Happy Anniversary Mom, OK So I’m Two Days Late With This…

Posted on January 31, 2011 by Blackbirdsong

But I have my reasons for being late. For some reason it just felt important to spend the last two days being quiet with mom. Last year, at this time, mom and I were going through two of the toughest days of our lives. This year we sat around the house and vegged, which seems like a fitting way to celebrate this milestone.

Last year, on January 29th, mom had a double mastectomy. The weeks before that date were marked with fear and apprehension until finally the day we dreaded came. Mom didn’t want to let go of my hand as they took her down the hall to surgery. I didn’t want to let go of hers either, but I was trying to be strong and didn’t allow her to see my fear.

I wanted mom to be strong too and I knew if I got upset, then she would get upset too.

It was an endless day of waiting and trying to keep busy and cheerful with my aunt and friend Carol, who came through a snowstorm to sit with me. Other people in the surgical waiting room came and went, as we sat there and waited for the news that mom was OK to finally deliver us from our fear.

Unfortunately I was in the cafeteria when the surgeon came and I instantly knew it was bad, because he was there waiting for me when I returned. The surgery had been a success, but they’d found more cancer in lymph nodes. He had decided not to remove the other cancer at the same time, feeling that mom would recuperate more comfortably that way. We had no idea how long it would be until her next surgery or how quickly the cancer was progressing through her system.

Just the same, every reserve of strength that I had, vanished in that moment. I tried to speak, but nothing came out but sobs. Mom and I had thought/hoped that the mastectomy would be the beginning and end of our journey, but that was not to be. In that moment, I had no idea that we had months of surgery and cancer treatment in front of us. All I knew was that they’d found more cancer and that mom might possibly die, and that idea killed me.

My aunt also broke down, certain that my mom would do the same. I can tell you now that she never did, but in that moment, we had no idea what her reaction would be and it scared us even more. My aunt was also particularly upset that the surgeon had decided not to remove all of the cancer at once, but I told reminded her we had prayed for God to guide the hands of the surgeon and that we had to hope that he had answered that prayer. Now, one year later, I know that he did, but a year ago, all I had was faith.

But even with all the tears and fear, something beautiful happened. After they’d settled her into her hospital room, mom had the most beautiful look of love and relief on her face that I have ever seen. It both lifted my spirits. It also broke my heart, because I knew about the cancer. Even so, the expression on her face gave me hope.

The following day, it fell on me to tell her about the cancer. I had hoped that the surgeon would be there to help me, but it was a Saturday and he had floating rotations with the other surgeons on his team. I prayed as my aunt and I journeyed through the corridors of the hospital for the right words to say. Thankfully and miraculously, an elder from my place of worship had come to visit her. He helped me tell mom and she didn’t break down as my aunt had expected.

The rest of that weekend was filled with endless walks up and down hospital corridors, lack of sleep and monumental amounts of stress in the cramped hospital room mom shared with another patient. One of the nurses tried to give mom another patient’s toothbrush by mistake, and the surgeon never made an appearance until Monday to tell us that mom was doing better than expected.

He has redeemed himself since, but last year at this time, I was not happy with him at all. He discharged mom that day and that evening she was talking about making us all dinner. We didn’t let her, but the idea that she was feeling that lifted all of our spirits.

A few weeks after mom the mastectomy, she had her lymph nodes removed and thankfully, only a few of them had cancer cells. I can now understand why the surgeon held off on doing that surgery the same time as her mastectomy, because the pain afterwards was much, much worse. The rest of the journey you know. Then mom had chemotherapy, lost her husband of 51 years and radiation treatments for five and a half weeks after that.

It’s been a hell of a year, but mom continues to be my hero. Looking back, I don’t know how we made it. We took this journey one step at a time and we’re still on it.

By the way, mom is still cancer free and my anemia is fine. Mom and I are still on our cancer journey, but it’s definitely easier now than it was in the past. Sure mom has moments when chemo brain makes her seems spacey, but that’s to be expected. And I have moments where I have to remind myself not to be afraid, but we’re getting there, one step at a time.

So yeah, I didn’t write a blog post on the actual day. I hope you can understand why I made that choice. Mom and I needed to make her anniversary a regular, old boring day. I can’t think of a better way to celebrate it.

I love you mommy.

Happy Anniversary.

I took this photograph of mom the summer before she received her cancer diagnosis. She’s a bit thinner now, but that beautiful smile is still there.

