and we talk about zipping our lips and stepping back from the drama. He's told me some hard things about my attitude towards the person being scapegoated which come from his years of working in a professional environment. There's something to  his wisdom that shuts up every 'but, but, but......" within me. It is good.

In our personal lives we are involved with people right now who thrive on drama which usually includes the police every single week. I have detached there as much as possible because the drama is exhausting and just hearing about it is draining. When I did not engage in the drama with my coworker I heard her later telling someone else the same story. I know that feeling. I had to ask myself if that's what I sound like when I go over and over whatever my personal drama is at the moment. Most likely. The best thing I've done about that lately is to have self compassion.

I came away from my doctor's appointment yesterday with a requisition for a bone scan to make sure that the new hip pain I've been experiencing is not metastatic cancer. Neither the doctor or I think it is but he's being safe and I appreciate that. It's most likely a symptom of the anti estrogen medication I'm on. It was a bit of a shock to the system to see the word metastatic on the yellow piece of paper and a reminder of all that I have no control over.

The scapegoating at work and the whining I'm attracted to is like a metastatic disease in itself.   I have total control over not spreading that disease any further. It's become my main prayer as I drive to work every day.

Slivers Of Grace

"I'm sorry you are questioning your faith."

"Oh, I don't think it's a bad thing," I say with a smile.

I believe that even though I'm at a teenager level of angst about how God does or doesn't work these days. And even though I find myself wanting to still, still, be a superhero when it comes to all things faith wise, I feel like I'm dragging my super hero cape behind me like a deflated balloon on a string.

Who knows, maybe I will let go of the string one day or at least become comfortable with the tension between my ego's need for hero status and my soul's desire for what? I want to write communion with God but don't even know if that's it.  This spiritual journey is about being nothing more and nothing less than who I am, where I am, in the here and now. That's who I am when I pray. Well, God, here I am in the fullness of my humanity. 

The conversation at the beginning of this post happened a few weeks ago after I shared at a meeting. I wasn't totally comfortable sharing that my faith has been shaken to bits because I knew I was risking people coming up to me afterwards and telling me how to fix it. The man who was sorry I was questioning my faith was totally sincere in his concern. The most comforting thing someone did was give me a hug and talk about how we learn compassion on this journey of recovery. He was someone I thought would try to block my pain with advice so it felt like a possible sliver of grace when he didn't.

How long will it be before I can once again say the word grace without feeling like I am trampling on the lives of those whose journeys seemed devoid of grace and for those of us whose journeys zig zag all over the place without much to go rah-rah about?

Decades ago, when I was searching out a relationship with God, a minister asked me what I thought about God's grace. I had no idea that the word could even mean anything other than something my grandma said before Christmas dinner. Decades later I find myself cringing any time someone tells me how God's grace was at work. They say it with such conviction that I alternately pity them and stand amazed at their certainty. I so want to shout at them but what about this person or that person's story? Where was God's grace then? Where was the neat and tidy all wrapped up in a box ending? Huh? Huh? I wonder if we know when and how God's grace appears.

And so I find myself shying away from any mention of God's grace in my own story or anyone else's. I wonder then if I am a shoddy witness with my silence?

It's not a bad thing to question my faith but it sure can be uncomfortable feeling like God has slipped through the grasp of my certainty.

Acceptance

My BRCA 1 and 2 test came back negative. This news felt like getting the last piece of information in a very long journey. It's such a huge relief to know I am not passing this on to the next generation. And I'm sure it's a relief to my mom that even though she's had breast cancer (twice!) I did not get it through genetics. I know - as if a person can do anything about their genetics  - as if it's in one's control but still, I'm relieved. That and the geneticist laid out what my reality would most likely be had the test come back positive. I don't blame Angelina Jolie one bit for being proactive after she tested positive. 

I've felt such anger towards the surgeon who has told me repeatedly that sure, mistakes were made but had they not happened and if certain other things hadn't happened then my story could be a whole lot different than it is today. I have felt an undercurrent of  "so be happy and grateful and if you feel those other feelings, then you aren't grateful and shame on you."  to his words. It could very well be that we just have the same chatter going on in our heads and well, I can guilt trip myself without any outside help, okay? I have wanted to tell him look, could you just listen to me without telling me how I should feel? Feeling my feelings through this journey has been my biggest triumph. Much scarier than putting on a brave face and faking it for the sake of those around me.

The day after I got the latest test results I thought to myself, mistakes were made and had not things happened after that then your story could be turning out so differently than it is. I checked and couldn't find an ounce of  internal pressure  or a sense of  "I should feel this". I felt no emotional charge, instead I felt calm. And grateful. Who knew?

It was a shock and a relief to feel something genuinely positive. I have not felt a whole lot of gratitude through this journey. It's been a blow to my ego not to qualify for a gold star poster child award. I've heard people eulogized lately who have died from cancer as people who never complained and were always other centered.  I think to myself, well - that won't ever be my story. And there's a part of me that really wants it to be. I did chuckle while reading an obituary the other day that said that so and so would be remembered for their lack of patience and their love of cooking. Mine might be something to the effect of being remembered for her vocal opinions and love of dark humour. 

After I reflected on the surgeon's words the next thing that popped into my head is that I owe it to - I don't know - God - my fellow human beings - myself? to make the most of this life I have. I don't know what that looks like and I have no intention of being anyone other than myself while I do it. But I am trying to not take what is before me for granted.

 

Genuine

I've had a lovely few days. I spent the night with a good friend whose company I enjoy. I went to the city to buy groceries and run errands, shopped for a rocking chair for my soon to be grandchild. Every day kind of things that make me feel like life is getting back to normal. I stopped in at work to get caught up to speed on what's been happening in preparation for my return to work next week.

As I was driving into the city yesterday I felt full of gratitude for being able to do stuff like that. It's the first time since my breast cancer diagnosis/journey that I can remember feeling such deep gratitude. I thought to myself what a nice change it was to smile without my face hurting and to be able to truthfully say I was good when people asked me. Genuine gratitude felt like such a gift in itself.

