Merriest Christmas!

The presents are still unopened under the tree but this is already the best Christmas yet. The blessing of my own good health is an amazing gift. But God gives more than we can ever hope to receive, as we are reminded every day with the richness our grandson has added to our lives.

Tom and I didn't just sit and play with our own children the way we do with this grandbaby. There is a twinge of sadness with that realization, but that is part of what makes being grandparents so special. We get another chance to love and adore and appreciate this little person in ways that we were too busy or too inexperienced to do with Mandy and Ben.

As I finished wrapping presents yesterday, more than once my mind wandered back to last Christmas. A year ago I was still undergoing chemotherapy but the tumor in my belly was growing again and I was looking forward to surgery as the only way to effectively attack my Cancer 2.0. My prayer then was to get the tumor out and recover enough to help Mandy take care of the baby she was due to deliver in July.

As I tried last year to look ahead to this Christmas, I thought the most I could hope for was to not have a recurrence of cancer by now. In my darkest moments, I wondered if I would even see this Christmas.

On this day of Christ's birth, my prayers have been more than answered.

Tickled

My annual family calendar has been giving my printer a workout all day, culminating a task that weighs me down but also lifts me up. Mostly, it lets me tickle my own funny bone.

Making the Mock Flock calendar has become my personal tradition, starting in 1999. Birthdays and anniversaries are the staple, but as I look back on that first calendar's grainy photos and lack of creativity, I am amazed I even thought it was worth continuing. Over the years, as we have upgraded our computer and bought new calendar software, I have supplemented the much-improved photos by adding fictional stories, made-up quotes and fantasy thought bubbles. The whole exercise amuses me more and more each year.

When November rolls around, the project weighs on me until I finally get it underway. Then as soon as I dig in, the fun begins. Tom is the only one who gets to peek while the project is in process, and he knows better than to suggest major revisions unless I ask his advice.

The format is new this year. The "Mock Flock Gazette" newspaper approach had a good run for a couple of years, leading to last year's personal ads. I won't know until the grand unveiling on Christmas Day whether I've come up with a winner for 2010, but I sure had fun creating it!

Catching the spirit

I am more behind than ever, and feeling more caught up in the Christmas spirit than if my to-do list were in better shape. It's all because of a baby.

My weekends are not my own these days. A good part of the day Saturdays, most Fridays after work and Thursday evenings are devoted to a bundle of boy who commands attention that is not easily divided among other pursuits. He likes to be held. Even if he's playing in his circular seat surrounded by all sorts of toys to grab and gum, he likes to know I am nearby.

As a result, I have spent countless hours sitting and relaxing with my grandson rather than rushing from store to store. The annual "Mock Flock" calendar I have made for my extended family for more than a decade now has yet to be started. At this rate, family members will be lucky to get it sometime in January.

The funny thing is how much at peace I am with not crossing things off my list of Christmas chores. The smiles little Dodge delivers, the innocence of his face in slumber (even if it's a brief catnap) and the content he conveys while taking his bottle are all that's important. Anything else can wait, or maybe doesn't need to be done at all.

More than once, while holding this precious boy and listening to Christmas carols on the radio, I have thought how smart God was to bring his Son to us as a baby. It's so easy to know love and wonder while beholding an infant.

Transitions

We had a wonderful visit from my son last week, but I was surprised by the emotions that surfaced after he left. Ben won't be here for Christmas, so we tried to start decorating the house to give him a bit of a feel for having been home for the holiday. We got as far as the outside lights and putting the tree up inside -- but without all the ornaments on it -- before he had to leave on Saturday morning.

There was something about saying goodbye to him, and then having our grandson here on Saturday evening, that underscored the feelings washing over me. Wasn't Ben just the baby boy in my arms the other day? How did those years pass so quickly?

The roller coaster continued on Sunday as I finally got the rest of the decorations up, including the 1984 bulb commemorating Ben's first Christmas and some ornaments he made for me over the years. My thoughts tripped back and forth from being so thankful he is happy and doing well in the South to knowing it will be tough not having him here with us on Christmas morning. My heart went out to other mothers who have lost their sons; mine is only a few states away.

I keep thinking about the e-mail Ben sent when he arrived safely back in Mississippi, and about the conversation I had with him later on Saturday night. It was good to know he enjoyed his visit home, but that he was happy to be back where he has been living since March and where he is enjoying a new relationship with a special young woman. His e-mail subject line said it all: "I'm home!" Yes, he is.

New me!

I have finally updated the photo of myself on this blog. (I think I updated it on Facebook, too, but that's another story. Still don't know how all this technology works!)

The old photo was from almost a year ago. It was taken on the occasion of Ben's OSU graduation, so it is fitting to update the picture this week, while Ben is visiting from his new home in Mississippi. I was wearing my first wig in the old photo, and the picture was taken before I accidentally fried my bangs in a New Year's Eve cooking mishap, which prompted me to get the second wig.

My new photo is with my real hair, which has grown back nicely since chemo ended in January. The curl that marked the initial regrowth is waning now, as I thought it would. My goal is to get it back to about the length it was for Mandy and Andy's wedding in 2006.

Here's the best reason of all for updating my photo -- the good report I had from the doctor this week. My most recent MRI showed no new concerns and no problems with the areas we have been watching! As a result, my OSU oncologist has lengthened my leash and doesn't need to see me again until March! The coming holidays are feeling very, very happy!

Thanksgiving renewal

A year ago I devoted several blog posts to recounting my blessings. And that was in the middle of chemo treatments for a stubborn tumor that would remain in my gut for another three months before finally being excised! How much more blessed am I today, having enjoyed nine months of recovery and good health and the birth of my first grandchild?

Yet why is it that in the midst of the best times, we are more reticent in proclaiming the goodness around us? That is the irony that has me feeling ashamed this morning for neglecting this journal and for taking any aspect of my life for granted.

Thank goodness for the season that is now upon us! We shouldn't need a special holiday for thanks-giving, but it is a great reminder that there is much for which to be thankful, whether you have faced a cancer scare or not.

In this coming week, I will hear the results of last week's follow-up MRI, and I pray it will be continued good news. I know a troubling diagnosis would drive me back to this blog more regularly for the solace it offers, helping me reach out to friends and family for their support. How much better if I could use this blog not for myself but to help others find what they need to get through the day! My prayer today is to be thankful every day and to use my renewed health for God's greater purpose.

Whole new wardrobe

"Nice suit," my coworker remarked yesterday. "Ann Taylor?"

Her comment stopped me short. I couldn't remember the origin of the dark jacket and slacks. All I knew was it came from my great new place for fall and winter clothes -- the spare closet in my daughter's old bedroom. That's where I had moved clothing last fall that I could no longer fit into because of the growing tumor in my abdomen.

Later in the day I checked the label and saw my colleague's guess had been correct. Then I remembered the wonderful day of shopping I had enjoyed with my sister in August 2008 during a trip with our husbands to Las Vegas. We had perused great stores up one side of the Strip and back down, including two different Ann Taylors. But as the weather grew cooler last year and I started eying the purchases I had made for my fall and winter wardrobe, I could not zip or button the wool suit that had fit perfectly in August.

I remember the sadness I felt last year while moving my unwearable clothes -- some of them brand new -- out of sight to the spare closet. The memory makes it all the sweeter now to move those clothes back where they belong.

New eyes

I am seeing with new eyes this morning, and my improved vision is spiritual as much as it is physical.

The physical improvement is amazing! I visited the eye doctor yesterday and told her my sad story: I couldn't read anything close without putting on my cheater glasses. I had them deployed in strategic places -- in a half dozen places around the house, in my office and in my purse. My sunglasses even had bifocal lenses for reading. I wore my contacts only once or twice a week because they didn't help much at all.

I left the eye doctor's with new multi-focal contacts and instructions to try to go without using the cheaters while testing the lenses for the next week. What cheaters? I glanced at my watch and immediately saw I wouldn't need reading lenses over these contacts. At work, I reached for my glasses a couple of times out of habit but never needed to bring them up to my eyes.

The clarity of my new contacts is a nice metaphor for the revelations that have come with my Cancer 2.0 experience of the last year. The eye-opening was not as sudden, but I see life differently now for having faced a serious medical challenge and experienced the grace and comfort of God's love and the amazing support of family and friends to get through it.

A wonderful treat awaits me later today. A large part of my positive outlook on life these days is less about my cancer recovery than it is the tiny bundle that is my grandson. I can't wait to look into his face with my new vision!

Off the list

Try as we might to be humble and selfless, there is something about human nature that prompts most of us to look for our own names when any kind of list is posted, be it for bad news or good. This morning I looked as usual for my name at the end of the alphabetical prayer list in the Sunday bulletin at church and was a little surprised when it wasn't there.

I hadn't asked the church to take my name off, but I had grown increasingly uncomfortable with seeing it there. I have been feeling so healthy and strong, and all my tests lately have been good, so I had wondered if it was time to let go of that lifeline.

My mixed thoughts were similar to when my treatment for breast cancer finally ended in 1997; glad to be done with needing the treatment but also feeling a bit naked to go without it.

Being off the church's prayer list is freeing. It is another confirmation that I am well. I hope it is also an omen to others who remain on the list that their time to turn the corner to good health is coming.

A long walk

A year ago today I was experiencing my first "chemo crash" from having received a double dose of drugs the Friday before. It was tough, but I had high expectations for killing off the cancer cells growing in my abdomen, so my spirits were good.

Fast forward 365 days. There are similarities in that parts of today were also tough, and there was a bit of a crash, but I'll take walking a half-marathon over a double dose of chemo any day. The trek today through Downtown Columbus and several surrounding neighborhoods is nothing compared to my journey of the past 12 months.

