Chemo Brain and US News -

Last year,  mid-September,  I wrote a post on chemo brain. I'd link,  but I'm working from my tablet,  and I can't figure out how to do that.  Anyway,  Living Beyond Breast Cancer,  lbbc.org, shared it.  A week ago I received a call from an LBBC media rep.  Lisa Esposito, from US News wanted to write an article on chemo brain, could they put her in contact with me.

We had a great conversation,  and the story came out today.  Very nice, and I don't think she misquoted me or took things out of context.  Good reporter!

Here you go -

http://health.usnews.com/health-news/patient-advice/articles/2015/08/19/getting-the-better-of-chemo-brain

Thanks for the opportunity to share,  Lisa.

All My Ex's Live in Texas -

This story got me thinking about two of my ex's.

Last week Tempest turned 5. 5 years old, and I remember the moment she was born - seeing her beautiful top lip, knowing it was exactly like her mother's, and feeling so blessed to be at her birth. I've been blessed to be a part of her life, she was one of my biggest cheerleaders as I went through my cancer journey, and we have tons of fun together. But - this post isn't about darling Tempest.

This post is about my ex. Our divorce was final 12 years ago, right around this time of August. We were married 25.5 years (almost a marathon!). We had a troubled marriage, and I blame a lot of that on being too young to marry, living too close to a controlling father (his), and growing apart rather than together.

We've both remarried, we live in the same valley. We have rarely spoken since our divorce, coming together, congenially, for children's marriages, grandchildren's births and birthdays, a couple of funerals, that's it. And we've greeted each other with a civil buddy hug, then quickly separated and tried to not make eye contact with each other.

I tried, once, at Tempest's blessing (similar to a christening), to have a conversation, just to tell him how grateful I was that we were able to rear such beautiful children, but I think I scared him, and that conversation didn't happen.

Last week his wife did not come with him to the celebration. Scott and I, and my mother, arrived, I said hi and hugged other family, then walked to him, seated on the couch, he stood, we hugged, and then I sat down, next to him, just to see what would happen.

We visited! It was mostly a catch up on the latest news we'd heard about each other's lives and family, through our children, but we conversed. It was interesting to visit with him. In some ways I could have probably finished his sentences, and in others I was speaking to someone I'd met in the elevator. Small talk with absolutely no commitment. We were comfortable, and the conversation was good, and I had so many questions for him, so many things I wanted to share. I wanted to say to him, "Good to see you my friend, good to see you again, my friend," and as Scott and I left that evening (so glad it was Scott I was going home with), I wondered if we'd ever have a chance to do more than lightly catch up. I wonder if he'd even care to.

Several years ago, and I was single, I had a friend who became more than a friend. And we talked, long distance, for several months, making plans for a long-term visit. We shared, played 50 questions via telephone and email, and these conversations allowed both of us to look at our lives, our dreams, our motivations. In the end, we separated, and we have not seen each other since. He lives on the East Coast, I'm deep in the West, and yet there are times I yearn for a conversation with him, even in an elevator - just to catch up. I want to say the same, "Good to see you," to him. But it will never happen, ever. 

I find it extraordinarily interesting that I can hear a song, read a blogpost, smell a particular scent, see a waxing moon, feel humidity in the air, and I am in a place where I want to share with an ex, and I can't. So I send out a little beam of gratitude - for the good times, the bad times, but mostly, for today and for the memories that surround my todays. 

And - Scott is not one tiny bit jealous. (Fist bump.)

Post-cancer Treatments - Healing -

Scott and I work out every morning. It's either a trip to the gym/Cody, or a 45 minute walk. We get our exercise in, and we're allowed the time to visit, uninterrupted, before our day gets hectic.

This morning we were talking about the need for post-cancer treatment. After I finished my treatments, my doctors said, "Go home, sleep, get healthy."

Pretty vague, but that's all I really wanted at that time.

What I wish now they would have said, is this - "We're now going to turn you over to our post-cancer treatment center. Here you will have medications, vitamins, supplements, support, diet, exercise, that will help you as you put your body back together."

See, I was brought in, given a chemo tutorial, a radiation tutorial, and away I went, with my "care team" killing the good and bad in my body. But where was the care team that put me back to health? There are cancer support groups, online chat groups, "alternative" medicines, coaches, but where is the medical world when it's time to heal? Where's the package? Shouldn't there be physical therapy for post-cancer, just as there is for post-surgery?

I've had to find that on my own. And the hit and miss of this aspect of healing has been very frustrating. Turning my healthcare back to my primary care physician has not been the answer. Hormones, thyroid meds, anxiety meds have not healed me. I've had to be very assertive, at some times aggressive in finding my way to healing. And I don't think that's right! Kill me, but don't heal me! Phfff.

These days I'm exercising, lifting weights, eating clean, taking supplements, drinking lots of water and green tea, and spending some time each day reflecting and dreaming.

It's been almost 3 years since I found my lump, and I'm still finding my way to health. Bizarre.

http://peoplehouse.org/wp-content/uploads/2014/08/women-healing-from-cancer.jpeg

Comfort and Prayers -

My dad's in a precarious spot right now - his health is not holding. Prayers of comfort, both for him and my mom would be greatly appreciated.