Last month I listened to this author being interviewed and he talked about a new mantra of his: Here. This. Now.  I have repeated that mantra to myself many times since I heard it. It works to remind me to be in the present moment instead of running a million miles ahead of myself like I'm want to do. I take a deep breath and repeat it and for the moment I am in the moment.

The geneticist's office just called me to let me know that they will have my BRAC 1 & 2 test results back within the week and could I please come in to discuss them on such and such a date. I asked if they couldn't just tell me over the phone? After all it is an 8 hour drive to hear that I don't carry the gene. And if I do, well, just tell me already. They said either way I needed to be seen in person. My appointment is on my birthday. It's either going to be a great birthday present or one I won't forget any time soon.

Here. This. Now. Breathe.

This Encouraged Me Today

Patient Trust

Above all, trust in the slow work of God.

We are quite naturally impatient in everything

To reach the end without delay.

We would like to skip the intermediate stages.

We are impatient of being on the way to something

Unknown, something new.

And yet, it is the law of all progress

That it is made by passing through

Some stages of instability –

And that it may take a very long time.

And so I think it is with you;

Your ideas mature gradually – let them grow,

Let them shape themselves, without undue haste.

Don’t try to force them on,

As though you could be today what time,

(that is to say, grace and circumstances

Acting on your own good will)

Will make of you tomorrow.

Only God could say what this new spirit

Gradually forming in you will be.

Give our Lord the benefit of believing

That his hand is leading you,

And accept the anxiety of feeling yourself

In suspense and incomplete.

Pierre Teilhard de Chardin, SJ

Deep Pain

So true.

A Bow Named God

"You're too strong to let cancer beat you."

Oh, God love him. Words from a young man this past weekend who I hadn't seen in a long while. His face was so full of light and I hated to bring him back down to earth. But I did. I told him that many 'strong' people have died of cancer. In fact I was headed to a funeral later that day for a woman who would have loved to have not had cancer 'beat her.' She was a lovely, strong, vibrant woman who died too soon. His face fell a little bit at my reply. In fact he asked me to repeat it because he wasn't sure he'd heard me right.

It's not fun being the party pooper, speaking up for those who have been forever silenced. If positive thinking, being strong (I wonder what that means), fighting the good fight and all the rah-rah you can muster would make the difference between life and death there'd be a lot less dead people. I wonder if I'll always be touchy about believing that.

I'm waiting for my oncologist to call me. It's our last time of touching base before he writes up my discharge plan - the plan for follow up tests and check ups and the like for the next five years. There is already a CT scan and an MRI in the works over the next few months. I haven't yet made my peace with how to live in the tension of not knowing what the future holds but I want to and am inching towards it. (this is where some dumb ass tells me we know Who holds the future so don't worry, be happy. I bet they haven't had cancer.)

I wish there was a time and place for patients to tell doctors things that might help them deal more effectively with the next patient they see.

I'd tell my oncologist that he and the other medical professionals, who so readily wanted me to take medication to cope with the grieving process of losing my breast, needed to honour the time and space it took to go through it. All the way through it. I wish they had been able to do that instead of wanting me to short circuit the path of feeling the grief so deeply, as if something was wrong with me for being human. I can think I am being bad - a lovely remnant of my screwed up childhood - just because someone else thinks I am. Make it someone in authority and it can happen in a nano second.

The powers that be often said they knew I wouldn't get stuck yet when I showed deep feelings they whipped out their prescription pads. Six different times I was offered a pill to mask my feelings. I wish doctors were taught that patients need their doctor's support of a non medicated way through the natural grieving process of having had a serious illness.

I am all for medication when it is needed including for people coping with a serious illness. I have seen it bring incredible relief to people I love. But I knew in my gut that I didn't need it. My path was to be present to the whole she-bang of emotions.  I wish  a medical professional would've cheered me on for moving through the process and acknowledged the sheer courage it took to do that.

Had it not been for mental health professionals I might still be doubting that my instinct to wade through the deep was the right choice to make. It has been hard to trust that what often looked like being stuck was really just part of going through. I had to remind myself over and over again of that in order to have the courage to feel the feelings. The counsellors I've seen have been great at affirming the journey as it has unfolded.

I feel like I am coming out of the other side of it now. Not fully out but emerging nonetheless. I am both surprised and relieved. Life has colour again. I am delighting in the tiny things, mostly.

There is a part of me that I am hoping isn't here to stay; the return of my cynical self. A cynicism that rises when I hear people wrap up life's small and big things with a bow named God. When it rolls off their tongue with a flippancy that seems devoid of reality I feel an acute sadness. Being sure of how and when God works has disappeared from my belief system. I've been waiting for it to return and the other day it occurred to me that it might never be mine again. I told my spiritual director last week that it was a bleak place to be. Beyond believing that God is with me there is a deep void where I know nothing.

Funny the things one wants. I want to have a light/bright countenance like my young friend has. A few months ago I met several elderly women whose faces shone with inner wisdom. I want that, too.

Dogged

I walked into the living room this morning, saw what was either dog puke or shit on the carpet, and walked right back out. I went about making my breakfast and taking my medication all the while hoping that Dearest One would go into the living room to drink his coffee, see the carpet, and deal with the my dog's mess.

I was prepared to feign innocence so I didn't even tell him it was there. Here, this is my problem to deal with but let's pretend it's yours, okay? I don't think Dearest One even went into the living room  before he left for work. (This scene is so reminiscent of the days of I didn't smell a poopy diaper, did you smell a poopy diaper in hopes that he would be the one to change it. Which might mean I haven't matured a whole lot in the intervening decades.) Actually, I just didn't want to deal with dog shit first thing in the morning. I'm guessing that's what it is because the pugs haven't gone and eaten it. See what things one can be grossed out by and then hope for all in one sentence?

Want to hear the worst thing anyone has said to me this whole cancer journey? A doctor, when I showed up in emergency on New Year's Day, with my incision site red, inflamed and painfully swollen said I would be a good candidate for reconstruction because my skin is super stretchy due to the connective tissue syndrome I have. Wait, that's not the worst. What he said next is.

