Facing another birthday

When it comes to birthdays, I have never grown up.

I still anticipate each one with the giddiness of a child. Those who approach their birthdays with dread mystify me. Birthdays always have and always will be an occasion for celebration to me, now even more than ever. What can be bad about marking the blessing of another year of life?

My birthday yesterday was made even more special by the greetings that popped into my e-mail all day via facebook. I am still a facebook novice and didn't realize so many people make it a habit to send birthday greetings to their facebook friends. I even had to ask someone how birthdays appear on facebook pages so I can make sure to return the greetings when other friends are celebrating their special days.

This birthday was also sweeter with the remembrance of a few dark days in the midst of my Cancer 2.0 when I wondered if I would have another birthday. I give thanks for my healing every day, and on special days like my birthday, I celebrate my good health even more.

I am very blessed, and sharing my birthday with facebook friends yesterday just multiplied my blessings.

Getting my fix

I never get tired of a good report from the doctor. My latest check-up Wednesday followed a familiar routine that has become addictive.

First comes the blood draw for the necessary lab report, but it is not painful thanks to the medi-port that still sits just under the skin on my right shoulder blade. Next a medical technician checks me in, going through a list of questions to remind me how well I am doing as I answer negatively to queries about pain, fatigue or other problems. Then there are the too-slow minutes waiting in the exam room with unbidden what-if thoughts keeping me company.

Finally, the doctor appears in the doorway and my senses go on high alert. My eyes search his face for signals while my ears strain to hear the words that are my fix for the next several months: "Your scans are fine."

There were plenty of times in the days leading up to and shortly after my February 2009 surgery that I was really tired of what seemed to be endless visits to doctors. Now I look forward to the welcome validation of my health.

I have been deeply blessed, and every few months, a doctor reminds me so.

No pain, no gain

I haven't abandoned my blog. Really! But the further I have traveled from the cancer that turned me to blogging in the first place, the less often I have written.

Some free time tonight lured me back to these pages. I was surprised to see more than a month had passed since I last shared thoughts in the blogosphere. It's not that every post was about my cancer. Some of my most favorite posts had nothing to do with my illness. They had more to do with focusing my thoughts on something other than how I was feeling or the sickness I was fighting. Writing sometimes let me escape and regroup.

Next weekend will be two years since I discovered the lump in my abdomen that quickly grew into a nightmare of doctor and hospital visits, chemo and hair loss, surgery and recovery. Not a day passes that I don't give thanks for my return to good health, and for the blessings that come from having faced cancer and moved on. The less I write, the more I realize what therapy it was for me to maintain this blog in the midst of my treatment.

I do miss the writing, but I don't miss what motivated it!

And many more

This time a year ago, I was sitting in a hospital waiting room, nervously eying the door to the labor and delivery ward where my daughter and son-in-law were preparing to welcome their firstborn, a boy. They had arrived at the hospital late the night before but persuaded me and Tom to get some rest before coming to the hospital to greet our first grandchild.

I had great anticipation that morning, but I realize now I had no idea the joy this baby would bring. His first birthday invites my mind to replay many moments of wonder and awe at the special bond between grandparents and grandchildren.

It poses an interesting question: If this first year of being a grandparent was this amazing, how much more enjoyable will be the years to come? And if one grandchild is this much fun, does each successive grandbaby multiply the delight by that much more?

The journey ahead beckons, and I marvel at the blessing of being on this road of grandparenthood.

Love in bloom

Something amazing is going on with hydrangeas this summer.

In years past, I can remember being happy if I coaxed even a half-dozen blooms from the large-leafed plant. I had carefully buried it 10 years ago at a corner of our house, nestled next to a downspout to ensure an extra drink whenever a heavy rain causes an overflow. Now it has more pink, blue and purple blossoms than I can count.

I know this plant is not the only hydrangea exploding with color this summer. I have taken notice of others around the neighborhood that are also in full flower.

My plant is special, though, as a reminder of my father. When he passed away, my best friend's family sent the hydrangea in a planter with their sympathy. I have never been one to visit grave sites to remember lost loved ones, but I always send a little greeting up to my dad in heaven when I spy his hydrangea.

