Quite a year

I never would have thought, when 2008 began, that I would end the year as a blogger. It just wasn't on my radar, but it has become such a blessing. I have always enjoyed writing, and certainly I wouldn't have picked the reason that prompted me to keep this blog, but it is nice to be writing again on a regular basis.

We probably don't take enough time to stop in our tracks and take stock of where we are and how we got there and where we are going. New Year's Eve is as good an excuse as any, but this exercise maybe should occur three or four times a year.

I am carrying good vibes from 2008 with me into the New Year. There was a great cruise with my mom, daughter and two sisters -- especially sweet because it followed Mom's heart attack last December. Tom and I had several nice trips -- one with my work to Tucson, one for fun to Las Vegas with my sister and brother-in-law and a great fall trip to Gettysburg. Ben's OSU graduation creates new options for him going forward. Professionally, I'm excited about the people I work with and the plans we have for the new year.

There is too much good surrounding me to outweigh the cancer in my gut. I look forward to the entry I will write in this blog a year from now, talking about all the great things that happened after the tumor was successfully removed. Happy New Year!

Taking care of me

Sometimes you just need to relax. That's my game plan for today.

I had hoped the long weekend after Christmas would provide some nice down time, but it's not the same kind of relaxation when you're fighting a bad head cold and you don't have the energy to do anything but sleep and lie around the house.

Yesterday found me back at work, feeling better but still not up to full speed. Rather than risk getting too run down to be able to get my chemo on Friday, I'm staying in today. This finally feels like that laid-back day I had been looking forward to after Christmas.

The present

I fell asleep last night thinking that sometimes I get so caught up in the future, I forget to be thankful for today.

My thoughts soar ahead to when I am done with my cancer treatment, when I am on the mend from surgery to remove the tumor, when I am ready to resume my exercise routine and feel really healthy again. Sure, it's good to keep that positive outlook. But there are lots of days between now and those milestones to come. What of them?

My thinking last night was that my tendency to look ahead and expect good things to come may have been a disservice to my family, and especially my children. As I have encouraged them to strive for their goals, I'm not sure I tell them often enough that they are wonderful just as they are.

How fitting that the sermon in church this morning followed a similar theme! I received it as confirmation of my waning thoughts last night. Yes, look hopefully to the future, but don't overlook the beauty and blessings of the present. Today is a gift we are meant to enjoy in all its glory.

Cold

Sometimes God cracks me up. His latest little practical joke was to give me a good old-fashioned head cold. OK, I know God didn't really give me a cold, but it was kind of like He was saying, "You think cancer's bad? Try this!"

The sneezing and watery eyes started on Christmas and came on in full force yesterday. The effect was I didn't have the energy to do anything but sleep the day away, which I think was the idea behind the joke. If not for the cold, I would have been tempted to have been out and about all day with my mom and visiting sister and brother-in-law. Staying in bed on a rainy, blustery day was much better for me.

Funny how something as simple as a cold takes your mind off cancer. I felt miserable most of the day yesterday, and part of the day on Christmas, but I wasn't focused on cancer, which was nice. I knew the cold would pass and I would feel better soon. I need to keep that same outlook with respect to the cancer.

Less is more

We tried a new approach to gift-giving in my family this Christmas. In years past, it had become embarrassing to see the pile of presents spreading out from the tree in my mother's home. It took forever to open them all and was less-than satisfying when it was all over. Did we really need all that stuff?

The economic downturn this year was an excuse to cut back. Instead of buying for each other, our spouses and our children -- my four siblings and I agreed to do a gift-exchange game between all adults who wanted to participate and to buy individual gifts just for the minor children. Stocking stuffers were optional, and the individualized stockings hanging from the banister down the stairs from the main floor to the family room were a fun highlight of Mom's Christmas decorations.

The new approach was pronounced a great success. Less time was spent opening stuff that we really didn't need and more time was spent enjoying each other's company.

Now if I could just get my tumor to adopt that same philosophy -- less is more, tumor. The sooner it shrinks, the better!

Merry Christmas!

There is something very calming about Christmas Eve if you let it be. In the days and weeks leading up to Christmas, to-do lists are long and the temptation is to keep adding to them. The prevalent thinking is: I still have time to do this, go there, buy that.

By Christmas Eve, it's time to accept reality. Some things won't get done. Some presents won't get bought. Some items will not be checked off the list. The early gift we can give ourselves is to be OK with that and to turn our attention to what will happen on Christmas. Families will be together. Hugs, kisses and love will be shared generously. Good cheer, good food and good wishes will abound.

Earlier this fall, I wasn't sure what capacity I would have to enjoy Christmas this year. On darker days, I questioned whether I would be well enough to participate much at all. Now I am looking forward to a Christmas that will be richer in blessings than any I have known before. It won't be about presents under the tree but about the presence of more love and support than I knew I had when this year began.

In this recessed economy, many have been forced to make do with less. My prayer is that creates more opportunity for all of us to be thankful for the gifts of family, friends, love, support and good health. Merry Christmas to all!

Carry on

I will admit to indulging in occasional bouts of anger. Sometimes I just want to yell, "Enough!" and have my tumor be gone. It doesn't last long, though, especially on mornings like today. How can I be so selfish after reading about a 12-year-old who fought brain cancer since he was five and used his illness to spread God's love to everyone he encountered? The story of Dennis "Bubba" Channel Jr. in today's paper brings tears, smiles and much wisdom.

Nor can I stay down when family and friends -- and some I haven't even met -- reach out in e-mails and comments on this blog. It makes me smile when they say I am inspiring. Don't they realize that they are the ones holding me up?

When life goes as it should, it's all give and take. We use what we have to support each other, and in return we have all we need to continue putting one foot in front of the other.

Ready or not

Good rest works wonders. I don't know how I even contemplated leaving the house yesterday morning, but I certainly made the right decision to stay in.

No presents are wrapped, and a few remain to be bought, but bed beckoned more forcefully yesterday than my long, pre-Christmas to-do list. Groceries must be gathered yet for the family festivities of Christmas Eve and for our traditional Christmas breakfast, but sleep was more important as Friday's double-dose of chemotherapy made its full presence known.

The body aches accompanying my extreme lack of energy during the chemo crash now have an explanation -- the doctor noted the post-chemo shot I receive to boost my white blood cells stimulate the marrow deep inside my bones. As I drifted in and out of sleep yesterday, I comforted myself with the thought that those aches are just another sign of good medicine at work!

I may not be as ready for the holidays as I would like to be at this point, but I know my family will understand if my annual "Mock Flock" calendar for 2009 is a little late. At least yesterday's good rest has returned my energy for the sprint toward Christmas.

Head versus heart

I hate it when my head and my heart are in conflict.

