cancer

I truly chose a general practitioner with no common sense. It didn’t matter to me that she wasn’t proactive. I mean, what would that matter? She would be there to fill prescriptions, fill out camp forms and take my blood pressure. I never realized that having a GP would be an asset when you want things expedited. Researched. Or you simply want to be referred to a secondary physician who is qualified and one of your choosing.

This all came into play as I tried to run up the steps to some sort of diagnosis. I had to call to get my results. And then they were only half my results. And then came the final call. On a day she would be unavailable to speak further.  How do you drop a bomb like this and then erase your compassion? I don’t know. I couldn’t do it.

It was 6:12 AM on Friday, April, 25^th. I thought the alarm went off three minutes early. It actually took my mind a moment for the ring to register. And then I said to Gary, “Answer it. I think it’s the phone.” I had been waiting for the phone to ring. I had called the radiology center every day but Thursday. I had called her office twice a day. I had hoped of all hopes that it was good news simply because the pathology had taken so long.

“It’s cancer.”  That was the first word my mind grasped.  “You can expect a cascade of events.”  I wasn’t sure but I thought I heard the word surgeon.

I just sat in utter shock. It really is shock and then immediate and utter terror.  The processing of such a cataclysmic diagnosis had begun.

It was a workday and I slowly got dressed, decided not to wear any mascara and head into the office.  This felt the like the end of the waiting. So scared was I. Now a new kind of scared came into view. The truth that life isn’t forever. That this might be my first entry, not unlike my father’s, into the horrible world of cancer treatment.

In that moment, my life changed forever.

learn this from me

I remember being given one of those self examination cards before. And I’d been proactive about it. I never was overly attached to my breasts – having been a very small and thin young girl. They were a sore spot for me in my middle school years. There was never a bra small enough to fit. There was one boy, in particular, who was merciless about it. He made it his mission to see to it that I be reminded of how desperately I needed kleenex. Boxes, tissues, small packages - they appeared everywhere. In my book bag, my locker, in my instrument case. So I knew from an early age that not having breasts was a clear sign that something was wrong with me. Aside from the popularity that breasts naturally brought you, I personally couldn’t see the value of them. To me – they were extra globes of weight that made it harder for you to run. And at that time, I just wanted to be the fastest 50 yard dash runner in the city.

 

I remember getting fitted for my first wedding dress and being told by a lovely european tailor that the cups would have to be “filled” with something to provide shape. I was all of 100 pounds and very tiny. But I wanted the sleeveless dress and that is what I got. And to be honest, I don’t remember it being stuffed with anything. It made me feel like a princess. I was beautiful that day.

As I continued to age – truly – I remained relatively flat chested.  They weren’t one of my better features, or rather non-features. And that was fine. My style was designer chic – moving from a femininely - masculine suit with a crisply pressd cotton shirt and funky tie (with men’s oxfords to match) to the more flowly and silly Madonna-ish style of big hair with a scarf wrapped in a bow, cool pants and flowing shirts. The 80's was a time of great fun where I could copy my idols and their clothing. Lingerie was of little interest to me. Fashion was giddy and silly. My body was really a tiny tubular shape - where my dimensions equaled the same from top to bottom. I remember - all 28".  I just dressed in ways that flattered it in the most joyful of ways. It was a happy time.

When I became a mother, things began to change. I began to dress more like a mother and often less like myself. And with the panic and anxiety that came from moving to the United States came medication that seemed to alter my metabolism. Slowly - very slowly, the weight began to climb. Let me tell you - try to enjoy shopping when the clothes available for your size simply suck. It is getting better, but then I am hoping to be thinner once again some day.

With the weight came the magical breasts. Something I had never thought of as a requirement. But I must admit that my first trip to Victoria Secret was mildly exciting for me! All those pretty bras. The lace, the color. Amazing. And I covet those beautiful ones that I have. There are three special ones. And they are glorious.

Sounds like an ode to the bra. And so it goes. Until this day.

I was being proactive, as I always have been. Finding the lump. Making an immediate appointment. And checking it out. I suppose the one thing that upsets me the most is all of the money I’ve invested in heart disease being the illness that eventually takes my life. Twenty years of Lipitor. I was heavily banking on genetics. My birth families history. You see, there is absolutely no cancer evidenced there. Only heart attacks and strokes. So I feel I am owed a refund. A BIG REFUND.