With this summer's abundance of flowers, I have been able to keep a long-lasting display in a large vase on my kitchen counter, keeping thoughts of my dad even closer.

Weather or not

On this beautiful holiday morning, I can't help but think of a 4th of July years ago that remains one of my favorites, despite horrible weather.

As glorious as today is, that 4th was gloomy. It was rainy and unusually cold for early July, but we had made plans for an outing to Buckeye Lake, and we were not to be deterred. The "we" was me, Tom, Mandy and Ben, and my parents. It must have been 20 years ago, because I recall Mandy and Ben being about 10 and 6.

We gathered some snacks, loaded the cooler with drinks and headed east. It was not pleasant to be on the water in the steady drizzle, even under the boat's metal canopy, so we sought more pleasant surroundings down a canal to one of the lake's smaller dockside bars. The rain had kept most others away; there was just one other patron inside. But as often happened with my dad, it was someone he knew. We were not surprised when he greeted the man he had known from the first grade!

I was surprised, though, when my mom picked up a cue stick and started playing pool with my children. I don't think I had ever seen her play pool before that day, even though we had a table in the basement growing up, and I haven't seen her play since, even though we have a table in our basement. But playing pool was what the day called for to entertain her grandchildren, so that's what she did!

That long-ago Independence Day stands out for me because it showcased two endearing traits of my parents. Dad found friends wherever he went; Mom always focuses on her children and grandchildren.

Hot and sunny, today will be picture-perfect for another Buckeye Lake outing with Mom, and I'll be smiling as memories of a long-ago Fourth accompany us.

How are you?

Simple enough question, but do we really hear the answer when we greet people with that query?

A work acquaintance brought me up short with his answer recently. And then I smiled as I considered his reply.

"I am blessed," he had said matter-of-factly. A couple of beats later, and with a big grin, I told him, "So am I!"

When I asked him further about his response to that question we so routinely ask and answer without thought, he said someone had recently told him "I am grateful" when he had asked how she was. The unexpected answer prompted him to give a more considered response when people greeted him with that almost-unheard question.

How nice it would be if we could all acknowledge our blessings so freely. After all, if we are as "well" as most of us tend to say in response to the standard "How are you?" greeting, we truly are blessed.

The closer you look

Today is one of those glorious days that starts out as a blank white canvas waiting to become a masterpiece. Just hope I don't mess it up.

The trepidation creeping into my outlook is a familiar fear that has my mother's voice echoing in my mind's ear. "The closer you look, the more you see to do." In Mom's recounting of that mantra many times while I was growing up, it usually had to do with cleaning the house. She'd start on one chore and it would spawn three more. I encounter this axiom with multiple applications, not just cleaning.

This might be a good day to start downloading some computer files onto a new portable hard drive I picked up this week in preparation for eventually getting a new computer. But can I just start downloading files without reorganizing them? Or maybe I should explore the Memorial Day sales to shop for good deals on a new computer right now. And what about all those other great sales I know I will see if I head to the store?

Then there are the extra Lazy Susan turntables I have left over after picking up several for new cabinets in the kitchen. If I try to put one in the pantry, I will be tempted to clean out and reorganize all the shelves. Using one upstairs in the bathroom vanity poses the same challenge of turning into a much bigger job.

Outside tasks also beckon. The tomato plants in the garden need to be staked. But playing in the dirt in one corner of the yard could lead to an all-day affair. I know I will look around and see the flower beds need to be edged, and spent blooms need to be dead-headed. And while I'm at it, wouldn't it be fun to run over to my daughter's house and play in her flower beds, too?

Maybe if I don't put my contacts in today, I can limit my vision so I don't see so much to do.

Seeing pink

I will always remember the first Race for the Cure I participated in as a breast cancer survivor. It was still a fairly new and unknown event in Columbus as a group of us from work gathered at the start of the course. One of my coworkers looked from the white T-shirt she was wearing to the pretty pink hue of my shirt and commented innocently, "Oh, I want a pink shirt!"

