Rediscovering You

Here’s a secret: when you first start blogging it’s pretty tough to come up with subjects to write about. Then you get a little bit of leverage, a dash of inspiration, and maybe even a crappy disease, and suddenly, you’re golden! You have a whole list of ideas! That’s what happened to me. It’s for this reason that I’ll follow up my last blog post immediately with the final point of my advice for living successfully with a chronic illness. I have many other subjects to get to and don’t want this final thought to get buried in a bunch of other posts.

Listen, I’d really rather be writing about traveling and writing books, which is what I intended this blog to be about when I first put it together. Thankfully I can still talk about that stuff, but I’ve also been granted this opportunity to help others with my success at battling a chronic disease, so I’m going to take it. It’s certainly helpful to think this way: that this new struggle I’m dealing with is an opportunity, not just a burden. You will need to think this way frequently. To say “always” is not realistic. You can’t do anything always. If you can do it eighty percent of the time you’ll be doing darn good.

To review, my ideas for continuing to thrive with a chronic disease are:

Get the best medical care possible

Seek no sympathy

Find new ways to do what you love

Find new things to love

Surround yourself with positivity

And the final point, which I’ll be expanding on today, is:

Don’t let your illness define you

Since announcing that I have cancer I have been labeled as a “warrior,” an ass kicker, and a bitch, (though that’s not a new designation!) and have been glorified, mourned, pitied, bad mouthed, and name-called. Everyone knows what I am, has a character for me to play. Though many of these identities are well meant, what no one really accepts is that the only identity I want to identify with is ME. When you are first diagnosed with a serious illness the processes that you have to go through to continue to function and/or stay alive can strip you of who you are and who you used to be, even though you may look the same on the outside. I consider myself pretty lucky as far as the cancer treatment I’ve received is concerned, but I’ve still had to deal with the biopsies, scans, blood tests, and procedures that leave me bruised temporarily, and sometimes scarred for life. Additionally, through all these the specter of early, sudden, and impending death has bore down on me more often than not. All the while, the biggest struggle has been to find myself again while others label me as something and someone else. No one realizes that while they indicate that I am now somehow “different,” I just want to be the same old me, though with an extra full plate to deal with. It’s because of this that I’ve stopped sharing a lot of my information, though I plan to”come clean” in my next blog posts, however many it may take. (Yeah, maybe more than one. I’ve withheld a lot of gory details.)

My two year “cancerversary” is coming up next month. In the last twenty-three months of my life I’ve been told that I must be “miserable.” (I’m not.) Some have treated me as if nothing is wrong. (Shame on them.) I’ve been counted out. (Sorry to disappoint you. Wait, no I’m not.) Worst of all, some like me better now that I’m “tainted” in their eyes. (They don’t know that I’m still happier than they’ll ever be.) In the pursuit of finding ME again, I’ve had to dodge a hell of a lot of stupidity, hurt, and crisis. Nevertheless, these days I’m hitting ME again pretty closely and sometimes even getting a break from being Cancer Girl. I guess I won’t ever be the same carefree person I was before, but when I think this way I realize: Everyone has their crosses to bear. If I didn’t have cancer I’d be worried about getting old, losing my figure, or not having enough money, things I don’t even think about now. Getting old will be a privilege. Bring it on! My body still looks pretty good, all things considered. And I’ll always figure out how to survive monetarily. Hell, I’ve survived Stage IV lung cancer!

Am I proud of that last point? You bet your bottom dollar I am. Of all the things I’ve been called, “survivor” is the one I accept. On MY terms. Find YOUR terms, and stick with them. Find yourself again, accept the differences, embrace who you are and how much BETTER you are now that you have overcome the disruption of your life.

In the meantime, please enjoy the photos of ME still being ME.

Positively Positivity

Whew! I was really hoping to be back here long before now, but guess what? I recently returned to face to face teaching, with students in the same room for the first time in over a year. After working remotely followed by an accommodation due to a serious underlying illness (advanced lung cancer…yikes!) for the entire 2020-2021 school year, I’m in front of the kids again for real. Masks are required for everyone, so it isn’t quite the same, but I have to admit that it’s been a mostly positive experience for me to be back in the routine I was in for many years before my cancer diagnosis. In fact, I feel quite normal, and can even sometimes forget that I have a deadly disease. Add last week’s great scans to that equation and it makes for some happy times. But heck, what a struggle to get here, and believe me, I’d be a fool to think that it’s going to last. Which doesn’t mean I’m not going to enjoy the break until the next big cancer event, and that I won’t hope and pray that I have lots of time before that happens.

How did I get to this more comfortable place?

I got (and continue to get) the best medical care possible.

I asked for no sympathy.

I found new ways to do what I love.

I found new things to love.

I surrounded myself with positivity.

I didn’t (and don’t) let my illness define me.

Please click the links above to read previous posts on how I live successfully with a chronic illness that initially spun my world around and still continues to at the drop of a hat.

In this post, I will discuss point number five, surround yourself with positivity

Let me put it right out there: you don’t need people throwing around their own special brand of negativity when you’re already dealing with more heartache than most humans can handle. Do you know what it’s like to have a needle in your arm and lie in a tight, noisy machine while it scans your brain? Then to get out of that machine and get in a different one to scan most of the rest of your body? How about radiation? Ever had it? Or, think about what it might be like when you just want to live your life but you can’t because you have to do things to save your life. Now, add a negative person or two to that and aren’t you feeling extra super sucky? Yeah, I’ve been there, done that.

