Laughter and Love

Some days, gloomy days, it is nice to just reminisce. Reminisce I do. 

Temporarily Interrupted

I drafted this post in late June. It has sat idle in my notes for months. While it’s sat there life has had its highs: Princess A married her Prince Charming. It’s lows: King Ralph lost his mother. It’s had its questionable too. All the while I still occasionally question the questionable. Then I pause to reflect. 

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It was the last day of the school semester, a half-day for students. I concocted this plan to bounce out of work early by scheduling a mammogram. It was a brilliant plan! An easy excuse to get winter break rolling a bit early. 

Or was it?

I had skipped over, consciously I might add, my female wellness care the previous year. No real reason, just wasn’t in the doctor kind of mood. So when I was informed of the need for a 3-D mammogram and possible ultra sound, I chalked it up to my dense breast tissue.

How do you put into words that one thing in your life that you never want to hear, and when you hear it it is like taking a punch to the gut? I don’t know that I’ll ever have the words to graphically describe my sweet young

 doctor telling me I had breast cancer. Actually what I heard was “invasive ductal carcinoma” followed by “breast cancer.” I’m guessing saying it like that feels a little less jarring than just saying “BREAST. CANCER.” Because when I heard that diagnosis its volume really came across in slow motion caps—BBBBRRREEEEAAAASSSSSTTTT CANNNNCERRRRR. Not the softness of calming lowercase letters—ba-rest can-cer. I completely sensed the dread in my doctor’s tone. She was springing this on me just after we met. As my previous doctor was in the retirement process. She completely sensed my tears. 

 I was home alone when I got that news. While still listening to my doctor I tapped on our family group text and sent a message— “I’m crying.” Nothing more. 

I cried that night till the skin under my eyes burned. No amount of cool packs eased the burning sensation my tears had left on my skin. No amount of hugs comforted my aching and confused heart. 

It was the next day that the ball started rolling...scheduling doctors appointments, followed by more testing, blood draws, flashing my boobs like a stripper to just about anyone who walked through a door. I was collecting doctors like some people collect coins or stamps. Then before I could blink a hunk of my boob was sliced away and the other boob got an overhaul to match up. 

Three days after surgery I took the bandages off...I felt like Dr. Frankenstein had gotten to me. It was Frankenstein’s best work I’d say, but still, I was a sea of sutures and sterie strips. I started wondering if I wore sleeveless or strapless tops if my sentinel node scar would draw attention. By day six I started to think these scars will be my trophy of a battle conquered.  

Here’s what I learned while battling cancer: people are innately kind. I was overwhelmed, at times almost embarrassed, by the kindness I received. Meals delivered to me. Gift cards. Bracelets reminding me to “warrior” on up and “keep fucking going.” Some gifts were meant to make me laugh, reminding me (as I practiced between tear spells) that laughter is the best medicine. A dozen boob cupcakes were delivered on the day I came home from the hospital and left me with no choice but to laugh. Even simple cards with notes of thought and encouragement filled my mailbox. All this from the select people I chose to share this gut punch with. Even co-workers who learned of my cancer as I rolled into surgery supported me. I closed my eyes and counted the blessings of having good friends, kind co-workers, a loving family, a supportive spouse and daughters in my life. 

There was a month of radiation. I worked while going through treatment. Rushing every day from work to the Cancer Center. The experience I told my radiation techs was a cross between being a page out of the children’s book “Harold and the Purple Crayon” and feeling like a geriatric stripper. I was a sea of purple makings with my scarred bits on show every day at 3:30pm. The fatigue of that experience I liken to pulling a log behind me while going uphill. I had days were I fell into bed for 13 hour sleeps. There was radiation rash, my nipple swelled and one blister. Through it all I pulled that log up and over the hill. 

The day of my last treatment I walked in the house fighting back tears. Why did I have this urge to cry? I’d cried enough prior to surgery and the weeks after (although those tears were shed in private, mostly in the shower). Then it hit me. I wanted to cry tears of relief. A cathartic cry. The hard part was over. But you know what? I refused to allow myself to release the flood gates. I chose instead to smile. 

Then the calendar flipped another month. 

I met with my radiation oncologist one last time and she released me. I was given my cancer survivor plan. 

I. Am. Cancer. Free.

Feels so good to say!

A few weeks ago I attended the breast cancer walk for the first time. Not only was it for the first time, but I was attending as a survivor. I grappled with the idea of asking every friend and family member who supported me to join me. To sport my creatively constructed t-shirt. Then I decided, with careful thought, to walk with my hubby (the shoulder I leaned on most), my daughters (who’s medical history has been changed by me) and their guys and my best friend (who told me she cried as hard for me the day I got the news as I cried for myself). I wanted to ripple the waves of emotions I wasn’t sure how to navigate with just those few select people. I wanted to learn how to stand amongst so many other women in a club none of us chose to join. It is stirring to the heart of hope to stand by those other women. There was even tears of joy and guilt. My guilt was that I stood a survivor next to those walking to commemorate a loved one’s battle lost. A battle I conquered.