Thanks -

Proofreading -

I spend a significant amount of time reading and editing. This summer I've been editing a Business English course. I have to be super-critical about the material I'm reviewing - watching for numbers and numerals, quotation marks, commas, periods, spacing, indents, overuse of words such as that, you, misspelled words, font size, and the list goes on and on.

Then when I read for pleasure - I find myself doing the same thing - Aaaha - found a typo, way too many you's in this paragraph, shouldn't that period be inside the quotation marks? And the list goes on. Often these errors leap off the page at me. In fact, I can read a sentence or paragraph two or three times, if it doesn't make sense the first time, to try and figure out where the error is. I think, "Where was their proofreader/editor?" "Obviously the publisher was sloppy."

This makes me a good teacher, a good editor, but it makes me critical of what I should be enjoying.

I've been thinking about that - It's one thing to be professional, critical, but it's another to be engaged in the content rather than critiquing the content.

In life, this likewise applies. I can be the proofreader, the critical one, looking for, and finding, fault in others, in myself, for that matter. As I've been caring for my father these past 2 weeks, there are plenty of times I have found fault - feeding tube kinked, nurses who didn't respond as quickly as they should have, pain meds that don't do their job, a doctor who was a little too knife happy, a room just a little too cluttered.

I have tried, diligently, this time with my dad and my mom, to, rather than be critical, be compassionate. What am I to learn from this experience? How can I be better because of what I've seen and heard? How can I be honest without being hurtful? Am I asking for too much? Can I be patient with the process? How can I care for others, make this experience good for them?

The response has been amazing, if only to me. Instead of finding fault, I have overlooked mistakes (not ignored, but a choice) and in doing so, have found peace, and ultimately, joy in this journey. And honestly, it's easier - not being the proofreader allows for me to enjoy the surroundings, the message. I'm tired, my eyes are tired of reviewing, I need a rest, I need to do something for enjoyment, but joy has filled my heart. I am not frustrated, not anxious, not upset with the situation, because I have chosen to overlooked the "" that aren't up to my standards, the over use of "that" when "who" would be better, and in doing so, I have been able to focus on the content - Dad and Mom.

Hip-Hip-Hurray!

Lord, by Your grace, 

please replace my critical spirit with 

Your love and compassion for others.

Beggars -

"For behold, Are we not all beggars?"

I see this time and time again working at the hospital, teaching at the university, and in my daily life.

What are you begging for? What do you want so much that you are willing to stand on the street corner, with a sign, and ask a stranger for?

"Don't we all cry out for help and hope and answers to prayers?"

And - one step further - what are you willing to give to a beggar - one who you do not know circumstances, status, need? Can you say you have done all you could?

Seldom do I post something religion specific, but in this I find a connection -

Financial assistance         Space               Generosity             Trouble
Shelter                           Food                 Grades                  Return
Friendship                      Peace                Leniency               Change
Relief                            Care                 Understanding        Water
Forgiveness                    Family              Faith                     Touch
Another minute               Health              More                     Tolerance
Job                                Wealth              Love                     $7.96
Time                              Hope                Mercy                   Chance

Dad - Liminality -

August 2 is my father's birthday; he'll be 84.

On July 27 my father had hip replacement surgery. It has been a week of wondering - will he live, will he die, will he rally, will he diminish, and then - what would he want. He was supposed to leave the hospital for rehab on Thursday. He didn't, and complications due to, well, stuff, mean he may, or may not, leave the hospital this next week.

It has been a liminal week - where the routines get lost in the "crisis at hand." My family is great when dealing with crisis - we know the business. We know how to drop the every day and move into motion to deal with the "event." Priorities are dropped, what was important is no longer, and what filters to the top is typically family - not nails, not swimming, not webinars, not concerts, not . . . He's not dead; he's certainly not among the living; and we're "not sure" what is next. We're all in that liminal space - in fact, a hospital is a clear example of liminality - waiting, wondering, waiting. To patients - crisis; to staff - work, every day, same thing.

July 2010, Dad, my sister, Sheri (one of those who cleared her calendar and stayed).

There are 7 of us kids, 3 of us daughters live nearby, and we have juggled home, work, family, to spend time with Mom and Dad - because both of them are in crisis.

We've had frank talks, we've laughed, we've been angry, we've talked about dying, living, last wishes, goals, and we've filtered the news from the doctors and hospital staff to our other siblings, family, friends.

It's been a circus - but one we're very comfortable with being a part of. An observer, this week, said, "Looks like you've done this before." I said, "Well, does living in the hospitality industry - whether for profit or pleasure, count? Does being an entrepreneur count? Does being an event planner count?" Because see, we know how to plan, how to shuffle, how to deal with the minutia and the grandiose, in a relatively calm fashion. It's in our genes - in our upbringing - in our makeup as Walkers and as Mormons. We know how to serve one another, how to get outside of ourselves, how to let others be in the limelight while being the messenger.

August 2 is my father's birthday - August 3 - we'll cross that bridge tomorrow. One. day. at. a. time.