On that day a year ago, I remember having trouble walking from the bed upstairs to the sofa downstairs. That was about the extent of my exercise that day. Today, I walked 13.1 miles with my daughter. My son-in-law ran the Columbus Half Marathon but Mandy and I were just as proud of our finish in less than four hours; it was mostly about finishing it.

The original game plan was for this to have occurred last year. Mandy had registered the three of us. Then she and I spent much of last summer training for it with progressively longer walks. When Mandy hurt her foot while training and I discovered the lump in my abdomen, the Columbus Marathon folks carried our registration over to this year.

Mandy's year has been one of great accomplishment as well. She is now the proud mother of Dodge, who wasn't yet on the horizon when we had to postpone our 13-mile walk last year.

We can't know what obstacles the other walkers, the runners and the hand-cyclers overcame to get to the finish line today, but I doubt crossing it was much sweeter for any of them than it was for us.

Threes

I need a new prayer list.

During my Cancer 2.0 ordeal of the past year, I started keeping a written list of people for whom I wanted to pray. I had been so touched by hearing from others that I was on their personal prayer list, I knew I needed a list of my own.

They say death comes in threes, so I was a bit anxious when two women on my prayer list died recently within a week of each other. I heard at work yesterday morning about the death of a third -- the only daughter of someone I know professionally. I had never met Samantha, but the story of her courageous fight with a blood cancer had touched me.

Now I am struggling to reconcile my feelings about having lost three people from my prayer list in such a short period. I know it is irrational, but I can't help wonder if I didn't pray hard enough, or often enough, for the people on my list. Then there is the comfort that none of these three is suffering any more. Each of them had endured a very difficult year fighting their various cancers. My experience was mild by comparison.

Prayers are answered, I know, but not always in ways we anticipate or would design. As I redo my prayer list today, I will ask God to increase my faith that His plan is greater than we can imagine.

Alleluia!

I am so excited I can hardly stand it. I finally have some breathing room!

While I have been feeling great for months now, there was always a little "but...." tacked on to each new test result. Every time the doctors would order a follow-up test to look closer at some new spot or shadow, the area under suspicion would pass muster, but some new finding would crop up that needed further examination. It was like being on a tether that would only let me reach so far to freedom.

Yesterday, the leash finally broke! My primary oncologist had asked the thoracic surgeon to see me after Friday's chest CT and MRI of the lower back. I braced to hear about some new development as I met with the doctor and his assistant, or even worse, that the spots they were watching merited concern. Instead, the doctor said the latest tests showed very good news, and he didn't add any "buts!"

A hymn we sang in church a couple of weeks ago is running through my head this morning. "Make my life an alleluia" seems very appropriate to my current frame of mind. Given that my medical care since February's surgery has been at OSU, I am also thinking of the university's tag line in recent years: Do something great!

There's nothing like a serious health threat being lifted to make you recommitted to making the most of your life. Can I get an "Amen?"

PETs and haircuts

I'm playing hooky from the gym this morning. My workout buddy has notified me she wouldn't be there, so I am grabbing this time to chronicle good news from my latest doctor's visit: my PET scan from last week showed no signs of cancer in the two areas under surveillance from prior tests. My liver and lungs were clear!

The scenario playing out yesterday afternoon is becoming familiar. Follow-up medical tests on the spots we were watching failed to show any confirmation of problems, but a couple of new shadows appeared, bringing other areas under watch. When the doctor stepped out of the room after reporting on the PET scan, Tom and I shared smiles and a layer of tension neither of us had wanted to acknowledge lifted.

PET scans use a radioactive glucose injection to highlight hypermetabolic hot spots that could indicate the presence of cancer or other problems. MRIs were scheduled for two new, slight shadows in my chest and lower back, but the doctor is more cautious than concerned. The chest may be nothing; the spine could be a touch of arthritis. Better to take a closer look to be certain, the doctor said.

With each new series of tests, I am reminded of how generously I am blessed, and I give thanks for all the many prayers that have carried me through this past year.

I am seeing a new hair stylist this evening to give a bit more shape to my curls. I had hoped I wouldn't need to cancel the appointment because of the prospect of new chemotherapy. Happily, I will tell her I plan to let my hair grow for a while!

Girlfriends and angels

Five friends from high school -- including my best friend since grade school -- got together for dinner the other night. We have been seeing more of each other in recent months, holding tight to our friendship in honor of a sixth who had moved out West years ago and was having a tough time with cancer. This week's dinner was especially important because our ailing friend, nicknamed "Bird," had lost her fight a few days earlier.

The first two to arrive were sharing a 1970 photo of the two of them with Bird. It was a beautiful fall evening and our meeting place was the outdoor patio of a new restaurant we had been wanting to try. As the two reminisced about happier times full of promise, an especially bright shaft of evening light caused them to look up just in time to see a small, white feather float out of nowhere and gently light on the empty sixth chair at the head of the table.

I was the last one there, and as I started to take the closest open spot, the others cried out, "Don't sit there! That's Bird's seat!" Then I heard the story of how she had joined our party that evening.

More memories were shared and old pictures were passed around the table. None of us doubted that the tiny feather was anything but a happy greeting from our friend who had passed. At some point during the gathering, Bird was suddenly gone. She had flitted away unseen by any of us, and that was very much in character. She was always a free spirit, and we will miss her.

What the doctor ordered

My vacation week that is now in wind-down mode could not have been better. (Well, maybe the weather could have been a lot drier for the long drive home that ended in the wee hours of this morning, but that was the only downside.)

It's hard to beat a week away from work and its daily stresses to relax with some of your favorite people in the world, especially when one of those people is your first grandchild. We all agreed we could see baby Dodge grow and get stronger and more alert over the course of the week. His sweet disposition was perfect, even during the long drives that stretched to 15 hours with stops to eat, stretch and fill up the gas tank.

Tom and I had taken a vacation trip to Gettysburg about this time last year, and we enjoyed ourselves immensely, but my anxiousness over the diagnosis I was awaiting and the rapidly growing lump in my abdomen combined to put me in extreme pain by the time we drove home from that trip.

I tumbled into bed early this morning tired but content; feeling healthy and enjoying fresh memories of a wonderful week on the Mississippi Gulf Coast. The contrast to the return home a year ago was stark: on that trip, Tom had to help me up the stairs and into bed. Looking toward the fall and winter ahead, anticipating the joy of watching my grandson grow, I could not feel more content or more blessed.

Baby stealing

I am back at my favorite luxury resort with a new favorite morning routine.

The place is my sister's home on the Mississippi Gulf Coast. The new way to start my day is to steal my grandson out of the bedroom where he is sleeping with my daughter. It's a mutually beneficial arrangement that gives me special time with the baby and lets his mom sleep a few more hours undisturbed.

This little guy is such a sweetheart! Right now he is sleeping contentedly next to me, sharing a sofa in the sun room as my sister and I enjoy our morning coffee with quiet conversation, noting today's sunny weather forecast.

A bottle is ready for whenever the baby starts stirring and sends signals that he is ready for another feeding. He has simple demands and is easily satisfied. In return, he gives so much joy with his increasingly more intent gazes and meaningful coos.

My morning gym routine at home is a good way to start the day, too, but it can't compare to baby stealing.

Looking up

I will forever associate my Cancer 2.0 experience with the economy. As I was starting to deal with grim medical tests and treatments last fall and winter, the nation was gripped with fears and uncertain outlooks over the economy. My healing in recent months has been happily on track with a healthier financial prognosis. As my follow-up medical tests showed promise, so too, have signs of a strengthening economy.

Now I have seen the ultimate evidence that the recession is over, and I am hopeful that my upcoming PET scan next week will also point toward continuing recovery.

It was not the financial prognosticators who persuaded me the economy is brightening, although those experts have been espousing signs of hope. The unlikely clue was found in newspaper ads I was thumbing through. I had never seen this particular product before, but its appearance struck me as a sure sign of better times ahead. Why else would manufacturers bring such a frivolous product to market?

The harbinger of a strong economy on the horizon: motorized mascara!

The tiny wand of eyelash color had a motor at one end to vibrate the bristles, although I am not quite sure for what cosmetic benefit. How lazy would you have to be to need a motor in place of the tiny bit of wrist movement needed to brush the mascara wand just so?

The biggest benefit of this new device must be comic relief. The sheer joy of feeling cash-confident enough to throw a few dollars away on such silliness can't help but bring on a smile, if not an outright giggle. Looking good, indeed!

The best birthday

I do not intend to spend the entire coming year in constant comparison to my year spent fighting Cancer 2.0, but yesterday's flashbacks were inevitable. The contrasts were too sharp; my 57th birthday was glorious, especially in comparison to birthday number 56.

Last year's birthday pointed toward a difficult and uncertain future. I had just learned the fast-growing lump in my abdomen was probably cancer, and my surgeon was calling for more tests rather than a quick excision. Tom and I had a quiet dinner at a nice restaurant but the evening was more fitful than festive. While awaiting doctors' findings, I had not shared news of my lump with family and friends, so my support system was not yet activated.

The love, prayers and good wishes that carried me through this past year all flowed back to me yesterday, reminding me that I did not go through my battle alone. Birthday wishes conveyed in e-mails, on posts to my Facebook page, through telephone calls and in hallways at work conveyed deeper meaning this year. I felt again the outpouring of human spirit that buoyed me up during low times of the previous 12 months.

To top off a great start to a new year, Tom and I went with my lifelong best friend and her husband to see the Cincinnati Reds finish a home series by sweeping the Astros. In a wonderful surprise, my friend had arranged a birthday greeting to me on the scoreboard at the end of the third inning. The 10,000-plus fans at the game who might have seen it had no idea how special a birthday it really was.

