Unfortunately, cancer is ubiquitous. At a basketball game last night (both JV & V Boys trounced their opponents, but then we have always been a BB school), I learned of 3 more students having cancer between 2 teams, and of a recent student's passing. Of all the many heartbreaking things we face in life, the ones that wrench my heart most are things that happens to those most unprotected from harm: the very young and old, and animals. Trouble sleeping, yes. And questions without answers. Most haunting, almost a Holocaust syndrome, why did I live. Rhetorical. Why someone like me, older, having a life well-lived behind me. Why are my students afflicted, undergo treatment, and sometimes not make it while I thrive. And the answer I always find is God's Will. His timetable, not mine.
Image via WikipediaMy newest PET Scan brought interesting news. Unless it was read incorrectly, some of my cancer "burned itself out." I had not known that was possible without treatment of any kind, but there you have it. Since my cancer is a blood cancer, it can travel, but it did not. At least not yet. So I find myself pondering the why word again. Or perhaps how. It's the how I want to explore. What have I done that may/might contribute to this phenomenon.
Other than fate, luck, God, karma, or just meant to be, I took a good look at how I live. Here's what I found, and I'm not promoting it, just trying to identify what might have made a difference.
I eat almost no red meat. Instead, I consume fish, some chicken.
Love vegetables, especially the calciferous ones, and fresh fruit.
Drink 1 cup of coffee in AM, then switch to tea w/lemon. A regimen of years. Drink lots of water.
Work hard and am very busy. I live on a farm, raise llamas, and learn and teach with high school students.
Research, read, take control of your cancer, treatment, options. Explore possibilities.
Other than that, I just keep living. Too much to do otherwise, and no percentage in the alternative. I give much credit to a very supportive husband who takes a whatever is needed approach. And I must say I am an avid reader and researcher of cancer, and speak/write openly about it--and for me--that's extremely healthy. I love to cook and do so from scratch, using healthy ingredients. But mostly, I am happy. I have a totally positive outlook and embrace living, my life, my cancer, and my future.
One of the many pleasant aspects of the Perelman Center for Advanced Medicine is the natural dining eatery at the Atrium level of the Abramson Cancer Center. The food is a la carte, wholesome, healthy and utterly delicious. As you enter the spacious facility, you realize that an intelligent design exists not only in the menu which changes daily, but also in the spacial arrangements. A cosy nook of leather chairs, low, medium, and higher rising tables and chairs. You can choose to eat inside of Gia Pronto, or outside of it, but still inside the building in the Atrium. Very inviting options, and you are surrounded by incredibly interesting sculptures.
Choose from 10 homemade soups, design your salad, select your coffees and teas, or gourmet hot chocolates, or fizzy or flat cold beverages. If you love pizza, Gia Pronto will ruin you forever. Nothing exceeds the pizzas they create, or the way they serve it. You can select the size you want and they cut it to suit. If you love a panini, then Gia Pronto is the place. If you can possibly handle dessert, treat yourself to the highest largest thickest piece of pound cake. My choice: cranberry nut. Delicious.
There is something inviting about all aspects of the Perelman Center; the structure has an openness with glass elevators and glass facades. When you consider that most of the people who enter this building have a serious illness, it always amazes and pleases me that the serenity of the site helps those of us who seek help transcend our troubles, if only for a while.
Every piece of research or information that comes my way via my Google Alerts continues to reinforce my selection of the Perelman Center for Advanced Medicine as the perfect choice for my cancer management. The choice you make for your treatment may just be the single most important decision you ever make, so if cancer visits your family, yourself, or a close friend, my recommendation is to do your homework diligently when selecting a cancer treatment center.
Endless Bests!
My selection was based on awards of excellence, the calibre of the faculty, the fact that Penn Medicine is connected to a university that pursues rigorous research, field trials, and purchases the most technically advanced medical diagnostic equipment. I also wanted a provider of professional development in the cancer field. And I found all this and more at the Perelman Center for Advanced Medicine, a facility connected to Penn Medicine.
I am really excited about the upcoming Blood Cancer Conference at Perelman. You still have time to register; October 25 is the deadline. Click this link to join us for an enlightening experience.