So, what do you do? The solution is simple to say, difficult to accomplish. Complicated, because the negative individual is oftentimes someone we love and we think we have to be “nice” and let that person chip away at us when our health woes are already doing that, because to get rid of them is “mean” and we just don’t dare cross that line. Listen, there’s no definitive proof in medicine that stress and unhappiness cause diseases and illnesses to fester inside of us. But last summer when I was in Boston for three weeks receiving radiation I was under siege, being called every ugly thing in the world by someone who claims to love me, and the emotional pain I was feeling was palpable. This was on top of being off my cancer medication and limping around Boston five days a week to get my treatments, being away from home, being masked several hours a day in heat and humidity, and wondering if the radiation was even going to work to save my life.

I know now that the radiation did its job pretty well, but five months later I had metastasis in my lower body, and guess what? The abuse continued. When I was sitting around a medical facility alone because of COVID19, too far from home, and fearing for my life again after a pretty good run at cancer, the abuse didn’t stop. I still remember that cold December night very well. I had just turned fifty-four. And I certainly wasn’t getting what I wanted for my birthday.

Alas, I have gained control of this situation since then. I was “mean.” I wasn’t “nice.” I had to avoid this hurt and pain at all costs, and I still do. I’m not much on sidestepping problems, but then I never had cancer to deal with. I danced around this blemish in my life and a few others that threatened to bring me to the ground. Sorry folks, it’s about me now. I can’t afford the abuse, any abuse. My goal is zero percent negativity, but this is pretty much impossible to achieve unless you never leave the house!

Truth is, I’m overwhelmed (underwhelmed?) by some of the adversity I’ve had to deal with on top of cancer. You would think people would know better. But some don’t. Does it still apply to say that whatever doesn’t kill you will make you stronger? Perhaps, but when you’re already dealing with something that has the potential to kill you, any extra adversity is totally unnecessary.

Say good-bye to it in the nicest way possible. And if you can’t do it nicely, it’s okay. You’ve earned the right to be “mean.”

Utah Reunion

My post theme was 80s rock lyrics!

Anyone who knows me well knows that Southern Utah is my favorite place on Earth. And I’ve been to a lot of places on Earth. But if you look back on the past two years of my posts, you’ll find out there was a time when it sure looked as though I would never see my beloved land again. Well, guess what? Life is a funny thing, plays strange games with you. Just last week I had a reunion with my true love, and my trip exceeded all expectations.

Partition Arch, Arches National Park, the Devil’s Garden

I’m currently more than a year and a half into my journey with metastatic lung cancer. This is not the hiking trail I ever wanted to take, but I have to say that in some ways I wouldn’t change it. Yeah, I know, you think I’m lying. That’s because you’re there and I’m here, and until you’re here, you wouldn’t know. In a lot of ways I like myself better as a survivor of a disease that most don’t make it through. But I’m not here to talk about that. Perhaps that will be my NEXT blog. Today, I’m going to talk about my return to travel.

Ta-Daaa!! Selfie at Glen Canyon

Listen, I’ve done my time with COVID19. I’m fully vaccinated, don’t cause trouble in Walmart by being a mask rebel, stayed out of pubic places when I was supposed to. With things starting to look up, I chose to follow through on a date that loomed on the calendar as one of hope. COVID19 was not my only roadblock. Cancer was, too. A lot has happened since more of the shitty Big C was discovered in December 2020. I’m back in fighting shape. BUT…

En Route to Chesler Park, Canyonlands

I saw my oncology team a few days before I left, and voiced concern about my ability to do what I wanted to do in the southeastern corner of my beloved state. Just didn’t think that my endurance was what it should be. I was assured that medically and physically, I should be able to pull off what I set out to do. But I was full of doubt and asking myself questions that threatened to crush me: Can you still do what you used to? What you love to do? Or are you just pretending? Trying to put a happy face on a devastating situation? Let me tell you something, friends: your mind can really “F” you up. In fact, I thought about canceling the trip the morning of, as I had a full blown panic attack that lasted right up until I got to the airport. Then, this crazy calm swept over me.

Top of the world, Arches National Park

Similar things happened to me after my initial diagnosis in late 2019. The country-hopping woman that I once was dissolved into the meltdown queen of the grocery store. I had to work on me a lot to get myself back in the swing of a life that I thought was over, had to learn to walk through the valley of Those Who Don’t Have Cancer as one of Those Who Do Have Cancer. Had to swallow the bitter pill of never being able to live life without this curse after my hope of being cured was dashed in December 2020, between my 54th birthday and Christmas. None of that mattered as I moved smoothly through the airport and blended in with the crowd. Even less when I emerged from the dreaded 737-Max 8 in Albuquerque, New Mexico, the American West miraculously reached. And yeah, I know there are quicker ways to get to Southern Utah than from Albuquerque. But I LIKE the drive from there.

Hite Overlook, Glen Canyon. Lunch view!

The crazy thing about my treatment is that if I didn’t tell someone I have cancer, they wouldn’t know. At one time I told a lot of people. I no longer bother, because it doesn’t really change anyone’s attitude toward me, for better or for worse. I guess at one time I’d hoped that if I told someone they might have some real respect for me, but I’ve learned that for the most part, no one cares what I’ve survived. I didn’t tell a soul in the entire huge American West that I have an illness that is going to kill me whether I like it or not. It didn’t matter anyway. Because I was headed to Utah. Nothing matters when I’m heading to Utah. Even less when I’m actually there.

Yeah.

After my emotional reunion at the state line, I motored on to Moab, first discovered with my beloved Mom in 1995, and the center of my traveling world, just like she was. Mom was taken away from me in 2004, but Moab was not. I settled into a cozy room and had to decide if I was going to move forward as me again, or if I was going to crash and burn and go home with my tail between my legs.

