In the Blink of an Eye

Today was, well, amazing. Nothing really, really out of the ordinary or particularly amazing happened. EXCEPT for the following:

-I went into town to run errands with no crying or anxiety about leaving the house.

-I dropped off some art pieces at Initially Yours, where I am displaying some art for sale.

-I picked up my beautiful boy at school, looked over his papers, and took him to get his weekly allergy shot.

-I went out to dinner with Richard and Nick.

-I watched a great night of TV but especially the Michael J. Fox show on optimism. Amazing.

-I talked to my sister, Vicki.

So, yeah, it was a great day. It reminds me how quickly things can change. How in the blink of an eye, things can change - for the better or worse - but today I got the better half. Thank you, God. 

Finding out I was pregnant with Nick was most definitely a "change in the blink of an eye," moment. To say the very least. I did not think we were ready financially for a baby. In the back of my mind, however, was hearing the doctors talk about the possibility of infertility as a result of chemotherapy. I thought, therefore, that getting pregnant might be quite an "ordeal" as are many things in my life. Well, I was wrong. A month into the effort - a slight pink line on the pregnancy test. 

I called Amy first. My question: If the line is just light, does that still count. "Yes!" she said excitedly. I remember the whole thing so vividly. I was excited, so excited and surprised. Not far behind came fear and insecurity. How would I manage this pregnancy? How would I carry a baby and not worry about falling? How? How? How? The questions piled up in my mind and heart, but I refused to let them out.

As I told others about my pregnancy, I could see the concern in their eyes as well. They were excited, too, but behind the excitement, I knew they held the same questions I did. Still no one really spoke of the concerns. Not until I told my friend Kathy about my pregnancy. She is my dear, dear friend who is a nurse in pediatric oncology. She took care of me for a short time, and then as I got older, we decided to become friends. When I told her about my pregnancy, I did not have to wonder about her feelings. They were written all over her face. We were at a planning meeting for Camp Quality, when I told her. She had already heard my exciting news. Others were around, so she simply said, "You probably want to get a specialist in maternal fetal medicine. There may be some issues. We'll talk more later."

Issues? What issues? A few weeks later we were at Camp Quality, and she told me, "They may ask you if you want to have an abortion." An abortion? What? "There are new studies that are showing childhood cancer survivors can have serious problems in pregnancy."

Immediately I was in tears (a sign of my raging hormones, for sure).  "What kind of problems?"

Well, it's not very well understood yet, but when you are pregnant, your heart has to work twice as hard. People who have had as much adrimycin as you have had sometimes can't withstand the stress on their hearts."

"And they die?"

"Well, not necessarily. Some have congestive heart failure and there are other issues. Listen, you don't know. You need to see that specialist, and they will know more." 

I look back and am so thankful I had Kathy there to give me the "scoop," as hard as it was to hear. Still, I don't think either of us had an inkling of the journey on which we were about to embark. As are most of the most precious moments and times in life, the journey was filled with the greatest pain and fear possible and at the same time the greatest joy possible. It was a time in my life that seems like just yesterday....

And now my baby is eleven and bringing home information about the human sexuality unit they are going to be covering next week. He handed me the paper and dashed out of the room. I came out of the bathroom, and he was standing there in my bedroom. I let out a big, joyous "WhooHOO! Human sexuality! How exciting!"

He replied without missing a beat, "Oh geez, Mom, she said they don't even get into any of the real detail until next year!"

Thank goodness!!!! because time seems to be moving just a little too quickly for this mother of one. Nick was my ultimate gift from God - my one chance to be a mom. How thankful I am for that chance.

The evening of the day Kathy and I had our talk at Camp Quality we were "graced" with presence of performers Paul and Win Grace. They were regular performers at camp, and their daughter, Ellie, had become part of the camp staff and is a dear friend. They sang a song that night for me, called "Child of Mine." You can listen to the song here. My favorite part of the song is as follows and is something I think about so often. It says....

Child of MINE,

where SPIRITS fly above,

there is just ONE that belongs to you.

Let it grow, let it GROW,

and it will thrive on LOVE,

for it is LOVE that sees us through...

Jealousy?

Good Evening!

I was perusing Facebook today - actually I was on there for a "work" related reason, and then got a bit distracted. I came upon a dear friend's page and noticed that she had added some pictures to her page. One of the albums was of a very nice vacation recently enjoyed. I am ashamed to say that when I saw a picture of her, in shorts, enjoying herself and her children so much, I was overcome with insane jealousy. It is not an emotion I have felt for a long time, and I hate how it feels. It made me stop and think, though....