Posted in breast cancer, Cancer, Mom | Tagged , , , , , , | 10 Comments

Gliding Along

Posted on January 24, 2011 by Blackbirdsong

It’s freezing. Right now, as I’m writing this its twenty degrees below zero. It is also almost the one-year anniversary of my mom’s double mastectomy. It’s weird because looking back now, I feel like I barely recognize how we got through it. Sure I can remember different things and of course, I can read my blog posts, but just the same, as I think back, I feel like I’m hitting myself on the head with an imaginary two by four.

This all really happened, right?

Is it the shock of survival or the realization that something immense has occurred and only now am I fully appreciating just how immense it truly was?

I haven’t asked mom about this, so I’m not going to use “we” in this post. I will say this though; mom is amazing. I don’t know how she got through this without cracking up, but she did. Of course, I didn’t crack up either, so I guess that means I’m pretty amazing too.

I remember last year around the time of mom’s diagnosis, I felt like we were standing on a precipice and we were about to fall off. Well the fall has occurred, and in the end, it felt more like a shove than a fall. We took that big step or were pushed, and even though we may not have landed, we are definitely gliding along. Gliding was initially quite scary, but now we’re used to it. Gliding is fine.

Last week mom saw her surgeon and he told her that if she hadn’t had her mastectomy when she did, she would either be dead or dying right now. I haven’t even begun to process that idea. In fact, writing it down right now is the first time I’ve allowed myself to even think about it. Perhaps I’ll write about it at another time, I don’t know. I just know I’m not ready to think about that just yet.

Death was certainly there in my thoughts throughout this ordeal, but it was also something I had to force myself not to focus on. I don’t think I would have gotten through this if I had.

This Friday mom will see her oncologist for her three-month lab visit to make sure that everything is OK. I’m pretty sure it will be, because mom continues to improve. Last year, mom was so clearly sick that is was undeniable that something was seriously wrong.

Ironically, mom’s oncologist is also my hematologist, so I will be getting lab work too. They check me every so often to see if my sickle cell trait is out of remission or not. I think that’s fine too, because usually when I’m out of remission, the pain is unbearable. I’m still battling fatigue, but like mom, I’m continuing to improve. They also check for other things since I have a couple of other blood disorders. One of them is potentially fatal without treatment, but I’m receiving treatment and they monitor me regularly, so I’m fine.

Wish us the best and if you’re so inclined send us some good thoughts or a prayer.

Either way, there is one thing this year has taught me, we will find some way to get through things and be fine. So yeah, it’s freezing cold outside, but it was just like that last year at this time. The only difference is that last year we had fear, and this year we have hope.

Gliding along is fine by me.

Posted in breast cancer, Cancer, Coping, Mom, Survival | Tagged , , , , , , , | 12 Comments

Life is Good

Posted on January 17, 2011 by Blackbirdsong

This will be another short post this week because I’m still recovering from my illness last week. I’m on antibiotics and slowly feeling better, so no complaints from me about anything. Life is good and I’m serious when I say that, because if this is the biggest drama I have to deal with right now, then I’m not doing too badly.

I recently started posting again on my non-fiction writing blog, “Ink” and that’s been fun. I wrote an essay on the controversy about removing the n-word from Mark Twain’s novel “Huckleberry Finn,” and that has received some great responses so far. So if you have some free time, feel free to visit over there and comment if you like.

You might wonder why I continue to try to work when I’m sick. Well it’s simple, I’m stubborn and I can’t help myself. I was named after my grandfather’s mule. Yes, he had a mule named “Rachel.” I have no idea why my grandfather named his mule “Rachel,” perhaps he always either liked or hated the name (dad said that mule was not only  mean stubborn, but mean), but either way, she’s my namesake. Mom didn’t know this when she settled on the name, and dad, who did know it, didn’t say anything after I was christened. So that’s been a family joke since then. Either way I can’t be blamed for my stubbornness, because apparently it runs in the family, well it would, if I was a mule too.

The bottom line is that I hate having nothing to do, so if I’m unable to do my regular job, then I create small projects for myself or look for other outlets to feed my need to be creative.

In addition to my blog, I’ve been appointed the Senior Editor/Art Director of Goldfish Press, which is a boutique publishing house, in addition to everything else. I’ve worked with this company before and look forward to working with them again. It will be a nice break from what I do on my job.

