And for Linda, and for Pat, and others who have asked. It’s so hard to know where to start with Complementary Therapies! My first thought when I was diagnosed was that I would use all the big guns my oncologist recommended, and all the big guns from the Complementary Therapies arsenal. At the time I [...]
And for Linda, and for Pat, and others who have asked. It’s so hard to know where to start with Complementary Therapies! My first thought when I was diagnosed was that I would use all the big guns my oncologist recommended, and all the big guns from the Complementary Therapies arsenal. At the time I was diagnosed, I had been a full time professional Massage Therapist for nearly 20 years. I knew all about complementary therapies, but I had been neglecting myself, badly. I wasn’t just a wounded healer. I had been limping for a long time. I had just emerged from an awful divorce, huge work stress (the hospital where I worked was downsizing, and the pressure was on!), and my children were suffering. They were 7 and 9. I knew something had to give, but I didn’t really know how to get out of the quicksand I was in.
When I got the diagnosis, I knew I had to fight and fight hard. I decided that I had an opportunity to heal my whole life, and that embracing that task would give me the best chance to survive. I sought healing of body, mind and spirit, and most importantly to mend the rifts between them. The word “congruence” was my operative word, and still is. So, my take on complementary therapies is really an approach rather than just a list of modalities. having said that, I pretty much used them all!
My practices for myself:
1. Say “yes” when anyone offered help. Accept with gratitude. Believe that I deserved the help and that giving it was a blessing to the ones who offered.
2. Put myself first, for the first time ever in my life, no matter who it upset. I was fighting for my life, and I knew it. A total stranger told me to do this, and I believed her.
3. Actively and deliberately sought my own happiness. It took awhile to figure out what that looked like.
4. Made a decision to stop beating myself up, period. Nothing was gained by my perfectionism, and I was beating myself down. Now I question my tendency to self blame, and if I find something that needs to change, I take note and move on.
I had to rely on #1 a lot, because I was not in a financial position to pay for everything I received. Still, I accepted it, and it all helped, more than the sum of it’s parts. Here’s my list:
1. Massage Therapy. I received a massage once a week while I was receiving chemotherapy. My colleagues at the hospital did this for me voluntarily, on their own time. I will always be deeply grateful for this.
2. Healing Touch. I received this through a Stanford University study called Healing Partners. I received one session per week for six months.
3. Acupuncture. My mom offered to pay for this because she knew it would help. I was a struggling single mom when I went on this journey so I did not have the funds to do this. I received acupuncture once every two weeks.
4. Guided Imagery. I believe this had a huge impact on my treatment. I used it to keep my blood cell counts up, to maximize the effectiveness of my treatments, and for healing after the treatments were over. I’ve already written a short article about that on the pages for Complementary Therapies. Excellent Guided Imagery CD’s and MP3 downloads are available from Health Journeys.
5. Support: I went to an Art and Imagery support group. This was a combination of Guided Imagery and using art therapeutically. It was very helpful. That program closed at the hospital and I really miss it. I also found my Caringbridge site to be a huge source of support.
6. Counseling. Fortunately for me, this was available through California Cancer Care where I received my treatments.
7. Laughter! I didn’t do “laughter therapy” (whatever that is…I haven’t tried Laughter Yoga but I have a friend who’s into it and loves it) but at the time I was diagnosed I had been attending a comedy improv class every week, and I made sure to continue. I timed my chemotherapy so I would be up for my class, and I didn’t miss a single one! Even after my surgery, I couldn’t play, but I could watch. I’m convinced that laughing my head off every week was very good for me.
8. Exercise is very important! I took advantage of the “Living Strong, Living Well” program at my local YMCA and did weights, cardiovascular exercise, and whatever else seemed like fun. I also did yoga at home, and some chi gong. I had a couple of videos and they worked well for me. I have a chi gong video that offers a 10 minute sequence for cleansing, called simply “chi gong for cleansing”. I am convinced that my complete recovery from surgery with my range of motion intact is because I did yoga.