My husband and I are at the Perelman Center for Advanced Medicine, 2nd Floor West Pavilion, and that means I am a cancer patient. And a lucky one at that, because my diagnosis, Non-Hodgkins Follicular Lymphoma, is an indolent cancer. If it weren't for a serendipitous surprise finding, I would still not know I have cancer. Anyway, I'm too busy to have cancer. Fortunately, my blood profile is excellent--normal--love that word, and so are all my other vital signs. Really, I would not know I have cancer if I had not been diagnosed. And that's the wonderful thing about my form of cancer; you live with it but you do not die from it. But you are never cured, either. So, that leaves my status uncertain. I am not a survivor, nor will I be, unless living makes it so. Technically, I'm not a previvor, because I do have cancer. Guess I am just someone fighting blood cancer, however gently, for the moment.
Industrial Brooms
I've been asked how I remain so positive, and the answer is I just am. Either you see the proverbial glass half empty or half full. I live knowing that half right is better than half wrong, so I am Pollyanna Positive. And that works for me. We are sitting in a room full of mixed emotions; some people like me have long hair--their own. Others have visible signs of post-treatment chemotherapy. Others barely contain tears, while I sit blogging. I know I am VERY lucky. Some day the shoe will fall, but I hope that if/when it does, I will still be the person taking photographs of the unusual sculptures that dot this magnificent open-airy building for people with serious illnesses. I hope I am the one who will still take joy in finding the half-right approach to life, as long as it lasts.
When teachers at school kept asking me how I was, I didn't make the cancer connection. Even when they asked, "Really" to my "Wonderful-- never been better," I didn't tumble.
Sounds unbelievable, but it's true. I just don't see myself as someone with cancer. This is not escapism, denial, or any other ditzy thing. I just plain forgot about it.
School is busier and better than ever; I absolutely love my classes--I have the best students and cannot remember when I have enjoyed a year more, without exception. Even with the building construction, I have been so fortunate. I'm back in my favorite room, but leaving it for a mid-year relocation to my new permanent room, and it's a beauty. Large enough for my classes to do Project and Challenge-Based Learning in comfort. We are moving to a block schedule, reminding me of my days as the Lucy B. Moses Teaching Fellow, tutoring college juniors in Middle English and Chaucer on the block. With a robust school website, Moodle to organize my students' lessons, and Sapphire, a new student management system, and a great Professional Learning Community for PD, well, I am truly blessed and definitely very happy.
Gold Is Where You Find It
Life on the farm seems almost a blur; a new dog, a new cria, a new automatic Jug Waterer system and a frost-free pump. Can life even possibly get any better. Think not. The GALA Conference ~ The Magic of Llamas is approaching, with a committee luncheon meeting tomorrow followed by a gala dinner for my best friend whose birthday I forgot (gulp...guilty). Tonight dinner from scratch for friends I haven't seen in months of being busy.
At the heart of cancer is a mindset, I suspect. And much luck. Since my last cancer visit early this summer to the Perelman Center for Advanced Medicine, I have, quite honestly, forgotten I have cancer. Not that I was trying; just that I did.
And perhaps that's a good thing. I have been to busy living even to contemplate life's slowing down. I still lift heavy hay bales, still clean 4.5 acres of pastures, still get up at 4:30 AM to do my keeper of the farm thing, then drive 45 minutes to school, where I cannot wait to meet and learn and teach with my students.
When I arrive home, I repeat the feeding/cleaning process, take Allie for a long hour's walk/run, do the dinner thing, grade online...and try to get 8 hours sleep.
Animals heal. Research supports this simple statement. I am not naive enough to suggest that pets provide a cure for cancer or various ailments. But I do know one irrefutable fact: they work their calming magic for me, and I am the beneficiary of their subtle ability to heal, make whole. The beauty and grace of their love infuses me every day with a healing calm, enabling me to maintain a totally positive approach to my disease. In fact, my cancer is not, at least at the moment, on the march. While I will never be cured of Non-Hodgkins Follicular Lymphoma, my disease's progression is another thing. At the moment, I am holding fast.
When our dog Julie went over the rainbow, my heart broke. Sleeping with her on the floor, holding her tight, hoping for a good outcome broke my heart. And while some criticized my lack of suitable time spent in mourning Julie's loss, I knew I needed another dog, quickly.