When I told him I wasn't going to have reconstruction he said "Well if something happens to this guy (as he motioned to Dearest One) and some good looking twenty something comes along, you might change your mind." I was stunned speechless. Twenty-something? I'm going to take up with (anyone?!) a twenty-something if Dearest One dies? Are you kidding me?

It was a doctor we've known for over 20 years and I can only imagine that his familiarity with us is what led him to think he could make such a crass statement in such confined quarters and not get kicked in his nether regions. Later, it struck me as weird that he thought what some hypothetically newly met twenty-something thought of my chest would matter to me more than what my husband of over 30 years did. I've puzzled over that more than once since then.

Until recently when I heard that said doctor was caught having a fling with a twenty-something. Here, this is my problem to deal with but let's pretend it's yours, okay?

I've been watching my thoughts lately, reflecting on what I say to others, and recognizing how much I think what they must be thinking is based on what I would in their situation. I confuse what I would do/think with what every other person would, too. If you'd asked me I would have told you that other people project their thoughts onto others, but I rarely do. I only have to say to someone "You must feel _______." instead of "How are you feeling?" to be reminded again how much I project onto others.

What a paradox it is that while we are much more alike than not as humans, what I would do or think is not necessarily the same thing as the next person would. (Although I want you to raise your hand if you've ever done the poopy diaper thing.)

I have no idea if Dearest One saw the dog's mess and chose to ignore it, too. He's a far more selfless person than I so my bet is that he never saw it. However, I know what I'll be doing once I finish this post. After all, it is my problem.

To See The Trees Again

The quote below- from this link - has given me much food for thought:

"On the morning of Frances' death, as I stood by her bedside, I made a secret resolve somewhere deep in my being which has only recently come to the surface. I made an agreement with God that from that day onward, everything I have to say about God, everything I have to say theologically, has to stand with me by Frances' bedside. If it cannot stand at the side of death, if it cannot stand by the side of a fifty-five-year-old woman who wanted to live to see the trees again, it had better not stand at all because it is probably not worth very much.
~ Zoe White, 1988"

 

Jiggling

"The medical establishment is not going to validate what happened to you. You are going to have to do that yourself."

I sucked in a deep breath at my grief counsellor's words. I instantly knew what had been triggered all along by the lack of validation from the medical community. I gazed into the fireplace in his office and jiggled my leg in a furious kind of way as I remembered childhood stuff where no one in authority was willing to step forward and validate what was happening to me.  Remembering the time I thought to myself  'where are the adults and why aren't they doing anything?'

What a tender spot was pushed by his words. I have thought them over for the past month and while I don't exactly know what it looks like to validate my story, something is shifting within me. Slowly and surely the fog is lifting. I am finding bright spots in my days and last week, after a particularly happy day, felt such relief that happy days were possible again.

Spamalot

"The next time I read a blog, I hope that it does not disappoint me just as much as this one. I mean, yes, it was my choice to read through, nonetheless I actually believed you would have something interesting to say. All I hear is a bunch of whining about something that you could possibly fix if you weren't too busy looking for attention."

Those lovely words made up the bulk of a spam comment which ended in a request for me to check out their web site lending bowlfuls of money at exorbitant interest rates. It's the only way I knew it was a spam comment and not a for real one. But you just never know what's going to speak to you, now do you?

I get lots of spam comments and delete them all.
I hardly ever read them.
But the one above sure got my attention.
It sums up how I feel about my blog some days, too so I stopped and considered that maybe there was some truth in an anonymous spam comment.

I told myself at the beginning of my cancer journey that I would not apologize for one single word I would write about it. That I would let my words stand even when I thought I was being a self absorbed whiny person whose ego fueled dream of being a poster child for recovery or Christianity or cancer survivors evaporated with every honest word I wrote. Some days it's easier than others to stay true to being honest. Some days I want to pretty up what I write so I appear more than I am. But I won't let myself. It somehow would seem dishonouring to the reality of my inner journey to do so.

My grief counsellor affirmed this week that where I am on the journey is exactly where I am supposed to be and he wondered where the expectation came from for me to be somewhere else. I told him that if I was sick of being in the grieving/healing process then surely other people were, too. And of course as soon as I said it I knew that I needed to give myself permission again to be where I am. That this is what reintegration into regular life feels like. He told me this is exactly what it looks like. That part of me that still wants to say, OMG this is what happened to me coupled with the other part of me that says OMG I am so sick of talking about this. It actually means I am making progress.

But I tell ya that spam comment stopped me in my tracks for a moment. And has the essence of a prayer in it if I look hard enough.

Vulnerability Armour

When I was in my early teens one of my cousins snitched on me about the foul language I was using at school. My mom told me that ladies didn't use that kind of language. As I wasn't interested in being a lady I didn't change anything other than not hang out with my cousin at school.

Not too long ago I was visiting with someone I don't know well but like a lot, when I noticed foul language coming out of my mouth kind of like spittle I couldn't take back. I've always thought I was drawing that person into my inner circle by letting them see me, foul language and all. I really believed that even though I often felt like I tripped on something when the f bombs started coming out of my mouth.

After tripping several times in my conversation with my friend I let myself ponder what my tripping was trying to tell me. I then had the uncomfortable realization that instead of foul language indicating I was gathering my friend into my inner circle what I was truly doing was putting up a wall.

I instantly thought of shame and vulnerability researcher Brene Brown and what she wrote here:

"Thankfully, I know myself well enough to know that "cool" is one of my favorite pieces of vulnerability armor. " 

And I thought to myself, when those f bombs start coming out of my mouth, with someone I know hardly at all, I am not trying to bring them into my inner circle, I am trying to keep them at a distance. I am scared and I want to appear to be cool. I do not want to be vulnerable.

I am still a little stunned by that realization.

I haven't felt the need to drop an f bomb in a casual conversation with a casual friend since.

**I believe there truly are instances where a swear word or phrase becomes a kind of prayer. I experienced that a month ago after unexpectedly losing two friends in two days.  What I really meant, what was underneath my words, was the thought that I couldn't believe this was happening. In times like that those words hang in the air like a prayer, like a cry for Someone beyond ourselves.