Beneath Morning Glory Bridge, Grandstaff Trail

I usually have more time to work with. When I go during the summer I can do some short hikes in between long hauls, pick and choose carefully, move stuff around, and get maximum mileage. Not this time. This was April school vacation week. Time was tight. Before I even arrived I changed my original plans, thinking the treks I relished weren’t in my reach. However, I stuck with an all-new hike on my first day out, the Grandstaff Trail to Morning Glory Bridge, a moderate offering with a lot of stream crossings and a massive natural bridge at the end. Unsure of myself, I swallowed my fears and started slow. Paced myself, something I never really had to do before. One foot in front of the other, pour water down my throat, have a snack if necessary. It worked. I felt okay. My energy level was normal enough. I wasn’t dragging along or huffing and puffing. I was also at much higher elevations than anywhere in the East, so that was a good challenge too. Grandstaff went great. So I put the original plan back on the table!

Back Home!

Back in 2013 when I first had the crazy idea to hike all the national parks in the United States I knocked off all five Utah parks in one trip. I’d been thinking about repeating the Devil’s Garden at Arches, and had it on my list, remembering the vast array of spectacular scenery along the way. This time I wanted to do the loop, instead of the out and back I did in ’13. The primitive loop. What the heck does that mean? Well, let me tell you, I found out! It meant exactly what the sign said:

No lies here!

I could have turned back. But I didn’t turn back. This was my proving ground, and the hike turned out to be nine of the most challenging miles I’ve ever done! Think scaling twenty foot rocks, neck-breaking drop offs, hiking in soft sand. Oh, and at least ten incredible arches along the way! I’m not sorry that I did it, even though I didn’t feel like getting up early enough to do the eleven miler that I planned to do the next day. No worries, I cut it down to six and got a crazy workout anyway! And still had a bit of energy in reserve for Glen Canyon on the last day of my reunion!

Good-bye, My Love. Until Next Time…

Then there I was, back at the sign. The scene is always so different in reverse, when Utah is in my rear view mirror. But as always, I swore that I’ll be back. Lord willing, I will be back!

Until then, I have more adventures, more reunions up my sleeve, and I’ll continue to live by one of my favorite sayings ever:

Rebirth!

Don’t you love spring? I certainly do, always have. This year, I got an extra special present two days after the beginning of my second favorite season: I’m in remission again. Thanks to the latest offering for metastatic lung cancer from Big Pharma, my scans from March 22nd look very promising. Promising in what way? For cure? Being done with treatment? What? Let’s just leave it as promising and hope for the best.

I didn’t post every step of my journey on Facebook this time. Not because my friends and followers are sick of it, but because, frankly, I am. And I matter for something besides cancer, even though I kinda sometimes feel that I really don’t matter that much because of cancer. Oh, don’t be that way, you say. Be a warrior! You got this! Kick cancer’s ass! And I say, I hope you never have to know what it’s really like to have this monster lurking inside you, and find out how all of that typical language starts to turn your stomach. That’s why I chose not to shout it from the treetops. Instead, I’m standing somewhat firmly on the ground with a pleased smile and hoping it lasts a long time.

Yeah, I know everyone “means well.” And I really do appreciate it. But sometimes I realize that people really don’t THINK about what they’re saying to me. Their fingers just fly over the keyboard of their iPhones because, well, they have to say something to show support in five words or less. My advice: Just press the heart, folks. Just press the heart, instead of breaking the heart.

I am suddenly reborn hand in hand with the entire Northern Hemisphere and can move toward the future with a little more of a stride in my step after a few months of stomach churning uncertainty. Soon I’ll be fully vaccinated and will start to travel again. Plans are made, other plans are in the works. Life feels good again, though as the old saying goes, “It’s always something.” Always something to rain on a parade already drenched with “somethings.” A precious fur baby crosses the Rainbow Bridge, a long time friendship is at odds. Sure seems wrong that I have to deal with all this and cancer too. WTF.

Before all this happened I was living my best life, yet always counting my blessings. Stopping long enough to realize how lucky I am? Yes, indeed. Never so busy that I couldn’t do that. Now I’ve arrived back at that after hours and days of gloom and doom, of wondering how life could go one way for so long then make an abrupt u-turn and continue on to the point of no return. Well, I just never made it to that pinnacle, made another abrupt u-turn, and here I am, so close to having the opportunity to live my best life again after surviving what kills big strong people continuously. A lucky girl? Oh, you can’t even imagine. What did I ever do to be able to tell this particular story and not lie? No idea. This may sound like another lie, but in many ways I wouldn’t have it any other way. When the going is good, like it is now, I am content to be an odds beater. Nothing quite like it. Tom Brady has seven rings. I have life. Beat that.

I’ve had the good fortune of having some incredible people always at the ready to pick me up before I get too far down. They more than make up for the few that should be there but aren’t for one selfish reason or another. It’s okay, you can’t win them all. If someone can’t be there when I’m flying high, when I’m down in the dirt, and when I’m somewhere in between trying to find firm ground, then they need not be there at all. And I know how to return the favor. It ain’t all about me. I get that. Relationships are give and take. How many times have we heard that but still insist on having one-sided affairs? I’m in a secure place with some pretty special people all around. Imagine the irony of thinking that after all the building I’ve done, cancer would knock out one block and the whole wall would collapse. Not the case, I say with a shiver of warmth. The foundation is pretty sturdy.