This being my predictable chemo crash day, my head knows what I need to do, which is nothing. My body needs rest today and doesn't have the energy to do much more than sit or lie around the house and maybe even steal a nap or two. But I am not sick at my stomach, thankfully, and the aches right now are slight.

That's what has me wrestling with my heart. I should be attending church this morning, it argues, and then overseeing a quick meeting after services. It's important for me to be there, that little voice insists. What will it hurt to push myself a bit this morning if I rest the remainder of the day?

But my head knows the price. I didn't listen to my head three weeks ago when crash day came in the middle of the week, and I was up more than down, even while staying home from work. It took me twice as long to recover and cost me more head and body aches than it should have. I best not chance that again with Christmas just a few days away, my head reasons.

I should be heading upstairs to get ready by now, if I were going to church. But I'm not moving very fast, and my head is winning the argument. Either answer does not sit well with me, but I have promised my mom to take better care of myself.

Moving right along

We have an updated game plan for attacking this cancer after seeing my oncologist yesterday, freshly returned from his vacation.

Despite the latest CT scan report that the tumor has not shrunk, he continues to believe, as do I, that my abdomen is not as distended as when we started treatment. He noted that the latest CT scan showed several calcifications within the tumor, which he said usually indicates dead cancer cells. He said sometimes a tumor like mine is removed, even without having shrunk, only to find that the cancer inside has been dispelled. Let's hope for that!

He talked about scheduling a Positron Emission Tomography (PET) scan, which can give a better indication of activity within the tumor, and said it is time to see the surgeon again to discuss options with her. I am also seeking a second opinion with a new surgeon early next month. In the meantime, chemotherapy will continue throughout January, which means at least two more cycles. No problem with that, since I continue to tolerate the drugs so well.

Keep those prayers and positive thoughts coming, dear cheerleaders! They're working!

Good medicine

A reunion of sorts last night reinforced why I am doing this blog. I went to the holiday dinner for our board at work. It was a festive event in the Statehouse Atrium for board members and their spouses.

I had last seen most of the board members at their meeting in September, when I was in the process of learning about my lump and not yet talking about it with anyone outside of family. I had not seen their spouses since the August board retreat, blissfully unaware of what I was about to face.

The hugs and support they provided last night were very good medicine. It was comforting to hear many of them are following my progress, cheering me on and offering prayers. It's easier to keep an eye on winning the battle when you know many others who aren't visible day to day are keeping the vision alive with you.

Second wind

It's crazy how something like not getting the test results you had hoped for takes the wind out of your sails. My week has been like that, although I didn't want to admit it for a while.

Hearing last Friday that my tumor hasn't shrunk was more of a blow than I wanted to concede. But at least it's not bigger! It's no longer growing! As much as I tried to remind myself of those positives, it still was hard to evade the disappointment I felt.

It didn't help that I overextended a bit with preparations for Ben's graduation on Sunday, and with a busy week leading up to last weekend. By Monday, I was hurting physically as well as emotionally. It was harder to push aside unbidden thoughts that maybe the tumor won't shrink, or that it might start growing again.

It has been a slow recovery; now several good night's sleeps have helped restore my positive outlook. I know I need to baby myself so I don't get so worn down again and give way to negative thoughts. I am looking forward to double-dose chemo tomorrow to continue the attack.

Gifts

Today is Tom's birthday. What do you get a husband who has everything?

We've been together 40 years! I was 16 and he was 17 when we started dating in high school, so you can do the math. That's a lot of birthdays we have celebrated over the years. Some of the birthday presents have been more memorable than others. One year I sewed him a brown corduroy suit from scratch. Never could get the collar on that suit to lay right! Bless his heart, he still wore it a couple of times anyhow before we gave it away to one of those charities that picks up bags of clothes you leave on your doorstep.

A nice thing about being together this long is we know what really matters, and it's not whatever we happen to buy each other to commemorate another birthday. I'm working on a gift that will keep on giving -- to beat this cancer and stick around to match him birthday for birthday, as long as it takes. Happy birthday, honey!

You are what you wear

I'm sending subliminal messages to my body with some of the choices I have made in clothes recently. It can't hurt, right?

One set of messengers is my collection of pink T-shirts from the many Susan G. Komen Race for the Cure events that I have participated in for most of the past dozen years. The pink shirts are reserved for breast cancer survivors, and the word "survivor" is prominent on the front of them. Paired with pajama bottoms, they make dandy sleep shirts. I take special note of the "survivor" as I slip one on and smile as that becomes one of my last thoughts of the day before drifting off to sleep.

Another special messenger in my wardrobe is jeans that had become my new favorite pair when I bought them in the spring, long before Cancer 2.0 had surfaced. I remember wearing them to dinner for my brother's birthday on Sept. 6, the day I first noticed the lump in my abdomen. As the tumor quickly expanded my tummy, I had given up even trying to wear them, sure that they would no longer fit. But those jeans ended up in my hands recently as I searched my closet for some I could still wear. I pulled them on with low expectations and was delighted to see that their low waist tucked in just under my belly bulge.

The jeans' name? Lucky Brand. That's me -- Lucky survivor!

The graduate

I'm moving a little slower this morning, feeling a little worse for the wear, but I can't stop smiling as scenes from Ben's graduation yesterday keeping popping into my head.

Just a few weeks back, I was afraid I would be too frail for the festivities. But the day went off without a hitch -- even more enjoyable for the focus it took off me and put squarely on this long-awaited milestone. It was like Christmas come early as family and friends joined us to celebrate, our home sparkling with their good cheer and highlighted by holiday decorations mixed with plenty of scarlet and gray.

The entire day was wonderful, but my favorite part was the quiet time at the end. Ben sat down with me and Tom to open a few cards and reflect back on his OSU journey. There were lots of times over the past few years when I felt like a horrible nag with all my questions about whether he was taking care of school work, scheduling the classes he needed, studying enough. The thanks he expressed last night was my graduation present!

Mixed results

Numbers alone don't always tell the whole story. The medical test results I received yesterday are an example.

I have no doubt the tumor in my tummy is not as monstrous as it had become before I started chemo. I can wear clothes that were uncomfortable in early October. My profile no longer shows a distended abdomen reminiscent of seven or eight months' pregnancy. Yet the initial reading of Thursday's CT scan showed the lump is no smaller than just before the chemotherapy drugs began to attack it.

In fact, the doctor I saw yesterday noted the report she received erronously showed measurements compared my first CT scan on Sept. 12 and concluded that the tumor was growing. My tumor was in a frenzy early on and did grow between Sept. 12 and Oct. 2 scans. As she studied the October report, the doctor concluded my lump is about the same size since treatment began Oct. 10, which means it at least has stopped growing. The doctor is requesting the latest scan to be reread, this time against my Oct. 2 scan. She will ask for a comparison of shape, too, since that can change, which may explain why it feels smaller to me.