I have been meaning to call several friends. For some reason, I just cannot make myself do it. When I looked at that picture today, I began to wonder if part of what is keeping me from calling friends is a fear of the feeling of jealousy creeping back in. I have kept in touch with the outside world through an almost nightly phone call with my dear, dear friend, Jennifer. I am sure that the reason I feel comfortable talking with her, is that she is one of the few I know gets "it" because she has as much or more "shit" to deal with in life. She knows what the pain is about. 

Is this fair to my other friends? Of course not. Again, embarrassment, shame, fear creep in. I just keep telling myself that I am doing the best I can right now. I certainly do not wish any hardship on anyone, especially my dear friends, but it is so difficult to explain what I am going through, and some days I just can't "pretend." I used to be great at pretending, and that seems to have gone out the window. This is definitely on the growing list of things I want to address with my counselor. 

The really, really, really silly thing is, when I step back and look at my life, I think to myself: "Others are probably jealous of this life." Take tonight for example. Nick stayed the night with my mom, so Richard and I took the early part of the evening to go fishing. We have a five acre lake that Richard built himself. It is absolutely beautiful. We found a spot, Richard flipped over a five gallon bucket for me to sit on, and we went to town. I caught several fish, and it was a lovely evening. What in the world do I have to be jealous of?

And still, I am on a daily basis so glad that others are not able to hear my thoughts....Amy says they are usually written all over my face anyway, but I'm working on that! : ) Daily negative thoughts that I fight off:

-What the f*&! do you have to complain about?

-Could you look any better in that outfit?

-I am fat.

-I am ugly.

-I hate my fake leg.

-I hate my skin.

-I wish I made more money like I used to.

And on and on and on. Negative self-talk is sooooooo damaging, and I know that. But stopping them is so much easier said than done. Don't you think?

Yes, I realize these are all "normal" emotions and  yet I am surprised each day how I can so easily get stuck in these negative moments. I usually turn to my art to redirect, or like tonight, fishing. I have plans to go on an overnight with some girlfriends this weekend - something I craved before. I am still looking forward to it, and trying to think positively, but wondering how I will feel come Friday night when it is time to actually go. I am going to TRY and focus every moment of the "anxious time" on the fact that I am insanely blessed with wonderful friends (including my twin, Amy) who not only put up with me but encourage me, laugh with me, cry with me, and let me know that it's absolutely fine to be so jacked up. 

I cannot believe that tomorrow is Thursday already! Wow! The days and weeks are just flying by. I think in the next few days, to celebrate Mother's Day, I will write about what it has been like for me to be a mom and what I/we went through to have Nick. It's a great story with an even greater ending! : ) Stay tuned....

Roller Coaster Day

Today I had a roller coaster day. Is roller coaster all one word? I can't remember. Anyway, it began by not sleeping well last night. It was 4 am, and I was still awake. I finished a novel, thought I could go to sleep and just tossed and turned. Eventually I went to the guest room, which has a 19 ft. ceiling in it and a huge window. It feels like you are sleeping outside. The moon was shining so brightly, it was almost as if a light was on. Around 4, I finally went into a fitful sleep full of weird dreams. So, I woke up tired and cranky. Not a good start for me.

I was scheduled to meet with a store owner today to show her my artwork and pendants. I wanted so badly to be excited. I love doing the art business (which I am not really sure you could actually call a business at this point), but I feel like I am crippled with self-doubt and fear....emotions that are new to me in terms of pursuing my goals. Those who know me well, know that when I want something, especially professionally, I just go for it. I have in the past had every confidence in myself as a counselor, teacher, speaker, writer, and advocate. As I mentioned before, this has slowly been draining out of me for the last several years. This blog is very therapeutic for me, and I find myself looking forward to writing in it. But it is fairly "safe," and I think that is why I like it.

Part of my struggle right now involves leaving the house. It is so embarrassing to write about or even admit, but it is true. On the days, like today, that I know I have something to do where I have to leave the house, I am wrought with anxiety.... I become irritable and I physically hurt. It pretty much comes to a "head" when I actually have to get in the shower and get myself dressed and ready to go. I am still badly scarred from the drug reaction I had at the end of February. I have these big purple splotches and marks all over me. I guess one would think that someone with one leg wouldn't care about something like this. But it's like it is just one thing more. Now it is getting warm outside - and I'm always sweating anyway, and I don't want to wear short sleeves or capris because of how I look. Plus I've gained weight.....ugh, the list goes on. I know this is a common thing, probably especially for women, but it has become a serious burden/obstacle in my life at this point. I get shaky while in the shower, and today I cried and cried while I did my hair, tried to put make up on, got dressed and left the house. I kept repeating, "I don't want to go," but there was a tiny part of me that also knows I just cannot give up. I wish I could explain, though, how much effort it took to leave the house today. 