I feel like I’m reclaiming my life. Before, becoming a caregiver dominated every aspect of who I was, and I was glad to have the strength and energy to do that. I now feel able to do some things for myself that I’ve been holding off on. Now it feels as if things are slowly getting back to normal, whatever normal is.

The best thing of course, is that mom continues to improve. So yes, life is good. I have no complaints. I might have a few grumbles here and there, but really compared to everything mom and I have been through in the past year; life is good.

Posted in Caregiving, Coping, Mom, Survival | Tagged , , , , , , | 6 Comments

When the Caregiver Needs Caregiving

Posted on January 10, 2011 by Blackbirdsong

So I’m sick, but it’s no big deal. I have swollen glands and I’m fatigued, but this happens to me from time-to-time. My immune system hasn’t been the same since I got mononucleosis years ago. Epstein Barr virus is responsible for mono, and once you have that in your system, it’s always there. Mine is usually dormant, but for now, it isn’t. So here I am, barely strong enough to sit up and type, but stubbornly refusing not to.

I’m sure I’m dealing with this because I’ve been doing too much, but ironically, I’m currently not doing anywhere as much as I did months ago. Perhaps the past year with all of its trials and stresses finally caught up with me.

Needless to say, this will not be a long post. All I’ve done is sleep for the last few days and I will be doing that as soon as I finish writing this.

I mentioned to some of my friends how it is ironic that I’m sick now when mom is doing better, but never even had a sniffle when she was ill and needed me to be strong and healthy for her. One of them explained that it happens that way sometimes. Perhaps there’s a special measure of resilience that kicks in at times like that. Who knows? I certainly wasn’t as aware of my own strength until I went through this, and I’m pretty sure mom feels the same way herself. The truth is there is no way of knowing how you’ll get through something as life altering as cancer until you’re there.

Of course, now we’re here and mom has crossed the invisible threshold from cancer patient to cancer survivor and me, I have no idea when I’ll stop thinking of myself as a caregiver, but I’ll be sure to let you know.

Anyway, since I’ve been sick mom has been taking care of me. The tables have definitely turned and it feels nice. Mom is so proud that she’s now strong enough to care for me. I can see it as she walks away (with her walker!) to make me some tea or a meal. Months ago she wouldn’t have been able to do that even if she’d wanted to, now she has completely taken over running things and I feel so proud of her and also happy for me, because I know my efforts have made this possible.

So yeah, I’m sick, but I’ll be OK. I have a great caregiver, the best one in the world as a matter of fact.

Posted in breast cancer, Cancer, Caregiving, Coping, Mom | Tagged , , | 14 Comments

It Could Have Been So Much Worse

Posted on January 3, 2011 by Blackbirdsong

I’m pretending to be Sophia Petrillo from “The Golden Girls,” for a second. Picture it; it’s New Year’s Eve 2010. I go outside to knock some icicles off the gutters (something I’ve done hundreds, no thousands of times without a problem) and fall, SPLAT on some black ice.

Yeah ouch, but that’s not the worst part. I couldn’t get up because the ice was extremely slippery underneath me so I had to crawl into my house on all fours. The only thing that was good about any of this, is that I fell behind a row of bushes so there was no way any of my neighbors could have made a video of me and put it on YouTube.

I’ve been limping around ever since, but I’m fine. There was no real damage done, so I can’t complain. I mean seriously, I can’t. Why you may ask? Because I was this close to almost bashing my head on a slate-stone corner, but for some reason I missed it.

So yeah, I can’t complain about that, just like I can’t complain about anything that’s happened over the course of the last year, because I know it could have been so much worse. Outside of losing my father, which has been tough and the struggles of helping mom through her cancer treatments, I can’t really say that I currently feel I have that much to complain about at all. We’ve gotten through it and last year is now happily behind us.

Of course, when we were in the middle of everything, I did have plenty to complain about. Getting to here from there wasn’t easy. Getting to here from there when I fell wasn’t easy either, because trust me, when I had to crawl along on that black ice, I wasn’t thankful for anything. I was cold, shivering and in pain, and getting back inside and on my feet was all that I had one my mind. Of course, now that some time has passed and the pain is subsiding, I can put things into perspective.

I can put things in perspective about cancer now too, though in truth, not with as much assurance as with my recent little tumble.