9. Nutrition: My doctor told me, “Eat what looks good to you”. I wanted to be a martinet about what I ate, but I had decided to accept all help so I indulged in comfort food when it was offered. What I did do is create a smoothie that covered all the bases, and I had that every day during chemotherapy. Now I’m a bit more careful, but not super strict. I find the information on “Food for Breast Cancer” useful and I read the research they publish.
10. Cultivate hope, actively. I read everything I could get my hands on about recovering. The book “Remarkable Recovery” was my constant companion. I read the stories over and over, especially if I was feeling worn out by it all. The gist of what I got from it was that beating the odds was about doing it how you do it best, and it’s different for all of us.
11. Self expression and creativity. Everybody has her own way to do this. I found blogging, and loved it. I also got tons of support online, which was a huge help. I picked up a paint brush for the first time in 20 years or so. As I went through radiation, I was also rehearsing for a musical, again for the first time in 20 years. For you it may not be this sort of stuff, it may be something else, but whatever it is, it makes your spirit hum! If you’ve forgotten what that is, it’s time to discover it again!
12. Prayer. Whenever anyone offered to pray for me, I said yes, by all means please do! Acknowledging that my life was worth praying for, and allowing total strangers to pray for me (I was on a ton of prayer lists) was an important act of self love. There is research that supports the effectiveness of prayer, and I believe deeply that true self love sets all kinds of positive cellular happenings in motion.
13. Substitute “Feel Everything” for “stay positive”. I heard that stay positive stuff all the time from well meaning people. Being a Pollyanna does not help. Neither does denial. What does help is honoring what you feel, give it expression, and keep things moving. I didn’t elevate my lousy mood by pretending I didn’t have it. I blogged, “feel like crap, going to bed” and then later absorbed the messages of hope from my friends on my guestbook. I cried my way through a few infusions, and then felt better. After I cried I could make art or settle into my warm bed with some hot chocolate. Everything is allowed!
There’s my first stab at it ladies, for my dear IBC sisters and anyone else this may help. If you have any questions about what’s here so far, or want me to elaborate some more, please send me an email at email@example.com. What you tell me you want is what will be in Part Two. In the meantime, I am sleuthing out links and resources.
I hope this helps!
This is the name of a kid show that my daughter watches. Once again I am up when I it would be better for me to be in bed. I just have this Type A streak that will never reform! I’m not upset about it. I don’t mind being a Type A if it is [...]
This is the name of a kid show that my daughter watches. Once again I am up when I it would be better for me to be in bed. I just have this Type A streak that will never reform! I’m not upset about it. I don’t mind being a Type A if it is about something that makes me feel alive and passionate, something important.
What made me think of “random” is the phenomenon of survivor’s guilt. That’s been a hot topic on one of my discussion groups, and it is something I struggle with sometimes. When I read a story like the one I just wrote about for instance. Some women go through chemotherapy and it is not effective, and they try something else, and nothing works. For some it works well, for some marginally. I have a new friend I’ve never met, and we both posted to another about the fear of recurrence that plagues all of us. Right out of treatment, we all wonder if we’ve really dodged the bullet. The fact is there’s no knowing, and predictors don’t always tell the story. My friend Kelly, whose cancer presented in a much more complicated way and responded to treatment poorly in the beginning, is still here, as am I. We are, as we have discovered, part of the “Class of 2007″. We are discovering that there are a lot of us! Quite a few of us it seems have busted the statistics.
Now, what about the early stage cancer, the one where treatment went smoothly, margins were clean, plenty of options, and the nasty beast comes back and wreaks havoc? It’s just not fair! When I read about a young mother who lost her battle after a 14 month fight, I stand in amazement and gratitude. I don’t feel guilty most of the time, but I feel unbelievably blessed.
What cancer does is just so random. It is unpredictable, capricious, unfair. Part of living after and surviving well is learning to live with uncertainty!
What I know is that since I am still here, it is my gift and privilege to continue to advocate on behalf of those who cannot, and to do my part for those who will be diagnosed.