Richard drove me in to my appointment, and thank goodness we live 20 minutes out of town, so I could get my shit together before I got there. Richard held my hand, and I took deep breaths, and by the time we were at the highway (about seven miles down the road), the feeling began to subside. This is the usual pattern. Part of what is making this so hard for me is knowing how unlike me it is. I used to HATE sitting at home. We were always, always on the go. I feel like some creepy person out of a book or someone who might be on Oprah one day: Today's show - Women Who Haven't Left Their Homes in Weeks. This is really stupid of me, too, because I'm a counselor. I know these issues exist and that there is nothing BAD or creepy or freakish about it, but I still feel those things on top of the anxiety.

Basically, I have a short list of things that help me get through these times:

1.  Richard. He is my rock right now. What would I do without him? I can't think about that either - more anxiety.

2.  Nick. He needs me to show him how to work through problems, to FIGHT, to not give up or give in, to ask for help.

3.  The blog.

4.  Medication and counseling....both of with which I have love/hate relationship.

5.  Paula Dean. Did you know Paula Dean was an agorophobic? Not sure if I spelled that right, but it is someone who is afraid of leaving home. Such a wonderful "title" to add to my list of medical titles. Paula doesn't really help me THAT much, but it does help me to know there is success possible beyond all of this.

6.  My Family. My mom and sisters may be pissed I ranked Paula above them, but it's not really a ranking just a list. My family continues to be such a support to me, and I think I have grown in my relationships with my family through this, especially my sisters, and especially Lori. I love you, Lori.

7.  My friends.

8.  My faith. 

I could list a few other things, but then I might actually not even be able to complain because my short list is getting long, and so what do I really have to complain about?

Right now, I am having an okay moment, and so I can write and joke. What I felt earlier today, though, is very real and very painful and when I am in those moments, I just want to give up. I will continue to muddle through. I know, I believe, I trust that it will get better. I will be confident again. Someday...

P.S. Thanks for those who have written and called to support me in writing this blog. I appreciate it so much. Some have asked how to leave comments. Just click where it says "Comment" below the post.  I know, it's seems obvious, but I have a few computer illiterate readers....and you know who you are! Ha! Ha! 

Tired

I really, really, really hate to leave my faithful readers hanging, but there is absolutely no way I am writing about faith tonight. I have had a long day of working on "stuff" for my new art biz. I am meeting tomorrow with a new shop owner in town, so I've been preparing all day. At one point, I was about to throw my printer through the window (it really is a shame I don't have a counseling appointment again until next week), so I stopped and created this:

and thought about this:

and then I felt better. Okay, I took a nerve pill, too, and some benedryl for this nasty sinus thing I have going, but it was the above that helped most.

Talk to you later.

P.S. If you haven't, check out my art website. I am having a problem with my "store," but if you see anything of interest, just contact me. The above print is an 8 x 10. It's pretty cool, too! : )

Do You Believe in Miracles?

Part of discussions of faith, especially related to health, would at some point have to come to a discussion of miracles. How do we as humans, with our limited knowledge, decide what is a miracle and what is not? When I think of a miracle, I think of some grand event that defies all reason and logic. Others may think a fairly ordinary event is a miracle. Sarah McLachlan sings a song in Charolette's Web that is titled "Ordinary Miracle." You can listen to it here. It says: "Its not that unusual when everything is beautiful, it's just another ordinary miracle today." I know I do not pay close enough attention to the ordinary miracles that happen in my life...and maybe none of us do. 

When I was ten years old and had just had my amputation, I went to Mayo (in Rochester, MN) to get fitted for my first prosthesis. When I got home with my prosthesis, there happened to be a mass of "healing" at the Catholic church that same evening. Of course we went. The mass was conducted by a traveling priest, not our usual priest. It was an extremely evangelical event for a Catholic mass. People went up to the alter, were prayed over, and collapsed. Even at ten, I was not a believer in this type of thing. 

Part of a Catholic mass is to bring up the wine and bread to the priest. It is called the "Presentation of the Gifts." When we arrived at church that night, we were asked to do the presentation of the gifts. It would be a great effect, right? A little girl with one leg and cancer hobbling up in front of everyone - perfect. You may or may not be able to pick up the anger in my tone. I was just learning to walk. This was not something I was ready to do, but I was not asked, I was told.