One year and counting

Today is the anniversary of when I discovered my Cancer 2.0. What a year it has been.

I didn't know what I had found when I became aware of a new presence in my abdomen. Surprisingly, cancer was not the first thing on my mind. I had come that far since my breast cancer in 1996 that I no longer attributed every ache and pain to a cancer recurrence. Certainly in the first year after a cancer diagnosis and treatment, recurrence is never far from your mind. But not after 12 years.

The highs and lows of this past year have been the most extreme of my life. I sit here now in wonder that I feel as well as I do, remembering times when I wondered if there would be a first anniversary of my Cancer 2.0 discovery; it was that much scarier than the breast cancer.

Surviving the surgery and recovering so fully were highs in their own right, but neither compares with the euphoria of holding my first grandchild. I know this baby would have been amazing without the interruption of cancer, but he is even more because of the determination he gave me to get well so I could be his grandma.

I look forward to many, many anniversaries of this day. I intend to fill the days in between with gratitude for every milestone, and with God's help, to finding ways to be a blessing to others.

Cancer's impact

Cancer doesn't define me, but it colors my life. That was my predominate thought a few days ago as I prepared for an interview with a writer for a local magazine.

The magazine is doing a story about local women executives who have had breast cancer, and I was thrilled when asked to be one of the subjects. As I tried to anticipate the interviewer's questions, I kept coming back to that bottom line: cancer is not who I am, but it is a big part of who I have become.

I have accomplished a lot and enjoyed many beautiful times since my first cancer diagnosis in 1996. I will never know for sure if having survived cancer was a propelling force that pushed me further than I would have traveled otherwise, but I suspect it has been a great motivator. I do know that I have a deeper appreciation for what is good and fulfilling than if I had not battled cancer; especially having been through this exercise twice!

It is true, I told the writer: what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. In fact, I have felt much healthier in my post-cancer life than before. Good health has been more of a quest; I have worked harder to achieve wellness and to enjoy it than I ever did before my first cancer diagnosis.

It will be interesting in a few months to read about the other women in the article. I anticipate more similarities than differences in our stories. Cancer is the club no one asks to join, but once you're in, the bonds with others are strong.

Advancing nicely

This past week was a wonderful milepost that, at times, I wasn't sure I would reach. It was the annual retreat of the OHA Board, and last year's retreat was one of the last big events I enjoyed before discovering my Cancer 2.0.

The retreat is a busy combination of meetings, golf and business socializing in a beautiful setting away from home. Last year I started the days with 6 a.m. workouts in the hotel gym with one of our Board members and kept going through late-night group dinners. Throughout my treatment of the past year, the retreat was a target I was working to reach. My goal was to not only get there but engage in all the activities I enjoyed before, especially the golf!

So, even though waking up at 5:30 to be in the gym by 6 a.m. was tough in the resort setting, it felt great to be following that same action-packed routine. The biggest difference I encountered was a surprise, but I view it as a positive sign of my healthier lifestyle today. After two days of late-night dining with richer food and heavier lunches, I felt awful. My body was accustomed to healthier, more nutritious eating and did not like the change. It was a good reminder that how we fuel our bodies is important.

Years ago OHA had a Board chair who objected to calling this annual event a "retreat" because he didn't like the idea of falling back. During his term, we called it the Advance. This year, the retreat certainly was an advance for me!

The mystery continues

I love a great mystery, and none may be as intriguing as the one that has my doctors scratching their heads right now.

It is not a "whodunit" but a "what-is-it?" that is sending the physicians into new consultations with each other. The current conundrum deepened this week when I went in for what was supposed to be a CT-guided needle biopsy and the doctor assigned to that task raised doubts about the tiny little liver spot he was supposed to examine.

A follow-up MRI was performed Thursday, and the report I received Friday said the area they were examining -- identified as a "target-shaped lesion" -- was "only faintly visualized on the current study." It still doesn't mean there is nothing there, but this outcome is more positive than if they had been able to confirm a troublesome spot in the MRI.

I have been mentally sending my cancer-fighting cells to my liver several times a day with orders to seek out and destroy any cancer cells they find there. And I know lots of good prayers have been offered up for my health, including my sister's special pleas for "pick-axing angels" to attack any cancer cells that threaten to linger in my body.

Another test -- this time a PET scan -- will be done in a month to see if it turns up anything more definitive in my liver or elsewhere in my abdomen. By then, I figure all these prayers and positive visualizations for my health will have had time to wipe my liver clean! Here's hoping the mid-September PET scan will put a happy ending on this mystery.

Needless needle?

Yesterday was supposed to be the day for a needle biopsy of a spot on my liver that was labeled suspicious in my latest CT scan. Instead, the doctor who was going to do the biopsy had doubts about whether the biopsy was needed and opted for more testing.

Tom and I wondered what was taking so long for the CT-guided needle biopsy after we arrived at the hospital and I was prepped for the procedure. When things finally got underway, I was taken for an ultrasound instead of a CT scan. The technician explained the doctor wanted to see if the spot was visible in the ultrasound, which might be used to guide his needle instead of the scanner. A short while later, she ushered in the doctor and they noted the spot was not showing up on the ultrasound.

That didn't mean definitively that the spot was no longer there, the doctor explained, but it opened up the possibility that whatever had been detected on the earlier scan might not be a problem. The doctor explained that the spot was very close to my heart, so it would be tricky to biopsy and must be done very carefully. He wanted to be sure a biopsy is really needed before poking around in that area.

Next up will be an MRI to take a better look. Then if a biopsy is still needed, it will likely be done with the doctor inserting a tiny camera to look at the area.

Yesterday's outcome was not full vindication for the suspicious spot, but it felt like prayers for a good outcome have been heard.

Good medicine

I think I have discovered a new treatment for high blood pressure -- holding your grandchild.

High blood pressure has never been one of my problems, but if it were, the contentment that flows from cuddling a grandbaby would surely drop the readings to optimum levels. It is a feeling like no other -- relaxation, wonder, love and appreciation all rolled into euphoric bliss.

Tom and I were fortunate to get our Dodge fix three out of the last four days. We're trying to see him as much as we can before his paternal grandfather and step-grandmother arrive for a visit this weekend, when we'll have to fade back for a while and let them get their fill of him.

Holding your grandchild must be good medicine for anything that ails you. I know snuggling this little grandson of mine makes me feel amazingly well and determined to stay that way.

Suspicious

Why is it that the word "suspicious" is almost always used in a foreboding sense? We even call bad guys "suspects" before it is proven they have done anything wrong. Is it because we tend to expect the bad instead of the good?

I am keeping a positive outlook on my continuing recovery from Cancer 2.0, but that word -- suspicious -- was the lone raincloud in an otherwise sunny report yesterday from my latest CT scan on Thursday. There is a suspicious new spot on my liver that will get a closer look in a few days with a CT-guided needle biopsy.

On the upside, the doctors had been watching a small shadow on one lung that showed up in my previous CT scan in May. It was not even enough to be labeled suspicious then and there was no sign of it in this latest report, so that was good news.

For now, I am concentrating on suspecting another good outcome when they look closer at my liver. Mentally, I am rounding up the cancer-fighting cells in my body and dispatching them to my liver to seek out and kill any suspects they may find there; it is take-no-prisoners time.

Happy Monday!

Monday is one of my most dreaded days, and one of my favorite days, all rolled into one.

The dread is for the same reasons many of us are not fond of Monday. It is the return to work; an abrupt halt to the weekend's pleasurable pursuits; going from what I want to do to what I have to do. And most Mondays mean lots of time spent in meetings that usually don't feel very productive. Meetings to organize the work week; meetings to catch up with on-going projects; meetings for the sake of meeting it seems.

Then, coming just when I need a break, is my Monday evening golf league! It is a sweet reward for having endured the merry-go-round of Monday meeting mania. Leaving the office a tad earlier than usual -- in contrast to all the days I am there past quitting time -- I break free and am suddenly outside in the sunshine, with green grass and fresh air all around.

The pleasure I get from golf is highly disproportionate to the skill I display. I should be much better for how much I love it. You can't be very good at golf when you usually play only nine holes a week, with an occasional spurt of a couple of full rounds a week on vacation or during a work retreat at a golf resort. Even so, my game was helped by our June vacation to Mississippi. My son and sister fixed my grip -- making it more of a golf swing than a remnant of my years growing up with a baseball bat in my hands.

My guide for a decent round over the years has been to shoot my age for nine holes. It was a decent target before I turned 50 but now isn't much to brag about. Last week I shot just under my age! I can't turn back the clock, but maybe I can continue taking strokes off my game.

Lots to smile about

The week ahead will be special.

Ben will be home for a few days to attend my niece's wedding next Saturday. I have the great honor of doing a reading at the wedding. Our grandson's paternal grandmother will be visiting from Texas.

Last, and I hope not the very least of all, I will have my next round of CT scans. If there are no signs of cancer recurrence when I see the doctor on Friday, he will extend the CT scans from two-month intervals to three months apart.

I have no reason to expect anything but a positive outcome. I feel as healthy and almost as strong as I did a year ago. Getting back to the gym a couple mornings a week these past two weeks has been a nice high point of my recovery. But for my short curls and the scar up my tummy, there are few reminders of my cancer ordeal in my daily routines now.

It will be wonderful to gather next Saturday to celebrate Lauren's wedding and welcome Ryan to our family. I will proudly carry my grandma's book of photos of baby Dodge, and I will wear the smile of a thankful cancer survivor.