It’s not guilt anymore, exactly. It’s a sacred assignment that is mine because I am alive. Since I am alive, and have this assignment, it is imperative that I safeguard my future and present as much as I can.
Now, to bed, because my body is telling me it wants rest.
I’m going to be nice to my friend and take her to bed! Follow the link to “My Body, My Friend” at Everyday Health.
Is yoga therapy? For me it is. It is good for me in a number of ways. It was good before I got sick, and it is good for me now whenever I take the time to do it. It was especially helpful after I had surgery. My doctor was delighted and amazed at how [...]
Is yoga therapy?
For me it is. It is good for me in a number of ways. It was good before I got sick, and it is good for me now whenever I take the time to do it. It was especially helpful after I had surgery. My doctor was delighted and amazed at how back I got my range of motion! At this time there is no difference in how I can move my left arm (the one affected by surgery) and the right. There is also very little difference in strength, although I have some lymphedema in the left arm. The lymphedema occurred for the first time when I got distracted and neglected my practice of yoga.
Here is why it’s good practice:
1. It is meditation, for folks who are challenged to meditate. The poses require concentration to do properly, and the breathing is very settling. I believe that yoga provides the same benefit for me as sitting for meditation. It is true also that the practice of hatha yoga is said to make the body comfortable for meditation. Either way it is a win/win.
2. Yoga brings my full awareness into my body. I am more aware of all of me, my spirit inhabiting my body and everything going on it it. I am more likely to take care of issues before they start if I am doing yoga.
3. Yoga is just plain good for me. It is one more expression of valuing myself. My balance, flexibility, and strength are improved when I do yoga regularly. The benefits are more than the sum of their parts!
4. When I am doing yoga regularly, I suffer fewer odd aches and pains. When I feel rotten in general I get paranoid and off center, fearful of the beast coming back. This is something that survivors deal with all the time. The fewer odd aches and pains I am subject to, the less anxious I am! I think also that the awareness I have will make me notice sooner if there is really anything amiss.
5. Yoga, practiced vigorously, is good for your heart. It qualifies for the type of exercise survivors need to decrease the likelihood that our cancer will recur.
6. Yoga makes me sleep better. It also makes me require less sleep. Now that’s efficient!
There are yoga centers everywhere, some good some not so good. It’s important to feel confident and at ease with the person you are learning from. There are also a lot of great videos out there. I mostly taught myself and then go to classes every so often to make sure I’m doing it right. I also love the yoga program on my Wiifit!
For now I’m going to follow my own advice, and sign off so I can do some yoga before I go to bed!
We all know we are supposed to exercise. I was doing well until the weather changed and my walking buddy started having trouble with her ankle. Every day I haven’t exercised has made me anxious! I know I’m supposed to be doing it. I have a gazillion excuses… It’s yucky outside. I don’t feel like [...]
We all know we are supposed to exercise. I was doing well until the weather changed and my walking buddy started having trouble with her ankle. Every day I haven’t exercised has made me anxious! I know I’m supposed to be doing it. I have a gazillion excuses…
It’s yucky outside. I don’t feel like it. I have so much to do, I’ll do it later, no, I’m tired, it’s dark, whine whine. Thanks to my dear ol’ mom, I have no more excuses!
Seriously, exercise is really, really important. Study after study shows the benefit of exercise, both as prevention and to reduce the risk of recurrence. It’s also good for just about everything else. I’ve been doing a lot of research on the internet lately. Body mass index and survival are inversely related. The higher the BMI, the poorer prognosis statistically. Exercise also impacts insulin resistance, a factor that is becoming recognized as a contributor to the development of cancer. I have a love/hate relationship with exercise, as I’m sure a lot of us do.
I do great for awhile, and my body, mind and spirit hum. Then something gets me off track, and the all or nothing gal that I am not only drops the ball, I roll it down the hill behind me!
So, this technological device is worth its weight in gold to my way of thinking. I can choose from a number of clever games that are just that, games! I’m being a kid, throwing snowballs at my family or being chased by a dog on my bicycle, and I’m getting exercise.
