Lighting a candle

For me, and for too many of my friends and family, the darkness starts with the letter C. Cancer. Even the word itself conjures up helplessness, fear, anger, in the face of this tyrant that consumes everything in its path.

As we all get older, we know more and more people who have it, and the monster gets closer and closer to home. Or it has already touched us. It is a horrible, hateful disease in whatever form it takes. 

There was a time - years ago - when the very word was a death sentence every time. That was when it was detected too late and it had already morphed into another beast: metastatic cancer (cancer cells that were in one place in the body, and traveled to another place, like a horde of evil missionaries, to continue their dastardly mission). Today, with more early detection, cancer need not be a death sentence.  But the oldest ones among us usually think of it that way.

Time is both friend and enemy with this thing. Early detection is our friend; a delay in treatment is not. Waiting - especially with no indication of how fast the cells are growing - is torturous. Add to that any other pressure: financial, family, work, school, or community (whether that means neighborhood or church involvement) and molehills become mountains pretty quickly. 

The darkness does not need to win. All it takes is one candle to push back the darkness. The people most likely to recover (regardless of the type of cancer) seem to be the ones with the most positive, and peaceful, attitudes. One man I know has a rare form of non-Hodgkins lymphoma - aggressive and dangerous - and from the moment he found out he had cancer, his attitude has been nothing short of inspiring. Today he is fighting infection (which happens 70% of the time after the kind of treatment he just had) and is feeling weak - but he is fighting. And he is peaceful, and happy. 

Another lady I know had breast cancer about 5 years ago. She had surgery, chemo, and the recovery process was long ... but she beat it! Throughout it all, her sweet temperament and thankful spirit came through. Still another lady went through this process not long ago - with four surgeries and treatments that made her feel sick and weak, she still never lost her positive attitude, and she made sure that she looked after herself. 

Fear is (of course) inevitable. But it is the enemy. I know the enemy. But it doesn't have to win.

Recently, my family doctor referred me for a biopsy for an abnormal pap smear. While I was at the gynecologist's office, I mentioned some unexplained spotting, since I was in menopause,  The gynecologist said, "That shouldn't be happening." And so when I was under general anesthetic for the cervical biopsy, he also took cells from the lining of my uterus.  It turned out that I have "pre-cancerous" cells in my uterus... and although this type of thing usually takes a long time to develop into cancer in that area, it's like there is this ticking time bomb in my womb - and so he told me that my uterus and my ovaries had to come out. I am waiting for a surgery date and I expect the hospital will call me soon with one.

The same day I found out about this problem, I got a call from a very close friend who informed me that my brother was in the hospital.  Over the course of the next week, through testing and so forth, doctors discovered that he had stage 1 colon cancer.

Photo "Candle" courtesy of phanlop88 at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

The monster didn't win.

We both lit a candle in the darkness. 

Fear has far less power in the light. 

Each of us is looking forward to his or her respective surgery, and grateful that the doctors caught the problem early. My brother is thankful for the excruciating abdominal pain that first caused him to seek medical attention, and for the excellent care and attention that he has received since he went to the hospital to get checked out. They saved his life!  In much the same way, I am so grateful for the lady that put me onto my new family doctor's patient list just this past spring, as well as for the people involved in my care - my doctor, plus my gynecologist, and all of the medical staff on his team. They pretty much saved my life.

A few things about lighting a candle in the dark ... yes, you can see to find your way, but ... your attention is more drawn to the candle flame, and to what it illuminates, than it is to the farthest corners where the darkness still hides. You learn to go slowly, because going too fast would damage the flame or put it out. You learn to stay away from people who would bluster and blow more fear into your situation. Their negativity is something that you don't need or want in your life, ever! You learn to see their reaction as "cursing the darkness." You light your candle, you protect it, and you cherish it.  And you look for other candles to light from your own flame.

That's what I'm doing today. You - if you need to and want to - can light your candle from mine.