So much for the self examination cards when despite seeking assistance you are deferred. If there is a lesson out there for any woman, it is not to trust any medical professional with your body and your keen sense of intuition. If you know something is wrong, speak up. Speak up loud. Make them do what YOU deem necessary. And make them do it immediately.

Learn this from me.

hey cancer, fuck off

“I mean, how many times am I going to have to keep coming back every six months? Nothing has changed since the beginning. I just woke up and found a lump and went to the doctor right away. I don’t understand why we keep looking at it. Shouldn’t it be biopsied? I’ve been here three times for the same tests and I don’t want to keep coming back every six months.”

The young ultrasound tech kept on task but then said, “Do you want a biopsy?” I responded with, “Well isn’t that what you’re supposed to do? Isn’t that the only way we’ll know?” To which she said, “Well I know I would want to know.”

So then just do it. She wasn’t sure whether she could schedule an immediate ultrasound. But in the moment, I knew it had to happen. I reminded me of a conversation I had had with Mary. My nipple was pointed down and had been for the entire year. I had pointed that out the last time I went in for my ultrasound six months earlier. But I was told this was common. I knew it wasn’t common for Mary and in fact, it was cancer. It wasn’t right for me either.

And so the action I have fervently sought over a year ago was finally going to happen.

In the moment, I couldn’t help but ask myself, “What took you so long?”

Let me tell you, that biopsy wasn’t at all pleasant. I did not want to hear about or discuss the logistics of it. I told Tracey, the nurse, that I needed my headphones so I could listen to the loudest music possible. I stumbled around and found Billy Squire’s, “In the Dark.” And it played almost 7 times.  The core needle biopsy sounds like a gun going off; feeling not unlike a large needle, ejecting itself into the underside of my nipple. Only six or so times did this gun go off. And there was blood mixed with iodine everywhere.

I left the clinic feeling as though I had been violated on some level. Raped in a strange way. So incredibly vulnerable. I stood outside the car and felt the warmth of my tears flow down my cheeks. Light snow was falling. It was peaceful and quiet. And then it occurred to me that there was no way I was going to my mother’s for dinner. Even my choir practice seemed like more effort than I had as I drove away from the imaging center.

At least it was over with. Now I could get on with it. Someone would agree to take the damn lump out. I’d only been waiting for over a year.

the journey

The holiday excursion is a long one. It seems yearly, our vacation consists of jaunts back and forth to one or the other family. Not that that is so bad, but when you consider all the complaining our family does about never taking that much needed vacation, all I have to do is remind them that this is it, baby! And it isn’t cheap to do. Is it obligatory? Well – I think in some way it can be. Is the pilgrimage out of love? Well – certainly we feel the love or we wouldn’t start the engine. Whether the feeling is mutual, well, I guess we can only hope. However, at this very moment, after almost 7 hours in the car, I am wishing for a rather soft king size bed, a bit of TV, a window open to the ocean or mountains, with a soft warm breeze coming in. And the promise of warm weather when the sun comes up. I guess I can always dream.

It is abysmal – dark and damp outside for the 26^th of December in BC. And when I say dark, I mean pitch black outside and it’s only 6:39 PM – prairie time. Meaning – it’s really an hour earlier where we’ll eventually end up.

Elvis, or rather, Elvis lives on ions after his death, is playing on the satellite radio. God bless XM. My husband would be lost without it. I have my headphones jammed down my ear canals listening to Thievery Corp and miss Mary is watching Zombie something. A comedy with a lot of bad language in the back seat of our Supercab. We have fresh Starbucks coffee at our fingertips and are just 45 minutes from the line the separates our past life from our current one.

Holidays. I do love Christmas. But where did it go this year? And what happened that it flew past me so quickly I know I didn’t feel it coming. Nor did I expect the day to pass so quickly. I always send out cards and a yearly letter that pokes fun at our very normal Norbom family life. But this year, it just didn’t happen. In fact, I love to creatively wrap everything that leaves my home. But this year? Just a lot of not so great wrap jobs and those tacky bow-in-a-bag ribbons. I was rather ashamed of myself. Everyone received lovely gifts so at the very least, my thoughtfulness in choosing the right present for each recipient hasn’t left me.