Not only me, but my children as well! My son is very competitive, and the thought of mom doing better than he does is intolerable, so he is now effectively weaned from passive video games in favor of exercise.
Something else I am noticing, which seems an obvious metaphor. My husband, who is calm to the point of being aggravating to his high-strung wife and step kids, leaves us in the dust when it comes to balance games. Now, this is my focus. Balance! I will be a penguin on an iceberg, cruise down the rapids in a bubble, dodge panda bears and shoes with my head, and any number of silly games to achieve balance first. I feel calmer at the end of the day when I’ve been doing that.
My journey into this world of advocacy and awareness has been startling, terrifying, and exhilarating. During my entire journey through cancer treatment I really managed to not know what kind of trouble I was in. I didn’t want to see the scary parts, I just wanted to plow on ahead in warrior mode, pass the finish line and be done with it. I blogged all the way through, and then when it was all over I got depressed.
Then, I got scared. So many of my blogosphere friends dealing with metastatic disease, so many blogs gone because another woman lost her battle. Terrifying and humbling, this. I alternate between terror and survivor’s guilt. Today where I stand is committed and awake, painful as that has been to get to. I have combed the statistics. I have pored through women’s stories. I have faced the impact of my current choices, and improved them. Life is a gift I cannot take for granted, and I need to keep on fighting for those who can’t anymore, and for those who are gone.
What am I fighting for? Awareness, a cure, and a future without breast cancer.
And that crazy Wii? Thanks so much Mom. I’m not facing chemicals anymore, I’m creating my future without cancer to the best of my ability, God willing, and you’re still helping.
I never could do it without you!
I remember those days. One day, during chemotherapy, I just couldn’t get comfortable. No matter what position I settled into, sleep eluded me, and wakefulness was no fun. I stumbled out of the bedroom and out into the kitchen where my boyfriend was puttering, and told him I just couldn’t take it! I was sick [...]
I remember those days.
One day, during chemotherapy, I just couldn’t get comfortable. No matter what position I settled into, sleep eluded me, and wakefulness was no fun. I stumbled out of the bedroom and out into the kitchen where my boyfriend was puttering, and told him I just couldn’t take it! I was sick of it!
He patiently listened while I told him what was bothering me. He didn’t try to fix it, he didn’t try to make it go away or tell me everything was going to be ok. He just listened. After that, I felt better.
There were other times as well, many of them. I learned to keep a few tricks up my sleeve for those days. These are the things that kept me going, one weary step after another to the finish line.
1. Distraction. I had several really good reads stashed. When I was on Taxol, my eyes would be really bad for a few days, and I remember affectionately being out with my dear friend Christy and buying another pair of readers to put on top of my regular specs. It worked! I looked funny, but I could read. Good movies are another welcome distraction. Funny ones are especially good, but whatever I could get lost in was great.
2. Get support. Good ol’ Flo, my buddy, would get my tearful calls. She would commiserate (been there, had that stuff, yup, it does feel like Drano in your veins, it’ll ease off soon) and her husband Don would call out in the background, “This is TEMPORARY!” My mom was good for that too, although it was hard for her. Some folks weren’t. My significant other at the time would get frustrated that he couldn’t do anything about it. I didn’t call him. I let him do other stuff for me (like make me laugh) but not usually the “I’m so miserable” call.
3. Nurture your soul. Whatever feeds your heart, deep down, will surprise you with the energy you have for it! I got out my paint brushes for the first time in 20 years. It was wonderful!
4. Give yourself a pep talk, and let others give you one too. Remind yourself of how far you’ve come. Even if you’ve only done one infusion out of eight, that’s one down and one less to go. Make little black boxes and check them off if it helps. Whatever it takes so you can see progress will keep you motivated.
5. Read, listen to or watch something really inspiring. I used to keep a copy of “Remarkable Recovery” under my bed, in easy reach. It was full of stories of people who had recovered beyond expectations, in a number of ways from a number of illnesses, including rare and aggressive cancers.
6. Be taken care of like you would care for your beloved child. Cozy blankets, hot chocolate in bed, whatever makes you feel nurtured, body and mind. Get a gentle massage from someone who is skilled and careful. Have someone who is caring for you make you something delicious.