We found Allie through a former student, Janelle Moser, who sent me a link to her breeder--in Virginia. Jennifer Brinson volunteered to travel the 560 miles round trip to fetch Allie, and the rest is history. I could feel the inner difference even on the long drive home. That inner repose, the knowledge that life was whole again. I know I control my climate, but it is always better because of the animals that share my life. But perhaps you have to be an animal person to understand.
As for me, I'm off to the barn to tend to my llamas and check to see if maybe today, on this lovely cool country morning, I just might have a new cria to greet.
One of my favorite cancer resources is Discovery Health, and I use it in the classroom, even though I teach English. Why?
Because this product has relevance to every curriculum.
Cancer touches every family.
I have students battling cancer, as well as their family members.
Art imitates life, and literature, print and non-print media, increasingly explores health, wellness and diseases in writing life.
Because I am rewired digitally, and while not an iGeneration, I teach them, and they make an impact on my daily life, in and out of the classroom. So does Discovery Health.
And because I have cancer.
Because I am beating back cancer with resources available to me in a format I embrace -- Discovery Health.
Airs tonight!
I learned about SU2C because it appeared in Discovery Health when I accessed it to use for a classroom concept. Let's face it, we all lead busy lives, so I don't always watch TV, read magazines (hard copy, at least), and I almost never ever read a newspaper. What I grab and go with happens via social networking and classroom preparations, aka lesson planning. That's how I found out that I will be watching Stand Up To Cancer tonight at 8 PM Eastern.
And to be honest, anything that can improve the quality of life, improve a lifestyle, or save a life--that's for me. Thank you, Discovery Health, for really making your products authentic, relevant, and well, lifesaving.
Alex's Lemonade Stand promotes hope for children with cancer.
In honor of National Childhood Cancer Awareness Month, Alex's Lemonade Stand Foundation is giving our supporters 30 different ways to support childhood cancer during the 30 days of September. Follow us online to discover a new way each day.
Go to Facebook and click the "Join Cause" button to help fight childhood cancer.
About Alex's Lemonade Stand Foundation, a 501 (c) (3) nonprofit organization:
Alex's Lemonade Stand Foundation (ALSF) emerged from the front yard lemonade stand of cancer patient Alexandra “Alex” Scott (1996-2004). At the age of 4, Alex announced that she wanted to hold a lemonade stand to raise money to help find a cure for all children with cancer. Since Alex held that first stand, the Foundation bearing her name has evolved into a national fundraising movement, complete with thousands of volunteers across the country carrying on her legacy of hope. To date, Alex’s Lemonade Stand Foundation, a registered 501(c)3 charity, has raised more than $30 million towards fulfilling Alex’s dream of finding a cure, funding over 100 research projects nationally.
About a week ago, I saw a commercial from the American Cancer Society. It's simple message, paraphrased: if you have cancer, every birthday is big. And nothing could be more true. Despite your diagnosis, cancer is the variable in your life. You never know what the next day, week, month will bring. You live with unpredictability inside a predictable prognosis. Cancer causes me to live differently, with more intensity that I have known in the past, and I can be pretty intense. Still, just in case my clock is ticking, I bought 2 new llamas and they arrive on June 28. Nothing wrong with growing my herd more quickly and living inside these wonderful moments.
Wonderful moments begin with friends. What's life without sharing it. My friend, colleague, and almost a daughter, Jennifer Brinson, created my first ever birthday party at school with my friends. It was a total surprise, and I loved every minute of it. Growing up with a summer birthday, I never had an in-school party. Once in grade school, my parents wanted to have one before school ended, but they were not allowed. Do we not always want what we cannot have. At last, I had my first school birthday party, one day early on the last day of school because my "daughter" arranged it. It was a perfect birthday, a big birthday, I want to thank the behind-the-scenes people who also made it special but wish to remain unnamed. If you are reading this, you know who you are and how much I appreciate you. Many thanks and happy returns of the day.
If you had told me I would spend the day at CLIU at their Teaching and Learning in Today's World: Lessons from the Field workshops--and I would love the day--well, I would not have thought so. Yet again, Jen made this birthday celebration perfect with her special signature of total thoughtfulness. I am really blessed with my friends, and if any of my Facebook friends who have sent me oodles of messages read this post, thank you so much for your thoughts and well wishes. You mean so much to me.
