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!