While the CT report was disappointing, there was good news in another number yesterday. The CA125 blood test we have been watching, which Dr. Brenda calls a "tumor marker," showed great improvement! It was a 5 at my annual checkup with Dr. Brenda on July 1, which gave her some concern but not alarm. She ordered followup blood tests for October just to keep an eye on it. The test was a 48 just before chemo started, and was down to 41 about a month ago. Now it is an 8 -- much better!

The bottom line of yesterday's report: I'm not close to being a candidate for surgery yet, but since I am tolerating chemo so well we will continue to try to shrink the tumor with drugs. My sister promises to send more of her visionary pick-axing angels to work on it!

One down

At least one of my prayers of long anticipation was answered positively yesterday. Ben learned his grades for fall quarter, confirming that he will graduate on Sunday as planned!

It wasn't as if we really thought he was in danger of failing a required class and needing to go another quarter to get his degree. But there is always that unwanted thought hanging out there until it is dispelled by confirmation of good news. Let the celebration begin!

Whether we will also be toasting medical confirmation that my tumor is shrinking may be known later today.

For regular readers of this blog, I apologize for dwelling on this topic of late. And I promise to keep up a positive outlook even if the news does not invoke festivity. Thank you to all my cheerleaders for hanging in there with me.

Anticipation

I have that song in my head this morning from the old ketchup commercial, where the bottle is upside down and the good stuff inside is so slow to emerge onto the waiting hamburger. I am looking forward to this morning's CT scan, and also fearing it a little; not the test itself, but the results.

The earlier tests were easier to approach. With the first CT scan back in September, it was more of a curiosity. We didn't know what we were dealing with yet. My family doctor had said it could be something as simple as a hernia. Then we learned it was much more serious.

Now there's a lot more riding on the outcome. I have been trying not to set my hopes too high, not to expect miracles. Surely today's tests will show some movement in the right direction. I know the chemo has had some effect. My abdomen no longer feels like it is about to explode. The question is how much change, how much improvement, and is it enough to make surgery safe now? I don't really expect to be pronounced ready for surgery yet, but it would be nice to have medical confirmation that good stuff is happening.

I could have the results as early as tomorrow when I see the doctor before my chemo session. Or it could be the following Friday, since my regular doctor is on vacation this week. Like all those kids out there waiting for results on the finals they are taking this week, I'll be counting on some prayers for good news.

Almost normal

It's crazy how off-kilter things can get when you are smacked in the face with a life-changing cancer diagnosis. Routines go by the wayside. Your focus turns inward and all events are interpreted through a new filter. Then, if you're lucky, something intervenes and the cancer gradually stops hogging all the attention. I'm lucky.

It has struck me this week how much normalcy I have regained. Sometimes I even go for more than an hour without thinking of the lump in my belly! I am setting my alarm again to make sure I get into the office on time (or pretty close to it!). This week I am participating in evening activities four out of five nights, and then getting ready for Ben's graduation and open house on Sunday. There were times shortly after my diagnosis that I feared I wouldn't have the stamina to attend his graduation, let alone invite family and friends in afterward to celebrate.

Some days I feel so good I think I am going to wake up and find the lump has disappeared. Of course it hasn't, but I am hopeful the CT scans I will have tomorrow morning will show it is claiming less real estate in my abdomen these days.

My regained sense of well-being poses a dilemma. I have toyed with the thought of using this early-morning time once again for exercise. But then I realize I really like starting my day with the new mental workout that has become my recent pattern. Jogging versus blogging; it's nice to feel good enough to entertain that choice!

Perspective

One of my favorite strategies for dealing with a challenge is to picture being on the other side of it. I have employed that focus for things as trivial as getting through the frantic holiday rush. Ah, I would think, how wonderful it will be to get to the day after Christmas, when I can slow down and relax. How nice, I tell myself, to get through that big presentation or to have finally dealt with a thorny workplace issue.

I probably started picturing today at far back as six years ago, when I began the first of two three-year terms on the governing body for my church. Saying my goodbyes last night after these past two years as president was surprisingly sad. Looking back, I realized I had learned a lot about leadership, and service, and about myself. But finally being done with that commitment, finally being on the other side of monthly meetings for six years, was a bit less satisfying than I had imagined.

My son reaches a similar milestone today, when he will take his last final exam as a college undergraduate. He told me last week as he finished up classes that he thought he would be sadder at this point but instead is excited about the new challenges ahead of him.

How wise! Now Ben has me pondering a new strategy. Rather than just focusing on getting on to the other side of successful cancer treatment, on just getting on with life after Cancer 2.0, how much more envigorating to welcome the next big challenge.

Not just me

I like to amuse myself by reading the daily horoscopes in the paper each morning. I read my own and those of my family and ponder briefly how they might apply to the day ahead. Usually I have forgotten them almost by the time I turn the page, especially if they are their usual innocuous blatherings.

Never mind that each horoscope is aimed at one of every 12 persons in the world. No matter that I can read my horoscope for the same day in two different sources and come up with two different predictions. As I said, this is mostly an amusement; a little something to get the brain cells going as I drink my coffee.

Every now and then though, one speaks to me and colors my outlook a bit longer. I like my horoscope for today because it syncs with my conviction that resources outside what I can muster by myself will carry me through this cancer fight and through other challenges I may face. The last part of today's Virgo horoscope reads: "Remember your past successes and go forward. You are a channel for powers beyond your own."

That Christmas spirit

Could there be anything more perfect than readying the house for Christmas while Mother Nature does a little decorating outside with an unexpected accumulation of snow?

Tom may not share my enthusiasm, since he would have preferred to put up the multicolored outside lights in dryer, warmer conditions. I could not have been more delighted, though, to see the snow starting to fall as we hauled box after box out of the basement. To have the snow continue as we put up the tree nicely accompanied the Christmas music on the radio. The outside lights sparkled against the pristine white as it grew dark outside, making a spectacular season debut.

I think Christmas is like the snow. It takes our everyday world and puts a sparkling new face on it with the promise of love and hope. The snow will melt but we can keep the Christmas spirit around by sharing it.

Pitiful poinsettias

Off my right shoulder in the den where our computer sits is a large stereo speaker from the 1970s with a planter of craggy poinsettias perched on top. There are three plants in the container, all refugees from past Christmases. In the summer, the planter sits in a protected corner of our deck. It comes inside for cold weather from late fall to late spring.

To see them now, you have to wonder why the failing plants are in the house at all, why they were not left at the curb with yard waste several weeks ago with the rest of the withered annuals that had lost their beauty to the frost. But as I pick the dried leaves off the floor and watch the branches become barer week by week, I know this is not the sole existence of this poinsettia trio. As I predict to my husband each winter, tiny new leaves will appear in the spring and by summer the pot will again house lush bushes. The plants may not produce their once-gorgeous red blossoms, but there is still a lot of life there.