Another survivor and I, who were acutely aware of the significance of our pink shirts, immediately started laughing. Oh no, you don't, we assured our friend.

It was understandable in 1997 that someone participating in the race for the first time might not realize the pink shirts were reserved for those who had faced breast cancer. But for those of us wearing survivor shirts, being able to quickly identify our brethren was amazingly powerful. We wore them proudly, and we walked or ran to keep others from having to join our ranks. We caught each other's eye and smiled in understanding, our own dreams for continued survival buoyed by each pink shirt we encountered.

Columbus' Race for the Cure has grown to one of the largest, with last weekend's 2010 race attracting an amazing 52,000 participants. Such popularity should bring great appreciation and deference for the significance of the pink shirts. I was dismayed, though, to quickly see we survivors had lost our status.

Pink shirts were everywhere, but not just the official survivors' brand. Some matching pink shirts were worn by small groups of people walking in memory or in honor of a loved one. Pink has become so synonymous with the fight against breast cancer, some just wore it as a way to show support for the cause. But no matter how well-meaning, the masqueraders robbed me of the simple joy of being able to reach across the throngs and connect with strangers who shared a profound bond.

I sent a note this week to the director of the Columbus race, congratulating her team for their success and encouraging them to restore the pink shirts to their rightful status for survivors-only in future races. They try to get that message out, she said, but it is not always received.

Looks like I have a new challenge to help tackle for the 2011 race. Let me know if you have good ideas for helping to Preserve the Pink!

Tea time

There's something about hot tea that is so different from its caffeinated cousin, coffee.

Coffee equates with the morning rush. Get up, gulp some coffee, get going. No time to dawdle. Time to move out and tackle the day ahead. If coffee beckons again later in the day, it is likely because of a perceived need for a wake-up boost.

Tea, for me, is all about taking a breather and slowing down. Weekend afternoons have become a favorite tea time for me. It's hard not to sit down and relax a minute with a cup of hot tea at hand.

It could have something to do with how I take my tea. With coffee, I add creamer and a bit of skim milk. They are as much to cool the coffee so I can drink it faster as they are to alter the flavor. A bit of honey or organic blue agave sweetener is all I add to my tea. I have to slow down and wait a minute to drink it -- first for the tea to steep in the hot water and then for the fragrant beverage to cool enough to sip.

Lately, I have started drinking tea at the office -- sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the afternoon. Maybe it's a subconscious message to myself that I need to slow down a bit at work, too.

Whatever you do

My children know how to complete the phrase that I started with the title to this post. I learned it from my mother and passed it along to Mandy and Ben. I hope they do the same. The entire saying goes like this: "Whatever you do, do with all your might. Things half done are never done right."

It has been great guidance for my life, but it struck me last weekend that sometimes it is OK to go halfway. Sometimes halfway is far enough to give you a good look at something, to tell you it would be better to stop right there and regroup.

Mandy and I were walking a half-marathon when we agreed doing half of the half would be enough. (I like the irony of it -- the notion of doing a half-marathon was already sending a message that occasionally half can be the whole.) The rain was insistent as we approached the six-mile mark and a point in the 13.1 mile route that was close to the finish line.

We knew we could finish; we had done it in October, but we also knew we hadn't trained as we should have, and we both had busy days ahead of us. We took the shortcut over to the finish line to wait for Andy to cross, knowing he could run the full 13 miles in little more than the time it took us to walk half the distance.

Not finishing was the right decision this time, but not being able to cross the finish line ourselves helped to rededicate us to preparing for the next time. Mandy has dug out the training schedule we used a couple of years ago. It will be fun to follow it again with a slight modification: this time we'll be taking along the baby in his jogging stroller!

Redirecting

As I signed into my blog this morning, an interesting milestone caught my eye. I have made 200 posts to this blog since I created it in October 2008 to chronicle my journey from Cancer 2.0 to good health.