When mom and I were in the middle of everything, there were times when things were dire. The whole world seemed covered with shadows and thinking about the future gave me rushes of white-hot or ice cold anxiety that made me feel like I was going over the edge. Thankfully, I didn’t go over the edge. Though there were times when I was certain I was on my way, but somehow, it didn’t happen and I found or God gave me, the strength to go on.

I hope this doesn’t sound like it was an easy thing, because it wasn’t. Hell is a good word for it. Those of you going through your own cancer journeys know what I mean and probably have your own words to describe what you’ve been and continue to go through. For now, hell is my word. Tomorrow it might be something else.

Putting things into perspective takes time, but it also takes distance. I couldn’t have begun to think about putting things into perspective even a few months ago, let alone last year, but this is where I am now.

My fall wasn’t the worst thing that’s happened recently. The honor for that goes to a friend of ours who was trying to push mom on her walker (it has a seat) through snow and knocked her and himself over in a parking lot. He held onto the walker so mom didn’t smash her head on the pavement and thankfully some passersby came and lifted mom and her walker back up. It happened insanely fast. I turned my head to thank someone for opening a door for us and SPLAT, the next thing I know, mom and our friend are falling backwards onto the pavement. At the time, I was just in shock and scared for mom, because she’s already been through so much and the last thing she needs is more medical stuff to deal with. But now, I know that mom is OK except for some residual achiness (she didn’t even get a bruise) from twisting herself when it happened. I also know that it will take some time before I ever trust that friend to assist me with mom again.

Mom and I continue to march on through our cancer journey. We’re not struggling so much as limping, but we’re both OK and we’re both grateful, because yeah, it could have been so much worse. There are people who began their cancer journeys when mom and I did, who haven’t made it. I think about them a lot, as I remember their amazing courage. Mom could have been one of them, but thankfully, she’s not. We could both be either dead or badly injured right now from our various accidents, but we’re not. Who knows why? Maybe life is finally giving us a break from tragedy or maybe it’s just one of those lucky little things that happens sometimes. Either way, I’m grateful to be well enough to limp and I think mom is too.

Posted in breast cancer, Cancer, Caregiving, Coping, Mom | Tagged , , , | 6 Comments

So Here We Are

Posted on December 27, 2010 by Blackbirdsong

Rose Meditative by Salvadore Dali

It’s almost a year later and what a year it has been. Last December, mom and I were preparing for her double mastectomy. She had received her diagnosis in November and we were doing our best to handle the whirlwind of tests, information and emotions. Initially mom didn’t want to tell anyone. She needed to process things and I didn’t argue with her. Besides I felt the same way. Cancer is a huge thing to have dumped in your lap. You wish you could ignore it, but it’s like a schoolyard bully blocking your path home. You have to be willing to confront it, get through it and hope that you make it to the other side.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t like confrontations. I didn’t like them in school, when I had to face flesh and blood schoolyard bullies, and I don’t like them now. That doesn’t mean that I’m not willing to go toe-to-toe against someone in a verbal debate if I have to, it’s just that I’d rather discuss things calmly and negotiate a solution.

You can’t negotiate a solution cancer. The only happy solution is when you know you’ve beaten it. I don’t know if cancer survivors ever feel completely cancer-free, but for mom and me, I see us as cancer-hopeful.

Last year at this time, we had no idea what we were in for; we were scared about the surgery, hoping that the cancer would be contained and a slew of other hopes we were afraid to feel hopeful about, along with questions and a heavy dose of fear. Now we’ve gotten through all of those things, along with the loss of my dad, and it’s been tough. It was tough, because no matter what I say or how strong I try to be, we were living in fear. Now we’re living in hope.

Let me say this again; we’re living in hope.

That is huge. It is a huge and wonderful thing. In spite of everything we’ve been through, at the core of our lives now is hope.

We hope that the doctors are correct and they’ve gotten the cancer, and we hope that mom will continue to get stronger. We also hope that we never have to hear the word “cancer” again unless we choose to say it, but most importantly, we hope that mom’s cancer will never stand in either of our ways again and dare us to confront it.

This past year hasn’t all been tough. As I’ve written before, I am blessed with some wonderful friends. I’ve had friends before, but when something big happened, they disappeared. These friends drew closer to mom and me until it was impossible feel anything but blessed by their presence. I have family that live close-by, but for the most part, they have made themselves unavailable to help mom and me with anything. My friends are closer to me than my family ever has been.

One of my aunts loves to say that blood is thicker than water, but my friends aren’t water. My friends are better than blood. They are my true family and I will love them forever.