Score One For Me

I flick through the blouses in my closet trying to decide which one I will wear today. The day. The one where I will get fitted with a breast prosthesis. I've already stalled this day off by three months. I've told myself it's because the post surgical swelling was still going down and I  wasn't sure I could handle the pressure of a regular bra around my rib cage yet. Now I tell myself I have to go get it done because I am returning to work soon and as I'm the face of the company, the first one the public sees, I need to look as professional as possible.

Last week one of my nieces brushed up against her sister in my small kitchen only to have her sister exclaim, "ooh, your boob just brushed up against me. That creeps me out." Before her sister could answer I blurted out, "Hey with no boob on that side I bet I could stand even closer." Her eyes reflect both horror and compassion back at me. No small feat for a young woman not quite out of her teens.

When I was a teen I occasionally loved shocking people with what I wore. There was the morning I managed to slip out of the house wearing only a halter top and shorts, knowing both were against the rules at school. When my home room teacher told me to go get dressed I smugly told her these were my clothes. Later an announcement on the PA system reminded students to follow the dress code. Score one for me.

I've always said I don't like being the centre of attention but that's simply not true. There are many ways of trying to be the centre of attention. (Like my writing of blogs posts I think in my snarkier moments).

I decide against wearing anything that could hint of cleavage (that there will never be cleavage again still saddens me) or anything that looks like a sack. I settle on a top that clings lightly.

The fitter is very sensitive as she inserts different sized prosthesis, trying to find one that matches my remaining breast. And just like in real life, no two breasts match. My mom's own journey with breast cancer coincided with the beginning of puberty for me. While she was still in the hospital undergoing treatment, I worried aloud to my older sister that my tiny breasts did not match and did that mean something was wrong. I was both relieved and disappointed when she told me no ones' breasts ever did.

When the woman has found the best fitting prosthesis I turn to face myself in the mirror. I feel tears rising and I squelch them instantly. I am confused because they are not happy tears. When the fitter asks me if I want to wear the prosthesis out of the store I say in a clipped voice, 'No.'

Up to this point, especially when getting dressed to go out in public, I've had remnants of that teenage centre of attention thinking. I've felt no pity for the people who will see my lopsidedness. Deal with it I  often think to myself. This is what reality looks like. If I have to face it every day then so do you. Score one for me.

But I know behind my tears and lack of readiness to wear the prosthesis is the disconnect between my inner and outer realities. While so much is still healing on the inside of me how will anyone know what I've gone through now? I hate the thought of invisibly moving forward.

Which is what wearing a prosthesis is. An invitation to get on with living life after cancer. Surely cancer survivors surround me every day in the grocery store and at the gas station and I don't hear any of them reminding the world how their journey has marred them forever. They are quietly living their lives doing ordinary things, most likely with gratitude.

From there it's a short jump to remembering that every single person alive bears some kind of scar, emotional or physical that has changed them permanently. And so here I find myself again. Reminded that I am not unique in my suffering. I'm sad that I am not unique. My story is unique. But it's only that. My story. Not your story. Not the story.

Perhaps there is hope I will leave behind my teenage ways one day.

Score one for me.

A Barren Tree

I pick up greeting cards and flip them open, reading and shoving them back in their place. I do it again and again reading phrases such as God will bring you through or You are a mighty warrior and God is on your side until I can't bring myself to pick up one more 'encouragement' card. I mutter under my breath 'utter bullshit'  as I close every card. I look around the Christian book store for more than an hour to find the only thing that speaks to me is a large black and white print of a barren tree against a barren sky.

I wonder if silence qualifies as encouragement.

I leave the store empty handed, get back in my car and drive on pounding my fists on the steering wheel while talking to God. I think about the unbloggable deaths in the past month that have ripped me open in ways that are beyond my comprehension. Tore from me the last bit of what I was holding onto in the faith department. Whatever it was I was once so sure of has slipped from my grasp. At a very deep level I know I will hold onto little from here on in.

All that ever comes to me these days is the thought of being present. Being still. In my more self absorbed moments I think of the encounter between Jesus and Thomas and how Thomas didn't recognize the resurrected Christ. I wonder if I will recognize myself on the other side of this.

Soon

I will write an in depth post soon. Am off this morning to a city far away for a medical test. The regular stuff - heart lung performance that I need to get done because of my connective tissue thingamajig. Much less stressful than the cancer stuff.

I got fitted yesterday with a breast prosthesis. Still sorting out that experience. Will write about it soon.

Graphic Change

Minor irritations. Opened up the weather app on my phone last night to find they'd changed the graphics. Harrumphed to Dearest One about it and thought how I dislike even  minor visual changes that appear in a touch of a finger.

Saw my grief/loss counsellor yesterday armed with a collage assignment completed. Stupid things really. Make me feel silly and childish cutting images out of magazines and pasting them to paper. Except when I was done I wanted to weep. I stood there puzzled at how a random assortment of pictures with jagged edges could evoke such feelings. I didn't let myself look too long or hard at what had appeared so innocently under my fingertips.

We look at the collage together and he tells me he has never seen one so linear. I've even numbered the pictures. We talk about linear and labyrinths and wanting things to proceed in an orderly fashion. True. And then he posits that life and my cancer journey is more like a maze. My hands fly to my face in horror and I tell him I would never arrange the pictures in a maze. Dead ends. Changing directions. Being lost. My worst nightmare. Except the journey has arranged itself in exactly that way without my permission. Which is the crux of the problem. The place I kick against until my toe bleeds.

Silent tears spring from somewhere far below the jagged mastectomy scar that runs across my chest.

He points out the colour of the poster board I've picked to paste my pictures on and it's the colour of the heart chakra. The place of emotions.

And so something as silly and childish and innocent shows the very deep child wound within me. The one who cried for order and control and the ability to predict what would happen next.

He rolls up the collage and hands it back to me with instructions to write a little every day about the pictures and my thoughts until I'm ready to tackle writing the story in a bigger burst of creativity. We put off cutting up the individual pictures and selectively burning them as the time is right. Symbolically burning and letting go of what they represent. And a torrent of tears roll down my face unleashing my child into a vast land of opportunity and growth if I can just embrace the graphic change in front of me.