When I started, this exercise was much-needed therapy for my psyche. The most important accomplishment of some days was to identify the beauty and grace of my experience and capture it for deeper reflection. Looking inward helped me to know many good things were happening even as I faced bleak prospects of difficult medical treatment and uncertain outcomes. And sometimes I tickled my own funny bone just to amuse myself. I didn't know my blog would also be good medicine for some of my readers, but that aided my healing, too.

Post number 201 seems like a good time to declare a new direction for this blog. I will still focus on striving for health but in a much broader sense. Surviving cancer is a small blip, an "oh, by the way" of my life. There are new daily challenges to celebrate. I am ready to expand and rejuvenate my dedication to personal exploration through this blog.

Next up -- the half marathon that didn't get completed yesterday, but for all the right reasons.

Naming rights

I have a bad habit of naming people I don't know. I mostly give nicknames to folks I see regularly but don't interact with, such as people who go to the gym at the same time I do weekday mornings. I mentally say "hello" to them as we go about our workouts, intent on our own exercises and rarely making eye contact.

My favorites include Grimace, who always has a pained look on his face, and Chicken Man and Chicken Woman, who are probably very nice but their pinched features prompt me to think of them as poultry people. Chicken Man looked at me and smiled once, and then I was ashamed for what I had named him. Another one I've probably got all wrong is Terrorist, a smallish young man of dark hair and skin who wildly waves his arms heavenward on the treadmill, as if praising a foreign deity. I think I'm on the money, though, with Step Away, who works out regularly but really needs to step away from the buffet table.

The lesson here is that people probably name me, too. The women who see me in the locker room might call me Scar Belly for my long souvenir of last year's cancer surgery. That would be accurate for only one small piece of who I am. So, I need to project the image of who I would be proud to be named. Smiley would be nice!

New life

On this Easter morning, it is fitting to reflect on the abundance of blessings God has bestowed on me.

A year ago I was still in fragile recovery from Cancer 2.0. I had endured a terrifying diagnosis, dealt with the challenges of chemotherapy and struggled back to health from major abdominal surgery. By the first few days of last April, I had just returned to work and was looking forward to the birth of my first grandchild. Things were looking brighter, but I was also afraid of getting too optimistic about the future. This morning I am in awe of how richly I have been blessed.

Easter would not dawn as bright and beautiful if not in contrast to the solemn message of Good Friday. Sometimes we have to experience fear and despair to appreciate what is good and right in our lives. This morning I am renewed, and I pray that God will use me to be a blessing to others.

Girlfriends

Sometimes what seems like the worst time to do something is the best time.

Earlier this year, four high school girlfriends and I picked last weekend for a rare overnight outing. As the time for our trip approached, it became clear to me that it would occur just as I was entering an incredibly busy time at work. I was facing deadlines to prepare for some important meetings, several day trips around the state and a trip out of town for an annual conference at which I will be making a presentation to peers from around the country. The home front was also hectic as Tom and I celebrated our 36th wedding anniversary in the middle of renovating our kitchen.

How could I possibly take time out for myself with so much to do? How could I not?

Our girls' weekend turned out to be one of the best tonics I could have taken in preparation for the busy time ahead. We shopped our way south, checked into adjoining rooms at a casino hotel, gambled a little, giggled a lot and shopped our way back home the next day.

As I buckled down at work this week, photos and recollections of our fun time together popped into my e-mail inbox, putting a smile on my heart that lightened my load. I expect the memories will continue to lift me as I head into these next two busy weeks. There is nothing my girlfriends can do to help me cross any to-do's off my list, but the time spent with them gave me the renewed spirit that will carry me across the finish line. That's what girlfriends do best!

Blessed!

I put on a brave front, but was anxious as I waited to see the doctor this week to receive results of my three-month CT scans. In the days leading up to the appointment, I kept checking my abdomen for any signs of lumps. My belly would tense as I probed and asked myself, "Scar tissue or cancer?"

Even as the doctor entered the room, I tried to read his expression and for a moment was certain the news was bad. "Your reports are fine," he quickly said after greeting me. I tried not to signal my relief too loudly.