Shortly before I set out on this journey that would culminate in perhaps my biggest learning experience yet (survival), I was right where I wanted to be. Maybe that was a dangerous thought. But, to heck with it. I hereby announce myself there again.

Born again.

Happy Spring!

If This is the End

Maybe you picked up from my last post that my cancer is back, and with a vengeance. Well, it may be more accurate to say that it never really left. Stage IV disease kind of hangs around and wreaks more havoc just when you think that maybe you’ll be the lucky one and it won’t return.

Truth is, I kind of am a lucky one (in an unlucky situation) because I have some magic dust in my tumors that allows me to kill my cancer with a pill, at least until the pill doesn’t work anymore. Which means that if I didn’t tell you I had cancer you’d never know. I plod on and silently battle the killer. Some people go on for years this way. Me, a year and a half, and I just started on med number two after the first one gave out late in the nutty year of 2020. So far, so good, but this is not so different than walking a tight rope. You really don’t know when you’re going to topple off and not have a net to catch you. So you just say your prayers and hope for the best. Look forward, not down.

I’m in better shape than I was when I wrote that last post. The new damage is known and the new treatment has started to tackle it. But I’m having a damn hard time having to go back to where I was a year ago. Starting from scratch is really harrowing, because I was doing so well after round one. Still, the desire to get back to where I was before all this happened drives me on.

Will I get there? Maybe the answer isn’t as important as the fact that I was there once upon a time. When this all went down I had been living my best life for many years. Working hard, traveling hard, laughing hard, hiking hard. I didn’t have any money, because I spent most of it. I didn’t care. Still don’t. It was worth every penny. I visited forty countries, fifty states, forty-plus national parks in the United States, and several in other countries.

I confess to being a country hopper. See a place for a week, be the dreaded “tourist,” and come home to earn money for another week somewhere else in the world, on the next school vacation. Right now, someone out there is waving a finger at me and telling me that I can’t “know” someplace when I only get a little taste of it like I did of a million places. Imagine, spending your life telling someone else what they did wrong.

I confess too, to being a day hiker. Doing a great trail and sleeping in a hotel room after a nice shower while my fellow trekkers insist that hiking isn’t “real” if you don’t sleep in a tent under the stars. Funny, how we have to compete over such nonsense. The way I look at it, if I spend five days someplace really great and it’s the best damn five days of my life, then I add and multiply that several times, pretty soon I have something to reckon with: a life well spent.

I don’t want it to be over, but if this is the end, I’ve had a hell of a run. None of this magic was supposed to happen to the daughter of a janitor. This life that I’ve led was probably meant for someone else and I just happened to show up. Really? No, I lie. I busted my ass for all of it but never got any credit for it from any number of people. Always, I was doing something wrong and inconveniencing them in some way. No, I don’t want to look at your 17,500 pictures of red rocks. No, I don’t want to read your books. No, I don’t want to date you. No, you’re over the top. Stop dressing like that. Stop being so honest and in my face. And now, cancer survivor? You’re TOO MUCH, lady.

I’ve spent my life being rejected by men, by my family, and by people I wanted as my friends. The life I built was the life that accepted me as I was (and am.) Moving quickly enabled me to leave behind what and who I couldn’t have, no matter how hard I tried. I found my happy place. The world, my friends, is my oyster.

Someone out there is saying, she was running away from what she couldn’t have! Or maybe, running to what I could have? I like that better. What I could have was better. In the end, it always is.

Ehhh, maybe I deserve all this. Worked too hard. Laughed too hard. Traveled too hard. Hiked too hard. Guess what? I wouldn’t change a thing. And in my heart of hearts, my soul of souls, and my mind of minds, it ain’t over for me yet. I think I still have some fun left in me. Some miles and some words and some laughs and some thrills.

To anyone who has ever questioned exactly what I’m made of: Now you know. I will not lie down. I will not go quietly.

Surprise! I may have lost value to some the day I got cancer, but I still love life. So there.

The Glory of Aging

I hereby promise that this is the last opinion piece I’ll be writing. One of my upcoming New Year’s resolutions is to focus my blog on hiking, traveling, and all the other activities that make me the New Face of Surviving Cancer. So, if you would be so kind to listen one more time, I’ll get on to that stuff soon enough.

Still, this kind of fits, in its own crazy way.

As I reach my fifty-fourth birthday this day, I’m reveling in the glory of aging, because, you see, I really wasn’t supposed to be granted a fifty-fourth birthday. No, at the end of 2019, months before COVID19, I was faced with the very real possibility that I would never see the end of 2020, maybe not even the end of 2019.

For reasons I’ve blathered heartily about (lung cancer…shhhh!) I’m supposed to be, well, um, dead. But here I am, still chipping away at my allotted number of lives (ever been on a burning DC-10? I have) which must be in the triple-digits, (how many times have I been around the world alone?) or I’m just living on borrowed time, as it sometimes seems now.

Man, I’ve had a good life. I have a good life. Even after cancer, and so much loss, and so much heartache, I can still say that. How?

I have nothing left to prove. Oh, I still want to travel the world, and experience true and lasting love, and hike the other thirty national parks that I haven’t done yet, and write a bestselling memoir. But I’ve stopped worrying about many of the things I used to cringe over.

Aging is a biggie. I have a whole new perspective. Getting old, my friends, is a privilege. I’ve always respected the elderly. Now, even more. I want the privilege of being one of them. And I’m going to enjoy every step of the journey until then with my fingers crossed and my upper body in a PET scanner.

You think I care about bikinis? The wisdom of Kylie Jenner? How much cash you have in your wallet? How much your car costs? To me, Coachella is the name of a nowhere town in my beloved Mojave, not a festival where the youthful and stupid compete for social media attention. I don’t envy the young, who will never know what it’s like to be able to trust people they’ve never met, or play in the woods with reckless abandon.