Years ago, a keynote speaker, retooling a presentation geared to industrial market, adapted his opening day message to our school district: to survive in the business sector ~ and education is big business ~ you need to develop cheerleaders. Compelling and true, enduring in a profession requires a support system, solid friends, respect of peers, collegiality, and much more--cheerleaders. I remember thinking the novelty of the message was so simple that I almost overlooked it. Almost.
What seems like another lifetime since that presentation, the message lingers. Having friends is not always synonymous with having cheerleaders. Real cheerleaders go the extra distance, keeping your spirits buoyant beyond the limits of some friendships. Cheerleaders are friends, family, and people that take support to the next level, and when you can find cheerleaders in your workplace, you just won the lottery. Finding cancer cheerleaders who can motivate, encourage, and "bring it on" for you, providing a stable base and taking you to new heights is another thing.
I am blessed with having several amazing and compelling cheerleaders in my building, and they make a difference in my day ~ every day. The first is my principal, Heather Morningstar. Without her compassionate caring, this year could have been an emotional nightmare, a roller coaster of fear and dread with the revolving door through which I came and went because of surgeries, procedures, tests, and specialists' visits. Heather always made it clear she knew I had to do what was best for me and gave unfaltering encouragement. Always I agonized about what was best for my students, but Heather gave me support without limits, and she gained my undying respect and admiration. If you are dealing with life-and-death issues, if you are calling in all your emotional strength and coping skills and using them to the max, then having Heather on your side is absolutely the best place to be. Having been on the opposite side years ago only makes me value Heather's understanding even more. A great leader always sets and controls the climate of a building, and Heather's support is permanent and pervasive. I cannot thank her enough for helping me through a challenging time with her continued support.
After I spoke with Heather, the first person to whom I turned was a breast cancer survivor, Jennifer Piagesi. We have been friends and colleagues for years, learn and teach in the same small department, and share planning time for the new courses we piloted this year. She keeps me connected, reminds me to take deep breaths, and with her, I never am allowed to take myself too seriously. A good thing indeed, and a daily dose, much needed. Every day Jen offered encouragement, words of wisdom, prayers, and her life stories about how she beat back cancer. When I needed someone just to listen, or needed a one-to-one or virtual hug, she's been there for me. She also did something so special that remembering it still brings blurry eyes. She called her close friend, a religious nun, and began a prayer chain for me. As if that were not enough, she surprised me one day with a bottle of water from the Lourdes spring that she collected with her own hands. It was her last bottle of healing water, a small miracle grown large. I began to apply a dot of water each day to what I thought was the seat of my disease, and when my diagnosis came, it was a life sentence, not a death watch. If anyone doubts the power of prayer or the Miracle of Lourdes, think again. I'm still here.
My close friend and colleague, with whom I team taught a special multimedia interdisciplinary IP Project for 13 years, is my anchor. Jennifer Brinson is my sounding board, my common sense when I run amuck. We have a mother-daughter relationship that works for both of us since her mother and my daughter live a plane flight away. Jen grounds my life, keeping my feet on terra firma. She sends me cancer videos, like the TED Talks, and adds cancer articles to my Beating Back CancerDiigo feed. And she loves my llamas. Last summer, when I was seriously ill and before I learned to let go of some fields-always-clean quirks, Jen came to the farm and worked the pastures, about 4 acres, because I was too ill to do this for myself. She knows how I obsess about clean pastures, so in the dead heat of the day, she sweated bullets and cleaned the fields. That's what cheerleaders do.
My next workplace support person, part of my PLCN, Professional Learning Cancer Network, was unexpected, proving that you really never know the impact you make when you speak. I was coming out of the cancer closet and speaking to our faculty. They knew something was wrong; I was out of school too frequently to be sans illness of some sort. As I spoke, I choked, but regained composure to inform my family of 41 years that I had a disease. I remember saying that I was so lucky, because my disease, although not curable, was slow growing and would not kill me. I would live and die with my disease. I mentioned the more rapid growing form of Non-Hodgkins Follicular Lymphoma that was curable but could kill by the time it was detected. Long story to get to the point. I did not know that in my audience, Mru Govande's mother had just died of the rapid form of NHL. She and I met in a random walk through the hall during a prep period and spoke. She told me her mother's story. We cried together, which for me was cleansing, because I almost cannot cry. And now I have another cheerleader, someone who understands all too painfully how lucky I have been, and she supports me. We share stories, and this summer, I am taking her Cooking from India summer course at her home. Although we were never very close, cancer brought us together, and now we are cheerleaders for each other.