Absorbing it all

There has been a lot of stuff in the last six months that I have had to absorb. Some of it has been really good - like counselling practice that I got in July 2016, team leading opportunities I have had in August and then again starting in early October (which is still ongoing). I have had to absorb a lot of knowledge in a relatively short amount of time. But it's all been good, and good for me.

Back in May 2016 - some six months ago now - I got a new family doctor. After years of not going to my old family doctor and finally getting fed up enough to switch, this new guy made up for lost time - and scheduled me for all kinds of testing: blood, pap, other stuff. The result of all of it was a diagnosis of type 2 diabetes (and I am now taking medication to bring down my sugars ... and they are under control - he and his team literally saved my life), a referral for a mammogram (another story for another time) and a referral to a gynecologist due to some abnormal cells on a pap smear. 

During my initial consult with him, when we mutually decided that it would be better for me to go under a general anesthetic to do a cervical biopsy rather than try to do it in the office, I happened to mention to him a little thing I'd been noticing for a few months ... I had stopped having periods a year previous, but I was noticing some spotting on a pretty regular basis. He therefore decided to add a second procedure to the surgery, one that he had not planned on doing but he thought it best to include it "just to be safe" - a dilation and curettage (also known as a D-and-C). He would then biopsy the uterine lining that the D-and-C would give him. I underwent this procedure on October 12. 

Today, just a few hours ago in fact, I sat in his office and he told me the results of the biopsies, in detail. I won't go into as much detail as he did.  But basically my cervix is fine.  However, the D-and-C biopsy showed "pre-cancerous" cells. Since there is no way to monitor the interior of the uterus, he informed me that "we have to whip it out." It took me a minute to grasp what he meant... a hysterectomy - a removal of the uterus and of the ovaries. 

I was floored.  It took me a couple of minutes to absorb that information. I was frankly not expecting the news - I knew that some of the results might be "off" but ... I never made the connection between pre-cancer and the removal of my uterus. It had just never occurred to me. So ... that was a lot to take in at once.

"We want to do it sooner rather than later.  Weeks, not months away."  Again, a powerful reminder that this is serious stuff. More stuff to absorb!

He answered every question I had. Every. Single. One. And I had a LOT of them. He told me that he was hoping to be able to do it via laparascopy. That is, to have a small incision just under the belly button, and two similar incisions (one on each flank where the ovaries are). Failing that, he would go in through my old Caesarian section scar and do it that way. Depending on the technique, I would spend two to three days in hospital. 

When I told my boss/mentor about it later (she's a nurse), she told me that I would be recovering at home between three and six weeks after the operation, and would be off work during that time. (WEEKS? I have fifteen MINUTES of sick leave left!) We discussed my options - she set my mind at rest for the most part, and told me to ask for the "worst case scenario" for sick leave, and if it was shorter, it would be less time to pay back. ... and that the important thing was my health.

So today has been an "absorbing" day. I'm still sort of getting my head around it. And what do I do when I am trying to make sense of things? 

I write. (Aren't you lucky!) 😀

I have also been absorbing some pretty amazing things about my situation that I have been (and still am) very grateful for.

First, I am grateful that I am such a wimp about pain.  It's because I couldn't handle the discomfort of the initial office procedure (and the gynecologist was unwilling for me to be in pain) that I opted for it to be done under a general. 

Second, I am grateful that, as my gynecologist and I were discussing the procedure that he would do under the general anesthetic, and he mentioned post-op bleeding, that I thought to mention the spotting I'd been having.  If I had not, he would never have done the D-and-C. And I would be oblivious to the fact that I had pre-cancerous cells in my uterus. And ... it might have been too late by the time I DID find out.

Photo "Doctor In Surgery" by taoto at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Third, I am grateful that the hysterectomy will not only completely remove all chance of uterine cancer (well, um, the uterus will be gone!), but removing the ovaries will also reduce my estrogen production down to zero - and with that, any chance of causing cervical OR breast cancer. 