We all go through seasons like that. Sometimes we droop and struggle to get through the day. Then we grow stronger and thrive. I'm OK with being a little droopy now and looking forward to better days to come.

Catch this!

Some mornings I wake up knowing what I want to write about as I start the day. Other days, it takes a while for the inspiration to bubble up. This morning, it screamed at me from the front page of the paper. "Happiness really is contagious" is the headline.

Of course it is! We all know how a warm greeting from a happy person -- even a stranger on the elevator -- can put a smile on our faces. But now this study says that effect can be long-lasting and breed more happiness. Even better, happiness is more infectious than unhappiness. And happy people are more creative, productive and healthier, according to the article about this new study.

I'm unabashedly giddy over this news. Think of the possibilities for spreading this infection! Just by resolving to look on the bright side and find excuses to be happy, we can make our families, friends and coworkers all happier. And then they will make us happier! Happiness IS contagious, and I resolve to be a carrier!

Impatient patient

I'm not a very patient patient. My discomfort with being uncomfortable was apparent yesterday as I struggled to just let myself be sick on a sick day from work.

I should have been better prepared, having experienced two of these big chemo crash days already. A day with little energy and a foggy, achy head is predictable now two days after my double dose of chemo drugs. But the previous crash days were on Sundays, when outside distractions are fewer. The Sunday crash days are easier to nap away.

With my third double dose being rescheduled to this past Monday because of the Thanksgiving holiday, the predictable crash came in the middle of the work week. I was not prepared for how difficult it would be to keep myself down as my Blackberry provided easy access to a steady stream of messages. What would it hurt to sign on to my laptop and answer a few e-mails or review some attachments? As long as I'm up, might as well straighten up the house a bit and put on a pot of soup for dinner. The naps I needed were pushed lower on the priority list.

Nightfall found me feeling much worse for the wear. The good news is that my chemo schedule is back to Fridays again, so there should be no more mid-week crashes, and e-mail traffic is so much lighter on Sundays.

Singing a new song

I'm moving slow today, thanks to the predictable crash following Monday's double dose of chemo. But I woke up with a song in my head that won't be repressed. It sent me in search of some old lyrics in need of a rewrite. Here's what I came up with; I think you'll recognize the tune:

It grew so fast, I was aghast;
this mass that I call my lump.
Came out of nowhere to cause a scare.
Now everyone knows it’s shrinking!

The best present yet that I could get.
The chemo gets most of the praise.
It’s knocking it down, so I won’t frown.
Everyone knows it’s shrinking!

It’s shrinking! It’s shrinking!
Thanks to the prayers and the drugs.
It’s shrinking! It’s shrinking!
Death to all cancer bugs!

My apologies to anyone who now has that song stuck on replay. Just try it with my new lyrics and smile along with me.

Pass it along

I'm struck by similarities in my personal recipe for good spirits (No, not the kind you drink!) and by what I have been reading in The Art of Possibility.

Authors Roz and Ben Zander write about opening up to the creative force of passion. They advise, "...notice where you are holding back, and let go. Release those barriers of self that keep you separate and in control, and let the vital energy of passion surge through you, connecting you to all beyond....Allow yourself to be a channel to shape the stream of passion into a new expression for the world." Roz Zander finds passion in nature and her husband finds it in music.

For me, there is also a letting go and an invitation to be filled with life-giving energy, but I find my source in the healing love of my faith. Opening up to that love and asking God to use me as a vessel to carry His love to others never fails to lift my spirits. You can't wallow in despair about whatever circumstances you find yourself in when your focus is on encountering others in love.

The miracle is that the more love you give away -- or, as the Zanders advocate, the more passion with which you embrace life -- the more it comes rushing back to you!

Go with the flow

Sometimes things just work out the way they're supposed to. I was a little put out recently when my double-dose of chemo for round three was rescheduled from the Friday after Thanksgiving to today. I had become comfortable with my predictable schedule and how it allows me to minimize the sick time needed to received the chemotherapy drugs and recover from the inevitable crash on the second day afterward.

I fretted a bit that I would have to take two days off this week -- one to get the chemo and another because I would just be too lethargic to do anything else. The doctor's office was to be closed that Thanksgiving Friday, though, so there was nothing to do but accept the postponement.

Now I can see how perfect the change of plans was. By not having chemo on Friday, I was able to get away with Mandy and Tom for the day to a condo he has in the woods this week to be near his buddies for deer season. And today, as it turns out, I need to be at work before and after my chemo anyway, so it wouldn't have worked out for Tom to accompany me this time. Funny how it is best sometimes to let go and not try to control everything.

Anticipation

On this last day of the month, I look forward to December for the many gifts and joyous celebrations I believe it will bring. I am thinking not just of Christmas, although that is at the top of the list, but also of continued progress in this cancer fight.

My oncologist has said he will soon order new scans to confirm our visual observations that the tumor is shrinking. I am anxious to have that medical confirmation, although there are always unbidden fears of the unknown. Whenever doubts surface, my strategy to banish them is to say a quick prayer for strength and remind myself of all the love and positive energy that surround me.

Occasions to celebrate this last month of the year also include Ben's graduation, Tom's birthday, other family birthdays and several gatherings of friends for holiday cheer. None of us can deny the widespread economic troubles that color these days, but I am grateful for how the recession has curbed our tendencies toward frantic excess. As we all realize what truly matters most, I look forward to the upcoming celebrations with family and friends more expectantly than I have in years.

Blessings, postscript

I thought about counting my faith as a blessing, but it is more than that. My strong belief that God has a more perfect plan for my life than I can possibly imagine is the essence woven through me, rainbow-coloring all my perceptions.

My faith was strengthened through my first bout with cancer and I know it has already grown in this current fight. I feel surrounded by love, and I am comforted immensely when I hear that friends and family have enlisted others to pray for me.

I have written this before but it is worth repeating: My prayer is to be so filled with God's love that it overflows, and I am a vessel to carry His love to others. What can be more fulfilling and beautiful than that?

Ultimate blessings

I saved the best for last in my recounting of blessings leading up to this Thanksgiving Day. The best blessing of all is my family! I wish my husband, children, mother, siblings and extended family did not have to go through this cancer fight with me, but they have not wavered in their support at every step.

Tom has had to witness the worst of it. He watched the tumor grow impossibly fast, helped me in and out of bed when the pain spiked before chemo began, cut my hair when it started falling out and accompanies me to chemo, even though I am capable of getting there and back by myself. He sits next to me while the drugs drip in, providing comfort that don't need words to convey.

Mandy has been another rock. I leaned on her before I was ready to tell anyone else but Tom that I had found a lump. When it was time to reach out to others, Mandy shared my situation with our newspaper colleagues, bringing in another wave of support. Without her help and encouragement, I would not have this blog to express my feelings and keep my cheerleaders apprised of my progress.