The other night a wonderful friend of mine came to deliver presents, and took a picture of us using a filter, to show me how it worked. I was horrified to see my face look so different. But to some, this is the norm, because it’s easier to look fake than look like you. I can’t even relate.

I love talking to people older than me. Walking in the local cemeteries, I always meet someone with interesting stories to tell. I’d much prefer to hear real life tales told by an authentic person than the overblown fiction of a “sophisticated” twentysomething. In fact, I have every intention of buying property in a 55+ community the second I’m old enough. You couldn’t talk me out of it if you tried. And hey, I’ll be the youngest one there! Beat that!

I don’t want to overstay my welcome. Give me eighty or eighty-five years and I’ll be happy. Very happy. That will give me plenty of time to finish up my earthly business. Anything more than that and I’ll start to be a burden. To some, I’m already a burden. Why be more of one than I already am, right? That should be our real goal: strive to live a full and fruitful life, but check out before we become a liability.

The elderly are often looked upon as just that. The jokes about the old couple driving around in the RV are tacky. They earned their retirement through working for forty years. And you? Wrinkles are looked down upon as if we aren’t all going to get them. Remember, some of those folks saw Jimi Hendrix at Woodstock, or fought in Vietnam. How’s that for life experience? Some of them beat cancer in the days when the treatment options were even more archaic than they are today. They traveled and made love and got high and experienced sadness and fear and devastation. They lived through epidemics and pandemics. We didn’t invent that stuff. They had it down pat long before we came along.

As for me, I’ve bought me some time, such a priceless purchase, and hope to keep on buying it, an installment loan like no other. If I get my way, cancer will turn out to be something that touched my life “thirty years ago,” that I’ll look back on with a shake of my head, a lilting sigh, and a wry smile. That I made it through to bask in the privilege of old age. I’m a year into it already! Only twenty-nine to go!

Merry Christmas. See you in 2021!

**********

About Those Cancer Posts

My next post was supposed to be about a couple of cool hikes that I’ve recently done, but I saw something on Facebook that put me over the edge and I need to have my say about it.

Listen, I know that you’d rather me blog about hiking than cancer. And yeah, I’d rather be blogging about hiking than cancer. I’d rather be doing just about anything than talking about and worrying about and reading about cancer, but here I am, about to write yet another post about, you guessed it, CANCER.

Why? Well, let me explain.

Cancer sucks, if you don’t already know that. I hope you don’t. I hope it has never touched your life. If it hasn’t, you’re in the minority. So many people I know have lost mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, husbands, wives, and children to this beast that nearly took me a year ago. This monster took my sister five years ago. It’s horrible. I have first and second hand experience at cancer.

And guess what? I’m sick of it. I’m especially sick of people who don’t have cancer going on cancer sites and making comments about how “Big Pharma” is withholding a cure, and how CBD oil made their father’s cancer go away forever. Both are major myths, both are words that no one with cancer wants to hear. So stop saying them. I also love the ones about green vegetables and green tea being the answer to everything. Sure, good luck with that. (When your cancer disappears because of iceberg lettuce, let me know, okay?) But none of these examples are what really got under my skin a few days ago. Here’s what did me in: one of those “copy and paste, don’t share” posts that run rampant on Facebook. Now is when I would normally say, “Don’t get me started on that,” but it’s too late, the damage is already done.

First of all, who writes these things? I want that job, and I want to get paid well for it. Because I can write from experience and compose something better, more truthful, and more accurate than whomever is putting this shit out, particularly about the subject at hand. Furthermore, some of my friends that post these things write better than that, but they repost this crap anyway. Not only have I learned things about cancer that I never wanted to know from these stupid posts, but I’ve also been hit in the face about how I need to curb my jealousy when a twenty year old woman with a beautiful body walks by, because I once looked like that, so I need to get over my desire to wring her pretty neck. Only I don’t want to wring the neck of the pretty twenty year old woman because, cancer and all, I don’t want to be anyone but me. I honestly don’t want to be her. Facebook is mistaken, and so is the loser who wrote the viral nonsense.

But, I digress. The “copy and paste, don’t share” post that has me frantically punching the keys of my computer was all about cancer treatment and was meant to honor me as a “warrior,” in my “battle” against chemo and radiation. The offending words remind me that after chemo, I will never be the same again, may never even feel “alive” again. My immune system will be ruined, and so will most of my relationships, because of the damage done by treatment used to “fight the nastation.” (Ooooh, that little red line under “nastation” is telling me that some smarty pants is making up fancy words for Facebook! Don’t get me started on that!) In short, my life is going to suck royally because of cancer, “a very aggressive and destructive enemy of our bodies.” OUR bodies? Is the writer as well as the Facebook user that’s so busy copying and pasting trying to imply that they also have cancer? Because if that’s so, said person better get researching, because he/she/they/ whoever they are, are way off.

First of all, thanks for reminding me that I’m never going to be the same. As if I need anyone telling me that as I struggle to get “me” back after my life was turned upside down. Secondly, before you EVER post such hoo-ha, realize this: the combination of traditional chemo and radiation will eventually become a thing of the past, and in many cases, they already HAVE. Thousands of cancer patients have infusions of immunotherapy or take pills to kill the disease. I didn’t need chemo. And radiation for me was a CHOICE I made because it has made a cure more likely for me. I walked five miles a day daily while I had radiation, not because I was trying to show off or prove something, but because I COULD. I rocked radiation, and I’m sure I’m not the only one.