So, when we got up to the alter, the priest put his hand on me and said, "If you pray hard enough your leg can come back." 

-This is where you gasp in horror -

We returned to our seat, and I was crying. Bawling, really. All I remember is my dad telling me to stop crying. Even when I think of it now, it makes me tear up. It is a source of major contention between my parents and I. We hardly ever talk about it. I don't even like to write about it because I don't want you to think my parents were/are awful or anything. They always, always, always tried to do their best with the situation. This decision and their reaction to my feelings was, in my opinion, wrong. It shaped me in a way I cannot even begin to explain, but I'm sure you can understand some of the implications.

Oddly enough, the subject came up one night when my mom was with me in the ER. I don't remember, even, why we were there. It was one of the instances, though, where the doctor went on and on about what a "miracle" it is that I am alive. 

"It is a miracle," my mom said.

"I don't know. I really don't know. Maybe it's just something we don't understand because of our limited knowledge. But call it a miracle if you want. It's just like that healing mass in Hampton," I began. "Do you really consider what that priest said to me to be true?"

Without skipping a heartbeat, she said, "I consider all things to be possible with God."

I assumed that was a "yes."

"I want to believe that, but I can't. If it's true, why hasn't it happened? Have I not prayed hard enough?" I could feel the anger well up in me.

"You survived. Maybe that was the miracle," she said simply and assuredly.

I let the discussion end there, but I have thought about that discussion many, many times since. I am amazed at my mom's faith. Jesus did heal the blind and cure the sick in the Bible....I just get so angry at God when I really stop and think about my own hurt and all of the hurt and suffering in the world. If all things are possible with God, why do I have all of this struggle? Why do faithful people I know have struggles much, much worse than mine, even? Anger is the second step in the grieving process, so maybe I am stuck there.

There was a minister who came to the asylum, and he handed out a poem that I am going to share tomorrow - I know I said today, but I had to give my background first and it is an experience that requires a whole post - so tomorrow I will share the poem and whole experience with you. It was another message to me, I am sure of it....how quickly, though, we forget those messages and fall back it our ruts of disbelief.

I will end with one of my favorite verses of Mother Theresa. It calms me to read it, it reminds me to let go of hurt, to keep doing what I feel is right, and to feel okay about the obstacles in my way. It is said that she had these words written on her wall. 

  People are often unreasonable, irrational, and self-centered.  Forgive them anyway.

            If you are kind, people may accuse you of selfish, ulterior motives.  Be kind anyway.

            If you are successful, you will win some unfaithful friends and some genuine enemies.  Succeed anyway.

           If you are honest and sincere people may deceive you.  Be honest and sincere anyway.

            What you spend years creating, others could destroy overnight.  Create anyway.

            If you find serenity and happiness, some may be jealous.  Be happy anyway.

            The good you do today, will often be forgotten.  Do good anyway.

         Give the best you have, and it will never be enough.  Give your best anyway.

         In the final analysis, it is between you and God.  It was never between you and them anyway.

Amen. And goodnight.

The Pressure of Survival

Tonight I have decided to start what will probably be several entries on how my faith has impacted my life, specifically my treatment and my life as a survivor. Faith....like peace of mind, can be so elusive. To be honest, I have to admit that in my life, and especially in the last several months, I have had many, many doubting Thomas moments. Moments where I just am not sure what God has in mind or why what has happened to me is or isn't in the plan. At the same time, as I look back over the past months, there have been some crystal clear messages given to me that have renewed and supplied my faith.

I guess some would not even think of these small acts as "signs" or "messages," but I believe that people of faith have to be listening for messages all the time. One message was given to me at our family Christmas get together in Iowa. We have started filling out those surveys that you get on e-mail among our family, and it has really been an opportunity to learn about each other. So one of my sister-in-laws created a survey for all of us to complete with questions all related to Christmas. One of the questions was: what is the best gift you have ever received? We went all around the room for all of us to answer. When it came to my brother, Jamie, he answered, "Him." And we all knew he meant Jesus. My first reaction: shame. My second: thankfulness. I had not even thought in that direction, but my brother had brought me back there. I needed that shaking. 

The second message came when one of my other brother and his wife were visiting. We were all sitting around the room talking about the movie The Passion. Amy was saying that when she saw the movie, she thought they overdid the beating. "No one could withstand that kind of beating," she had said. My parents reminded her, "No one but Jesus." Through him all things are possible. My brother followed the comment with, "And he did that for you. He did that for you! That's how it works." I could not believe my ears. My brother has not been particularly religious over the years, and I have never heard him say anything related to faith. The conversation went on as if nothing happened, but again, I felt the message was at the very least partly for me.