7. Make plans for all the great stuff you’re going to do when you finish treatment! Daydream, make lists, whatever puts the future without feeling rotten within reach.
8. Have someone take you to a beautiful place that restores you, like the beach or a beautiful garden. Or, if you’re well enough, pack a picnic and take yourself!
9. Give yourself small rewards. I used to go get a Jamba juice after every infusion, if Flo hadn’t already brought me one!
10. Read all the loving messages you’ve received on cards, on the internet, and anywhere else. Let them remind you how supported you are.
11. Make your own list, and make it full of choices. Do it while you’re not feeling like you just can’t take it anymore! Include very easy things so there is always something to do that could make it easier to move one more step forward.
12. Pat yourself on the back often! This journey is not for the faint of heart! You didn’t choose to be on it, but you’re a trooper for staying the course.
Any more ideas? Send them on!
My cancer was very hard on my children. The tough part about that was that I was not strong enough to give them everything I wanted to, to help them cope with it. Remembering the dream I had about Felicia crying and crying, a bottomless well of grief as it seemed, I really wonder what [...]
My cancer was very hard on my children. The tough part about that was that I was not strong enough to give them everything I wanted to, to help them cope with it.
Remembering the dream I had about Felicia crying and crying, a bottomless well of grief as it seemed, I really wonder what it is like for a young child. My son, who was nine at the time, went from irascible and boisterous to quiet and well behaved. He acknowledged to me later that he was scared out of his mind. My daughter acted angry all the time, and berated me,
“Ever since you got cancer all you care about is yourself!” Her little seven year old soul found it easier to believe I was being selfish than to know how sick I was.
Obviously, I had to take care of myself, or I could not hope to be around to raise them! It was heartbreaking.
So, how can we support our children when we are coping with cancer treatments and everybody in the neighborhood is caring for them?
I got my children into therapy, and I am glad that I did. I discovered that my children did not want to burden me with things that bothered them, because they did not want to cause me stress. Their father and I are divorced, and unfortunately, meaning well, he encouraged this. Therapy was a safe place for them.
A friend of mine sent a book that was also helpful, by two sisters named Abigail and Adrienne Ackerman, called “Our Mom has Cancer”. My daughter read it over and over.
What I did was hold on to our bedtime ritual no matter what else was going on. I have always been a working mom, so our bedtime was special. Each child had his or her own special songs. My son liked gentle nerve strokes on his back, and “one more shiny minute” (that meant two!). My daughter had different songs, and her own ritual.
During the long months of treatment, if nothing else I managed the bedtime ceremony. The two times I was too sick to do it were the worst part of the journey.
Now, three years later, I know they have been affected, but they continue to do well. They still see a therapist every so often. They are accustomed to me taking a rest in the afternoon if I need it. My daughter laughs now about calling me “baldy” during those hard days. Now, at 11, she is very kindhearted. My son is his old irascible self, and he still crawls in for a cuddle in the morning (don’t tell his friends!)
I think it is important to recognize that maybe we can’t give our children all the support they need while we are engaged in fighting our cancer. There are resources out there. So much of dealing with cancer is saying “yes” to help, whether just for us or for our families.
The goal is to survive to see our kids grow up. To do that we must take care of ourselves, and that includes accepting help to care for our children, both their little bodies and their precious spirits.
Yesterday, I had the loveliest afternoon and evening. I went and saw the Bodyworlds exhibit with my husband, my dear friend Susan, and new friend Kit. It was nothing less than amazing. Bodyworlds is an amazing display of the human body in movement, health and also in disease. The technology is plasticized human cadavers donated [...]
Yesterday, I had the loveliest afternoon and evening. I went and saw the Bodyworlds exhibit with my husband, my dear friend Susan, and new friend Kit. It was nothing less than amazing. Bodyworlds is an amazing display of the human body in movement, health and also in disease. The technology is plasticized human cadavers donated to science. They are beautifully and reverently displayed, and utterly fascinating. Interspersed with the specimens were elegant displays of relevant information. Susan and I are both massage therapists, so we were like little kids in a store full of chocolate, greeting the bones, muscles and nerves like old friends.