Speaking Out Loud

"I feel like I speak a foreign language."

That 's what I said to Dearest One tonight after running into a long ago friend earlier today. She commented to me how glad she was that I was in a specific person's life right now because that person needs God. She thinks I'm going to open my mouth and tell that person of their need. Um. No. It hadn't even crossed my mind to mention God to this person. How presumptuous of me it would be to think I know what they need.

As nice as it was to see this long ago friend I told her that if she was waiting for me to do the reconnecting I didn't have the emotional energy to reach out. That felt much better than making small talk and nodding my head in agreement about how we should get together soon.

And she most likely grates on my nerves because once upon a time I really thought that if I could just sneak the word 'Jesus' into a conversation that I was doing my part to save the world. And so I tried.

Recently someone died who I long ago thought I would 'witness to.' You know, find the right words to nudge them into the kingdom. I spoke at their funeral about the time years ago when they put love into action and how I still think about and recognize those actions as much more loving than any words I could say. At the funeral lunch I said to friends how humbling it had been to find the person I would have thought at one time I needed to witness to, witnessed to me with their life. I was into words and they were into actions.

Guess which spoke louder.

Needing Some Lovin'

** Thank you for all the lovely comments. I just needed some reassurance in this tippy world we call our temporary home.**

Today I'm wondering what keeps you coming back to my blog.
Why do you bother?

I keep coming back to writing because it's how I process my life.
I used to journal instead. And granted, journalling was way different than what I write here but it was still a way to empty my thoughts onto a page.

Many years ago I was about to give up on blogging when I got an email from a stranger telling me how my writing had affected her journey. I leaned my head against the wall beside my desk and bawled my head off. I often forget that strangers are reading what I write. I think about the handful of people who I know read here regularly and forget that they are not the only ones.

Sometimes I see the reader numbers and wonder who are you?!
A comment would be lovely.
I will unabashedly soak them all up.
Some days are like that.

But It Wasn't

I watched as he gently arranged the thick blanket around the old man's shoulders, tucked it in between his legs and the edges of the wheelchair until the old man was wrapped up like a cocoon. Only then did the young man turn  and wheel him out the door. A twenty something and an old man bonded in their grief going out to have a smoke in a spring snowstorm. The young man was my son. The old man the father of someone my son had close ties to once upon a time.

This past week has been hard.
Really hard.
Two deaths in two days.
One funeral.

Tears streaming down the old man's face, his aged hand, shaken by a stroke, zig zagging its way to until the kleen*x finds his tears. A parent burying a child. Another parent burying a child. Both parents of the age where by all appearances, it very well could have been the other way around. I want to write that it should have been the other way around.
But it wasn't.

And nothing makes sense.
And nothing makes sense.
And it never will.

Unbloggable

Sorry for the silence.

Unbloggable things are happening to other people. Can't take the risk of it showing up in a search engine out of respect for the living. What a reminder that things happen every day to people unnoticed by the masses.

I hate this. I said the word "fuck" over and over again yesterday for half an hour straight. Some things are too horrendous to fathom. And yet we must wade through it.

It's jolted me awake to see that I am going to be just fine.
Prayers appreciated.

PS - I celebrated 25 years of sobriety on Saturday. Gratitude running over.

Ritual

"Ritual makes our reality safe."

That is the best tidbit I took away from my session today with a grief and loss counsellor.

No wonder I love rituals.

In Full Colour

"I gave up my breast for a grandchild."

Yep. That's one of the first things I said to Oldest Son and his wife when I woke from anaesthetic. Dearest One told me days later that I might want to clarify what I meant because I had been pretty loopy at that point. Narcotics or not, I knew exactly what I meant and why.

Funny how one can know exactly what they mean and think it's clear to others, no? So I explained to my daughter-in-law that being without my breast meant being without cancer and living long enough to be a grandma. Gracious woman that she is, she was cool with my explanation.

During the week before I had my mastectomy I listened to a guided meditation for those facing surgery and part of it talked about being surrounded by a magical band of allies in the operating room. In my mind that meant not only those who love me in the here and now but those who have gone on before me - the communion of saints - if you will. It was a comforting thought.

When I was wheeled into the operating room I looked around at the space and realized my magical band of allies would need to squish in tight if they wanted to fit. And so they did. When I was under anaesthetic I saw a beautiful, magical band of allies - all glowing an intense white - outlined in different heights like someone had taken a grey pencil crayon and traced their various heights in one long stroke. I couldn't quite reach out and touch them but they were close. In amongst the beings, who had no distinct features, was this little girl - in full colour - with very distinct features. She had run over to my operating table and was nestling back in between those glowing white beings when I saw her. Her face radiated such indescribable joy that I smile every time I remember her. While she wasn't a mini version of myself  I felt she was definitely related to me.  I wondered who she was. I thought of the (three) babies I have miscarried.

And it was this in-full-colour-little-girl I was thinking of when I told my son and his wife that I gave up a breast for a grandchild.

In September I will welcome my first grandchild. Boy or girl, my joy is indescribable.

Figuring It Out

"Your vulnerability in being present to what is could be triggering people's pain - pain they might not want to face. So their response to where you are at on the journey is a projection of where they are at not a reflection of where you are at. Perhaps the surgeon, too was uncomfortable with the places your truth was touching in his own life."

Such healing, hopeful words yesterday spoken to me by a therapist who I haven't seen for several years. Good to hear from her that where I am at is where I am at and nothing to feel ashamed of or embarrassed by. Being affirmed in where I am is doing more for me in this transition from health crisis back to 'regular life'(whatever the hell that is) than every suggestion that it is time for me to move on, get with the program, and put this experience behind me.