Ben is the quiet supporter. His inquiries as to how I am feeling are frequent these days, along with offers to stop at the grocery for anything I need and to help with laundry on weekends.

Mom and my siblings keep cheering me on from the sidelines. When my early discomfort and the first round of chemo stole my appetite, Mom delivered her chicken noodle soup and mashed potatoes the same day I said that sounded good to me. From visions of pick-axing angels to praise for my blogging and offers of all kinds of help, my siblings and other family members remind me their positive thoughts and prayers are continuing.

My family has always been a source of great strength and comfort. Today I give thanks for my family more than ever!

Blessings, Part III

It is true what they say about counting your blessings instead of sheep. I woke up in the middle of the night, started thinking about what I would be writing here this morning, and ended up sleeping longer than I intended. What a blessing to have more good sleep! My list for the week continues:

1. Good friends. There is nothing like getting a serious illness to bring out the best in your friends, and to increase their ranks. I am amazed at the offers from friends to run errands for me, be my taxi, help me to find the best medical care, or just letting me know they are praying for me and sending out positive thoughts.
2. Good work. I can't imagine not being able to spend part of my day engaged in meaningful effort -- feeling like I am helping to produce something or improve something. I find great joy in the creative aspects of my work. I am especially grateful to have something other than my illness on which to focus my attention.
3. Good books. My son persuaded me earlier this year to begin reading the Harry Potter books. I had resisted them for so long, but I am very glad Ben finally prevailed. They are so entertaining! Book 5 is currently on my nightstand. I have already gushed enough in this blog about Coach Tressel's "The Winners Manual for the Game of Life." Now I am reading another good book that came from my pastor, "The Art of Possibility."

More blessings tomorrow!

Blessings, Part II

Continuing from yesterday's list, here are more things I am thankful for today.

1. Saving time. It's amazing how quickly I can get ready to leave the house when I don't have to spend time shampooing and conditioning my hair, blow-drying and curling it and then brushing it into place. Just plop on my wig and wiggle it around a little to make sure it's not lopsided, and I'm done!
2. Saving money. Sticking with the hair theme, the money I'm talking about saving here is what I am not spending on hair coloring and cuts. That can get pricey every couple of months!
3. Saving sleep. Although I still miss my morning workouts, I have to admit that I am getting at least an extra hour's sleep by not setting my alarm to head to the gym before work. I will enjoy the extra sleep while I can, and then count it as another blessing when I am ready to return to that routine.

Blessings, Part I

Might as well go with a theme of Thanksgiving this week. I have so many blessings to count, I am sure I can come up with a few every day between now and Thursday.

1. Chemo sleep. I don't remember reading about it as an expected side effect but my experience is I get my best night's sleep in these days after a treatment. Not just a good eight hours but nine or more if I go to bed early enough. And I love a good night's sleep!
2. Time of year. I think I would be really ticked to be dealing with cancer and chemo in the middle of the summer, when I would want to be more active. Late fall and winter is perfect for hunkering down. Bulkier clothes hide the lump of my tumor as well as the protruding port on my right shoulder blade. Shorter days make for better sleeping, too!
3. Head warmers. This is also the best time of year to lose my hair. My wig adds warmth when I need it most. And how silly would it look to wear knit hats to the grocery store in the middle of summer? I have always been a closet hat person -- love to try them on in the store but too self-conscious to wear them in public. Now I even feel a little sassy to wear a knit hat for running errands on weekends, or even around the house on cold days.

Thankful

I hate to jump the gun, but I can't wait until Thanksgiving to express how blessed I am feeling this morning.

The sun is shining, the Buckeyes were victorious over Michigan, and the tumor in my abdomen is getting smaller. My high spirits might also have something to do with a good night's sleep. I think chemotherapy has a way of helping the body rest when that's what it needs most.

The success I am feeling with my treatment so far is starting to expand my horizon. Instead of focusing on getting to the point of being able to undergo surgery, my outlook is getting longer. What new goals can I set for myself after I recover from the surgery? It is exhilerating to contemplate my life beyond Cancer 2.0.

On this morning after the Buckeyes' win, let me share some inspiration from the final chapter in Coach Tressel's "The Winners Manual for the Game of Life." The coach writes, "Purpose is a gift from God....Lasting goals are also from God, and they affect the people around us for good." I don't know yet what goals I will set for myself after I get through this fight, but I pray that they will bring good to others.

What's your vision?

We've got this tumor on the run, folks!

I see it in the mirror. A check of my profile shows my abdomen is not as distended as it was, and clothes around my waist are not as uncomfortable. Before my chemo treatment yesterday, the doctor said he could tell as well that it was smaller. We don't have the "tumor marker" blood tests yet to verify it, but I expect to see that number also going down when I get results in another week or so. More scans will be ordered after this current cycle of chemo is complete -- sometime around the first week of December.

They say it helps to visualize the progress you are seeking. My sister shared the vision that struck her yesterday as she prayed to help me see the tumor shrinking. She saw hundreds of tiny angels slipping through my bellybutton and hacking away at the tumor with pickaxes! I told her my vision is the cancer cells are little bugs that the chemo is flipping over onto their backs so they helplessly shrivel up and die. Then my body sheds the dead cancer bugs and the tumor shrinks.

I can't imagine better visions than pick-axing angels or dying bugs to see my prayers answered for this tumor to wither down to the size of a peanut that can be easily removed, but I'm open to hearing even more powerful ones. The more positive visions, the better!

My safety net

I have been searching for an image to describe the incredible feeling of support I have from the many family, friends, coworkers and others who have reached out to me the past two months. Their simple messages of caring, love and prayers are very powerful.

It is especially amazing how steady their comfort has been. People didn't just send get-well wishes in just the first weeks after my diagnosis and then stop. It has been more of a constant stream -- a card or maybe two, or an e-mail or blog comment almost daily. Some come from people I see all the time; some from people I haven't been in contact with for years.

The effect is that I am continually buoyed with reminders to stay strong and win this fight. The vision I get is of hands constantly all around me, ready to hold me up if I start to fall and prodding me forward.

We were watching a college football game on television recently and the camera zeroed in on a group of students celebrating a great play by hoisting a friend horizontally above their heads and passing him down the row. Yeah, it's like that!

Ready for round 3

My third round of chemotherapy starts tomorrow, and it's weird to admit I look forward to it. There is comfort in knowing I am doing something to tackle this growth in my abdomen. It is surprising, too, that the second full round seemed easier to tolerate than the first. My appeitite was not off nearly as much this last time.

One round is a three-week cycle consisting of one chemo drug the first day, two chemo drugs a week later and then a week with no chemo. When the chemo began, my swollen belly made most clothes uncomfortable and I had to learn a new way of getting in and out of bed so as not to aggravate the pain. I haven't had that kind of pain for weeks now!