Perfect!

I can't count the number of times in the last few days that I have stopped to marvel at the miracle that is my grandson.

For starters, he is just beautiful! I know every grandparent says that, and now I understand why. It is true you can't appreciate how wonderful it is to have a grandchild until you do.

The contentment I feel at this moment is almost overwhelming. I have taken another day off work to try to be a good grandma. Baby Dodge is sleeping a few feet away in his Pack 'n Play, Mandy and Andy are getting some much-needed sleep upstairs and even their dog in sleeping quietly in his bed next to my chair. What peacefulness and joy!

My son commented a few days ago about all that has transpired since we first learned Mandy and Andy were expecting this wonderful blessing. Ben has graduated from OSU and moved into a new phase in his life, with good signs of promise for his future. I had successful surgery and have recovered well, with no signs of recurring cancer. We will soon celebrate my neice's wedding.

The nice thing about the tough times in our lives is how sweet they make the good times. I feel very blessed by all the experiences I have had.

Oh baby!

"Let the spoiling begin!"

Tom and I hadn't even met our new grandson this morning when the brand-new grandpa uttered those words. The doctor had just popped into the maternity ward waiting room to tell us our grandson had been born, and the baby and our daughter were doing fine.

We shared some joyful tears and hugs and then couldn't wipe the silly smiles off our faces while we waited to go greet the little guy. I still can't stop smiling!

His name is Dodge, and he wears it well. He weighs 8 pounds and an ounce, and stretches out 21 1/2 inches long. His skin is a beautiful pink and he has a nice cap of dark hair. Could he be any more beautiful or perfect? I don't think so.

My mind keeps wandering ahead today, picturing the many firsts we look forward to experiencing with this amazing new person in our lives. The perspective of being a grandparent is fantastic -- we have an idea of what Mandy and Andy can look forward to and the experience to know they'll get through even the tough times just fine.

One of their biggest challenges will be to keep us from spoiling the kid rotten!

Gym dandy

It is strange to wake up with sore arm pits, and to smile about it, but that is my situation this morning. The soreness is pleasant because it is a souvenir of my overdue return to the gym.

The tiny ache at the corners of my chest remind me of the bench presses I did yesterday morning. The weights I used were half what I had hoisted easily before my battle with Cancer 2.0 -- just five pounds on each end of the heavy bar. And the repetitions I did were far fewer. But at least I was back!

My gym buddy from work had also gotten out of the morning exercise habit during my hiatus as she dealt with an injury that also sidelined her for a while. Now she has recommitted with me to renew our workouts. As with any challenge, tackling this with a partner makes it a little easier to accomplish. We made it to the gym one day last week, committed to three days this week and should soon be back to our five-day practice.

I am returning to the gym with extra resolve. In the Anti-Cancer book that I have become such a fan of this summer, regular exercise is noted as a key health strategy. Lifting weights is lifting me up as well!

High expectations

Yesterday was the date Mandy had calculated as her due date, and her baby stayed stubbornly in her womb. Tomorrow is the doctor's estimated delivery date, but it is not likely the baby will come then, either. At her weekly appointment on Friday, the doctor told Mandy there had been no progress toward delivery since the week before.

I know this is not an easy time for Mandy but I am absolutely blissful. It is not only the excitement of expecting my first grandchild. My high spirits are also due to my amazingly strong state of health.

It wasn't so long ago that I wondered if I would be well enough to even hold my grandchild at this point. There were times I contemplated being in the hospital concurrently with Mandy -- me receiving follow-up chemotherapy while she delivered her baby.

The vigor I feel now is incredible. The healing I have experienced is a miracle; running a close second to the miracle of birth. The circumstances of this past year make me all the more determined to carefully nurture this wonderful machine that is my body -- not just for me but also so I can fulfill my duties as a grandma!

Wash day revelations

I was about to start washing a load of clothes this morning when something on the agitator in the center of the washing machine caught my eye. I looked closer at the brownish mark and realized I needed to wash out my washing machine.

Residue had built up inside the fabric softener dispenser and turned into an unsightly gunk that was keeping the dispenser from draining completely. I fiddled with the dispenser until I was finally able to pull it apart. Peering down, I was horrified to find a thin layer of smelly water at the bottom. Triple yuck! How in the world could we expect to clean clothes in a stinky washer?

As I scrubbed the dispenser and the rest of the washing machine, it struck me there was a larger lesson here. It was more than just the old adage -- take good care of your tools and they will take care of you. Something bigger was beckoning.

I think it was this: What residue builds up in our lives when we go about our routines without taking them apart every now and then for closer inspection? Where do we let little things accumulate unnoticed until they turn stagnant?

Those seem to be good questions to ask on a rainy Saturday afternoon.

Flying dog hair

When Mandy was about to be born nearly 30 years ago, my mother was hovering anxiously, offering all kinds of help to get ready for the baby. I was pretty calm, especially in contrast to her nervous energy, and I declined her offer to give my house a good cleaning. I tried to assure her that we were ready for the birth, but her exasperation came out as she blurted, "You can't bring a new baby home to a house with all that flying dog hair!"

Mom's endearing comment has come back to me many times over the years and especially as I try to keep from uttering a similar declaration.

I understand now better than ever what was at the heart of her warning. It had nothing to do with dog hair and everything to do with the difference in our experiences. She spoke from the perspective of having raised five children and knowing all the challenges and rewards I faced. My view was naively confident, knowing nothing about parenthood but believing I was prepared for whatever it entailed.

I am trying not to hover too much in these last few days before my daughter delivers her son, nor is there any need. Mandy and Andy have done a wonderful job preparing their house, and their hearts, to welcome a baby.

But if I slip up and make an anxious-grandma proclamation of my own, I think they will understand. In our family, "flying dog hair" has become legend as just another way to say, "I love you."

Freedom

What are you celebrating on this Independence Day? For me, freedom is another way to view my many blessings against the backdrop of this past year.

Last year's 4th of July was not especially remarkable, I hate to admit. I'm sure there was some sort of celebration and family get-together, but I had lost that edge of being thankful and appreciative for the big as well as the little things, that edge that being a cancer survivor gives you.

My view of freedom today is sharper. The freedoms I am celebrating include not only our amazing civil liberties but also the freedom to seek and find great medical care, the freedom to travel for second opinions, even the freedom to share my cancer experience in this blog.

Looking ahead, I anticipate celebrating many more freedoms in the coming year. At the top of the list will be freedom to spoil a new grandchild silly, freedom to pursue my health with new vigor and freedom to live my life with new fullness and purpose.

Living in appreciation of our blessings may be the best way to celebrate freedom every day.

Call me Curly

There's something liberating about going away for a few days and coming back with a new look. In my case, it is my newly regrown short, curly hair. Just as winter was a good time to have wigs warming my scalp left bare by chemo, summer is a great time to sport my still-short regrowth.

I tested the look in the safety of family and strangers while visiting my son, sister and brother-in-law last week. It still needed some work when I returned home. My daughter and another sister encouraged me to try some hair paste to give it a bit more body.

In church on Sunday -- a place where I always receive encouragement -- several people commented favorably on the new do, giving me the confidence to go wigless to work the past two days. More compliments greeted me at the office.

The big test was last night when I gathered with dear friends from high school for a girls' night out. Their smiles and hugs were all the more approval I needed to put my wigs back on the closet shelf.

I have enjoyed my wigs for the past eight months but it's nice to have my own hair back again. The short curls may not be my most-desired look, but they are another nice reminder of the good direction my life is headed.

Digging deeper

I'm heading back to work this morning with a determination not to let it become a return to routine. I want to hold onto an important lesson from my week off: I can control how I experience my life, and it is important to live every day with gusto.

The profound book I read while on vacation, Anti-cancer, A New Way of Life, is a wonderful blueprint for living every day with purpose. Author David Servan-Schreiber is both a physician and a two-time cancer survivor who has pulled together and translated a wealth of research for living healthier for all of us, not just cancer patients. He looks at our environment, the food we eat, the benefits of physical activity and how we see our world.

He describes how an experience with cancer can put a new filter on your vision. If we're lucky, we use that filter to see the colors of our lives more deeply and to take greater joy in simple pleasures; we live more fully in the present.

There are many ways to cultivate a positive outlook. One of the best reasons for staying positive every day is that it is an important ingredient in building and maintaining an anti-cancer life.

I'm back!

With apologies to regular readers of this blog for my recent absence, I am happy to report I am back in full force and on many levels. My vacation of this past week restored me in many ways.

The respite from work was more needed than I realized. Things had been nonstop since my first day back from surgery, and they still hadn't slowed when I skipped town. I felt bad for leaving some projects, but an occasional check of my e-mail assured me work was progressing without me. I was finally able to unplug enough to relax.

Being able to spend time with my son and to see how he has acclimated to living and working on the Gulf Coast with my sister and her husband was especially uplifting. Tom remarked several times at how Ben has matured in his new environment. We celebrated his 25th birthday, knowing his future is bright.

This vacation also allowed me to fill in the last piece that had been missing from my physical recovery -- exercise! Joy and I started walking and jogging in the mornings, and yesterday I returned to the gym for the first time since Cancer 2.0 interfered last September. It was great to be back!

Going forward, I have new guidance for good health in an amazing book a friend gave me. Anti-Cancer, A New Way of Life, is written by a physician who has gone through two bouts with brain cancer. I was afraid to pick it up as bedtime reading. I needed to sit by the pool in the sun before I was mentally ready to open this book. I haven't quite finished it, but I have read enough to commit to changing my diet and my thinking for the better. This is one of those books I will encourage everyone I know to read for their own good health.