Last week's conversation with my long time friend was a turning point for me. I  breathed a huge sigh of relief and relaxed into acceptance of where I am at. And then my mood lifted significantly. That friend would tell me that it isn't something we need to go pay professionals for but something we used to do for others in friendship and community. I've found myself  feeling happy and then confused that I am feeling that way. I had to tell myself that feeling happy doesn't negate what I've been through and now I am on a journey of figuring out how to integrate it without feeling like I'm somehow betraying myself. My therapist told me yesterday this was totally normal and that I would figure it out.

Figuring it out is so different than having it figured out. I hope the first phrase is a life long one and the second one disappears from my vocabulary.

Resting

I spent several hours on the phone yesterday with a woman who's been pivotal in my conversion journey, someone who has travelled alongside me for over 25 years.

The night before I remembered this friend and how last summer she'd explained a long absence from my life during a most difficult time of her own. She told me that everything she'd believed had been turned upside down and she'd had no words. Ah, I thought, someone who knows what it's like to be rendered mute.

I could barely get the words out through my tears yesterday as I told her I needed her to tell me if the upside downness ends.

I'm pretty sure that that conversation did more for me than any professional help ever will. What a relief to hear someone say that the place I find myself in is not something to fix, but a place to rest in, in order that the work being done in the depths of me can be done.

Laying It Down

Every February I get a letter from the breast cancer prevention program reminding me to call and book my yearly screening mammogram. With a strong family history of breast cancer it seems reasonable, no? I'd been bracing myself for this year's letter and when it came I stuck it to my fridge and said out loud, 'you fuckers.' You see, last February's mammogram culminated in radiologists deciding the cancerous lump was a cyst and I was free and clear until this year's check up.

Had it not been for the weight loss, which led to the CT scan, which led to the needle biopsy, which led to the surgeon ordering a breast MRI, who knows when the breast cancer would have been discovered. Had it not been for the surgeon ordering the breast MRI, before it was realized that my pathology report was mixed up with someone else's, and then deciding to go ahead with it anyway after the correct pathology report from my needle biopsy said there was no cancer, who knows how this would have played out. The needle biopsy missed the tumour completely. What a soap opera.

A day after I got the letter I saw my doctor. As we talked, and the mammogram letter came up, he listened to me and then said, "you seem to be in the angry phase." I so wanted to reply,  "let's just cut one of your balls off and see how you feel about that, okay?"

How long will it be before I stop cupping my hand over the place where my breast was and mourn its absence? Two days after my mastectomy, as I stepped onto the mat that triggered the automatic exit door of the hospital, I felt my body hesitate. My right breast was somewhere in the building and for a moment I felt disoriented. I suppressed the urge to yell, "I won't forget you."

At my final appointment with the surgeon this week, with compassion in his eyes and firmness in his voice he said, "You need to find a way to move forward. Yes, mistakes were made. Those mistakes saved your life." Tears sprang up in my eyes as I recognized the truth in what he said. It's really the same as what the oncologist said to me two weeks ago. Examine the story I am telling myself. Don't let it define me. Through tears I told the surgeon, "The mistakes broke me."

Look at what it's cost me. Give me back what I've lost. That's really what I want to shout. I'm no longer who I was, no longer believe what I used to believe about just about everything in life. I am continually filtering thoughts when talking with other people. Trite answers I used to believe come to mind and I realize I don't believe in those answers any more. Examined and left wanting by my words I told a friend last week that I feel like I am being rendered mute.

And so I've made several phone calls reaching out for professional help in moving forward. Intuitively I know that some kind of ritual to honour my journey would be healing. There must be a way to move forward without feeling like I am dismissing just how deeply the twists and turns have affected me. A way to bless the journey and release the anger. I know that everyone who goes through an injustice of some kind must finally lay it down or become bitter. Lord have mercy.

The Stories We Tell

"The stories we tell ourselves affect how we live our lives."

That's the oncologist words above, challenging me to examine the story I tell myself about my cancer journey and my way forward from here. He's said it because I mentioned again about having so many twists and turns along the way and that perhaps that's compounding the awful side effects of the estrogen blocker medication I'm on.

In the echo of his words I feel lost, unable to grasp what it looks like to be finished with appointments and to move forward. I don't want it to be over either but I don't know why.

It takes a night's sleep to grasp that he was telling me: "You are cancer free, go live your life, don't let yourself be defined by this." A faint glimmer of hope stirs in me at the phrase 'cancer free' and I feel guilty that I have no energy or desire to do a happy dance even though I recognize it is good, good news. There is a part of me that wants to march back into his office and say defiantly, "I will never forget" and I think to myself what an ungrateful wretch I am.

I feel like I am being yanked in a game of tug of war with one arm glued to the rope in front of me and one arm reaching for the rope behind that is just out of my reach. I'm crying as I move forward and it's the mastectomy side's arm being pulled forward. Damn, it hurts.

It takes me a week to see that the oncologist was never asking me to forget what happened. My discomfort with moving forward comes from believing I have to either move forward or cling to the past. I breathe a sigh of relief when I realize that I can both move forward and honour the past. The tension between the two is much like the pull of my mastectomy scar every time I stretch out my arm.

While I don't want to be defined solely by this part of my journey I will never be the person I was before it ever again.

And that will always be my story.

Best News Ever

Was declared cancer free yesterday. Huge, huge, relief. Feel like I can now move forward. Thank you for all your prayers and support especially these past six months.

Bumping

"I don't want to walk timidly through life."  I say this to Fr. Charlie, my spiritual director. It is a relief to unload all my fears and hopes and gut honest thoughts. We haven't spoken since the day before my mastectomy. There is a lot of ground to cover. After several hours I leave his office, affirmed once again in my humanity.

I had almost cancelled the appointment because the weatherman had been forecasting snow and I have become a coward when it comes to winter driving. I find the need to talk myself through many things these days. It's as if well, because of the cancer diagnosis I realize on another level that if that can happen anything can happen. So I constantly have to remind myself that just because anything can happen doesn't mean it will happen. And like a boat gently tapping up against the dock, waves constantly keeping it in motion, I keep bumping up against fear of the unknown.