If I can see this kind of improvement after two rounds of chemo, what kind of great results will the third and fourth rounds bring? The only thing missing is some independent medical validation that the chemo is working, and that may be in the works soon. C'mon, chemo, do your thing!

Precious strands

I am feeling a surprising kinship to balding men with bad comb-overs.

My recollection from 12 years ago is that my hair went from lush to bald in a very short period of time. Once it started coming out, there was no stopping it. This time, after several weeks of serious shedding, there are still some stalwart strands left.

The thin covering is not enough to take out in public, but it lets me keep my wig on its pedestal around the house. I can wear knit hats to keep my head warm and still see some fringe around the edges. The few strands are enough that I answered the door for a pizza delivery man the other night without a hat and didn't scare him away! I even let a few strands peek out under my wig along the sides of my face just to reinforce my confidence that yes, the wig is the same color as my real hair.

My next round of chemo may finish off the remaining wisps but I am enjoying them while I can. Like all those balding men must feel, these hairs may be few but they are mine!

Pulling together

The announcements for my son's OSU graduation arrived yesterday, bringing smiles for me and his dad. When we first began making plans for the big day, Ben initially confessed he was not crazy about participating in the ceremony. Tom and I quickly told him it was as much for us as him, maybe even more.

We earned the right to see him receive his diploma, we insisted. He may have been the one going to class and taking the tests but we were right there -- encouraging him, praying for his success, sharing his disappointment at setbacks and cheering his accomplishments. Our checkbook was also called into service, of course!

Maybe I should do announcements, too, when I graduate from this cancer fight; not just for me but for my army of supporters. If we're lucky, we don't do anything by ourselves. Each mountain we climb, each commencement marking the end of one journey and the beginning of new adventures should be celebrated with those who carried us toward the goal with their prayers and support. I am blessed to have many, many supporters cheering me on in this fight!

Many gifts

It is not unusual for me to find great inspiration in the sermons delivered by my pastor. She has the ability to reach each of us on a very personal level, even when our circumstances vary widely. Yesterday's sermon was a good example. The central theme was to prod: What have you been given, and what are you doing with it?

In a nice coincidence, my receptivity for the sermon was set up by a front page story in yesterday's newspaper about an OSU football assistant coach who continues to work through his own cancer battle -- defying doctors' prognoses and inspiring players, other coaches and fans in the process.

We tend to think of gifts as something good, but not everything we are given comes wrapped in pretty packaging and prompts a smile when it is revealed. Some gifts are downright stinkers! The point is not the gift at all, but what we do with it. We can take the greatest gifts and squander them, or we can take something others shun and turn it to gold. My quest is to be able to look back on this cancer battle years from now and see much good that came from it.

Unexpected bonus

Looking back, it is interesting to me that my latest cancer battle began about the time our nation and the world were experiencing major financial shocks. I remember thinking dully as I scanned the September headlines that I should be paying more attention, but I had another crisis of my own to consider.

More recent headlines tell of consumers responding by holding tighter to their money. Friends and family talk about changes they are making to spend smarter. Christmas in our family will see more of a focus on quality time together and less on buying each other things we don't really need.

I don't advocate my unanticipated method for saving money, but it has been amazingly effective. Just a month after my diagnosis, I started seeing a healthier balance in my checking account!

The difference was especially apparent during my first chemo high. I had driven to the doctor's for a required shot that Saturday and then made a few stops on the way home. Arriving home with packages, I told Tom, "The good news is, I feel better than I have in weeks. The bad news is, when I feel good, I shop."

Love heals

My workplace frequently offers personal development opportunities, and one I took advantage of a while back is called HeartMath. A key concept of HeartMath involves reducing stress by focusing on positive, appreciative thoughts.

Daily e-mails from HeartMath include quotes to help keep those good thoughts flowing. Yesterday's quote was especially inspirational for me. "The greatest science in the world; in heaven and on earth; is love."
- Mother Teresa

I believe there is a lot of truth to that conviction. I am extremely thankful for the medical care I am receiving, but the regular messages of love and support I get from friends, family and co-workers are equally as powerful. My constant prayer is not only to receive that healing love but to also send it back out again in abundance. Whatever else we do, we are all called to act toward each other in love.

Sticker shock

One big change since my first cancer battle is the way my treatment is handled by my health insurer. There are things I don't care to recall from those days, but I am sure I did not receive the blow-by-blow detail of every charge for every medical service that my insurer now provides.

During my previous treatment, one of the messages I delivered in my day job was how consumers needed to have more information about health care costs in order to make intelligent decisions and help bring out needed health care reform. We certainly have more information now, but we not much closer to reforming how we pay for health care.

The medical claim summaries I receive routinely now from my insurer spell it all out -- the hefty price for procedures and services, the "discounted" portion the insurer lops off the top (usually half or more of the original charge), the remaining portion the insurer agrees to pay and the pittance left as my responsibility. My job involves helping to explain health care, so I should not be surprised by any of these figures. It is still shocking, though, when you see it in such a personal context.

When my cancer fight is behind me, I am committed to not forgetting how it feels to see this side of health care so that I can work more effectively for reform.

Withdrawing isn't failing

I learned yesterday that my son, in his final quarter at OSU, made the decision to withdraw from one of his three classes in order to focus more on the other two. The two he kept are graduation requirements. The one he dropped was a one-hour course he took for fun. He liked the class, he told me, but it was sapping energy he needed to apply to the requirements.

My initial, natural response was disappointment, but I knew the more I thought about it he had made the right decision. Withdrawing when he did carries no negative impact on his grade point average. Sure, he might have worked harder to finish the class, but would it have cost him some degree of success on the other two classes and maybe even threathened graduation in December?

I, too, am withdrawing from some things right now in order to focus strength elsewhere. My required courses for graduation as a two-time cancer survivor include:

1. giving chemotherapy the best chance to do its job,
2. keeping myself healthy and strong for recovery from eventual surgery to remove the tumor and
3. doing enough work and personal activities to maintain a healthy sense that I am still functioning normally.

I still don't like having to drop some things along the way, but I know withdrawing is better than failing.

Masquerade

Dressing up in costume has never held a big attraction for me, so I was more than a little self-conscious stepping out yesterday in my wig. Having worked from home on Monday, it was my first time in the wig since my hair came back 12 years ago. The nice comments I received made it bearable.

Tom's smiling assessment gave me an encouraging start. He is most familiar with my ever-thinning strands. He pronounced the wig a nice improvement. More smiles and compliments at work boosted my confidence. If there were those who shared my occasional thoughts that the wig was too fake, they nicely kept it to themselves.

I remember a program for cancer patients called "Look good, feel better" in which cosmeticians and others show women who have lost their hair -- and a measure of their self-confidence along with it -- how to put on a happier, prettier face. There is good medicine in being able to look in the mirror and not see sickness look back. The wig and I will be good buddies for the next few months.