I know these posts mean well, as do the individuals hitting the handy little “copy” button. But they’re also extremely negative and uninformed. There is enough misinformation out there about cancer. The real truth is that cancer is an individual journey, not a one size fits all. Some people aren’t going to do well, others are going to beat it. I’ve known many of the former. I’m one of the latter. And in response to everyone out there frantically spreading the nonsense and giving advice about green vegetables and CBD oil and lifting the middle finger to “Big Pharma,” I’m intentionally littering this post with photos of me loving life even as I give cancer the boot. Every single picture here was taken after my diagnosis.

Copy and paste THAT.

Season of Struggle

Well, here we are again. September. The last weeks of summer. Here in New England, a lot of locals are getting ready for what they hope will be a colorful and fabulous leaf peeping season full of apple cider and crisp breezes. But not this local.

This particular local has a dull ache in her stomach that she can’t get rid of as she watches the summer wane. Because this time of the year always reminds her of loss. This time around, even tougher.

In October of 2019 I nearly lost my life to cancer. I was on my way out, on a slow, painful boat motored by metastatic lung cancer, the deadliest bitch of all. But long before that, autumn was the season of the loss of my beloved mother, and that hurt has never quite gone away. Now, added to that is the fear, the trepidation of moving forward, lest I be forced to take several steps back again. I’ve lost a year of my life to the scoundrel nicknamed “the Big C.” Maybe there will be more? No please, no more.

Even before the loss of Mom, the loss of the season of the sun was a shock to the system of this self-proclaimed summer girl. Even as a teenager the question loomed, How many more of these days of sunshine do I have? It sucks sometimes to be human. I want a million more summers. And while we’re at it, why do I have to get old? Because summer was made for youth. Just ask Instagram.

I have a triple whammy on my hands now: cancer, mourning my dear mother, and the retreat of summer. Wait, make that a quadruple whammy, because this is the season I also have to return to the stress of teaching after a mostly carefree summer. That is, if a summer that includes the kind of radiation that happens in a cancer clinic, and not just the kind that takes place on a flat stretch of glorious white beach, can be called “carefree.” If the duration of nine lazy weeks includes long trips on airplanes to exotic locales on the other side of the world and isn’t cancelled by a pandemic. None of that and all of that happened for me this year. It was a good and productive summer, make no mistake, but it wasn’t what I planned. Add to that the fear that…Oh, never mind. You get it.

Now, don’t get me wrong. I’m doing well. Chances are excellent that I’ve beat cancer. I’m not terminal. Yes, there will likely be many more summers for me if my luck holds out. That is a big IF that I’ll live with…as long as I live. Such is the plight of the individual who survives a life-threatening illness. No one really understands, unless they’ve lived it…and almost died by it. You, whose life has not changed one iota in the last year/five years/ten years, don’t pretend you do. You’re forgiven for your ignorance, as long as you don’t try to pretend you know what it’s like. Someday, you may just have to walk a mile in my shoes. But I hope to hell not. It’s only for the strong.

If you’re me or someone like me, questions will be swirling in your mind as the sunshine cools and the earth dies: Why me? Why did I survive and others didn’t? Do I deserve this? Do I deserve cancer? If so, why? What did I do? If I didn’t, why did I get it? And what am I supposed to take away from it? Wow, I have some blogging to do.

Cancer may be over for you looking in, but it isn’t over for me. I’ve got all of October to think about that now.

Sometimes, as I recently shared with my most trusted family member, when the ugliness of life and humanity closes in, an even more painful question pushes through: Should I have died and escaped it all?

Escape never sounds interesting for very long, because I’m not a quitter and I don’t hide from adversity. I’m also not a liar or a genius or a perfect specimen. I allow myself my faults when others don’t. Come to think of it, I allow others their faults when they don’t allow me mine. Which brings up more demands: What is my worth? My worth in being here? Some would have me believe I have none: I’m worthless because I don’t agree with everything they say, because I don’t play by their rules. I must banish these thoughts. I’ll have all of November to quiet them.

That’s when the autumn sun splashes out from a floating cloud and I get my shit (and my hiking poles) together and remember that I fought this fight to win for a reason: I love life. That’s the rub. I fucking love life. This life. My life. The only one I have. The one that some have tried to sum up in three words or less even though they’ve never taken the time to find out who I really am. There ain’t no one out there that is allowed to bring this girl down for very long, not even Mother October, the worst month in the history of me.

Pass me my boots, please?

My life has come full circle, regardless of a season or a virus, or a disease. So, fuck cancer. Fuck COVID19. I’m going to New York, my sparkling Big Apple. And the White Mountains. And South Carolina. And California. And I’m getting Global Entry for when it’s really time to travel again. I’m living my life as I see fit. I’m making my feelings be known. It ain’t all about you and what you want. It’s about me, too. And baby, when you achieve the improbable, it isn’t so easy to forget. Who wants to forget,anyway? Not me, not until I’m good and ready. Until then, I’ll shout it from the mountain tops until I drive you mad. Cancer, cancer, cancer. I survived fucking cancer. I survived the death of my best friend, my traveling companion, my mother. I held my sister’s hand while she died of the same disease one mind numbing January. I saw my father breathing his last breaths one raw February when I was ten. And I’m still standing. And smiling.

And even better, spring is one day closer.

A Different Kind of Summer

Hey, how was your summer? Okay, I know, it’s not over yet! But if you’re a teacher like me…Well, yeah, it kind of is over. Believe me, I can’t wait to retire so I can rethink summer and make it last until September 21st!