In a post-cancer world, no matter how confident you try to feel about recovery, every ache or pain is a recurrence. I know that thought tendency will abate over time, but it is still hard to give myself permission to always believe I will be OK. As this last checkup approached, I chose not to ask for prayers in church for good results, and then feared I was being arrogant to put on a positive front that presumed I didn't still need such prayers.

I am very blessed, and I know many prayers for my health have been offered up whether I publicly requested them or not. I will be sharing my good results in church tomorrow and saying thanks for those who have kept me in their thoughts and prayers all along.

No looking back

"Someday" became "now" for me today.

For years, I have wanted to make some kitchen upgrades. The counters are a tired, plain white. The cooking appliances are barely adequate -- an electric cooktop that struggles to get hot enough for dishes like stirfry, a narrow wall oven with one rack and a mediocre microwave.

College tuition for two children was the major priority that pushed my kitchen dream to the background. Then along came Cancer 2.0, giving me days when my view of the future was so short I wondered about investing in new underwear, let alone a new kitchen.

Now I am ready for a kitchen that I plan to enjoy for a long time. I spent time this week with my interior-designer sister-in-law making decisions on fun things like a new Silgranite sink and a faucet with a pull-out spray nozzle and narrowing the choices on granite counter tops. This afternoon I ordered a dual-fuel slide-in range and a combination wall oven with microwave and convection cooking. It was with great faith in a healthy future that I handed my credit card to the appliance salesman.

Last week I had my three-month follow-up CT scans, but I'm not anxious about the results I'll get on Wednesday. It feels good and right to be moving ahead to realize a long-held dream and not planning my future in small increments between doctor's visits.

Baby apps

I was feeding my grandson his rice cereal and squash yesterday when there was a lull in the action. My cell phone was sitting nearby, so I reached over to check a new e-mail indicated by the flashing red light. I clicked off e-mail and back to the screen saver. Then I saw Dodge eying my phone intently and smiling one of his biggest smiles of the day.

How cute, I thought. He has seen the photo of himself that I took the day he was born. It appears on my screen when I am not using the phone for other purposes. I figured he would also enjoy seeing himself on the digital picture frame his parents gave us for Christmas, so I positioned the frame where he could watch it while I finished feeding him. He did occasionally watch the photos scrolling across the digital frame the rest of the evening, but he never got as excited about them as he had when he spied me checking my phone.

When my daughter picked up the baby last night, I mentioned to her how tickled he had gotten when he saw his picture on my phone. Mandy started laughing, and then, demonstrating with her own Blackberry, she showed me what was really going through her seven-month-old's mind.

She has downloaded a free, baby-proof application that lets Dodge press keys without accidentally placing phone calls or otherwise using her phone in a way she might regret. His reward for each key is a brightly colored block that floats across the screen while a child's voice clearly announces the letter on the key.

Having the same phone as Mandy, I also now have the same "Baby Go!" app. Dodge is coming over again tonight, and my phone is on the charger.

One year later

A year ago, I was in a bad way.

I was lying in a hospital bed with a tube through my nose pulling dark green bile from my stomach and two drains in my right side pulling watery blood from my abdomen. A large, malignant tumor had been surgically removed the day before, Feb. 12, 2009, and for that I was beyond grateful.

As Valentine's Day came, my hospital room was brightened with beautiful flowers, bright red bows and greeting cards, but there were no chocolates, red wine or romantic dinners. It would be nearly a week before I would be allowed to eat anything, and several weeks before I really enjoyed eating again. Now Tom and I are looking forward to dinner at a favorite restaurant tomorrow night.

I didn't really mind not celebrating Valentine's Day last year. I was just glad to be celebrating life; thrilled to be rid of the mass that had been haunting most waking thoughts for the previous five months. I was ready to begin my recovery and to prepare for the birth of my first grandchild.

This year, Valentine's Day has deep new meaning. The first card has already arrived, and I have never received one more special. The cherub gracing this card is my grandson. In adorable photos taken my daughter, Dodge plays with a plastic, heart-shaped, red cookie cutter and a large, pink-swirled sucker in the shape of a heart.