Tough lesson

I have to confess that I am not all sunshine all the time about this cancer. The part that irks me most is the lesson I did not want to learn about being careful what you treasure.

Most of my life, I fretted about carrying extra weight around, mostly in my belly. So the past two years, I was especially proud that a healthy diet and workout routine had finally flattened my tummy. So guess where this cancer sprouts and initially grows like a weed?

Then there's my hair. It had just gotten to a length I really liked 12 years ago before chemo with Cancer 1.0 took it away. For years afterward, I kept it short, afraid of losing it again. Then I finally gave myself permission to believe I wouldn't lose it again. It wasn't necessarily the best style for me but I loved just growing it! So now I'm almost bald again.

And I was getting a little too wrapped up in my morning workouts. I loved feeling so strong and energetic and active. So now some days a short walk about does me in.

I don't really think this is God's idea of a joke, but it does put a different spin on things. When I get through this battle, I will value a flat tummy, a decent crop of hair and the energy to exercise for what they are, and nothing else -- signs of good health!

Booster shot

I've decided there is a bonus to undergoing chemo again that was not immediately apparent. No doctor has confirmed my assumption, but I don't know why it wouldn't be true. The thought I am holding onto is that this new chemotherapy regimen is added insurance against a recurrence of my breast cancer!

As much as no one wants to go through chemotherapy, there is a comfort in knowing that you are actively fighting cancer, that you are chasing it out of your body. And as perverse as it seems, I remember a sense of reluctance for the treatments to end. Was it enough? Did it leave any maverick cells lurking behind?

My current cancer is not related to my previous cancer. The distance of 12 years since my first cancer fight is reasurring, but you never lose the thought that it could come back, and be worse than it was originally. If breast cancer had half a thought of rearing up again in my body, I am pretty sure it is finding an inhospitable environment these days.

Not so bad

A nice thing about chemo is that it provides some predictability. Once you've been through it a couple times, you know what to expect. It is far worse to be anticipating your first experience with chemo. I actually made myself sick 12 years ago on the eve of my first treatment.

Today is the low point of the aftermath of the double-dose I received on Friday, but it's not terrible. Mostly, I have no energy. Writing this entry is about the most energetic thing I'll do all day. But it's a good, quiet day to be lazy.

I actually feel better than I did after my first double-dose three weeks ago. Then, I was still taking pain pills around the clock, which I think contributed to my malaise. It is much easier to deal with the chemo when you see it doing what it is supposed to be doing. I know it is shrinking my tumor, so I can put up with these down days. Pardon me, now, if I head back to bed.

You gotta have hope!

I've been taking Jim Tressel's "The Winners Manual for the Game of Life" with me to my chemo treatments. I'm almost done with it and may start it over from the beginning at my next session. I seldom read a book over but the guidance it provides is that inspiring.

I had already decided to write about Tressel's chapter on hope before reading in this morning's paper about the breast cancer death yesterday of local television anchor Heather Pick at age 38. From all I know of her incredible spirit, she would concur it is appropriate to keep hope high in any challenge we face.

This chapter gave my yellow highlighter a workout so I can't repeat all the good stuff here, but here is a good excerpt:

"When we possess the hope and belief that ultimately we're going to be successful in our journeys , there's not much of what comes our way on a daily basis that we can't handle. When we see negative events as stepping stones and have hope that our problems can actually propel us toward our goals rather than than hinder us, then we are, of all people, truly blessed. If I could pass along one virtue to all of our players -- and to every reader of this version of the Winners Manual -- it would be the virtue of hope."

Every day we have a choice about how to approach all we encounter. I choose hope.

Wigged out

You have to find ways to humor yourself when your hair is determined to leave your head. My last experience with chemo was at this same time of year. It prompted me to compose a ditty to the tune of "I'll be home for Christmas." I've been singing it to myself again lately. It goes like this:

I'll be bald for Christmas. You can count on that.
I'll have no hair. My head will be bare, unless I wear a hat.
I'll be bald for Christmas, but I'll still dance a jig.
I'll be bald for Christmas, but I still have my wig!

The hair loss made steady progression all week and should be complete this weekend, especially after today's double dose of chemo drugs. I haven't worn my wig yet but the remaining front strands were so thin by last night that I wore a new knit cap to dinner to celebrate our son-in-law's 30th birthday (although for the record, he still wants to be thought of as 25!). It wasn't bad, and the cap really helped to complete my outfit!

Here's another nice thing about the timing for my baldness: as the weather turns colder and the rest of you are shivering outside, my wig will keep my head nice and warm!

OK, sing with me now! "I'll be bald.......

Watching my back

I received another reminder yesterday that my workplace operates like a close-knit family. This is part of what gets me out the door in the morning and keeps me at my desk a good part of the day, allowing welcome time to focus on matters other than my battle with Cancer 2.0.

One of my current responsibilities involves some time out of the office to visit with hospital executives, learn about their latest concerns and provide updates on what we're doing to help. It isn't hard work, but it takes a little more energy than I have been able to muster lately. Looking ahead, I knew I would have trouble meeting that responsibility for the next few months, and it was on my to-do list to ask for help. I hate admiting I can't do something, though, so I had not followed through on handing off that task.

My work family beat me to it! I learned yesterday that others had already realized my field visits were at risk and had stepped in to take them off my plate.

One of the values we aspire to in my workplace is a commitment to the success of others. Another value embraces service to members. Yesterday's revelation told me our values are very much alive at the Ohio Hospital Association, and my coworkers are committed to my success in this fight.

Let me entertain you!

A nice thing about doing this blog is the outlet it gives me for one of my passions -- writing.

Even better is the feedback I have received, in posted comments and otherwise, that my supporters are enjoying reading my writing again. It has been more than 16 years since I left my newspaper job and had a public outlet for writing. The writing I have done in the meantime has been more behind-the-scenes and focused on work issues or church matters.

No one ever wants the reason of a serious health issue to prompt attention to themselves or what they have to say. We all have the opportunity, though, to take whatever challenge we face and find a way to bring something positive out of it.

I am very thankful for all the encouragement I have been receiving to stay focused on healing and possibility and to have the outlet of this blog to express it. My obligation is to try to give my supporters a good read so you'll want to keep coming back!

Hair today, gone tomorrow

You don't appreciate how much hair you have until it starts falling out. I remember that from the last time but it still surprised me yesterday when I was washing it and pulling out great clumps. I was sure there would be bald spots -- maybe lots of them -- by the time I finally got it rinsed and dried. I thought I might have to pull out my wig for church.

With wig management in mind, I called for Tom to bring the scissors and help me cut off a lot of the length. He asked me to start the cut so he would know how short to go. Then he followed it on around to the back, up the other side and across the front.

The surprise was that the new short do was thick and full!