After the exhibit, we came home and watched a fascinating movie called “The Living Matrix”, about what they called “Informational Medicine”. The theory is that illness is scrambled information, and that by restoring the natural blueprint to the bodymind, health can be restored. It’s a complex topic too big to go into here, but the nugget that got me thinking was the discussion about the Placebo Effect. One doctor pointed out, if the placebo effect is documented to aid healing up to 30% of the time, why aren’t we using it?
In my case, I don’t think that belief itself changed anything about my disease. I think instead that the focus of my belief sent powerful messages to my body, which engaged my own healing response. I am deeply grateful that my doctors, and my mom, used their own Informational Medicine.
For whatever reason, I believed with all my heart that I would survive. I don’t know exactly why I did. The story I made up served me. I believed for myself that if I got the lesson, the teacher would leave and not return. I believed that what I was being asked to do was learn to really love myself, to open my own heart to me. I asked for any karma I had coming to make it’s way to me right then, in February of 2007. I decided to receive all that anyone wanted to give me. I used every tool I knew of to heal my whole life. This was and is my belief. I believe that staying on this path will keep me well.
What I did not know was that this story I was using to empower myself was fragile indeed. Any doctor could have deflated it easily, with one thoughtless comment or practical observation. The facts (the statistics) were not in my favor, the truth of which I was blissfully unaware. How did this happen?
It started with Dr. Borofsky. She did not tell me what she thought I had. She said that it was “very possibly” a cancer, and that we would know more when I received my full diagnosis. I was scared out of my mind. I asked her tearfully, “am I going to die?” Now there’s a silly, loaded question! Even bolder was her answer.
“No. No you’re not”. She said it with a firm shake of her head. I believed her. If she had lied, oh well, I wouldn’t be around to scold her for it! I believed her implicitly. I asked her about it later, and she laughed. She said that what she meant was,
“no, not now, not on my watch!” It was good enough for me.
When Dr. Brown told me my diagnosis, she did not express dismay when she said the words “Stage IIIC Inflammatory Breast Cancer”. It rolled off her lips like “it’s raining today, shall we eat inside?” When I asked for a prognosis, she said, “we’re optimistic”. That’s all I could get out of her.
Dr. Metkus wouldn’t give me statistics either. She said, “why do you want statistics? What good would they be? No one has ever studied Elizabeth Danu before.” My friend Flo told me that she had mentioned me to Dr. Metkus, and that the doctor had observed, “she’s a survivor”.
My mom totally censored the information she sent my way. The 25-50% survival rate for Inflammatory Breast Cancer never reached my ears. Instead, she sent me snippets of things that gave hope, and posts from long term survivors on the IBC support list.
My doctors, and the people who love me, conspired to keep me in the dark about what might frighten me, and they fed me what gave me strength and courage.
Never worry about giving someone “false hope”. No hope is false! There are exceptions to every statistical curve. This is why I read and re-read “Remarkable Recovery”. It was full of stories about people who disproved the statistics, and did what they knew would heal them. A basic principle that I learned years ago is, it’s true if it works!
My paradigm worked for me, and I am so grateful that the healers in my life supported my belief. This is the Placebo effect at work, deliberately.
This site is about Informational Medicine Power. Take what gives you strength, makes you laugh, brings hope, or whatever else you want, and disregard the rest. Reality is overrated!
Why do I sometimes embrace the pain of life without allowing myself the pleasure? When I was diagnosed, it had been 20 years since I had been on a stage. It had been longer still since I picked up a paint brush. I hadn’t taken a walk on the beach for months. Rediscovering these things [...]
Why do I sometimes embrace the pain of life without allowing myself the pleasure?
When I was diagnosed, it had been 20 years since I had been on a stage. It had been longer still since I picked up a paint brush. I hadn’t taken a walk on the beach for months. Rediscovering these things brought me back home to myself. In the weeks before my mastectomy, I painted my room purple, so I could bask in my favorite color while I recovered.