With good rest, good times with family, and good counsel for good health, I am ready to move forward and celebrate my many blessings.

Unplug me!

What's wrong with this picture? I am at my sister's beautiful home on the Mississippi Gulf Coast, visiting with her, my brother-in-law and our son, and I continue to check e-mail and participate in conference calls for work.

I am having trouble unplugging from the office and embracing vacation, and I fear it will continue at least through today. Thank goodness it is Friday and those back in Columbus will have the sense to at least take the weekend off.

Maybe someone should pry my fingers off my cell phone and drag me out to the pool, where the sun can relax my tense brain and coax me into vacation mode. Hearing the pleasant water sounds might force me to turn off the voices that keep asking if I need to call the office. They know how to get in touch with me if I am desperately needed, which I won't be; they are all plenty capable on their own.

I need to remind myself that R&R is as much mental as physical; that I need to take time to re-energize not only my body but also my mind and soul. And you can't do that with a Blackberry in hand.

Before and after

One of the absolute truths about cancer is the demarcation it creates in your life.

The list of life-altering events by which most of us track our days is small. Graduation from high school or college, marriage, jobs, home purchases are among the things that cause us to think in "before and after" terms, some to greater degree than others.

For me, a cancer diagnosis is at the top of the list. Once it occurs, everything that follows is touched by it in some way, and even events that preceded the diagnosis are viewed differently in hindsight.

The weird thing, though, is that the changes wrought by cancer are not all bad. I have written before about the filter cancer has put on my perspective, helping me to see more clearly what is important and precious in my life. As my health and routines return to normal, I am able to see great wonder and beauty in what I might previously have taken for granted.

As I consider this unexpected blessing, my prayer is to live in a way that helps those I encounter see through the cancer filter without having to endure cancer themselves. How should I treat others, how can I best use my time and talents, if the preciousness of my life remains in clearer focus? It's a question I never want to forget to keep asking myself.

Re-adjusting the scales

It's a sure sign of how crazy busy I've been when I realize the end of the week is here and I haven't updated this blog since Sunday. Too many early-morning meetings have crowded into my schedule, following too many long days in the office with too many to-dos not yet crossed off the list.

Pressure is building at work as we continue to fight political battles in the state budget process and prepare for three days of our annual meeting next week. There have been moments I even feared work obligations will prevent me from getting on a plane with Tom the morning after the annual meeting ends to spend a long-awaited vacation week in Biloxi.

But this vacation is too important to delay. We'll celebrate Ben's birthday and have a chance to see for ourselves how well he has acclimated to living and working on the Gulf Coast. I will also celebrate time off work not necessitated by medical issues -- something that hasn't happened since last fall.

There were moments during my six weeks' recuperation from surgery that I questioned whether I was really needed at the office; things seemed to be getting done fine without me. Once I was back, it didn't take long for me to work myself into believing my role is indispensable. That, more than anything, is reason to take vacation time away next week. It's time for a work-life balance reality check!

Grandmahood

I've been thinking a lot lately about the little baby boy who will soon be entering our lives. His expected arrival is barely a month away!

All kinds of activity has been stirred up in anticipation. I will attend a second shower for Mandy this afternoon; this one with some of her former coworkers. Andy and Mandy have been decorating not only the baby's room but also other areas of their home in preparation for the many guests who will want to come see the baby. Friends and family are offering advice on potential names.

Amidst all of this, I have had two predominant thoughts:
1. Mandy and Andy will make great parents!
2. Do I remember enough about babies to uphold my duties as a grandma?

That second thought is a bit scary. It never occurred to me when I was a new mother that my mom and Tom's mom would not have the answers I needed, whatever my questions might be about how to care for baby Mandy. They were grandmas, after all. They would just know!

I approach my own grandmahood wondering how I will tap into the knowledge base all grandmas are expected to possess. I am banking, once again, on the advice my own mother offered when I shared my concern with her. Just love him. The rest will come naturally, was her answer.

If loving this little baby is the key, the rest should be easy!

Hugs

I have always been somewhat reserved when it comes to showing affection, but that has changed. My hug trigger has been reset to a new low threshold.

I attribute my new quickness to embrace to the medical battle I have fought since last fall. There is something about the physical connection of a hug that seems so life-affirming to me now. It says without words, "I'm here. You're here. We're both still alive and kicking."

In recent months I have found myself hugging people in church, colleagues at work, friends I run into on the street without hesitation, and then thinking afterward how nice it was, and how unlike me it was. Suddenly I am initiating the contact, and it feels so right.

Every now and then -- especially with family members who have never known me to be overly affectionate -- I fall back into my reserved ways. It's funny how not hugging now makes me feel more awkward than going with my new tendency.

I can't make up for all the potential hugs I shied away from in the past, but there will be a lot fewer missed opportunities going forward. Especially in these times of fist bumps and over-emphasis on protecting ourselves from stray germs, we can all use a few more good hugs.

Even better!

There is a blood test that the surgeon who treated my breast cancer years ago calls a tumor marker. I have learned from her that the test is non-specific, but it can be an indicator of something that needs a closer look.

When Cancer 2.0 appeared last fall, the results of that test -- officially known as CA 125 -- had spiked from the level of 5 or 6 that it typically followed in the years after my breast cancer to as much as 48. It had drifted back down to 8 while I underwent chemo late last year, and that was the last report I had received.

It was with some hesitation that I asked my OSU oncologist on Friday if CA 125 was one of the tests he had requested for me. It wasn't, but he offered to order it immediately. Having just received the great news that my latest CT scans were negative, I didn't want to push my luck. But I also didn't want to harbor any lingering doubts, so I consented to the test and headed off to have more blood drawn.

The game of golf has taught me that low numbers are good. I was able to take a few strokes off my latest score in last night's golf league, but that outcome wasn't nearly as sweet as the result we got yesterday from the CA 125 test -- it was a 5!

I win!

The news yesterday was just wanted I wanted to hear: My latest CT scans are clear. No tumors were seen lurking between or within the organs in my abdomen.

Did you hear the big sigh of relief?

Tom met me at the OSU physician's office to receive the test results with me. He puts on a good show of always expecting a positive outcome, but anticipation of the test results had robbed him of some sleep the night before, too.

The good news put the perfect glow on a beautiful spring evening. We sat on the deck and relaxed as you can only when you get this kind of report. I called Mandy to come join us for a celebratory pizza, knowing Andy was working and she would be home alone, waiting to hear my results. My sister in Mississippi phoned on her way home from work, also anxious to know what I had learned.

The evening was a great reminder that I do not keep watch against a return of my cancer alone. Those who love me are holding vigil alongside me. This is not an individual competition but a team sport. That is the best news of all.

The only game that matters

I have a ridiculously strong competitive streak.

It's so bad I like to count the number of cars I pass when I manage to choose the moving traffic lane next to one that has slowed to a stop. I win! Using super double coupons at the grocery store or finding clothes on sale and then applying a discount coupon to save even more gives me the same delight. I win!

Today I am hoping for one of the biggest wins of all -- to get good results from the CT scan I had yesterday morning.

I am in a fragile place right now where every twitch or muscle spasm could be a tumor. My fingers probe my abdomen looking for lumps. Any weight gain is suspect, and I have trouble distinguishing between what might be scar tissue and what could be something scarier. I know from experience it is natural to be hyper-vigilant right now and to expect the worst.

My competitive nature wants to win every round of my cancer fight. The best outcome for today would be to hear there is no rematch on the horizon. But if there is, I'll come out swinging.

And many more

I don't know where the last three years have gone, or how they passed so quickly, but this morning I keep drifting back to May 27, 2006 -- my daughter's wedding day.

It was an amazing day for two amazing people. Mandy and our son-in-law, Andy, are a wonderful couple brought together by a deep and abiding love. I could not be prouder of the individuals they are and the choice they made to take each other as their life's partner.

I look back over these three years and am reminded of the wedding vows they took. For richer or poorer. In sickness and in health. To love and support one another no matter what.

With a baby boy on the way, their own good health, a nice home and a beautiful piece of land invested for their future, their blessings are many. They also have their share of challenges with Mandy's recent layoff from the newspaper and now a threat that Andy could be laid off if voters reject a city income tax increase.

Their vision into the future may not be as clear as mine. From the perspective of 35 years of marriage, I see confidently that they will get through this current turbulence. I rejoice at the richness they will soon experience with adding a child to their family. I give thanks that they live close by so that Tom and I can enjoy their company often.

Happy Anniversary, Mandy and Andy!

Memorials worth celebrating

I love it when the gift of a day like today -- set aside to celebrate and remember those who fought for our freedom -- arrives exactly when I need it most.

Work has been unbelievably busy, and it will continue at hyper-speed at least through our annual meeting in mid-June. Weekends have provided no real respite, with fun-but-tiring family events on the calendar the past two weeks. If today had been another work day, I would have been dragging myself through it.

Instead, I am delighting in the promise of a free day with no obligations other than those I choose to make on myself. The possibilities include putting some touch-up paint on my garden gnomes and cleaning up the edges of my flower beds to ready them for mulch. The day is all the sweeter because of those dark nights this past winter when I sometimes laid awake and wondered if I would be up to gardening this spring.

My celebration today is for many freedoms. I am thankful for those who have fought our country's wars, and I am thankful for my own victories over cancer.

Well enough

I can be stubbornly protective of how I choose to use my time, so it's not a surprise that I did not welcome pleas from my husband and my mother this week to slow down a bit. Their concerns were similar: should I be engaging in so many evening activities after spending long days at work?