Fumbling The Ball

** "I'm getting less moody, aren't I?" He pauses and then says, "A little."  I start to tell him just how wrong he is. I am a LOT less moody. And then I start to laugh. Right. Dearest One walked right into a trap of the sort of "does this dress make me look fat?" variety. I let go of my need to be right and realize that even my protest shows that I'm not quite where I thought I was.

** "I didn't recognize you because you were so skinny." It's a few hours later and we're in the grocery store. I hunt up and down the aisles for something when I see Dearest One talking to an elderly couple we haven't seen since last summer. Back then we talked about how fortunate I was that they caught the pathology report mistake before I had my breast removed. I have no energy to tell them what came next. I duck around the corner and continue shopping. I stop to dig through my purse and find my cell phone. I expect Dearest One to send me a text and ask me where he can find me. Except he didn't. He came looking for me and then walked right by the aisle I was in because he didn't recognize me. I wish this made me happy.

** "Are you the wife?" Them's fighting words although the telemarketer on the other end of the phone doesn't know this. I tell him that no, I'm not THE wife. He asks me to repeat myself. I do. Then his voice takes on the hue of someone backing away slowly from the room and he tells me he will phone back later. Good call. I was getting ready to tell him I may be moody and I may be skinny but I am neither an article nor an adjective. Sigh.

The Little Engine That Could

It was -45C with the wind chill factored in this morning. The windows are frosted up nearly to the top but the sun is shining through them. The northern version of stained glass windows courtesy of Jack Frost. A good day to stay inside and keep warm.

I'm healing. It feels like there is light at the end of this year long tunnel. And hope that this cancer journey will truly be a distant memory one day.  I look forward to when I don't tag a post with the word cancer. My mood swings are lessening. My goal this week is to get through it without telling someone to eff themselves. So far so good.

I'm learning that skinny people really do need a cushion for their chair because otherwise their butt hurts too much to sit for very long. I had to ask only daughter last night if that was true because it's a brand new phenomena for me. After I asked her I excused myself and went and got a cushion for my kitchen chair so we could continue our talk via Skype.

I took a writing course last December where the instructor told us that a good writer didn't write about their relationship with God in a post because she said it put up a wall between writer and reader. That intimate place where really only the two involved could enter into it. I've mulled her opinion over a lot since then.

My prayers of late have mostly been silent ones. Except for the time after communion where I knelt and the only words that came to mind, in the vein of the little engine that could, were, "I need you. I need you. I need you."

Pinning The Tail

I've spent the past week trying to point in the direction of getting back to normal, whatever 'normal' is. One thing I've concentrated on is continuing to get my range of motion back on my mastectomy side and I am winning that challenge. From what I can gather I will feel the pull/tightness all the way across my chest for a good long time yet but am grateful that I can stretch further than I could last week. The day I can make a full snow angel motion with my arms will be a day to celebrate.

This past week was also the first medical appointment free week I've had in a very long time. It's made me realize just how much of my time and mental energy has centered on the next medical thing in front of me.  I told a friend that it's felt a little like playing that pinning the tale on the donkey game and maybe I'm starting to have some clarity in the direction I want to aim for now. Figuratively speaking I'm less dizzy and more clear headed.

One of the guided imagery CDs I've listened to throughout this process invites a person to accept their feelings of worry, fear, grief and anger as their inner truth of the moment, without self criticism or blame. That doing so will be encourage the healing process. The key word there is 'moment'. I felt relief and a bit of a chuckle the first time I heard that sentiment. Inner truth of the moment. A reminder that there are no permanent feelings no matter how much that seems impossible in the moment. It takes way less energy to acknowledge a feeling than it does to repress it. Funny how I needed to hear someone tell me that it was okay to feel all those things without self criticism before thinking that was an option.

I had a long talk with God today about wanting to feel other feelings. The ones that make me feel connected to other people and to life. I am tempted to chuck the estrogen blocking medication that has my hormones all awry and my mood in disarray. Then there is the fear that if I do that it will be my fault if my cancer reoccurs.  See how my brain works? I have bumped up against fear and my illusion of control so many times through all of this. Maybe not any more than before other than I am aware of the bump. More aware of the 'oh, here it is again, and again, and again.' in the way that is challenging its presence instead of being oblivious to it even being there. I guess that is progress. For today I'll take it.

Relief

Tumour test results came back today and I don't need chemo. I am so, so relieved. There is only a PET scan ahead of me before the end of the month - which will hopefully clear up if they need to investigate further why the AP node in my chest is enlarged and the node in my armpit. After that I am good to go. It feels like a huge weight off my shoulders. The doctor is also hopeful I won't be so bitchy now.

Some Fight In Me

That about sums up my day yesterday.

I went to my home group meeting for the first time in six weeks. Drain tube free. Pain free. Good weather. I was grateful that the hour drive was possible. I knew that getting out of my head was the best medicine for me. It would be a win-win for everyone. I sat in my chair before the meeting and felt such relief to be there even though I found it harder to be honest when people asked how I was than to fake it and be cheerful and upbeat. My ego gets caught up in wanting to be a poster child for breast cancer so people can tell me how wonderful I am. My ego will seek its glory any which way it can. It's not picky.

And then he came in and any hope I had for accolades vanished in about 15 seconds flat. He is like a father figure to me. He is as tough as nails and has the softest heart around. His way of dealing with the worry that my increasing weight loss caused him was to be gruff with me. We also have known one another long enough to have had deep conversations that have created a mutual respect of one another. He is the real deal.

So yesterday I was on my way back to my seat with a cup of tea when he hugged me and asked me how I was. "Not good." I tell him. "What do you mean 'not good'?" He said this as if it's against the law to not be fine. I looked at him and asked, "What? It's against the rules of being a human being to be not good?" "Yes." He said it in a 'you're darn tootin' kind of tone. And before the filter between my brain and my mouth had a chance to engage I looked at him and said, "Fuck you."

I had an internal 'oh shit I only meant to think that, not say it' moment. Then he laughed and said, "Good. You have some fight in you."

After the meeting I tell him I am sorry. That I hope I never say that to him again. He tells me that I need to be able to say things like that to people like him who can take it. I put my hand on his heart and say, "No. It's no excuse. I know you  have a tender heart and I don't want to walk on it." He looks at me and says, "I have no idea what you are going through." So few people have had the humility to say that to me and it brought tears to my eyes.

