The Glass is Half-Full

When I was asked to give my testimony for a recent service at our church,  Community Church of Douglas, I didn't hesitate. Maybe I should have or maybe I should have worked on what I was going to say. Because what I said was confusing even to me - and the look on Pastor Beebe's face as I was jabbering showed confusion as well. So, here is what I was trying to say ... I grew up in the Catholic Church where the word testimony was not used - the concept of being 'saved' or 'used' by God is not taught. In that faith tradition, you're baptized and are cleansed of original sin and then as a child taught to serve God through good works. A personal relationship with God was foreign to me until I began Bible studies in my 40s and then "POW" my life was forever changed because I have always felt a call to be in relationship with God. The call was not to be in service or profession, but to live my life like one who has this relationship. That is at

Today, I'm half-way through my radiation treatments. Ten down, ten to go. Yep, you read that correctly. This "I'm Cancer Free" celebrator discovered, that while there is not detectable cancer seen on my MRI or from surgery I get to enjoy 20 rounds of radiation. Just to make sure. I wasn't buying it initially. I talked with the radiation doc, my medical oncologist, my surgeon, my nurse practitioner, another Triple negative survivor, my hubby, my sister, my manager and even my dog. The closest I got was that I know myself best but the docs know cancer. Even Wally, that lovable pup, wasn't buying it. His silence was traitorous.  So, I reluctantly began with visions of Chernobyl sugar plums dancing in my head. Interestingly enough, as I began my hubby was just ending his radiation treatment for prostate cancer. No one could accuse us of not knowing how to live???? We radiate.  The zap sessions, as I like to call them, are quick enough. The prep, however,

I went into this cancer journey with a positive attitude and with the convictions that it was not going to be a focus of 2019. My focus has been on the wedding of my first-born Michael to the wonderful Carmen. Chemo ended on June 10 and gave me the time needed to ‘recover’ before the July 13 wedding. Surgery was scheduled then for July 23 so I’d have the week between to attend to any pre-surgical appointments. What I found,instead on July 14 after the wonderful wedding was anything BUT focus or any desire whatsoever to have to even entertain the smallest thought about cancer or surgery or recovery. I not only didn’t want to entertain those thoughts I wanted to banish them, to get some bouncer to shove them permanently to the curb. (Although in my ‘hood we don’t have curbs). So the first appointment I had was with an Occupational Therapist. I couldn’t even recall why the hell I had to meet with an OT and that is pretty much how I started the conversation. ME:”So, I’m not even sure

this is a blog post I wrote in March 2017, but didn't publish. I read this again this morning and decided there's no time like the present to remind all of us, what is at stake in our 2020 Presidential election.  Dear Michael, Matthew and Delaney - Do you remember when Mom went on a bus with about 40 other women to Washington D.C. for the Million Mom March? I was upset with the the mass shootings at places like Columbine High School, and I wanted to do something, anything to make the world a better place for the three-not-so-little Piggins. I called home as the bus was pulling into DC and one of you, I can't remember, said something like, "Have you started marching yet?" I held back my laugh and tried to explain that this 'march' didn't actually mean 'marching'.  Growing up in a home where Mom and Dad supported different political parties meant you grew up listening to political dialogue that wasn't always pleasant but never per

When I was about 10 or 11, and trying as hard as I could to be a good swimmer, I was told by the swim club's coach that some swimmers are fast and others should consider water ballet. Maybe he didn't say it exactly like that, but that was the message I heard. Up to this point, I'd managed to 'compete' in only one swim meet and that was in the exhibition lane. (For those unfamiliar with the exhibition lane, it's a designated lane usually one of the side lanes, where coaches place slower swimmers giving them a sense of what being a 'real' competitor feels like, perhaps to serve as motivation to work harder at being a faster swimmer.) I was actually stopped before I'd completed my final lap and asked to exit the pool so the next 'heat' could begin. I'm pretty sure, though memory is a tricky thing, that the next practice is when the coach shared his words of wisdom. I was already humiliated, from the meet. (I'd had to exit the pool, and

After a recent chemo, where I was chaperoned by the always affable and charming Chris, my nurse Alicia queried “Who will be bringing you next time?” Truly, the entire oncology staff was not only charmed by Chris, they were amazed at the intricate cross stitch stocking she was working on and then awed that it was her third and final work of art.  I responded to Alicia (a new friend, really) that another friend would be bringing me and she remarked something like “you have a lot of wonderful friends”. To wit, I agree! Chris commented, “yes she does! Chemo with Kathleen!” Chemo with Kathleen. Sounds like a title to a book like "Tuesdays with Morrie" or "Me Before You", great books about friends stepping up to help a friend through illness and/or treatment. Only difference in this case would be that this sickie lives on to make more friends and to treasure the ones she has.  What I’m discovering on these chemo days, aside from all the vital medical stuff