I am noticing the smell of southern BC. One of my favorite smells – wood burning fireplaces warming the homes of those fortunate enough to live in the woods out here. You can see homes lining the local lake in the darkness and the odd Christmas light. Did you know that the tradition of Christmas Lights all stems from the birth of Jesus? Many lights lit the pathway to the manger and to celebrate, early Christians lit candles to celebrate the birth of their Savior. The trivia of this season, in particular, always fascinates me.

This year I will dedicate myself to becoming a healthier me. Slow and with baby steps. I am sad at how arthritis has affected my ability to be quick and agile. It isn’t like me to drag along. I am a quick stepped, highly motivated lady and I certainly do not feel my age mentally. But my body aches. My knees ache. My shoulder spasms and my neck and back are arthritic along with the all important knee joints. I have swimming and cycling in my immediate future. Gotta lubricate these joints. Not to mention better eating habits and a hopeful 40 pound weight loss. I am determined and hopeful that getting the weight in check will not only improve my joint function but my overall attitude towards myself. My daughter teaches me many lessons in self-esteem and I am pretty solid in the fact that I am a decent person with a caring heart. I also know that my job as her mother is the most important task I will every undertake. So it is important for me to smarten up and model better behavior. Apathy has been the word of late and I am getting sick of viewing myself that way. Especially when it is in my control to change. Few things really are.

Oh, there is that blessed smell again. Love it.

You know, I have never been one to value or even enjoy any form of exercise. I actually hate it. I am not sure quite why because I admire athleticism in others. I celebrate it. And I often wish it could be me achieving such levels of personal greatness. But whenever I attempt to find that greatness in me, it is a sure set up for failure. I simply wasn’t built to be a uber athlete. It is just not my talent. But I do have secret ambitions of being a long distance runner, expert skier or even an  awesome endurance cyclist. I think the last wish is the most achievable at this point in my life. So I am going to give this over 50 body a good old college try. And I will have to remember that I will fail many times before I succeed. I can do this. I know I can.

As the year rounds out to a close, I must say that the years of dedication to my child have paid off in spades. She is an amazing young woman. I certainly am proud of her. There are things I don’t understand that I attribute to those years of teenage bliss. You know – the ones where everything teenager is more important than life itself. But she is an achiever. She has a good head on her shoulders. When she thinks I’m not listening, I catch her talking about being a good person and loving all things bright and beautiful. She has a deep appreciate for the love we share and I am beginning to believe (and at the very least hopeful) that our relationship will endure the natural separation that happens when your child flies free to live their own life. I think she will stay close in the ways that matter until she feels safe and secure in herself. Perhaps that magic career after college, or an amazing opportunity to be the person she always dreamt she’d be. It’s my job to get her there and I try. But it’s bittersweet because as every mother knows, you just never really want them to leave. Having her close is such a gift. So I don’t ever want her too far away.

I am a good mother that way. Many hold their children too close. They have expectations of their children that are their own. And they push to be close. They don’t guide, they teach. There is a vast difference. I am a believer in character and integrity over high grades. That a person who displays compassion and goodness, with balanced thinking, is invaluable to the world in whatever profession they choose. I do model all of that well. I pray she embraces it fully when she leaves her teenage years. At the very least remembers most of it.

She is loving and sweet. She is my heart. And I am incredibly proud of her. She’s awesome.

Every time I look up to the road I see the mirage of wandering animals. I search for the reflection of their eyes in the headlights. It is far better for me to keep my head down. Harming animals, no matter the fault, is sad to me.

So what do I wish for next year? Happiness and laughter in my home. I lot of laughter! Good health for all of my family. A husband that finally realizes that in throwing things out, prosperity comes in.  A child who continues to thrive and find happiness in everything she does. A love that endures in our family. Security in our financial endeavors. Continued enjoyment of my chosen work. For me – the most important change will come with better health through my taking personal responsibility on every level. I didn’t get here overnight and some things I cannot control. But I really must do what I can.