Many of you have contacted me and I can’t tell how much you mean to me as well. When I started this blog I had no idea that anyone would read it. I just knew that I had to find some way of processing this experience. Thank you so much for sharing your cancer journeys with me. You have honored me more than you know.

So here we are one year is ending as another one begins. None of us has any idea what this year will bring, but I wish all of you hope, health and the loyalty of true friends and loved ones. There will be tough times ahead, but there will also be blessings. That is the nature of life after all.

I wish us all the very best for the coming year.

Love,

Rachel

Posted in breast cancer, Cancer, Caregiving, Coping, Friends, Mom | Tagged , , , , | 8 Comments

The Week that Was and Hopefully Will Be Again, Except for that Last Bit Where I Screamed…

Posted on December 20, 2010 by Blackbirdsong

Well this hasn’t been a very eventful week, and for that, I am truly thankful. OK so, the glass-screened door in the living room got frozen shut and wouldn’t close and all the cold air was coming in from the porch. We had to call a friend over to help us at one in the morning because I injured myself trying to unjam the door and ended up barely able to use my arms for three days afterwards. And yeah, we’ve had almost seventy inches of snow and it’s not even officially winter yet. I tried to shovel, even though I was only able to push the snow because I had a muscle strain and couldn’t raise my arms from trying to open the stupid glass-screened door. Finally and thankfully, the husband of one of my best friend’s came by and dug us out. So all was well until…no, there is no “until,” all was just well and there was nothing else to worry about or cause me to fret or fear. OK yeah, so I had to get groceries and the weather kept holding me back and I started having weird upper respiratory allergies to some unknown thing that made my nose so stuffy that it felt like I had cement in my head, but really this was as bad as it got.

So, in other words, I had a fairly normal week full of the little stresses that befall us all. I hope I have more weeks like this, because it’s a nice break.

On top of that, mom likes the physical therapist that comes to our house twice a week to help her get stronger. I arranged this on the sly with her nurse practitioner because mom was saying she could do it herself and we both knew that was not going to happen.

(Seriously, why are senior citizens so stubborn and rebellious? People can talk about the terrible twos, and those awful teenage years, but let me tell you, senior citizens have all the others beat when it comes to pure cussedness.)

At first, mom wasn’t happy with me for arranging this, but thankfully she realized I did it to help her and she loves the guy, which is a real bonus. So, yeah, we’ve had a fairly uneventful week. Some might even say, boring, but see, after dealing with cancer and cancer treatment, boring is good. Boring is a blessing. I can handle boring.

Well OK, so maybe not all that boring; mom jumped out at me in the dark tonight and made me jump about mile in mid-air. She cracked up and so did I after I stopped screaming.

I tell you, those senior citizens are something else.

Posted in breast cancer, Cancer, Caregiving, Coping, Friends, laughter, Mom | Tagged , , , , , | 8 Comments

In Honor of Elizabeth Edwards

Posted on December 13, 2010 by Blackbirdsong

(Credit: Center for American Progress)

Elizabeth Edwards died this week and my heart goes out to her and her family. Watching someone you love fight and continue to fight, while losing a battle they can’t win, is both awe-inspiring and awful. She was a mighty force, but she also carried herself with so much grace that it was impossible not to feel inspired by her.

She’d lost her son and that alone was enough to knock most of us to our knees. Now maybe it did knock her to her knees for a time, however, she got up and spoke about her experiences and how much she loved her son. Not only did she stand, but she walked on while carrying the memories of him and her love of him with her for the rest of her life. When she received her cancer diagnosis she continued to do the same, even after she learned that she was terminal, she continued tirelessly to support her husband while caring for her children.

The easiest thing to do is remain down or retreat when life becomes difficult. Getting up and facing things head on is tough and doing so with the kind of kind of courage that Elizabeth Edwards displayed is monumental.

I’m learning in my own way how to do that and I’m not sure if it’s something you master or continue to learn as you walk through life. I don’t know or have the answers to that, but one thing that makes my journey easier, is that I’m not making those steps in front of the world. I have no idea how public figures survive having their lives dissected in the media or how they do so with any measure of sanity or strength, but I do know that Elizabeth Edwards always seemed happily above the fray. This does not mean that she was any more heroic than any other cancer patient, but most of us have the luxury of being able to retreat into our private lives without having to fear that someone will try to take an unflattering photo of us or hound us for the latest news. Even when her husband’s cheating scandal drew worldwide attention, she continued to exude the same strength, grace and courage as she had before. She really was an amazing woman.