My oncologist walked in for our Wednesday appointment and I broke out in song, "Doctor, doctor give me the news I got a bad case of loving you . . ." She joined in for the subsequent verses! Got to love a doctor with a great sense of humor and a great singing voice. In all likelihood, there aren't many patients that greet their oncologist in song! That's me, sharing a little bit of sunshine wherever I go. It was a blustery day on Wednesday (I can hear Pooh saying Happy Winds-day!) and C-O-L-D after we had several warm and sunny days, the change did little to brighten anyone's mood. My headwrap nearly blew away when I got out of my car in the morning and that brief exposure for my nearly bald head chilled me for most of the rest of the morning. I have a greater appreciation for the warmth a full head of hair provides. One of my WW members changed my chilly disposition shortly after, however, when she gave me a hat she'd crocheted for me. It was the second

I've not posted anything for a few weeks. I figured that out when in the last few days I had received messages and emails and texts checking in on me or asking how I was doing. Silence, I decided, is not so golden because in that void conjecture can take it's place, good, bad or otherwise. I am doing well, still a poster child for chemo. Last week, I started the Taxol which is a lighter weekly infusion. My sister, Kelli, came in from the other side of the Lake to take me to chemo and take care of me (something she has done my whole life!). Since this initial dose starts with a large dose of Benadryl, a good nap was guaranteed and Kelli said she might take pictures of me that may or may not have included drawing on my face with a Sharpie. Thankfully, she was kidding (right Kelli?) and my nurse Alicia, who is also a middle sister, was looking out for me by telling Kelli that she didn't have any Sharpies!  Those of you with sisters understand the bond shared. And my s

Dame Edna and I have a lot in common these days. I am a drag queen, because post-chemo my tuchus is dragging but like Dame Edna, I'm owning it! I mean, if I'm going to be one sorry sluggish sloth, I will do it it style. My style, but style nonetheless. I will wear a comfy pair of leggings with a periwinkle t-shirt that reads, "LSE Mum" and a pink hoodie from Wabash College and pink socks that read "Cancer Sucks" - with my absolutely most fab glasses and pink lipgloss. This poster child for chemo is rocking her runway! You'll just have to take my word for it, because there is no way I'm going to post a pic; mostly because it would require a level of energy that is lacking and the pic itself might just shatter the illusion I have that I'm looking great! I saw a commercial recently for Walgreens whose message was to battle beautifully. Women, all with cancer, are shown getting beauty advice or makeovers. I applaud and am at the same

I made the comment to my oncologist last week, during my chemo infusion, that I could be a poster child for chemo.  "You pretty much are," she said. I have thus far been sailing through chemo, albeit like a sailboat stuck out in the middle of Lake Michigan when the winds die and it's not moving for three to four days. Because my primary side effect has been extreme fatigue for 3-4 days post chemo. Last Saturday, 2 days post chemo, I took my shower and got dressed and announced to John that I now needed a nap - that kind of fatigue.  And being a woman who has dealt with the fatigue of MS, I thought this chemo kind would be familiar and similar to the exhaustion I feel on a hot summer day where retrieving the mail (our mailbox is at the end of our driveway) while riding my scooter to get it  feels like I've run a 5K. That kind of fatigue. This is the kind that makes it difficult to even get up, needing a nap after getting out of bed. Well that might be a little  

Before you all begin to think I’m breezing completely through chemo, let me remind you of this:   For the most part I am bald. Or if not completely bald, fuzzy headed, and not in the way I think or am thinking, but in the appearance. A little like a hedgehog or a porcupine with bald patches. On Super Bowl Sunday while most of you were overeating or filling out those little squares to wager on the upcoming game, John and I were having a unique pre-game party. In front of our bathroom mirror with clippers and scissors. Preparing for the certainty of hair loss from my chemo, I decided to buzz my locks to lessen the shock and mess of of losing large chunks of my silver, shoulder-length hair. It was in all honesty one of the most poignant moments in our 30+  year marriage. I had originally asked my friend and former stylist if she could do it . But when I shared my plan with John, he said that he wanted to do it. Certainly that was not expected. So instead of watching the pre-gam

When life gives you lemons, make lemonade. Have you ever made lemonade from fresh lemons? I haven't but I've got to believe it's a lot of work. I mean first you have to buy a LOT of lemons. One recipe I found said that you'd need five pounds at an average cost of $2/lb means your lemons would set you back $10. I'm not a mathematician, as my friends, family and coworkers can attest, so I used a calculator so you can trust my math. And then you'll need 2 cups of sugar - at a cost of about $1.70 for 32 oz. that equates to (again, I used a calculator so you can trust my math) 85 cents for your pitcher of lemonade. So, for your pitcher of lemonade it would cost $10.85 (again,  the calculator was used). According to my research and the recipes I read, it will take approximately 15 minutes to make your pitcher, because you have to boil the water with the sugar, squeeze the lemons, remove the seeds, stir and I'm guessing sweat and swear at why the hell you