Fourth, I know this man's work from personal and recent experience; he's excellent and I have absolutely NO worries about his skill or the skill of those on his team. I am in good hands with him and with everyone on his surgical team (including the anesthetist). And I am so grateful for that.

And fifth, I am so very grateful that "we" caught this early, before those cells had a chance to become something life-threatening.

And that is just the medical stuff that I'm thankful for.  There is so much more - it's taking me a while to absorb all of that too.  What I mean is the phenomenal support and the love of my family and friends, their positive vibes, their prayers, their words of encouragement. I'm blown away by all of that. I am so blessed. SO blessed. 

As good as a rest

They say a change is as good as a rest.

Of course they (whoever "they" are) mean that a change that is more or less positive does as much good as taking a rest from something that is more or less negative. But they don't come out and say it. (Just saying.)

That being said, I've had the opportunity to give that saying a bit of a whirl - and I've just started 'whirling' this week.  I was offered the opportunity to take on a new role at my work for a while.  For how long, I am not sure, but it will be for at least six weeks and could be as long as four months! It involves more responsibility, using skills I haven't used regularly in a long time, and includes learning new skills and knowledge I never had before, and using them 'on the fly.' I spend a lot more time with my electronic calendar than I ever did, and I am so grateful that it is there as a tool for me to use.  A lot of things would fall off the plate without my electronic to-do lists and appointment reminders. (Whew!)

Photo "Daily Planner With Pen" by
BrandonSigma at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

I just finished a week in my new role. Wow. I'm not exactly sure about what the saying says, because it really feels like I've been thrown into the deep end of the pool - and I don't swim. I know that it feels like I have more energy at the end of the work day. However, the down side of this is that it takes me longer to decompress from it before I can attend to my school work.

Having said this, throughout this week I have noticed a few encouraging things about myself.

First, I survived.  Nobody yelled in anger at me.  And I even got some encouraging feedback from more than one person.

Second, I am spending more time up and about.  I am way more active in this new line of work: away from my desk and walking back and forth to talk to this and that person, and bring files to this and that person, I sometimes feel as though I could wear a pedometer and count my job toward my exercise count for the day. That is totally different!

Third, I made mistakes.  I knew I would, and I decided ahead of time that I would adopt a teachable attitude and learn as much as possible ... and if that meant learning from my mistakes, then so be it.   And it has.  And I did. And I'm still in the process of learning - and I don't expect that I will ever stop learning. (I think that is a good sign. It means I'm alive, as my husband says.)  I used to be so afraid of failing. But I've come to understand that failing and making mistakes are two different things.

And making mistakes in procedure and protocol - like I did this week - wasn't the end of the world.  I have a wonderful manager who has taken it upon herself to teach me the ropes of my new role, and today she sat with me and went over some of the duties I had tried to do without direction, and provided that direction. Then she walked me through one of the major tasks in the job, showed me where to find what I needed to do it, told me why it was important to do it that way, and much more.  She corrected me when I told her about something that I had done that was against protocol, and she told me why it was not advisable.  At no time did she ever get angry or scold me. At no time did I ever feel as though she was NOT on my side. In fact, I got the impression that she wanted me to succeed. That was worth a LOT to me. 

Finally, as a result of that meeting today, I think I rounded a corner in understanding how it all fits together and how my cog fits into the machine.  I might still make mistakes (and probably will) but I know that I have good support people, good teachers, and good leaders. I couldn't put a price on that. Slowly it's dawning on me, as I go through this learning curve, that my confidence level is increasing even as I admit how much I have left to learn (and maybe because of it!)  That "beginner's mind" that our counselling class discussed during this past July's Summer Institute has indeed come to my aid.  

I saw this neat Maya Angelou quote that sums it up:  "Do the best you can until you know better. Then, when you know better, do better."  Cool huh? 