My next cancer cheerleader also arose from an unexpected place, the mother of one of my students. She was diagnosed with leukemia a few years ago, and volunteers actively in the local Lymphoma and Leukemia Society. It was from her that I received a wealth of resources and an invitation to walk with her team, the L&L Happiness Club, for the Light the Night Walk on Saturday, October 16, 2010, at Northampton College. She also invited me today to a Lymphoma and Leukemia Society dinner and presentation from 6-8 PM by Dr. Tlemcani called "NHL: Understanding Your Disease and Treatment Options". The program's target audience is patients, family members and friends. It will discuss information about making an accurate diagnosis, NHL treatment options, emerging treatments, and the role of clinical trials. A patient panel will also discuss coping with the different types of NHL. Were it not for her, I would not be moving forward so quickly with finding local resources. Having her daughter in class was another daily joy, a silent support that really helped.
Last but not least, my final in-house cheerleader is anonymous but synonymous with compassionate caring because she has
Sechel
(SEH-khel) n. Good sense; common sense; reasonable; judgment; tact; diplomacy; good understanding (she's got ~!) (known for his ~). Also spelled saychel, seychel, etc.
Sechel really means, according to rabbis, a loving heart, and she has one of the biggest. She also has something special that is hard to translate, but it has to do with a sixth sense, one of timing. She knows, perhaps feels, needs we have and then springs into action. After my second throat surgery, I had trouble eating. She sent me a big box of designer breads and preserves (to die for, that box) and I had sustenance. What made her gift so special, apart from its coming from her, was the timing. She knew I needed a lift, a cheer-me-up if you will, because I had been through a lot, and the uncertainty of my situation was eroding my inner strength. A box of bread was more than it seemed, but she knew that, and sprang into action. I owe her much, and truth be told, she is the one person whom I would most like to be, when I grow up.
What I have learned in my wellness trek to beating back cancer is profoundly simple. Cheerleaders emerge from diverse sources, but the workplace is a great beginning, since so much of our lives are spent outside the home. I am grateful for the people, both in and outside of my profession who continue to help me on my journey.
There are many sayings that litter the literary landscape--euphemisms, aphorisms, cliches, hackneyed tidbits parading as something more (or less) dated echoes of an era. Remember the 80s, when in La Belle Cuisine (new owner/location, same logo) you could buy an apron with matching potholders and tea towels professing as gospel, "You can never be too thin or too rich." We bought, and bought in. But we know that only half of the statement is true; unfortunately you can be too thin. But I'm guessing that Gates, Buffet, and Latin America's Carlos Slim Helu would agree with the latter. If you know me well, you have a smile spreading across your face, and you're thinking, and she agrees with them. Interestingly, I do not. You can be too rich if in the process you lose something of your essential self, but that would be another post.
I am a devout believer that living well is the best revenge. In fact, as I type, my smile leaches into subtler paroxysms of laughter reaching into my past, where the motto aka mantra evokes some memorable moments. Does anything top that proverbial last laugh. But to twist the meaning into something different, off track of its conventional usage, living well is the best revenge against cancer, and that requires some deconstruction.
What is living well? For me, living well is an interconnection between mind and body, linked with a spiritual essence. I believe that our mental outlook governs our body, our wellness profile, inner and outer. That is not to say that I believe the visitation of illness is punitive in any sense, or that we can talk ourselves into cancer remission. But I do think that illness, even cancer, can visit us because something in our life is not in kilter, because our mind-body connection is not in sync with our inner sense of spirituality. In short, we are body and soul, and when they are not in harmony, for whatever range of happenstances, we fall prey to illness. And research tells us repeated or protracted illness can ultimately lead to a form of cancer.
Living well is living in harmony with what matters in your life. If I can do good, take a stand against something bad happening to someone good and make a difference, then I am living true to my core values. Body and soul in sync. If I can begin a day and say a borrowed prayer, "Lord, make me a blessing for someone today," and then live that opportunity, my inner-outer systems sync with the spiritual. I like living in harmony, and no, I am not a do-gooder. Just someone trying to do good in day, and I would like to think they are slightly different.