I’m not going to put her husband down. I don’t know him and I won’t judge him. People make mistakes for all kinds of reasons. Sometimes they become scared while watching someone they love suffer and seek comfort elsewhere, sometimes they are repeating past patterns of behavior and sometimes, well there are endless amounts of sometimes, aren’t there? The truth is as simple as this; whatever relationships we have before receiving a cancer diagnosis is what we will bring with us throughout our cancer journeys. It would be great if everyone around us suddenly behaved lovingly and nobly, and we became better versions of ourselves, but that is not the case. We are what we are and our family members and friends are what they are, and cancer is the great leveler of us all.

Cancer patients and their caregivers are no more noble than anyone else and shouldn’t be pressured to fit into someone’s idea of who they should be. We are not the stoic characters portrayed in movies; we are not anything in particular at all. We have no idea what our reactions to any aspect of cancer or cancer treatment will be. There is no way to know any of this until you are there in that moment. We may have the strength to stand strong; we may fall apart or we may do all of the above and then some. There is no right or wrong way to get through any of this.

Your journey is your own and how you make it, is up to you.

Certainly Elizabeth Edwards, like any other cancer patient, wanted to win her battle, but that is not always the outcome we receive. We can only hope that those around us will be there to offer love, understanding and support with all of their faults, failings, weaknesses and strengths, as we battle on with all of our faults, failings, weaknesses and strengths. Hopefully we will be able to give each other the necessary courage to stand up when we fall and to walk on, like the warriors we all must become.

Thank you for the lessons of courage and grace that you left us with Elizabeth Edwards, and thank you to all the nameless warriors who have done and continue to do the same as we battle cancer.

Posted in breast cancer, Cancer, Coping, Death, Friends, Survival | Tagged , , , | 5 Comments

Try, Try Again

Posted on December 8, 2010 by Blackbirdsong


I have good news to report; mom is still using her walker. No, it’s not big news or even important news to many but me, but it’s something and definitely better than the alternative of me coming here and writing yet another post about her falling down.

The thing is, after dealing with so much this year, I have learned to celebrate the little blessings that come my way. Every day of our lives we are blessed, yet it’s so easy to get caught up in dealing with all the things that we, as human beings must face. Life is hard and dealing with cancer is nothing less than hellish, but there are other upsetting things many people face every day that are just as upsetting.

Looking back on this past year and all that mom and I have been through really makes me wonder. First, I wonder how we got through it and then I wonder how we got through it with any kind of sanity.

Part of the answer rests on being spiritual people, my wonderful and supportive friends and the other rests on our mental attitude. All three of these elements have played essential roles in not only helping mom and I, but also sustaining us.

Recently I had a friend say to me that to them, it appeared that lately my life was nothing but a series of trials and they hoped I would eventually get past them. I understood what they meant, but perhaps because I’m me and known to see things differently than most, I didn’t thank them for saying this. Instead, I said that life in general is a series of trials and tests. We all go through things, we learn life lessons and then go to the next series of trials, tests and life lessons. It’s an ongoing process. Now granted losing my dad and mom having cancer have been tough experiences to go through, just the same I feel like I’ve definitely become a person because of the lessons I’ve learned.

Now clearly I would never have chosen to go through any of this. It would be great if various life events didn’t or couldn’t occur without our permission, but that just isn’t the way it is. Just the same, I don’t feel that anything I’ve been through is any more important or big than all the millions of things others are going through right now.

The truth is, we’re all going through some thing. Some are facing financial crisis, others have lost a spouse or a child, while others are going through wars or dealing with failing health or old age. Then there’s that old favorite “stress.” We’re all dealing with that one in one way or another. I think one of the main things that’s helped me, aside from my friends and my relationship with God, has been the fact that even though I was clearly going through a trial, I didn’t view it as one. I see that’s what it was now, but at the time, I was just doing whatever I could to help mom. We were in survival mode. The cancer and the need to help her get through it took over everything. There was no time to think about what was going on. We were in the trenches with bullets flying over our heads.

Now, we’ve begun the process of settling back into our lives and learning what it’s like not to have cancer as the main focus of everything and that has been an adventure in and of itself.