The day after surgery, I began a piece of art with a Sharpie. I thank my lucky stars that it was not my right side that was compromised!
Just after I began radiation treatments, I auditioned for the part of the White Witch in a local production of “Narnia”. I had very little energy, and I saved it for rehearsals. I worked out my cancer angst rampaging around and turning little creatures into stone, and cackling madly! Did I feel worse for it? No! It was SO MUCH FUN!
What’s the big deal about fun?
Pleasure and fun make me feel the thrill of being alive, and gratitude for it. Fun is exhilarating. Exhilaration means endorphins, the body’s own painkiller. It’s wonderful medicine.
Things that give us pleasure take us to that place where time stops, and we can become lost in what we’re doing, hypnotized, oblivious to pain or worry. When I’m doing mindless tasks that I don’t enjoy, the clock ticks away slowly, but at the end of the day I feel that time has slipped away between my fingers. When I am completely engrossed in something wonderful, every moment is timeless. I am utterly and completely in the present. This brain state is known to be a healing state.
I certainly felt that as I sought these experiences, I came back to a life I had forgotten I had, to joy that I had forgotten I could feel.
Where my life had felt like I was trying to climb out of quicksand, now it felt like my life was something worth fighting for.
Simple, physical pleasures can make pain fade into the background. When I was receiving chemotherapy, and my body hurt, I was blessed to receive a massage every week. I will never forget the generosity of my colleagues at Mills hospital who came week after week and gave me massage; Jim, Lee, Mike, and my dear friend Susan who came all the way from Pleasant Hill and gave me the comfort of touch. During the hour I received, the aches went away.
Cuddling with my children, reading them a story, or singing them a lullaby took my focus away from illness and brought it right into the stuff of life, right here, right now.
Even now, when the spectre of a life cut short is not so directly over my head, I notice that when I neglect these pleasures I don’t feel so well. I feel tense and stressed when I don’t make art, sing, or take a stroll on the beach once in awhile. When life feels like it’s all work and no fun, it’s time for an adjustment. Once I shift my priorities, I actually have more energy and am more productive.
I also believe that what is most satisfying is usually something of value that I can offer to the world. When each of us expresses most truly what’s unique to us, we find our niche, and the world is a better place for our being there.
What’s really good for me at the deepest level is a win-win for everyone in my world, and my cells know this.
My Caringbridge blog was good for me. I looked forward to blogging. When I stopped feeling that I had anything to write there, I slowly became susceptible to the blues. Picking up my blog again, in a new form, makes me happy.
What makes you happy?
As I read through that old post, I remember the feeling all over again, and wish I could always hold that same reverence and appreciation for my health. Painful experiences are soon forgotten, because we’re human, they’re a downer, and we want to get on with life. The part of my painful experience of cancer [...]
As I read through that old post, I remember the feeling all over again, and wish I could always hold that same reverence and appreciation for my health.
Painful experiences are soon forgotten, because we’re human, they’re a downer, and we want to get on with life. The part of my painful experience of cancer treatment that I want to keep is tenderness toward my body, and appreciation of my health every day.
I had great intentions of never taking my health for granted. At the time, I couldn’t imagine doing anything else. I would never fill up on sweets, burn the candle at both ends, forget to take my vitamins or skip eating my veggies. I never intended to let my children know they were in trouble by using their full names either, but that’s another story!
Guilty on all counts, alas. Life gets going, ambitions reawaken, perhaps with a greater sense of urgency than they did before, and I forget how good my body has been to me. My body rode the wild wave of chemotherapy without interruption. My body has bounced back amazingly well. I think of this and feel guilty for forgetting to do all the things I couldn’t wait to do.
I have learned over the course of my tumultuous life that guilt is never a good motivator. When I beat myself with the big shame stick, I only do more of that which I feel guilty about, because shame makes me weak, not strong. What works better for me is appreciation.