As challenging as my circumstances may have seemed a year ago, they could not be much brighter now. I am blessed with good health and surrounded by great love.

Finishing

I hate leaving a project undone. Big or small, major or mundane, I just don't like dragging around the weight of too many things on my to-do list. So it was with reluctance that I packed a half-done, brown brocade ballgown into a plastic storage container in my basement in the fall of 2008.

I had started making the dress with great anticipation that summer, envisioning how pretty I would feel as I accompanied my husband to dances at some of his Civil War reenactment events. Midway through the project, I was working on the tight-fitting bodice when I discovered the lump that turned out to be a fast-growing cancer in my abdomen.

Now, on the other side of chemotherapy, surgery and a return to good health, I pulled the container out, unpacked my sewing machine and returned to my project. As I pinned, stitched and pressed the fabric to completion, I offered up prayers of thanksgiving and marveled at the journey this dress will always symbolize for me.

I did, indeed, feel beautiful as my husband and I joined the Grand March into the Statehouse Atrium last Saturday night for the annual Civil War-era winter ball. It was not just that the dress turned out as pretty as I had envisioned. My euphoria came from being able to finish what I started when my battle with Cancer 2.0 began.

Pennies from heaven

See a penny; pick it up. All that day you'll have good luck.

I am an incorrigible penny-picker-upper. It makes me smile to find money on the ground, even in that smallest denomination, because I view it as a good luck symbol. It's part of my optimist nature, but it's even more than that: I choose to look for signs that life is good and to indulge myself in a smile when I see them.

A year or so ago, I decided I needed another harbinger of good luck and settled on stray bobby pins. I refrain from picking them up, but spying one on the floor of a parking garage or sidewalk or in a locker room shower at the gym gives me the same little lift as a found penny. "It's going to be a good day," I promise myself.

Not finding a penny or not seeing a forgotten bobby pin on the ground doesn't make it a bad day. It's the expectation of good fortune that sets my outlook. I try to start out every day fully intending to experience God's blessings in my life. Lucky charms that cross my path are just my personal reminders that life is good.

Rallying the troops

The farther each day carries me from my surgery last February, the harder it is to remember my ordeal with Cancer 2.0. It is a wonderful blessing, but I really don't want to forget what I went through, and I especially don't want to let down my guard against a recurrence.

That is why I like to take time every day to focus inward to keep my defenses strong and ready. I lay quietly with my hands on my abdomen, directing energy to the area where the tumor sprouted and grew in the fall of 2008. Then I picture myself standing tall as an army general, Patton-like, calling my troops to battle. My mantra goes something like this:

"Attention: Anti-cancer cells! Cancer-fighting crusaders! Pick-axing angels! Your assignment, now and forever, is to seek out and destroy any and all cancer cells in my body.

"Do not let them multiply! Do not let them establish a foothold or gain any ground. Find them wherever they may be, and kill them on contact. Take no prisoners, but destroy them immediately!

"Is that clear? Alright. Now go! Go! Go! Go! Go! Go!"

Some people believe there really is power and healing in how we direct our thoughts. I don't need scientific proof to know this regular reveille helps maintain my outlook that the cancer won't return.

Resolved

I think we've got this New Year's resolutions thing backwards. By making resolutions at the beginning of the year, it's like we slap our worst flaws on a neon sign and then announce to the world what we are likely to fail at in the coming year.

If you are really committed to doing whatever it is that you "resolve" to do in the new year, wouldn't you have done it already? And if something really is a resolution, doesn't that word mean a problem has already been fixed?

Instead, as one year winds down and we plow toward the next, we continue the bad behaviors and problem habits that we swear we're going to address as we flip the calendar over.

My New Year's Day thoughts played with this notion yesterday. What if we instead celebrate the fresh new calendar by acknowledging our successes of the previous year? Wouldn't that give us extra momentum to deal with our shortcomings throughout the year so that we really will have new victories to hail with the new year?

For me, 2010 begins with a celebration of the challenge from 2008 and 2009 that has been resolved -- my Cancer 2.0. With that behind me, the possibilities of this coming year are endless.