Maybe this change - which involves flying high and getting more of a bird's eye view of my work section - is just the rest I needed from the sameness of 'in-the-trenches' work that I was doing before.  I can still do that work (when I have time, and I've been encouraged to do that as well) but I think I can help more people doing what I am doing now. 

That feels good.  It really does.

The right to take up space

Some time ago, I was watching a comedian on television do his routine.  Comedians are sometimes the only people who can get away with telling truth because they tell it in a funny way (they hope). This comedian's name was Greg Rogell, and the line I remember most is when he started talking about golf and golf caddies. "Golf is the only sport that comes with a slave." He then started to demonstrate. He held his microphone like it was a golf club, made the classic golf swing with it, and then dropped the mike on the floor and walked away.

While that was funny, Mr. Rogell was also highlighting an attitude that exists not only in golf, but in everyday life.  Some people, for reasons that still mystify me, have a really hard time with the simple concepts of saying Please and Thank you.  If someone puts themselves out to help them, especially if that putting out is physically or psychologically hard for them, you'd think that "thank you" might be on the list of things to say.  Treating people with courtesy, respecting their personhood, would seem to be a basic skill.

But no. Instead, such people are more likely to find fault with something else that same person is NOT doing, but which they never said they expected. Since different people have different priorities, it is impossible to read minds; expectations need to be stated at the outset, even if it might seem like a no-brainer.  For example, I'm more of a sit-and-visit kind of person; the housework can wait.  For others, housework is this huge thing and they can't sit and visit until it's out of the way. So my sitting and visiting is like laziness to them, perhaps even inconsideration. Yet their refusal to sit and visit until the housework is done tells me that things and appearances are more important to them than friendship and spending time with people. Dishes don't have feelings. People do.  

And yet, who is it that apologizes when the topic comes up? Typically it has been me - because no matter which way you slice it, for whatever reason, I usually end up looking like the one in the wrong... and I have been cow-towing to guilt trips my whole life.

All of my life, I have been fighting for the right - taken for granted by most - to take up space in the world, to be appreciated, and to own my own feelings and opinions without being told (verbally or non-verbally) that they are insignificant. Or wrong.  Or whatever other negative adjective you might want to use.  I'm uncomfortable with confrontation, and my natural response is to withdraw or feel bad for friction existing between people - even if I'm not one of those people. The fact that it exists makes me feel and act guilty.  I lose sleep. I get far more upset for far longer than I need to. Often, I feel like if I screamed at the top of my lungs to be heard, nobody would listen anyway; even if I have something important to say, a large part of me doesn't believe anyone will pay attention to it. 

Photo "Businesswoman Asking To Stop" by imagerymajestic at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

Maybe (and I know that this is a rather big logical jump for some) maybe a big part of it has to do with the fact that I'm under five feet tall. Not being taken seriously because of my height, not having my short legs taken into consideration when doing tasks that take an average-sized person about half the number of steps it takes me, and being twitted (or laughed at) for something over which I have no control, is one of those sore spots with me, because I've had to put up with it all of my life.  

People do it without thinking of the consequences, and they think that by doing so they are funny, or somehow superior.  As if it is by some accomplishment of theirs that things are easier for them (when it is simply a fluke of DNA), they criticize (or laugh) and tell me to keep up. (By the way, these are the people who treat me like a slave without saying thank you...)  Or they laugh and tell me to stand up (when I'm already standing.) Or they worry out loud (like someone did once), when I drop a few pounds, that I'll "disappear."  One person even looked past me and asked where I was ... pretended he couldn't see me.

Ouch!  That behavior and those kinds of statements convey dismissal of my existence and (knowingly or not) they are an attack on my worth.  They reduce all that I am down to what I look like on the outside, and they fail to acknowledge accomplishments that a regular-sized person would be proud of and never would expect to have called into question. Yet it happens to me all the time! Because of that patronizing "I'm better than you, and you don't even have the right to exist" mentality, this kind of belittlement (no pun intended) really hurts. 