As I read through those words I wrote three and a half years ago, the feelings all come flooding back. The amazement of feeling ok after chemo, the exhilaration of anticipating owning my own body again, the sense of accomplishment that I had made it halfway through and was on the downhill slope. I remember those two months of watching my breast return slowly, the red hardness receding with each infusion, feeling deep in my bones that I was going to win. The next four infusions were harder, but I knew that soon I would cross the finish line and begin the next stage of my 2007 Ironwoman triathlon. It was painful to get my breast back and then have to let it go. I appreciate the one I still have all the more.
I can get wildly off track and really neglect myself at times. Then I come to my senses, take the time to feel wonder, sensation, the sensitivity in my fingers and hands that Taxol stole from me for awhile.
So, the challenge and the reward is to still appreciate what I have while I am busy being and doing. I don’t want the slow times I had during and after cancer. Those times of space and reflection were perfect for me then, and the time for that is over. Now it is time to learn how to move towards what matters, doing what makes me happy, but still appreciating the gift of all the things my body is able to do today, tomorrow, the next day.
I still haven’t figured out exactly how to do that. It’s inconsistent at the moment, still learning how to balance reflection with doing. Maybe I need to put up signs.
“Elizabeth, have you thanked your body today? Are you being as good to your body as she deserves? If not, take this moment, right now, to do something nice for your amazing, healthy body!”
I am so grateful for my healthy body, and grateful that I still can cruise in the fast lane when it really matters.
Friday, April 13, 2007 11:58 AM, CDT The sun is out, and it’s what I usually call Bleak Friday, but I am not at all miserable, in fact I feel quite well! Just a little queasy, and the solution for that is simply to nosh all day. Not a bad job, considering. This is great. [...]
Friday, April 13, 2007 11:58 AM, CDT
The sun is out, and it’s what I usually call Bleak Friday, but I am not at all miserable, in fact I feel quite well! Just a little queasy, and the solution for that is simply to nosh all day. Not a bad job, considering.
This is great. The first half is supposed to be the worst, and this is it. Smooth sailing now? !!
I didn’t get outside yesterday, it was cold and windy. Lovely out today, though. Time to putter in my garden, just a bit!
Spoke with my family in Seattle, and the kids are having a fabulous time. Martin is with his second cousin, Damien. Those two have been fast friends since they were 3, and no matter how much time passes, they meet again as if they haven’t skipped a day. This left Felicia with Auntie Andrea and Uncle Paul all to herself. Her Royal Highness had a manicure and pedicure ( she described her blue toes with flowers on them, with great glee ), sushi for dinner, and then dessert at the famous Dilletante Restaurant (it’s all about chocolate… and such chocolate!). Today Felicia is with Grandma Anne, perhaps going on a ferry or some such adventure.
I spent yesterday lounging, reading “The Other Boleyn Girl” (thanks again, Andy!) and reveling in my good fortune to be feeling so relatively well.
Never will I take my health and energy for granted again! When I am through with chemotherapy I will gleefully fill my body with all the nutrition it can hold, and spend my energy in celebration of health. While I am on chemo, I cannot take herbs, or large amounts of antioxidants, because chemo is believed to work best in an oxygen rich environment. When chemo is done, my body is mine again!
Then, after surgery, the cancer will no longer be my constant companion. It is hard, living with it, feeling it in my body, always aware of the size of it, even as it shrinks. I am so looking forward to Dr. Metkus wrapping it up in a neat little package and taking it away.
Today I am going to ignore it, because it’s days are numbered, and I’m halfway through the worst. Thanks Steve, for getting pictures of the rugrats on my website, and for calling me every morning on your way to work. It starts my day right, rain or shine.
Love and Blessings,
About The LIberation of Persephone/ElizabethElizabeth Danu started this blog to provide a postive and useful resource for people facing cancer and thier loved ones. She is now a ten year survivor of Stage IIIC Inflammatory Breast cancer, enjoying her post-cancer life as a mom, blogger, speaker, wellness consultant and unquenchable optimist. She also sings and performs regularly with her a capella quartet, Curious Blend.
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My bedside companion in 2007
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