So where do I get stuck? I get stuck when I think of all who have died in their fight. The many, many children and adults whose stories I have followed and supported who did not win the fight. I get that there is more than we understand going on here. I understand that I cannot understand the plan. Yet I still feel a certain amount of pressure in having survived. I feel as if my actions are not only for my benefit but also for the benefit of those who died. Since I have been given the amazing gift of life, I feel I cannot waste it. I have to use every single minute to be the best I can be. Let me tell you something -- this gets tiring, really tiring. It is obviously impossible. None of us are perfect, least of all me. And yet there has been an urgency to my life that was driven by my belief in the precious gift God had given me by giving me my life.

I also have to admit that part of my suicidal thoughts included the thought of anger directed toward God. I thought to myself, "This life you gave me, God, it's not so damn hot...." 

There are many things about the Catholic church that I do not agree with. Part of their beliefs include the idea that suicide is a sin and that those who commit suicide have a chance of losing their spot in heaven. I personally believe in a more forgiving God. Yet I still believe that life is a precious gift. Our bodies are to be cherished and taken care of. 

I think that's enough heavy stuff for the night. Tomorrow I will share with you a poem that was yet another message given to me at the asylum, of all places. 

Sleep tight....don't let the bedbugs bite!

Vocation

I am sorry to report that I just paid money to watch Beverly Hills Chuhuahua (I never know how to spell that and am too lazy at the moment to look it up). Let me just say, it was not my favorite movie. More importantly, I sat in the same room with Nick for an hour and a half. We haven't had the opportunity to do that much lately. Of course, as soon as the movie was over, he said in his grown up "cool" dialect, "Seee yaaa! Cards are on, so I'm outta here!" Oh brother!

I have spent lots of time thinking over the last several months about my purpose in life. I was so afraid to stop working because I felt it would leave me with no purpose, and I have, in fact, let myself feel that way so much over the past few days. Richard and I have had many, many discussions about this in the past weeks. 

Last night, I helped Nick with some English homework. When he went to the other room, Richard commented, "And you think you have no purpose?" Okay, he got me there. 

In the Catholic church there is much discussion about one's vocation. It has to do with your path in life....a vocation to religious life (priest or nun), a vocation to the single life, the married life. Vocation also has to do with one's purpose in life. It is not a job - as in work for pay. It is a passion. It is what is in your soul to do with the time you have been granted in this life.

I have always felt part of my vocation is teaching. I feel - and I say this in the most modest way - that I was born to be a teacher. This does not mean that I have to have a job teaching in the classroom. This blog, for example, can be my teaching tool. My interactions with Nick are almost always about teaching...although sometimes he is the one teaching me! : )

At the asylum, we were in a group session, and I was sitting quietly and listening a young guy talk about his life experiences. He was speaking specifically about his anxiety and inability to talk to other people, especially people in public.

With out even thinking, I turned my body to face him and said. "Okay, lets pretend you and I are sitting at a park. I am going to look your way, and you say, 'Hi, how are you?' Are you ready?" 

He seemed kind of shocked, but he agreed to play along. I turned back around and faced the others, and really was pretending I was in the park. I looked his way, and he said, "Hi, how are you?" His face was bright red, but a huge smile broke out across his face when he finished speaking. I was equally excited as were the others in the group. I clapped and did a fist pump in the air. 

"YES!" I said excitedly. "Seeeee, you can do it. That wasn't that hard was it?"

"Well, not really," he agreed.

Suddenly I realized that I had completely taken over the group. I looked at our therapist, who was grinning. 

"Well, thanks Angie. My job was fairly easy today."

There is absolutely nothing in life that moves me like teaching someone. In the days and weeks to follow, I know I need to keep this in mind. When I am down and feel I have no purpose, I need to remember my love of teaching. 

What I am beginning to wonder is if I can teach myself. I mean, I know I can. I taught myself to knit from a book. I know it's possible. But how to do you teach yourself to accept what you see in the mirror? How do you teach yourself to let go? Perhaps most importantly, how to do you teach yourself to be open to learning? Teachers are often the worst at being taught. After all, we are sure we know everything! Just kidding, sort of. I need to be open to learning from my therapist and from those around me. I have closed myself off for fear of the ugly flip side of every situation. I feel my courage coming back, though. I feel the door opening again. 

What comes in the door and what goes out should prove rather interesting!