It’s too easy to lose sight of all the miracles we are blessed with everyday, but they are there even and especially during difficult times. Everything feels deeper now. The friendships I had before beginning this cancer journey with mom, have become deeper and more meaningful. My relationship with God has become stronger and I am stronger. I have grown into myself through this year and found that I do indeed have what it takes to step up to the plate and handle things. I’ve had weak moments of course. I’m not Superman, but there is something to be said about being tested to this degree and finding out that you are indeed both capable and strong.

One of the best lessons that cancer has brought to me, is the realization seemingly little or unimportant things are indeed great and that during my most difficult trials those little things are the things I’ve clung to and drawn our strength from.

As I continue to mourn the loss of my father, the memories that have risen to the surface haven’t been so much about the trials of that relationship, as much as the times when he and I had normal little father/daughter moments where we shared a story or a meal. He had unending patience when it came to trying to teach me how to tie my shoes. He even found a little poem called, “Try, Try Again,” that he would recite to me as I repeatedly tried and failed to master this simple task. The head injury I’d suffered as a child made it all but impossible then and it wasn’t until years later that I learned the reason. Dad never knew, we never talked about it. That along with a number of other things, were never discussed between us. Yet, now I remember his loving patience with me. I don’t know if it sprung from guilt or not, but really it doesn’t matter. He loved me enough to try. “Try, Try, Again.” And eventually yes, I did learn to tie my shoes.

So yeah, mom has used her walker everyday this week and I feel blessed that hopefully, finally she’s got the message that for right now she needs it, but if she forgets again and has another fall, we will try, try again and continue to do from trial to trial, test to test and lesson and lesson.

Cancer is a journey like life is a journey, and we can all make it if remember that we are strong and we are blessed and as long as we are here, we have the opportunity to try, try again.


Posted in Abuse, breast cancer, Cancer, Caregiving, Coping, Death, Friends, Mom, Survival | Tagged , , , , , | 9 Comments

So anyway…

Posted on December 2, 2010 by Blackbirdsong

I’m late again this week, but I’ve also had the flu or some kind of really bad cold. I’m juststarting to feel better though and thankfully mom was well enough to manage things for a couple of days. I have definitely spoiled her and it made me smile when she said she missed my cooking. Just the same, it’s good for her to continue to work towards doing more for herself and it’s good for me to step back and let her.

Of course, mom also tried to walk without her walker again last weekend, and I finally got the realization that not only am I powerless against cancer, I also powerless against my mother’s refusal to do what she needs to do to take care of herself.

Now when I say “powerless,” I’m not saying that I’m giving up on the fight, because I will continue to do what I can to help my mom recover, but there is a certain reality to this situation that none of us on a cancer journey can escape. Sometimes in spite of what doctors say and test results reveal, cancer can come back and the war between it and your loved one will begin again. We can fight with all of our heart, mind and spirit, but in the end we are powerless because cancer is an insidious thing.

The same goes for my mom’s stubbornness with regard to her well-being.

Mom is also a diabetic and from the moment she received her diagnosis, she hasn’t taken it seriously. As I’ve said in previous posts: mom is not taking her need to use her walker seriously and I’m living in dread of her falling and really hurting herself. So when I caught her doing it again the other day, I lost it big time, and I mean big time. I let loose on her with every ounce of my anger, and to be honest, I don’t think she got it even then. In her mind, she’s trying to be independent and if that isn’t bad enough, she has a friend who recently had a knee replacement surgery who keeps telling her to stop using the walker, because that is what she was told to do. It doesn’t matter to mom that doctors and nurses have told her she needs the walker, her loyalty to her friend is the culprit.

So there’s another old lady on my list who is going to get an earful before the week is over.

But that’s also where my powerless comes in, and here goes: I can have all the almighty fits in the world, but it won’t make one bit of difference if my mother once again decides not to use her walker again. She is that insidious. OK maybe not, but it’s a great comparison.

Just the same, I think I finally found my trump card.

After my voice stopped sounding like a combination of a screech owl and the lead singer of AC/DC, I said the following to her; “Do you realize what would happen if you broke your hip? You’d have to go to a nursing home for about six to eight weeks because I wouldn’t be able to take care of you.”

I paused, enjoying the silence and shocked expression on my mom’s face. Her lips parted, her eyes bugged. I was in heaven and all was right with the world.

She hasn’t been without her walker since.

Posted in breast cancer, Cancer, Caregiving, Coping, Mom | Tagged , , , , , | 4 Comments