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    Is it yours?  Is it your family’s?  Does it belong to your kids, your job, your partner, is it hostage to dreams you have tucked away for the future until you could ransom them?  Do you value it?  Why?

    When I was diagnosed with IBC in 2007, my life had become unbearably stressful.  I was overwhelmed by the fallout of a horrible divorce, I was struggling to make ends meet, my children were hurting, and I came perilously close to losing my job which had been a labor of love for many years.  When the doctor who did my ultrasound and biopsy told me “this is very possibly a cancer”, my first thought was

    Oh no.  My poor children.  No.  This can’t be happening.

    I knew I had to survive for them.  Then I realized I had to survive for me.

    Four days later, I was at a restaurant waiting for my breakfast, passing time while my car was being serviced.  I got the call from Dr. Borofsky.  Yes, the mass in my breast and the lumps under my left arm were cancer.  I was sitting next to a couple having breakfast, and I tried not to call attention to myself.  After the call, my breakfast arrived.  I tried to eat it, but it tasted like sawdust.  As I was struggling with my breakfast, the couple got up to leave.

    The woman approached me and said,

    “Honey, you’re gonna be all right.”  I was speechless.  While I recovered, she continued.  I remember her face ever so clearly.  Big blue eyes boring into mine, red hair, her expression deadly earnest.

    “Do you have children?”  I nodded tearfully.

    “Well, this is their time to learn that you come first.  Nothing, and I mean nothing is more important than taking care of you right now.  Do you understand?”  by this time I was really crying.  She went on, “and when you get scared, you just feel around in you left back pocket, and I’ll be there, praying for you.”   I blubbered, “promise?”  and she did.  She meant it.  To this day I don’t know that woman’s name.  I never saw her again.  I will always be grateful to her.

    Later, my struggling seven year old daughter would tell me “ever since you got cancer, all you care about is yourself!”  That was hard, but self care for me was not negotiable.  If I gave my life away, how was I to love my life enough to tell my body to hold fast?  Whose life was I fighting for, if not for mine?

    It was tough at first.  I had to learn to pay attention to subtle signals from my heart and spirit about what I wanted to experience, what I wanted to do with the windows of strength and focus that I had.  Before my surgery, I painted my room purple so I would be enveloped in my favorite color while I recovered.  I rediscovered painting after decades of not even picking up a brush.  I made my Bay Area stage debut as the White Witch in “Narnia”.  I blogged on Caringbridge.  I accepted every offer of help I received, as a heart opening opportunity.  I went to my comedy improv class every Tuesday and laughed like a lunatic.  I made sure that even if I felt like crap, I saved some juice to sing my children their lullabies.

    Happiness and satisfaction made my body hum.  I chugged along through chemotherapy uneventfully without interruption, which was the goal.  Creating a life that fed my soul kept me engaged in doing everything I needed to do to get well.  Self care was not a task, it was love.  It was love for myself, love for the people who cared about me, love for my children, love for this beautiful world which I am still blessed to inhabit.

    Today my life looks very different.  I had been a professional full time massage therapist and teacher for nearly twenty years, and now I had a moderately gimpy left arm and not so much stamina.  So other things, things I loved, came to fill in the gap.  I provide massage for very ill pediatric inpatients at a children’s hospital, and I teach theater arts to children in an elementary school.   The art that began to emerge after my year of treatments was shown locally, and people actually bought prints!  I discovered through Caringbridge (which I highly recommend) that I loved blogging, so here I am blogging again!

    Having discovered who I’ve been hiding all these years, I brought her to light and my husband of just over a year found me.

    So, with all this ”me” focus, what happens to my kids?

    I laugh with them.  I nurture their dreams, and they get to see that I am nurturing mine.  I spend more time with them.  I do shows with my daughter.  My son just popped his head into my room and said something ridiculous, cracked me up, then left without a word.  I take them and their horde of friends to the beach.  When I have been taking care of myself, I have the patience of Job, which is quite an asset with a tween girl and a teenage boy.  Most of all I am still here, with them.

    That red headed woman was an angel.

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