Glimmers

** little glimmers of hope the past few days have been a relief.

** thank you for your support and prayers. I think we often fail to realize just how much prayer can do.

** my spiritual director emailed me this week and suggested that I offer all that I feel right now, in lieu of spoken words, as a prayer to God. I had a really good cry in response to that.

** the sun shone today and so much more seems possible in the sunshine.

Off The Train Please

** As a child I made it through each day by looking ahead to something else. It was like living in perpetual limbo. That's what I feel like I am doing these days while waiting to hear what comes next in the cancer journey.

** Had another bit of fluid drained off my chest yesterday. I keep wanting to write breast instead of chest but it's not a breast any more so what do I call it? You know, that place where my breast used to be? It's a bit disconcerting to have a huge honking needle stuck in there and to not feel it in the least. When the doctor asked if he could use a bigger bore needle to suck out the fluid I was like, um, I can't feel anything there anyway so do what you need to do. I told Dearest One the other day that that side of my chest looks like a toad. A squished toad. I want flat, totally flat like it was before complications set in. I feel like I'm being hard to please. Jeepers, they removed the cancer, what more do you want, Hope?

** Got a copy of my latest CT scan report today. It reported not only the size of suspicious nodes elsewhere in the body - dear God please no more biopsies - but that the back pain I've been having for months is explained by a degenerating disc in my back. One less doctor's appointment needed now.

** the doctor I saw today was incredibly kind, compassionate and just plain decent. I told him how much I appreciated the way he practised medicine and how much difference it made from this patient's point of view. He told me how he has worried about my unexplained weight loss in case they are missing something. The doctors all confer that the tumour in my breast doesn't explain it.

He explained exactly what was happening in my body with the new drug from the oncologist and that it would take three months for my body to adjust. I told him I could handle anything for three months. It was the five years of drugs that was hard. Then I said, "Oh, hell, I can do anything for five years, one day at a time." I just don't want to.

For the second time in a week a medical professional suggested anti-depressants to help me get over this hump. We'll see. Hopefully all my posts for the next three months won't be estrogen starved brain cell induced writings.

** Yesterday I tried on winter jackets and was disturbed that the size I tried on was just about too loose. Not being in control of my weight loss is the most vulnerable feeling. And I feel guilty every time I write or talk about it because it is many a woman's dream to lose weight without effort. Millions have been spent in hopes of that promise.

** I can't believe how much I am hankering after certainty. Every time there is a new bit of medical information that leads to more questions than answers I can hardly stand it. Off the train. I just want off the train.

** Today someone, in response to my sharing the grief I am feeling at losing my breast, tried to tell me all the reasons I should be thankful instead. I just looked at her and said I need to go through the grieving and that none of her suggestions changed that. She tried to explain how I should have perspective in different words. I had to tell her that it didn't change the grief process. I could, to ease my own pain, and to make it easier for others, shove that grief way down deep, put on my happy face and pretend otherwise. But I'm not going to do it. I told my friend that I wasn't going to get stuck in the grief but I was going to go through it.

I don't know how to explain to people that just because I am feeling grief and expressing it doesn't mean I have no perspective, know no gratitude. It's not an either or scenario but a both and one. I feel intense grief and I feel grateful that what I'm facing is much less serious than some other people's. But dammit, I have to live through it and for once in my life I'm going straight through it and not try to sneak my way around it. Why is that so hard for people to accept? Why can't they celebrate that I am going through it instead of around it?

There's part of me that would love to pretend I am fine. But man, pretending my feelings are not my feelings has bitten me in the butt more times than I can count. I told my sponsor the other day that the only way I'm getting through this right now is knowing that feelings aren't permanent. And knowing that God is with me in it whether I feel his presence or not.

** Today in a parking lot I was driving behind a young woman who was walking arm in arm with a woman my age. They were so engrossed in their conversation that they didn't see me behind them. I watched their body language and it was so evident how fond of one another they were. I just about rolled my passenger window down, when they moved off to the side so I could pass them, to tell them how much pleasure I felt watching them so thoroughly enjoy each other's company.

And because it's all about me I longed for someone to walk like that through this journey with me.

At The Dinner Table

** realized yesterday that the number of people one can truly take into their confidence about how things are and not get shit on is small. Reminded once again that some people find it hard when I can't summon up any rah-rah cheerleader spirit for my own journey. I wanted to say I just didn't have any emotional energy left to be okay for their sake. I hung up the phone feeling deficient in the faith department and general human being department. I didn't want pity I wanted empathy. Sponsor later reminded me that expectations can give way to disappointment. True.

** new medication is doing a number on my whole being. Today was a weepy day. Oncologist said to give the medication a few days break and then try again at half a dose. I hate feeling like a stranger in my own skin.

** phone calls where the other person is understanding without jumping into the pool with me are invaluable. It makes climbing out of the pool much easier and inviting. I just wanted someone else to tell me it was okay to be where I was, that it wouldn't last forever, and not try to fix me. She did that. Pure gift.

** was supposed to get all test results tomorrow, waiting over finally. Oncologist called today to cancel tomorrow's appointment because the most important test result isn't back yet. It felt like the straw that broke the camel's back. Not living for this day. Not accepting life on life's terms. Just tears and despair.

** Oncologist called back later in the day with a little bit of test results that were hopeful. That helped balance the earlier call where other test results showed a possible need for more biopsies.

** had a frank talk with God about how I was feeling. Read this quote that made my day:

"My belief is that when you're telling the truth, you're close to God. If you say to God, "I am exhausted and depressed beyond words, and I don't like You at all right now, and I recoil from most people who believe in You," that might be the most honest thing that you've ever said. If you told me you had said to God, "It is all hopeless, and I don't have a clue if You exist, but I could use a hand," it would almost bring tears to my eyes, tears of pride in you, for the courage it takes to get real -- really real. It would make me want to sit next to you at the dinner table." Anne Lamott, "Help, Thanks, WOW"