Last week I had something going on every night but Friday. This week has evening events three nights, plus an out-of-town obligation that will require me to hit the road by 5 a.m. one morning. I don't go looking for all these things to do; they just seem to find me, I told Tom. He and my mom would prefer me to hide better, or say "no" more often to some invitations.

There was an undertone in both their pleas that I didn't want to hear. They may not have intended the message behind the message, but it unnerved me a bit just the same. The unspoken sentiment was that I am still fragile; that my cancer could return if I don't take better care of myself.

Yes, my cancer could return, but I am not persuaded I can prevent a recurrence by shutting myself away or refusing to extend myself in ways that could lead to personal or professional growth.

Call me stubborn, but as long as I am feeling so good, I don't mind being a bit used up when I fall into bed. I sleep better after a busy day, which goes a long way toward taking good care of myself. But I promise, Tom and Mom, that I won't go looking for more to do.

In the pink

There were more than 45,000 participants in Saturday's Race for the Cure, but I don't know how many of us were wearing the pink shirts of survivors. Whatever the number, there were so many others it was both a comfort to have company and a sad commentary on the need for a cure.

Out of the throng, there was suddenly the face of a friend joining me in the survivors' lane at the finish line. As we made our way forward to collect our pink roses and survivors' medallions on pink ribbons, well-meaning strangers applauded and cheered.

One person called out, "Congratulations," and my friend smiled ruefully. None of us wanted to be wearing pink shirts in the first place. We would have preferred to cross the finish line with the thousands of anonymous supporters of the cause. But if we had to meet cancer head on in the first place, it was better to be in the ranks of survivors.

It reminded me of an observation offered by another friend recently in my golf league. As she commiserated with me over my double dose of cancer, she commented, "You are very unlucky and very lucky all at the same time."

The lucky part is not just having survived. Part of the good fortune is in how my life has been enriched by the filter that comes with facing a serious challenge. Cancer puts life's meaning in sharper focus and deepens the colors of what is important. Pink is not a bad color to be.

Forward!

A wonderful surprise arrived in the mail at work yesterday and put a smile on my face the rest of the day. It came from a former colleague with whom I have reconnected as both of us have battled cancer in recent months.

The unexpected gift was a beautiful beaded bracelet with little green frogs on two of the beads. It was the frogs that caused me first to gasp in delight and then to grin whenever I looked down at my wrist throughout the day. When I called to say thanks, I learned my friend's wife makes the frog bracelets to encourage cancer patients.

Why frogs? My friend had told me earlier that the cancer clinic where he receives his treatment in another state has a frog as its mascot. Also a former journalist, of course he had to ask what frogs had to do with cancer treatment.

The answer is inspiring: Frogs can't jump backwards; they only go forward. And so, too, must those of us who fight cancer.

New normal

It's a sure sign that things have returned to normal when you pass a milestone without even realizing it. Yesterday marked three-months since my surgery, and the significance didn't even occur to me until this morning.

That's not to say that I went through the entire day without ever thinking about cancer or what I've been through. It is more a reflection of how my awareness of cancer and its constant presence in the background have become part of my life. I no longer regard the scar that divides my abdomen as some alien intruder. It is part of who I am and will be going forward.

I can see beauty now as the scar reminds me of the miracle of healing. I know I am stronger and more grateful for the everyday blessings of life because of the threats I had to face.

I hope my husband will excuse me for this analogy, but I can't help thinking that it is kind of like when you have been married for a while and one day you realize your identity has become meshed with that of your spouse. You no longer mark every milestone in awe; it's just who you are, and that's a good thing.

Sweet scents

It seems so right that lilacs come into bloom right around Mother's Day.

One of the last things I did yesterday in preparation for a family cookout was to clip a bunch of the fragrant blossoms from bushes at the corner of our garage to arrange in vases inside. It was enough to pleasantly perfume the air without being overwhelming.

Lilac is one of those timeless fragrances that suggests for me how a mother's love should smell. Sweet and sure, but not overpowering. You just want to fill your lungs with it and hold onto its comforting aroma.

Last night's dinner of grilled burgers and roasted corn on the cob had their own tantalizing aromas, but this morning it is especially nice to have the lilacs lingering in the air. They greet me like a good-morning hug for my nose.

Mothers

I woke up this morning with mothers on my mind -- not just my own but mothers in general. How interesting, I thought, that we have an image of God as father, but what could be more godly than mothers?

With my daughter expecting our first grandchild, the miracle of birth is not far from my mind these days. How God-like for women to bear the overwhelming responsibility of conceiving a child and nurturing a baby in the womb for nine months -- and to do it joyfully! And we're not even talking yet about the labor and delivery.

At the other end of life, there are mothers like mine who continue to nurture and love and teach their children for decades upon decades. The unconditional love that our Christian values ascribe to God the Father most of us learn first from our mothers. If we're lucky, we see it in their eyes and hear it in their voice from the first moment that they hold us to their breast.

And then there are those women, like my middle sister and sister-in-law, who have not given birth but still love with a mother's heart.

Today I am thankful for the many blessings of being a mother, for having a wonderful mother, and for knowing so many women who show us every day the beauty and wonder of a mother's love.

Big really is big

I went to lunch this week with some fashion-savvy young women from my office. Even though we work closely together every day, I usually learn something in these outings.

One of the tidbits gleaned from this get-together was that the cute little purse I have been carrying proudly the past several months is so not cool. No one said anything, and we certainly didn't discuss the relative merits of handbag sizes, but the message came through all the same.

Big is better. The sizable bags they were each carrying made strong statements as we walked several blocks to the restaurant. My baby-sized purse suddenly seemed inadequate as it tried to hide under my armpit.

I have resolved to change purses this weekend. I'll reserve the tiny black bag for the purpose I had originally intended -- evenings out when I don't need to carry much. Good thing my summer purse has some size to it.

Fore!

Last night was the start of my golf league, and it was fantastic to be out on the course with my friends.

I hadn't golfed since September, so my return to the game was significant on many levels. September marked the beginning of my battle with Cancer 2.0 and a huge departure from what had been my normal routines.

As I headed to the golf course, I contemplated the path I had traveled since the league ended last year. Instead of counting strokes, I have been counting doctor visits, medical tests and weeks of recovery from surgery. I'm sure I had a foolish grin on my face as I headed to the ladies' locker room to change, and I kept smiling as I emerged in my golf clothes with my wig tucked safely away in the bag with my work attire.

The friends who welcomed me out on the course didn't mind that my hair was just sprouting; their hugs told me they were as happy to see me as I was to see them.

As I took my first swings, a twinge across my abdomen was the only reminder of the tough course I had played over the last eight months. By the time we finished the ninth hole, even that twinge was gone.

My score wasn't great, but it was right on track with where I was playing at the beginning of the season last year, and that's not a bad place to be.

Lows and highs

I love it when low expectations meet with high outcomes.

A psychologist who spoke to a staff retreat for me and my coworkers several years back advised keeping your standards high but your expectations low as a recipe for reducing frustrations. I had low expectations for this weekend. Rain was expected both days and I had no big plans in the works. What we got, though, was pleasant, dry weather and a nice departure from the usual weekend chores.

A peek in the laundry hamper early Saturday morning persuaded us that we didn't need to start the washer and dryer just yet. With Ben out of the house, the laundry loads are smaller and take longer to accumulate. On a whim, Tom and I headed south to a casino just across the state line for the afternoon. We didn't win any money but it was a fun diversion for the day.

Yesterday's agenda began with me and my mom leaving church to pick up some flowers we had ordered from my nephew's band fundraiser in Beavercreek, near Dayton. My sister, nephew and niece met us at the outlet mall to make the exchange after lunching together. Mom and I spent the rest of the afternoon shopping and didn't have to dodge a single raindrop.

There is a fine line between expecting the worst and keeping expectations low so that better-than-expected outcomes are even sweeter. The optimist in me defaults to always seeing the positive, so lowering my expectations is a matter of repressing my outlook a bit. I'd rather be in that mode than be a pessimist who sees rain clouds on the horizon when skies are blue.

Keeping a close eye

I finally got my long-awaited second opinion last night from Houston and it has made me a little giddy. No chemo, no radiation is recommended for the time being, just close surveilance and monitoring!

I had so resigned myself to the notion of inpatient chemotherapy that the doctor's recommendation feels like a wonderful reprieve after a long wait for a jury's deliberations to finally reach a conclusion.

The doctor said the opinion of himself and his peers is that chemotherapy at this point would have little benefit. Instead, CT scans should be repeated by the end of May and then again at three-month intervals. Should a cancer return be detected, chemotherapy and surgery would then be in order.

As good as I have been feeling, I can't imagine that this next scan will produce any cause for concern. It is extremely liberating to think that I can plan for the next few months without having to work around bouts of inpatient chemo and whatever ill effects it would cause in-between the hospital sessions.

With no active treatment on the immediate horizon, I welcome all good prayers and best wishes to keep cancer from returning. And when it comes down to it, that may be the very best treatment of all!

Sick bay

I'm feeling good but my home computer is sick. I have not been able to do my usual morning posts since Monday because a virus wouldn't let me access the Internet from our home PC, and once I get to the office, the opportunity for a little personal blogging flies out the window.

I could have brought my laptop home during the week, but the eternal optimist in me kept thinking a little more time at night was all I needed to try to get the home computer working again. The virus that had attacked the computer had other ideas.

Even the purchase and installation of new anti-virus software didn't do the trick. Now the virus that was sending us pop-up messages and interfering with our Internet access appears to be gone. But the newly installed protection against getting more viruses is working so good that it not only blocks new viruses, it blocks us from getting on the Internet at all.

Maybe I can get a live "help desk" person on the phone today to figure out what computer cure we need. Until then, thank goodness for my laptop!

