Saturday, June 7, 2014
In The Now
I love to read. When I want to learn something new, when I want to escape into another place or time, or when something happens that I don't understand - I often turn to books. Since my cancer diagnosis, I have read at least 20 books about breast cancer. (Reading list is a new page I will add to this blog).
I've read science, personal stories, doctors' guides and self help books to help me in my journey through breast cancer. They have all helped me in differing ways. The science of breast cancer books have helped my head in understanding this disease, making sense of the various processes I am going through, and in translating the language of cancer. The personal stories help my heart. Hearing real women share their decisions, the lessons they have learned and their personal journeys have helped prepare me for the emotional side of cancer treatment. It makes me feel less lonely to hear their voices.
The self help books I have been reading are not really about cancer. These have been my "go to" books for different challenges in my life. They help me relax during times of stress, center me when I am out of balance, relax, stretch, and eat right.
The most important lesson I have taken for cancer, through many of these 'go to' books, has been the reminder to be fully present - to live in the now. When I feel especially emotional or even depressed about all that is cancer, it's usually when I am looking ahead at the many doctors and chemo appointments, or worried about how long it will take for life to return to "normal". This is not a process anyone can swallow in one bite. It's easy to worry about how hard things might be, instead of waiting to see how they really are.
When I am fully present, I enjoy the moments I am living. I focus on what is, not what might or might not be. I don't miss seeing the beautiful things around me, or the wonderful people supporting me. I can celebrate small and big improvements, moments where I feel strong and healthy, still. Life happens in the now. I can't afford to be distracted by things I can't control. I need to appreciate the moments in life as they happen, they are too precious to miss.
Sunday, June 1, 2014
Seattle Race for the Cure
Kelsey and I got up early today and, even though this is our day to sleep in, we took the ferry at 7:05am. We walked to the Seattle Center (with a quick detour at Starbucks) and participated in The Seattle Race for the Cure.
It was a bittersweet event for me. I have walked, or run, the Portland race 10 or 12 times over the years. I have been there to support women I knew, and those I did not, all who have faced breast cancer. I remember walking the Sunday after 9/11. The race was almost cancelled, but it went on because people needed to come together, to cry and to support something that still mattered during that time of sadness and confusion. Once, when Kelsey was in high school, I ran the 5K and then walked it again with Kelsey and my quilting friends. Today we didn't run and could only do the 1K walk.
But only being up for a 1K walk was not what made it bittersweet. What was hard was now being part of the survivor's club, just 4 weeks after my mastectomy. The emotion of breast cancer was still too fresh, the wounds were still too raw. I do not yet feel like a survivor. I have too many steps for my recovery before I will really be able to claim survivorship. Still, I wore the shirt and received my medal. Wearing the survivor colors earned me high fives, several hugs and a blanket that will help me through chemo. It was an amazing event and, even with all the emotion, I am glad I was there.
The race itself is a celebration of all women who face this disease. It is amazing to see so many women coming together with strength, courage and sisterhood. It is a party for those who have survived, complete with crazy costumes, noisemakers, party hats. And it's a memorial to all the women who have not, with their pictures, their stories, and many signs carried by those who loved them. Everyone there knows far too many of both. So today we came together and we laugh and we weep, we cheer and we mourn. We share the moment as sisters, husbands, children, brothers.
And then, when we are done, we hug, we support each other, and we wish for a cure. We all wish that no one else would ever need to face cancer, of any kind, ever, ever again.
It was a bittersweet event for me. I have walked, or run, the Portland race 10 or 12 times over the years. I have been there to support women I knew, and those I did not, all who have faced breast cancer. I remember walking the Sunday after 9/11. The race was almost cancelled, but it went on because people needed to come together, to cry and to support something that still mattered during that time of sadness and confusion. Once, when Kelsey was in high school, I ran the 5K and then walked it again with Kelsey and my quilting friends. Today we didn't run and could only do the 1K walk.
But only being up for a 1K walk was not what made it bittersweet. What was hard was now being part of the survivor's club, just 4 weeks after my mastectomy. The emotion of breast cancer was still too fresh, the wounds were still too raw. I do not yet feel like a survivor. I have too many steps for my recovery before I will really be able to claim survivorship. Still, I wore the shirt and received my medal. Wearing the survivor colors earned me high fives, several hugs and a blanket that will help me through chemo. It was an amazing event and, even with all the emotion, I am glad I was there.
The race itself is a celebration of all women who face this disease. It is amazing to see so many women coming together with strength, courage and sisterhood. It is a party for those who have survived, complete with crazy costumes, noisemakers, party hats. And it's a memorial to all the women who have not, with their pictures, their stories, and many signs carried by those who loved them. Everyone there knows far too many of both. So today we came together and we laugh and we weep, we cheer and we mourn. We share the moment as sisters, husbands, children, brothers.
And then, when we are done, we hug, we support each other, and we wish for a cure. We all wish that no one else would ever need to face cancer, of any kind, ever, ever again.
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