Kids and adults are returning to schools that look a lot different than usual. For me, I’ll be teaching over a computer until at least November. But COVID19 is hardly the first thing that rocked this teacher’s world and changed the way I had to look at it. Cancer did that first, then the virus extended the weirdness for me. In fact, I was set to put my traveling life completely back on track this summer after being blessed with an amazing medical team and treatment at a major cancer center. The corona virus stopped me in my tracks, like it did for so many others who had to give up hoped-for plans and stay put instead. I still had a very busy summer in which I accomplished three major things: I got back on the road, saw my beloved niece Amanda again, and with any luck, killed the rest of cancer. Though it was hardly my typical summer, it could ultimately turn out to be the most important one of my life.

The necessity to alter my schedule opened up some compelling opportunities for me, and gave me more time to remember how necessary it is to make time for simple pleasures like taking a ride with the top down on my Bug, hitting the trails with new and old friends, hanging out with animals wild and tame, and exploring my own backyard. Yet, I was still clinging to the possibility of road tripping through the Mojave Desert, Northern California, and Oregon. I was not able to confirm any major plans until after a scheduled scan. This time, it was my post-radiation PET scan in June, which would tell how effective the treatment to the primary tumor in my lung was. It wouldn’t be so wrong to say that my life depended on the outcome. Miraculously, the CT was nearly clear. Just one more small area of cancer, but it would require three more weeks of radiation. Which decided the course of my time off: I would spend two weeks on the road, with most of it in South Carolina with Amanda, then return home to spend three weeks in Boston eradicating cancer. Never have I ever booked hotels two days before heading out on the road! But that’s how tight things were between my scan and the beginning of my plans further from home.

Anyone who knows me or follows me on social media knows that one of my major fun goals is to hike all the national parks in the United States. That dream really got derailed by cancer, but I got the idea to take a couple of days to finish a park that narrowly missed getting taken off the list because of car problems a few years back: Shenandoah, in Virginia. Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, always a favorite Eastern Seaboard stop when my mom and I used to road trip, also appeared on my schedule. Now I was more excited than ever! Get back to national park hiking, see an old favorite again, and spend a week with my niece. Sign me up! I also promised myself that I’d make the most of my time in Boston while I was there for radiation.

Well, check them all off the list! I left on June 29th for a 400 miler to Gettysburg, where I spent a few evening hours exploring a fascinating historic town I don’t remember at all but was happy to see again. What I was really looking forward to came the next morning: Gettysburg National Military Park, a must-see of lifelike statues that tell the story of the winners as well as the losers of the Civil War. I found it very important to see the park again, with all that is going on in our country and the questioning of our history.

The weather got more humid as I headed south, but that didn’t stop me from walking several miles in the park. After a morning of exploring, I drove to Virginia for the evening. The following day, July 1st, I arrived in a tiny town in South Carolina to get a whole lot of niece love and dog love, and to have Thanksgiving dinner in July! I was supposed to be there last turkey day, but cancer had other plans for me. It was well worth the wait!

Amanda ran her crabby old aunt all over the area of South Carolina that falls between “the Greens,” Greenville and Greenwood. Our new tradition is bowling, our old one is Chinese food, but we can’t ever get away without going to Walmart! I’ve never stayed for a full week, so I got a better taste of her life and met more of her friends, too! A favorite memory is the full attention I got from Miss Shelby, Jax, and Chevelle, her three fur babies!

As always, leaving them and her behind was tough, but radiation in Boston was looming, and I still had a national park to finish!

After missing out on so much of my life for the past year because of cancer and COVID19, this view at Shenandoah was nothing short of SURREAL! I never thought that I would hike a national park again, much less do it so soon after a devastating diagnosis that was supposed to have a much different outcome. And yes, my emotions got the best of me as I looked out at the gentle, comforting sway of the Blue Ridge Mountains.

Moment of silence.

Back home, I had a quick turnaround before I left for Boston. I pulled in the yard at five in the afternoon on a Sunday, and headed to Beantown at ten the next morning for an early afternoon inaugural radiation session. First, I had to haul all my clothes and food into my room at Homewood Suites! I did this three Mondays in a row after driving home every weekend. Really tried to make my stay like a vacation. If it wasn’t for that damn radiation I may have been content! Oh wait…that’s the only reason I was there!

Boston is a lovely city, and Dana-Farber Cancer Institute is in the Longwood section of Brookline, where stunning Victorian homes line the leafy back streets, making for pleasurable city walking. I took the MBTA into town a couple of times too, and enjoyed old and new favorites, but Boston will always mean something different to me now that I’ve been there so many times for cancer.

I was so thankful to get home after my last treatment, with my radiation mask in tow! Muffin, who was an orphaned bunny being taken care of by his fairy godmother (my sister Marie!) was truly the only living thing I wanted to see after being away from home for five weeks.

I still had almost four weeks to get my life back on track after the big interruption of radiation, and was soon back on my five mile a day walking schedule, taking extra precautions to protect my post-radiation skin from the sun.

Deep breath.

My summer was still full of fun and adventure. Because there’s more than one kind of adventure!

Maybe next summer we can all get back to normal. What do you think? I’m skeptical, but hopeful too.

Please do your part, wear your mask and remember to social distance so that we can all return to doing what we love doing best as soon and as safely as possible.

What No One Tells You About Survival

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As I begin this blog, I’m finishing up what will hopefully be my last round of radiation to eradicate the final vestiges of cancer in this vessel of mine that held so many ugly secrets. We’re talking years of feeling like crap, with no clear explanation. Now I can hopefully put my life back on track and move forward. Endings and beginnings. And ugly secrets.