We back across the line. And it feels good to be home again.

exhale inhale

It's strange but this blah feeling came over me a couple of weeks ago and I can't tell you what it's about. I don't feel depressed. I really don't feel anything at the moment. Just vacant. And I find that an odd way to feel at any time. 
It is coming around to the twentieth anniversary of my father's death - November 8th at 2:00 PM. And my mind is replaying every single moment of that time that's etched permanently in my heart. I think this is where my mood lies. I went to have my own private remembrance day with my father on the weekend, sat in the cool grass, tossed the long since dead leaves about and watched my breath go in an out, as I sat remembering that time so vividly. On went my headphones as I listened to David Foster play the songs that felt heavenly to me then. Something to help carry my father's mind to the place I believed he was venturing towards. And then the heaving of my chest as the tears came and I sobbed.
When he died, I was almost euphoric with the joy you'd expect, to know someone you love is no longer suffering. I realized it meant a huge ending in my life. But for whatever reason, none of that mattered because watching him unable to eat, move or be mobile was painful for me. He had shriveled into a small little man but my vision of his strength - his muscular body and washboard abs - stayed a clear picture in my mind. He was seeing people who had died (who I believed had come to him for comfort) and he was making bargains with me. Hopeful God would hear him. But that was not what the universe had planned for him. He was remorseful and afraid. And I sat and waited, speaking softly and clearly. Sharing stories of my memories. Being honest about my feelings. Telling him I would hold him for always in my heart and that his father was waiting for him.
It was the hardest, yet most amazing two weeks of my life. A gift really. But now, twenty years later, I hurt. Because I did need more. I wanted more time. Where it was just him and I. In a place where he was vulnerable and able to be honest and clear with me as a peer, rather than his daughter or child.
There is no celebration in loss. There is nothing that makes you feel better really. It is a dull ache that never leaves you. It wraps itself around who you think you are and alters it forever. The one man I knew I could always count on was gone. And now there would never be another. And I believed that. Because I had lived it.
So - Dad - I wish I could wish you back for a day. The grief club is a big one. But I will have to wait. I will have to believe you are out there somewhere. Waiting in a place where time no longer exists. And the comfort I take in that is knowing and hoping we will be able to embrace on a level that is equal in compassion, love and understanding. It was wrong of me to judge you; more that I should be judging myself. I have made my own series of mistakes that in many ways have hurt those I love dearly. So no one is perfect. But I know you see that. And as I have forgiven and moved on, so have you. 
I miss you daddy.

the softest of landings

So I have been thinking a lot about where I've landed. And there's a comfort about it that I haven't felt in quite some time. The people that surround me have hearts of goodness, kindness and love. And honestly, it leaves me wondering how this came into my life. 

I never would have guessed that the people I work with would all care about me so much. It's almost strange because all I am being is myself. Usually in my work related positions, I have had to dance in circles to feel appreciated and cared for. Given all I can of myself and truthfully, almost felt resentful for the lack of appreciation that comes back my way. What is strange in this situation is that I began just fulfilling the role I was hired to complete. They were happy with that. And as time passed, they "loved my energy" and the "joyful, caring heart" and "laughter" I brought to the office. I was described by one as a light bulb of happiness that made people want to be there. Simple, sweet and sincere compliments that I didn't take too seriously.

Then, it felt like a brief moment in time, the owner swept through with personnel changes and brought me downstairs where he was. He brought in a younger woman to work with me and asked me to work full time. There was no doubt I needed the money so I accepted (reluctantly - I must admit). And there I was.

And then I heard, "I haven't loved coming to work this much in such a long time. Thank you." I still did not understand what made my presence worthy of these comments. It was all kindness. I continued to learn everything there was to be taught. Because it became important to me to see the people who seemed to care for me do well. And I knew I had the skills to improve things in my small way in the office. Things are getting better and better and better for them. And I am, in a small way, responsible for it.

They have given me cash to treat my family to dinner. They have given me gift cards to take my family to dinner. They are paying for extra health care so my family has dental, prescriptions, holistic health care - and it is all a gift. And I haven't asked for a raise, because I do the books and I know we aren't quite there yet for me to ask. The owners are not rolling in wealth. They are hard working and trying to get this business operating securely and for the long haul. So we are at the early stage and they see I have invested myself in their vision and understand it.

I have never laughed so heartily - like a true ab workout - as I do when we all are laughing. I am treated as a partner, not an employee. And today, I was told that I am loved. When I looked back at them, they said, "Now don't go home and think we are weird and all for saying this. It isn't the way some may think it is. What it is is that we do love you Wendy. We just do." And that was from no where. It was just because I am there, working hard for them and wishing from inside my heart that they will do well.

So am I lucky? I think so. I really do. Sometimes it isn't about the money you make. It's about the comfort you feel inside when you feel cared for and know that what you are doing means something to somebody. Yeah, I am really lucky.