How does this thinking stack up against cancer? Simply this: if you are what you believe, and you become what you do, then living in balance ~ mind and body and spirit ~ is living well. Years ago, in what seemed the dark ages, before we surrendered our privacy, we lived a different kind of footprint and it wasn't digital. We were marked by our compassion, kindness, our friends (remember when if we showed you our friends, you knew who we were). We lived a simpler pace. We sat on porches with Grandmother and counted black cars (didn't Henry Ford say you could have any color as long as it was black). We found grace in simple things, and we counted our blessings we had a bike to ride, a pet to walk, and grass to cut. If we were lucky, a summer vacation, if only a day trip. We loved our family, and we stuck it out, whatever it was.
The outreach of affection, compassion, and genuine concern for my welfare has been almost overwhelming. From emails, Facebook, extraordinary care packages and flowers sent under equally extraordinary circumstances from the givers, I have been grateful for your support. From readers on Feedjit, Tweeters, Wall posters and blog commentators to the good old-fashioned and much loved cards with handwritten messages, you have taken such good care of me. You have responded and made me feel your "arms and strength," you have reminded me that I am "not alone," and you have told me "just keep living."
You have been my cheerleaders, and I wonder if you know just how important that is to me, to anyone dealing with a disease. A comment goes a long way; it may seem small to the giver, just a click that says "I like this," but it means so much. Please accept my very sincere thank you for being there for me, for continuing to help me, even when sometimes you might not know the good that you do. You matter, you count, you are the BEST!
About 2 weeks ago, I officially came out of the closet--the cancer closet. Before my announcement to the faculty that has been family for 41 years, I had told a few very close friends, but not my immediate family. Intuitively I knew I needed to be physically and mentally strong to spread the news, so not surprisingly if you know me, I broke the news by blogging and posting to Facebook. My social network, along with my colleagues, were my first cheerleaders. For those of you who would wonder when I told Mickey, it was the night before our trip to Perelman Center for Advanced Medicine; I wanted to contain his agony and anxiety as long as I could.
Several days after I told the faculty, I spoke to my students. Overwhelmingly, they responded with continuing support. But there is a heartache with this story. I learned what I had always suspected: that cancer looms in every family. Two stories haunt me, and one of them belongs to a student. He gave me permission to use his name, but I would rather not. He will recognize his story.
He lives with his grandmother, whose cancer has returned. His parents are deceased. He undoubtedly worries about his future, since his perception is that his grandmother has perhaps resigned herself to not beating back cancer. His story haunts me because I ask myself how can I teach him literature or do project-based learning when he is concerned about life-and-death issues. Suggestions?
So I gave him a pep talk, as I did to several other students who have shared their stories. Here's what I believe and live, every day. Before cancer, with cancer, during cancer. It is simply how I live.
Acceptbut do notAcquiesce: Accept the fact that you have cancer. Face it. Deal with it. But do not acquiesce to it. Beating back cancer is an attitude. You have to cultivate attitude if you were not born with it.
Define but do not Delegate: Define your responsibilities to yourself, your family. Define what you can and cannot do, given the circumstances of where you are in your disease's progression. Live your life as best as you can, not haunted by the specter of the future. Live in the moment. Do not delegate your responsibilities to yourself to anyone else, unless you become too ill.
"Just Keep Living." Prior to leaving the classroom one Friday, I had told one of my classes a story. It was connected to something we discussed, but I cannot remember the theme. It was a funny story, and one of my students said, "Just keep living." He did not know how prophetic his words were, nor how much they meant to me in a totally different context. He became my cheerleader. Going into surgery, I remembered his words before a quick prayer and lights out.
Cancer patients and their families know about survivorship; they deal with it on a daily basis. From the side of someone who has cancer, I know that I need to just keep living. For many reasons, all of them good, I will. But I worry and pray for my students, hoping that they will have the same blessings I have had, a life sentence. And then I pray that their loved ones "just keep living.
Image via WikipediaMy newest PET Scan brought interesting news. Unless it was read incorrectly, some of my cancer "burned itself out." I had not known that was possible without treatment of any kind, but there you have it. Since my cancer is a blood cancer, it can travel, but it did not. At least not yet. So I find myself pondering the why word again. Or perhaps how. It's the how I want to explore. What have I done that may/might contribute to this phenomenon.
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