I didn't want to pull more out by blow-drying it, so I just finger-combed it and let the natural curl have its way. I called my sister -- who has the proper hair-cutting tools and skill -- to clean up a corner of the back that Tom and I couldn't get quite right. The compliments for the new style began with Tom, my mom and sister and continued from people at church!

I hope to get another few days out of this sassy, short haircut before I have to start wearing the wig. My fantasy thought is that the hair loss will stop, now that I've taken drastic measures, as if the chemo were saying, "Just kidding! Now I'm going to go back to skrinking your lump. Enjoy the new do!"

Balancing act

One of my challenges is finding the right balance between taking good care of myself and doing what I am capable of doing. That's probably true for anyone in any circumstance, but health issues certainly magnify the quest for balance.

Before Cancer 2.0 stepped into my path, I was pretty nonstop -- starting most weekdays with 6 a.m. workouts, putting in long days at work with occasional evening meetings, filling weekends and other free time with household, family and church obligations. I was fine with that, but now I see my schedule was controlling me instead of the other way around.

An acquaintance who speaks from the experience of her own serious health challenge a few years ago warned she would be watching to see that I give myself the time and attention I need to heal. It was good advice, and I am trying to heed it.

Still, when I am feeling good, I struggle to know the best course. Should I head back to the gym and try a little workout? Should I set the alarm to get into the office early or let my body tell me when it's time to get up? Should I accept more evening invitations -- both work-related and personal? Should I continue doing and going until I tire, or should I call more preventive timeouts?

It is foreign to baby myself, and I don't want to swing too far in that direction. The balance I seek is between treating this cancer fight seriously and not turning my life over to it.

Shrink, baby, shrink!

I felt a little like a Halloween pumpkin getting ready to be carved. The doctor was pressing the lump in my abdomen, marking its edges as he went with his black pen. He didn't draw a smile on my tummy, but I felt one inside. Cautious but optimistic, he said it seemed a slight bit softer than when he had previously palpated it.

Many times with sarcomas, chemotherapy can kill off the cancer cells but still leave much of the dying tumor behind, not much smaller than when it was growing, the doctor explained. Drawing the edges will give us something to measure against in coming weeks, he explained.

Blood test results gave us more reason to smile. What the doctors call a tumor marker had gone from 5 when I had my annual checkup with Dr. Brenda in July to a 48 just before my chemotherapy began. Now it is 41 -- definitely moving in the right direction.

My own comfort level also tells me something is working. My belly no longer feels ready to explode, pressing painly against my innards.

I am holding onto the image of a fast-shrinking tumor. I might even ask Tom to retrace the doctor's pen lines with a Sharpie to make sure we can document the lump's retreat!

Tricks and Treats

It is Halloween and I am looking forward to beginning my second round of chemo today. Really!

A round -- at least as I am defining it -- is a three-week cycle. Today I will get one chemo drug, Gemzar, plus all the good stuff they give you to help counteract bad effects of the drug. Next week will be the two-drug dose, and then I will have a week off.

I am viewing the drugs I will get today as my treat. Now that I have been through a full round of this, I have an expectation that today's treatment will not be too hard on me. There will probably be a little bit of a downer on Sunday, following the chemo high of today and most of Saturday. But the one-drug treatment shouldn't zap my energy like the double dose does.

The target for the trick is the tumor. The first round started to get its attention. Now it's time to kick it around some more and force it to start shrinking in terror. My abiding thought for today is that this Halloween treatment scares the heck out of my lump!

Converging

My husband is a great student of the Civil War, especially Gettysburg. I have learned a little from him about the battle in that Pennsyvania town, and it gives me an image about my own cancer battle.

There are something like 10 different roads that lead to Gettysburg, which is part of what caused it to become a great battle site. Similarly, I have been thinking about all the roads that have brought me to where I am. These roads include the effort I have made in recent years to improve my physical health; the great network of family, friends and co-workers I have been able to build through the years; growth in my spiritual well-being; the maturity of my family; the great confidence I have developed in my professional team, even the experience I gained from Cancer 1.0 12 years ago.

When I put all these things together, I feel about as well-prepared as I ever could be for this fight. Gettysburg didn't invite the battle 145 years ago, but it survived. I will, too!

It's not all bad

One thing about being in a battle with cancer is how it changes your priorities. And it's not all bad.

I have tried to ask myself what I would be fretting over these days, what I would have been focused on about now, if I weren't centered on this health issue. I am certain some of whatever would have been catching my attention would have been trivial compared with my keener perspective today. Seeing through the filter of this battle helps to clarify what is important and keeps me more appreciative of what is good and right with the world. When I am feeling good, I am ready to celebrate it.

A friend called this morning to say a lunch we had planned for tomorrow would have to be rescheduled. OK, I responded, how about today? And, thankfully, we were able to move our lunch up a day. It wasn't until we were talking later at lunch that she pointed out my seize-the-moment response was a bit out of character. True, but now I have a stronger sense of what's important.

Grateful

I have been reading OSU football coach Jim Tressel's book, "The Winners Manual for the Game of Life." There is a lot of good stuff in this book and one part I keep coming back to mentally is something he says about attitude. Here's what he wrote:

Another one of my favorite quotes is this one: "It is impossible to be grateful and unhappy at the same time." That is a powerful truth. You're either going to be grateful or unhappy. That's your choice.

We do choose our attitude. When I think about all the support I have in family, friends, co-workers and at church, I can't help but be grateful. And that's a lot better than being uphappy!

Making progress

I knew when I e-mailed friends and family on Oct. 18 about how I was feeling so good that it was probably due in part to the chemo-high of good stuff to counteract the bad. Now I also know the low that follows can be a doozy!

After a rough couple of days, I started feeling stronger again by Tuesday of this past week. Part of that I attribute to being able to stop taking pain pills every four hours. The pills weren't really making me drowsy but the cumulative effect of living from pill to pill was getting to me. It is so much better to have a clearer head without them.

And here's the best part -- I have been able to stay away from the pain pills because I don't still have that feeling that my abdomen is ready to explode. The lump is either shrinking or at least it's not still growing like it was!

Now I am looking forward to a good week before chemo starts up again this coming Friday.

Welcome to my blog

The journalist in me is still wrestling with the notion of becoming a blogger. Blogging won out, though, because it seems a good way to let my cheerleaders know how I'm doing without presuming that they all want e-mails from me on a regular basis.

If you're reading this, please accept my thanks for being part of my support network. It has been incredible in the very short time I have learned that I am in a new cancer fight to also be reminded of how much love and support surrounds me and lifts me up.

My prayer is to be a vessel for God's love -- to be so filled with His healing power that I am able to pour it out and share it with others. Please know that all your prayers and positive thoughts for me are coming back to you with my prayers and hopes for your well-being also. I am incredibly blessed to have that opportunity.