I don’t believe in negativity. But I do believe in being honest and up front. Thus this earnest discussion about being a big time survivor and what it does and doesn’t mean.

Stage IV lung cancer. I don’t look at statistics anymore, but they’re damn grim. I know that from obsessing over them at the beginning of my crazy journey, back when I was destined to die. Now, with CURE being mentioned more and more and EXCELLENT OUTCOME floating hypnotically around like a sweet drug, I can reflect on other things in between high-fiving myself for getting through this, and looking toward a more certain future. I hardly accomplished this on my own, and contrary to the popular beliefs of some, I appreciate everything that has been done for me. But I also had a lot of things happen to me that could and should have been avoided, events that only served to pile on more hurt, and yet more worries to weigh heavily on my mind, which was (and is) already ready to burst. Makes a girl skeptical, to say the least.

Herein lies a sad truth: Not everyone who gets cancer or other life-threatening illnesses are surrounded by supportive loved ones. If you are, consider yourself very lucky. Some of us have to make the most of the ones who are, and extract the rest of our healing from the kindness of strangers. Here’s the side of the survivor story that you may not hear about amid all the parades and fireworks.

Before cancer, I always wondered how my detractors would treat me if something truly terrible happened to me. Now, I know.

If They Resented You Then…

…they aren’t going to stop resenting you just because your life is going down the tubes. I had a great life before cancer. I still have a great life. In between, not so hot. People who don’t like that you made a better life than them might just be happy that you’re struggling. Maybe they’ll want to see you struggle more. And they’ll pile on the negativity. A few individuals in my life have been putting the screws to me all along. Just remember that these people are sicker than you will ever be.

Short Memories Never Cease

Listen folks, cancer ain’t fun. Needles and scans and treatment ain’t my idea of a party. Yeah, it’s gotten the best of me at times. Admittedly, I have not always been nice. But I’ll also note that the past year of my life has chipped the BS tolerance meter down to just about nothing. I never had much of a filter, but now, even thinner. So if you start slinging crap at me, you’re going to get it back tenfold. I’ll hand your microscope back to you on a silver platter. And herein lies the next discovery: People will only remember what you do to them, not what they’ve done to you to warrant your feelings. Best to just let them wallow in self-pity and keep doing your thing.

Infantile Behavior

Name calling, back stabbing, changing sides, being unable to apologize and move on, spreading my delicate medical business all over town. All things I’ve had to deal with on top of cancer. Imagine being called first grade names by someone who is supposed to understand and love you. Imagine that same someone teaming up with your other detractors as soon as things don’t go her way, even though she was there when your life was on the line. It happens, folks. I question my choices now as much as I question theirs.

You Change, They Don’t

Cancer absolutely changes the lives of many people, not just the patient. Loved ones have to find their own ways to deal with your illness and do their own form of grieving and coping. Yet the reality is that this disease and others like it is worst for the person who really has it. The hardest thing for me was the “not knowing” if I would even be alive to see the calendar flip to 2020. There is no feeling like this that I can even compare to the reality that your life is going to come to an end prematurely, and you may not have any choice in the matter. Add to that the endless hours of needle biopsies, lying in MRI tubes with ear-shattering noises echoing in your ears, trips back and forth to specialist after specialist. Meanwhile, those whose lives don’t change at all will increase your discomfort while continuing to disrespect the dramatic changes that you are going through, alterations that they would never be able to deal with.

Downplaying Your Hurts

Back before my treatment options and prognosis changed dramatically, I had a port surgically placed and was faced with chemo. This was the first time that my skin had ever been cut. The port was a degradation for me, and now the scar left after having it removed isn’t much better, though my niece recently suggested to me that I consider it a “battle scar” and wear it proudly, so I’m kind of liking that idea. The real kicker about the port was that I didn’t need it, nor did I need chemo. But when I was in the heat of all this, I was the only one who thought the cutting of my skin and the loss of my hair was a big deal. (Yet, no one agreed to go bald with me, so there you have it!) Sure, a lot of cancer patients require chemo and make it through, so big whoop, right? Right! Until it’s you. Then see how great it looks. Lesson: don’t ever simplify the hurt of others.

Empty People Won’t Suddenly Fill For You

Individuals with nothing inside of them exist. Cold, uncaring, unloving, narcissistic blame factories that won’t just suddenly start acting human for you. It is beyond their capabilities. Enough said.

Telling, Not Asking

In the world of professional writing, the one banging away at the keyboard letters always has this line in mind: show, don’t tell. In the world of life-threatening illness, this has to be changed to ask, don’t tell. Since I was diagnosed with cancer, I’ve had too many people making assumptions about the way I feel. Sometimes, the way I look is presumed to be the way I feel. I look good so I must feel good! I look tired, therefore I must feel like crap! I must be dreadfully unhappy because of cancer! (True enough, though at least in my case it’s better to say that the joy of life was suppressed. That golden gate has been reopened. Those who have never found true joy in life would not understand this.) I can think of many adjectives used to describe me that were totally false, when all the speaker had to do was ask and give me time to speak to get the real answer.

Special Note: my medical team is not guilty of this. They get it.

A Word of Hope

If this is you like it’s me, find the right folks and stick with them. The positive ones. The hopeful ones. The ones on social media that you’ve never met but are generous enough to try and lift you up rather than crush you even further than you’re already crushed. The ones you don’t see everyday, but who can give you a lift with a friendly text or call or email. Thank goodness I have a lot of those.

And just fight your best fight. Strength, courage, integrity, the will to live that no one can take away.

Some will resent you for it. Let them.

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