Song lyrics or titles run through my mind to often sum up a situation or add humor to one. Today, it's "Don't Cry for Me Argentina". Only today the title is "Don't cry for me anybody"! I mean, I get it, that people feel bad that I've got breast cancer and that I've been living with MS for nearly 27 years. And I've had other issues that I've blogged about related to #metoo. I get that it seems like a lot looking in from the outside. I hear your comments and appreciate your support. But here's the thing, it doesn't feel overwhelming to me, looking out from the inside. Know what I mean? I live the life that I've been dealt and do it with the personality and faith I've been given. Which means, I could do one of the following: A. Have a miserable, pity-me attitude that would lead to being  miserable; B. Lean into my troubles and seek answers constantly either through research or angrily with God, which would lea

I was ready. I was prepared. The potential side-effect list was long and one I'd had some familiarity when John went through his treatment.  So I gathered my arsenal. I had my compazine, zofran and antivan. I had my ginger chewables and chicken noodle soup. I was armed and potentially dangerous. So, chemo day with the toxic chemo cocktail starting to do it's job, I envisioned it as either PacMan, eating away at the cancer cells or a Chia Pet, allowing my good cells to thrive. With these visions, (that aren't quite Christmas Eve sugar plums dancing) and tired from the chemo, I went to bed early. Friday, under the watchful eye of my caregiving hubby, I slept most of the day away. Not really hungry but not nauseous either. I spent the majority of the day horizontal on the couch listening to my book on Audible (despite the sleep timer, I probably missed 1/3 of what I 'read'), dozing, answering calls and texts, and snacking.  Perhaps the highlight of the

Slam Dunk! I 'm driving yesterday to my first chemo, ready to get it started, when I get a call from my nurse at the Cancer & Hematology. After pleasantries, she said: "So, I was reading through your chart and saw that Dr. Lynch wanted your scans done before treatment began.So it looks like we need to delay it's start. Are you on your way here?" Okay, now it's your turn to guess which was the correct response: A.   "Well, Alecia, that scan was not approved by insurance until just a couple days ago partially because your office didn't follow up to get it approved. But we can wait, because the delay was out of the ordinary and I don't have an aggressive, fast growing cancer. Will next Thursday work better?" B. "WTF?? (for my kinder gentler readers that stands for Well That's Fine ) I'm three minutes out and we're getting this done today!! I'm not delaying because parties related to this treatment that a

Today is the first day of the rest of my life. Today is the day I begin, at last, treatment. Today is the day I begin to kick cancer's ass. Today is the day I start infusing ugly, nasty, side-affect laden, toxic chemicals for the greater good. Today is a day that I wish I could rewrite the script for completely deleting the part requiring me to need breast cancer chemo. And yet, here it is and at 1:15 EST I will be at the Cancer & Hematology Center in Holland. It's where I will be a lot for the next five months. It's where I will, I'm sure (and surety is something I have less of these days as I know not how I will respond to chemo), create new friendships and forge bonds with people that I am currently unfamiliar. Because that's who I am; a lover of people and a woman that wants to know and love on all the people she comes to meet.  I don't know why I have breast cancer but someday I will ask God (along with a whole bunch of other questions!). I do b

There it is, in black and white and on the Internet. So it must be true. I have a touch of cancer. (A tumor, 3 mm to be exact, in my left breast). I discovered the lump, when it was but a babe, maybe half the size, last August. I had had a mammogram scheduled but cancelled it. WHAT????? I can hear you all screaming at me now. You cancelled your mammogram after you found a lump? And you have two sisters and two aunts that have had breast cancer? WTF??? (for my kinder, gentler readers that WTF stands for Well That's Freaky). Yes, I cancelled the mammo because I had a trip of a lifetime planned for October with my handsome hubby of 30 years. And I did not want to: A. Possibly cancel the trip of a lifetime; B. Put a possible cloud of doom and gloom over Ireland while on our trip of a lifetime; C. Let my wonderful hubby of 30 years know about the lump because he would have worried and fretted and argued vehemently (He's an attorney after all) that the trip should be pos

While getting an MRI recently, I selected to listen to a classic rock station. Actually I requested a station that played 70s or 80s music and the tech asked if I wanted pop or rock. "Well, classic rock would probably be better since I have to hold still," I responded. "If I listened to pop, I'd want to be dancing." And so I laid perfectly still while listening (or kind of listening since really in an MRI you never really drown out the loud bangs, whirs and booms). And it came to pass that the song "Crazy Train" started playing and I started to silently and stillfully laugh to myself. What a strangely perfect song for this moment in my life. Ozzy Osbourne was singing my song (has anyone ever really said that ever before???)! "I'm going off the rails on a crazy train," he sings/screams. (and a bunch of other lyrics I didn't understand because well, I was in an MRI and he was kind of screaming) You see the reason was that the MR