So vain

I may have reached a new height (or low?) of vanity yesterday. For the first time in my life, I colored my own hair.

Mind you, this is newly regrown hair that is only about a quarter of an inch long in most places. And most people I encounter don't even see it because I keep it hidden under a wig when I am out in public. But it was more gray than I cared to see when I passed a mirror while puttering around the house, and I was concerned that a stray gray might pop out around the edges of my wig.

The coloring supplies were already at hand. My niece and former colorist made sure I was stocked up last year on a visit from her new home in South Carolina, back when I still had plenty of hair to color. Her mother (my sister) had taken over the hair-coloring duty for several of us in the family, but my supplies sat unneeded on a closet shelf since I began chemo in October.

Making yesterday's exercise even sillier is the expectation that I will begin a new course of chemo in the next few weeks. The follow-up treatment has not been decided yet, but that is the direction it has been pointing. In that case, the gray I hid yesterday likely wouldn't stay around long enough to grow long enough to be seen in public.

No matter. I still see myself in the mirror often enough to wince at too much gray hair. Now I smile back at myself, partly because I like the new youthful image and partly because I know how silly I am to color hair that so few people will see.

Wig comb-over

One of the great things about wearing wigs is you don't have to do much with them. Every now and then they get a quick bath in special wig shampoo, a rinse, a good shake and then they air dry on their pedestals after I comb out a few tangles.

Probably because they are so low maintenance, I couldn't resist a little tinkering this morning.

What started out as my new "special occasion" wig back in January has become my everyday wig, while the wig I resurrected from Cancer 1.0 has been largely ignored. Wig #1 isn't a bad wig; it's the one I'm wearing in the photo I finally posted to this blog. I have been shunning it, I admitted as I combed it out, because it seems so much flatter on top than my shorter, sassier wig #2.

What if I gave it a bit more lift by combing part of the crown in a different direction? It seems to have helped, which is especially funny because I typically hate to style hair and have never been very good at it.

There is another hair dilemma I have yet to resolve but may need to figure out soon: Will it be better to golf wigless?

Too close for comfort

My willpower is a function of proximity. That was underscored yesterday as I saw the volume in the bag of trail mix on my desk shrink considerably over the course of a few hours.

I have learned over the past couple of years that it helps to have a mid-morning and mid-afternoon snack to keep from overeating at lunch and dinner. The strategy of eating smaller amounts at more frequent intervals has helped keep off the weight that I fought to lose before my daughter's wedding almost three years ago.

Usually my snacks are a protein or granola bar and a piece of fruit. Earlier this week I reasoned it would be easier to have the trail mix handy and not have to remember each morning to grab that day's snacks on my way out the door to work. Bad idea.

A serving of the trail mix is one-quarter cup. At that rate, it should have lasted a couple of weeks, but yesterday afternoon it was almost gone. My hand kept diving into the bag as I worked, reaching my mouth before I had a chance to think about it.

Some of my coworkers regularly keep candy and huge snack jars on their desks and never gain a pound. I can usually walk right by free muffins and chocolates at the coffee station, but put something tasty at arm's length on my desk and all my resolve disappears. As with anything else, a key to success is knowing what triggers your downfall.

Planning ahead

I'll make another inquiry to Houston today to see if the sarcoma specialists at M.D. Anderson Cancer Center have reached consensus yet on a second opinion for me. They said last Thursday I should contact them again in a week if I had not heard anything, which I haven't.

My feelings are mixed about finally obtaining their recommendation. I have been feeling so good lately, so strong and normal. I hesitate to encourage any movement toward treatment that will make me sick again as a strategy to keep me well.

But I would like to be able to plan for activities looming over the next several months. Ben asked yesterday if we might visit Mississippi for his birthday in June. Mandy has a couple of baby showers coming up that I want to attend. My golf league starts in May. And then there is a huge project I am managing for work.

If I have to be in the hospital for several days at a stretch to receive more chemotherapy, I want to schedule it in a way that will allow me to still do the things I want to do. Being able to finalize some plans might be better than the limbo I'm in right now, even though it's a pleasant limbo.

Fast forward

I had to choose between two fun outings after work last night. One was an overdue get-together with high school girlfriends. The other was with a group of women writers I don't yet know well but have been wanting to join.

When I realized a couple of weeks ago that both events were on the same night, I told myself the choice was between looking back fondly or stepping into the future. The options were equally attractive, but the comfort of familiarity drew me to the gathering of old friends, some of whom I had not seen in years. I sent my regrets to the writers' group, but still wished I could have attended both.

Pondering the two invitations helped me to recognize a growing need to focus far into the future. I have glorious events to anticipate yet this year -- the birth of my grandson in July and a niece's wedding in August -- but I cannot separate them from the follow-up treatment I expect to be concurrently enduring. Thoughts of the baby are coupled with prayers that I will be well enough to help my daughter with him.

As I headed to meet my old girlfriends, I wondered if my urge to leapfrog well into a future past all cancer concerns would have been better served by meeting with the women writers. With them, I might be encouraged to entertain possibilities of writing more than this blog, I thought.

It turns out the high school gathering provided a nice future focus after all. We're starting to plan our 40th reunion for October 2010! It's easier for me to picture cancer as an afterthought by then.

In search of ZZZZZs

It's one thing to have a restless sleep, but at least the emphasis is on sleep.

Lately I seem to be having more sleepless rests. I'll climb into bed early enough, read for a little while, lie there completely comfortable and then stare at the ceiling for the next couple of hours, wondering why sleep is so elusive.

When post-surgery pain and healing were factors, the pain pills at least helped me sleep in four-hour increments. Now it seems like I've forgotten how to sleep more than a few hours at a time when I do finally nod off.

The weather this morning would be perfect for staying in bed. It's what Tom and I like to call a good sleeping rain. But I answered the alarm after about three hours' sleep and I'm heading off to work. Maybe being extra tired will help me find Mr. Sandman tonight without too much effort.

New face; no friends

I have no idea what I am doing when it comes to a lot of social media, but I can now proudly report that I am on Facebook. And I also worked up the courage to post a photo of myself on this blog! The photo is one from an especially happy day -- Ben's OSU graduation.

I thought I had created a Facebook account several months ago when a tech-savvy colleague required one to sign up for a conference she was chairing. I followed her directions at the time, then immediately forgot about it. My daughter told me the other day there were some "Mary Yost" Facebook accounts but she couldn't tell if any were mine. I still don't know how Facebook works, but maybe having my photo on my account will help me learn.

I think it would be fun to have some Facebook friends, but I have no illusions about two people who are not likely to grant me friend status. I know they need to preserve some space for themselves. That's OK, Mandy and Ben. Being your mom is enough for me.

How things work

It's crazy sometimes how things just work out the way they are supposed to. I have seen that play out a couple of times this week.

One example was my shorter-than-expected trip to Houston. Had it gone as planned, I would have still been there until today, leaving my department at work especially short-staffed. Looking back on a hectic day yesterday, I sent up a prayer of thanks for being where I needed to be.

Even the smallest details sometimes fall into place nicely, often against expectations. I had cancelled our newspaper delivery and had our mail held for the part of this week that we expected to still be in Houston seeking a second opinion for my follow-up care. Trying to reverse those orders when the trip was shortened, I thought we had succeeded in getting the mail restarted but not the paper. As it turned out, the newspaper has been on the doorstep each morning but the mailbox is still empty. Thank goodness! It is much easier to live without mail than my morning paper.

I have a basic philosophy against worrying because it zaps your strength for no good reason. When I am tempted to worry, I tell myself fretting is negative energy and won't help change outcomes. This week has reminded me of another good reason not to worry: Things have a way of working out exactly the way they are supposed to, even if they are not the way we planned.

Marking time

Thursdays have become my new touch point.

The farther out I get from my surgery on February 12, the more healing I see, and the more amazed I am at the miracle of the human body. Today marks nine weeks since my tumor was removed, and I can't believe how little is left in terms of physical reminders.

There is the long scar dividing my abdomen. It will always be there, both as a blessing that the tumor was excised and as a cancer trophy. It bothers me less all the time. On Monday, it did not prevent me from sun bathing in Houston in a two-piece bathing suit. Knowing I was not the only cancer patient at the hotel encouraged me both to bare my scar and to go wigless to the pool, showing off my Jamie Lee Curtis-style without a care.

Just a month ago, I was concerned that fatigue and lingering pain would hamper my planned return to work after six weeks' recuperation. Now I feel almost on par with my pre-surgery energy level, maybe even my pre-tumor condition! Heartened by my progress to this point, the logical next step would appear to be some strength training to tone my leg and upper body muscles.

Can golf be far behind?

Son shine

I woke up to a wonderful message this morning. My son arrived safely at my sister's Mississippi Gulf Coast home after a long solo drive to begin what I hope will be a great new chapter in his life.

Ben had been living at home while finishing up his last year to earn an English degree at OSU. We enjoyed his company but shared his conviction that he needed to get away to explore career options. This move should help him figure out if he'd like to follow his Uncle Jim in the food and beverage industry, or maybe he will gather material for some future novel.

His e-mail confirmation of his arrival was filled with joy and possibility, putting a smile on my face to start the day. It will take some time to get used to not having him here but I look forward to hearing that his hopes for this move are being realized. I know his Aunt Joy-Joy and Uncle Jim will be great role models.

Now I have another good incentive to get through whatever follow-up treatment I need and be well enough afterward to travel. Tom and I have to get down to Biloxi in a few months to see for ourselves that Ben is doing great.