For the next five years every time I pop a pill in my mouth, go to the oncologist or breast surgeon or get a mammogram, or massage my lymphedema, I’ll be reminded of my breast cancer. I’ll think in my mind,maybe even say aloud in a questioning kind of tone, “ I had breast cancer.” 

Breast cancer shaped me. It does not define me. It’s a disease I had to embrace, a life speed bump I had to roll over. It was an experience that taught me the lesson and importance of a mammogram. 

One last question. Have you had your mammogram this year? 

Here’s my questionable. I have had many friends who, because of my diagnosis, scheduled their overdue mammograms. I gifted my friend who had lapsed twelve years at her yearly mammogram a t-shirt that read “Mammograms Matter.” Before I could gift another of my friends who lapsed one year at her mammogram a t-shirt...I instead find myself holding her hand and giving her the same support she gave me. Although our journeys are different and each our own, their sameness is: breast cancer. But like me my friend will warrior up and conquer the battle. 

Please join me (and my friend) in wearing pink this month as we  recognize this disease and aim towards a cure. 

They Had Me at Paris

They said “come with us to Paris for the weekend!” Paris? For the weekend? Why not! Live life with spontaneity we told ourselves. 

Visions of lattes sipped at sweet outdoor cafes, while noshing on croissants slathered in rich creamy French butter, and saying “merci” to the wait staff danced in my head. Scarves draped delicately around my neck in the fashion only a Parisian can do so effortlessly. Visiting museums full of history and art. The night ending with a glass of bold red French wine, staring out at the Eiffel Tower glowing under a full moon. Aaaahhhh, Paris. 

Well...wrong vision. 

Turns out M and her man needed clean acceptable accommodations for a wedding they were invited to in—Paris, MISSOURI. In all my years of living in Missouri I had never heard of Paris, Missouri. M claimed the only motel in town was a “roach motel” and could we please go camping with them so they could have five star accommodations. King Ralph’s soft spot for his daughter had the RV loaded and rolling down the highway on Friday by 3:45pm. 

The Paris of our weekend was mugs of Starbuck’s French roast coffee brewed in the Mr. Coffee pot sipped by a morning campfire, pancakes cooked on the Blackstone with tabs of Land O’Lake butter. There was definitely a scarf around my neck as the fall temperatures took a plummet. And...the best resemblance of an Eiffel Tower in Paris, Missouri was the water tower. 

While not the Paris I first envisioned...this Paris was perfect. The company was good. There was the unexpected-came-upon  a Missouri Historical Site—the birth place and two-room cabin of Samuel Clemons aka “Mark Twain,” in Florida (Who knew you could trek to Florida in Missouri?). The cabin was moved and preserved inside the building which was resurrected around the cabin. Mark Twain’s life was interesting. I learned a lot...more than I thought I knew about him. We took in beautiful views of Mark Twain Lake on a few short walks. Our exploring time was limited as there was a wedding to ready for.

(giving literal meaning to “glamping”) 

King Ralph and I played country Uber drivers on Saturday night. Woke on Sunday with a lazy, but relaxing intent to the day before packing up to head home. 

Just like that our weekend in Paris was over. 

Paris, jusqu'à ce qu'on se revoie.

The Escape Plan

Last week King Ralph and I decided we reached our limit of dealing with the stresses of life. Stresses that we didn’t create, nor invite into our lives, but there they were weighing us down. We needed to escape to the woods. As luck would have it we scored a last minute campsite reservation at our favorite state park campground. If that wasn’t enough luck, Mother Nature decided to let fall feel like fall. Friday night was heavenly! The air was crisp and the sky twinkled with stars. Saturday the morning was cool and the afternoon was warm sun. It’ll be weeks before fall looks like fall due to a very wet summer. I will gladly take the feel and wait patiently for the look. 

We packed sweatshirts, sweatpants and shorts. King Ralph loaded us up with firewood. I tossed foods from the house (no special meals planned, no grocery shopping required) into The Vessel’s frig.  I grabbed a six pack of Octoberfest beer and a bottle of red wine and we hit the highway. It felt spontaneous and rebel-like...throwing all cares to the wind.

I had a crazy work week (when is middle school not crazy?). Friday started on a very static note, escape was calling my name. As the sun set on Friday, campfires sparked. The most beautiful campground vision is looking out to see fire after fire after fire glowing in the dark night. Then to see fall morning fires burning, smoke billowing in the air as campers lazed in chairs with a hot beverages in hand, moms with messy buns and ponytails.... 

Mmmmm I love fall camping. 

I love smoking salmon over red glowing embers of an evening fire. I love the smell of bacon in the morning air cooking on Blackstones and Coleman stoves. I love watching kids ride their bikes and swivel boards around and around, families playing yard games or cards on a picnic table.... Why is playing outside a play form lost these days?!

A couple walked by our site on Saturday afternoon asking, “are you two having a competition of who can be the laziest?” That question alone let me realize our weekend goal was met! 

We are refueled and ready to take on the week.
Till the next campground...