Heading home

What was supposed to be a five-day trip was accomplished in one. Tom and I are flying home this morning after the doctor we met at M.D. Anderson' Sarcoma Center told us my presence was no longer needed. Sarcoma experts here in Houston will study my case and get a follow-up treatment recommendation to me within two weeks.

Short as it was, we feel good about this trip. The Houston medical personnel seem highly competent. Chemo looks more likely now, but also a bit less scary. I better understand the need for it to be inpatient to ensure good hydration. I am also comforted to hear from the Houston doctor that the University of Michigan, where my two Columbus oncologists have conferred with colleagues on my care, is also a respected sarcoma center, just not as experienced as Houston.

The bonus with this trip was the Houston warmth and sunshine. That makes it harder to head back to Columbus' chilly rain, but it will still be good to be home.

Houston bound

The call I've been anticipating came yesterday. My appointment to get a second opinion from the M.D. Anderson Cancer Center on follow-up treatment starts Monday. It is impressive that they responded so quickly to the request I initiated just a week ago. I just hope their physicians can agree better than those I have seen in Columbus.

The radiation oncologist I saw earlier this week recommends a course of radiation over the entire area of my abdomen where the tumor had been. That should keep it from coming back in that vicinity, he said, but would not prevent a recurrence elsewhere. Given the entrails that occupy that neighborhood, the treatment would likely produce nausea and diarrhea, he said, in addition to the usual fatigue.

Even more disturbing, the radiation oncologist said seeing two different types of sarcoma in one tumor was not unusual. It was just a matter of one stem type differentiating in two directions, he said casually, shaking my confidence in the medical oncologist who said he had never seen that occur and giving me even more reason not to jump at the medical oncologist's request to hospitalize me for heavy-duty chemo. The chemo-pushing medical oncologist had urged me to keep the appointment with the second doc this week, even though he didn't think the radiation oncologist would recommend radiation at all, since the margins around where the tumor was removed were clean.

So far, this quest for a decision regarding follow-up care has me feeling like the OSU docs are various hammers who see me as their own special nail. I hope the doctors in Houston -- where I'm told they have the only dedicated sarcoma center of any of the major cancer hospitals in the country -- do a better job of conferring with each other to reach a consensus for the best plan to keep me healthy. Even better if their plan would be to keep a watchful eye and forgo more treatment just now.

Hi Grandma!

My Cancer 2.0 journey since September has exposed me to a lot of great medical technology but nothing compares to what I saw yesterday. On a video screen in an obstetrician's office, my first grandchild waved to me!

The image was grainy and fleeting, but the physician confidently interpreted the greeting for me and my daughter, pointing out the right hand alongside the face of my grandson, who is due to make his grand entrance in mid-July. We watched his heart beat, examined his toes, admired his nicely shaped head and smiled proudly as the doctor noted he has long leg bones that predict he will take after his 6-foot-plus father and grandfather.

The doctor knew what a treat it was for me to share this sneak preview. She is herself a new, first-time grandma. I had seen her for my annual gynecological checkup a few weeks ago and she was saddened to learn of my recent illness. I think she invited me to accompany Mandy for a yesterday's ultrasound exam as a get-well gift. It was the best one I have received so far!

Muse or snooze?

Approaching eight weeks post-surgery, I am amazed at the recovery I have enjoyed so far. I have energy to get through most days easily and any lingering pain in my abdomen is almost an afterthought. As I rise up out of bed using stomach muscles that I so recently had to protect from stress, I have toyed with the thought of trying a couple of crunches. I'm not quite there, but close.

I'm almost all the way back to the level of functioning that I want to be at, and I am thankful that it has taken less time than I might have guessed.

My final concession to recuperation has been sleep. It is important to rest, I keep reminding myself. So the alarm clock has not been set quite so early; leaving more time in the morning to capture dreams, less time to share dreams in this blog. Soon I will be writing again every morning, starting the day with the mental exercise that has become as important to me as a good physical workout once was. And maybe then I will even get back to the gym!

Perspective

I violated one of my cardinal rules yesterday and ended up giving myself a needed reminder. The rule is to always look on the bright side.

For me, the rule stems from this axiom: You can't control all the circumstances in your life, but you can control how you respond to them. I have tried to model a positive perspective as much as I have encouraged my children to find the good in whatever bad things come their way.

Often, events that threaten our outlook are little things or temporary setbacks, though they loom as monsters of the moment. Even silly situations can trigger a bad mood, as in my case yesterday. It was a sunny spring Saturday with all kinds of promise, but I kept letting our finicky home computer dictate my disposition. My energy level was already low from a poor night's sleep. As I tried to complete our city tax return, the computer kept crashing and dashing my spirit along with it.

What a bad day, a little voice kept whispering, and I found myself uncharacteristically agreeing. As evening gathered and I assessed the day's events, I had to admit it was actually a very good day. I had accomplished much and enjoyed interactions with family, despite allowing a gloomy filter to color frustrations that I should have shaken off.

The lesson is to balance setbacks against the backdrop of my many blessings so I can respond positively to bumps in the road. My well-rested perspective this morning can see more clearly the upside of yesterday's computer crashes: they were invitations to take a nap and regain my equilibrium instead of plodding on in a foul mood. Next time, I'll take the cue.

Agreeable work

It's a rainy Friday morning and plenty of people are pulling the covers up over their heads right now; ready for the weekend and wishing they could sleep in rather than finishing out the work week. I've been there, too, but my experience this week has shown me how much I am actually energized by my work.

My game plan was to ease back into it this week by working half days. Instead, the only day I was able to limit myself to four hours in the office was the day I had to leave early for a follow-up appointment with my oncologist. I didn't feel like I was pushing myself too hard the other days. It was a welcome break to think about other matters. I could forget about cancer for a while, and I did.

A call from the OSU oncologist yesterday morning pulled me back to reality with a gentle scolding that I needed to make progress on my quest for a second opinion regarding follow-up treatment to try to keep the cancer from returning. Now I am waiting for a call from Houston that will put me and Tom on a plane to learn what sarcoma experts at a cancer center there think we should do next.

I know I can't pretend just yet that February's surgery removed all my cancer concerns, but it has been nice this week to have other things to think about for a while.

Rare

Most of us want to be special, but not in the way the OSU oncologist described it to me yesterday.

Tom and I met with the doctor to learn results of two scans I had last week and to hear his recommendation for any follow-up treatment. The good news is the CT scan and the bone scan were both clear; there were no findings of cancer still lurking. While that was a great relief, it was not comforting to hear what has the doctor perplexed and his proposed course of treatment.

The report back from a sarcoma pathologist who had double-checked slides of the mass taken from my abdomen confirmed two different, rare cancers were present in the tumor. Most prevalent was the leiomyosarcoma initially diagnosed in September. Along with it was a bone sarcoma, which rarely occurs in adults and rarely occurs in tissue that is not bone. My doctor has seen adults with a bone sarcoma in non-bone tissue, but he has never encountered that situation in combination with another sarcoma in the same tumor.

While my scans showed no lingering or recurrent cancer, his initial recommendation for preventive care is a nasty regimen of chemotherapy requiring another 15 days in the hospital. It would involve a five-day admission for intravenous chemo, to be repeated in three weeks and then again for a total of three treatments. The hospital stay is due to the drugs' harsh side effects.

Thankfully, the oncologist encourages a second opinion, especially since he hasn't treated a case like mine before. He is also consulting some of his peers, and he called last night to report another sarcoma expert advised a wait-and-watch approach for now.

My homework is to work with my health insurer to explore a second opinion from specialists at a top sarcoma center in Houston. I'd like to hear them say they have seen this before and know just how to keep it from coming back -- something that doesn't require a hospital stay for rumpus-kicking chemo.

Warm welcome

I hadn't taken two steps inside the office yesterday before I got my first "welcome back" hug. A second hug quickly followed. And a bit later, a co-worker sent a note with this little ditty, to be sung to the tune of "Hello, Dolly."

Hello, Mary!
Well, Hello, Mary!
It's so nice to have you back where you belong.
You're looking swell, Mary,
We can tell, Mary,
You are smiling, you are happy,
You're getting strong.
We really missed you, Mary.
Your friends are here, Mary.
Just lean on them when you feel down.
So make some tea, Mary.
We’re happy as can be, Mary.
Promise you'll never go away again!

And just to top it off, a bouquet of flowers arrived from another state association with whom we work closely. The accompanying note joked that they saved all their tough issues for my return. Is there any question as to why I was happy to return to such a nurturing environment?

Yesterday's meeting-packed agenda resulted in a longer work day than I had intended, but it was also just the medicine I needed to continue regaining my stamina.

Back to work!

I am ready to head back to an environment that suddenly seems as foreign as it will be familiar. Whether from anticipation or apprehension, the thought of going back to work kept sleep at bay much of the night and then pulled me out of bed earlier this morning than I have rallied in weeks. Today's challenge will be in the pacing.

My focus during recuperation has been necessarily internal; listening carefully to my body to mark each signal of progress, allowing rest when needed while working to reach the next level of endurance and well-being. My main accomplishments on many days were to eat enough to regain strength even when I had no appetite, walk a little more than the day before and rest without napping so much that I couldn't sleep at night. I welcome the opportunity to focus on external issues and put myself in the background.

This time at home has also reinforced an appreciation of myself as a social being. I draw energy from engaging with others and working together on common goals. My need for outside stimulus has manifested itself in the curtailment of my blog posts. Some of my falloff in posts was due to just not feeling well enough to write, but my sheltered existence also reduced the stimulus for my reflections.

I promised myself, and Tom, to ease back into my work routine this week and not overexert. My hope is that any slowness of my pace will be of my own volition and not because I am not yet up to it.