In the past, I wouldn't say anything when people treated me this way (or worse yet, I would try to laugh it off), but all that succeeded in doing was (a) send the message that I was okay with it, and (b) make my resentment grow and grow so that finally, I would explode - and not in a nice way.  Someone would invariably get hurt.  And then I would end up looking like the bad guy.  After all, they were "only having fun." Or worse yet, they considered their fun-loving nature (read here: cruelty) to be part of their personality, and took my affront to their unthinking behavior as a personal attack against them.  Suddenly they were the injured party.

Wow. What is worse, I would beat myself up for weeks, months, sometimes even years, for something that at the source, had more to do with someone else's thoughtlessness and insecurity than it did about my reaction to it. It's what kept me in abusive relationships with some people for far too long.

So I'm looking at things a little differently now.  I am telling myself that I have a right to take up space, that my feelings and opinions matter and are valid, and that I have the right to tell someone who is behaving like a jerk toward me that they're behaving like a jerk.  I have the right to expect an apology from them, (not the other way around) and I have the right to require them to be accountable for their actions, to realize that they can't just say any old thing they want to and to blazes with the consequences.  I have the right to be angry when that happens, to work through that anger and to take the time that I need to do that fully before moving past it and on with my life, with - or without - them.  

Maybe someday soon, I might even act on those new ways of thinking. 

Stranger things have happened.

An unlikely oasis

The evening stars are just beginning to wink in the increasing dark as we roll to a stop in front of the door to the tiny building.  It is Friday night and we are returning home from grocery shopping, but we have stopped here along the way.  

My parents and I exit the boat-sized 1971 Bel Air Chevrolet and enter through the screen door. The door creaks on its spring hinge, and clamps shut behind us as a wave of warmth greets us.  The smell of french fries and burgers permeates the Star Canteen.  

Matilda bustles around in the kitchen behind the counter. A middle-aged, matronly woman, she wears a house-dress covered with an apron. She catches sight of us and grins broadly. "Hev a seat.  What'll ya hev?"

"Oh nothin' big," Dad says.  "Got any pie left?"

"Yep - apple. With some ice cream?"

Dad chuckles. "You're too good to me."

"How 'bout you?" Matilda looks at Mom and me. 

"We'll share a milkshake. Coffee."

As we wait for our food, and the whirring of the milkshake machine makes conversation almost impossible, I tug on Mom's sleeve. "Can I?" 

She hands me a few dimes and rolls her eyes. "Oh, all right." 

The milkshake is almost done. Matilda serves Dad his pie and ice cream. 

Gratefully I take the precious coins and turn toward the silver and glass box just behind the row of barstools we had been sitting on.  I slide off the stool and feel my feet hit the linoleum tile floor. I peer through the glass at the row of 45 rpm records, insert a dime and make a selection, and watch the dance of the record arm as it scans over the records and stops - always at the right one - just above the record I chose to play.  I watch it, mesmerized, as it brings it forward, rotates it and places it on the turntable, which starts to turn as the play arm lifts and makes the trip to the beginning of the record. 

Photo "Jukebox" by Phil at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

A few short seconds later and Elvis Presley is singing, "In the Ghetto," and I climb back onto the stool. Mom has given me the milkshake glass,  while she has taken what was left over in the metal mixing container - to save Matilda having to wash another glass. We sip our drink and listen to the music together while Dad tucks into his pie and ice cream.  Nobody says a word. 

The chores that await me at home, the expectations, the misunderstandings, the disappointments, the uncertainty of never knowing what rules applied today - these all melted away in those few minutes, even if only for a few minutes - like an oasis in the desert, like a refreshing rain during a drought before the dust reclaims its prize.  In this one place, there was no judgement, criticism didn't exist, and each of us soaked up the strength to face another week, each in their own way. 

It might have lasted a half hour.  I might have played four songs from the old jukebox - all my favourites at the time, from Elvis to Wayne Newton.  And it didn't happen every week - just once in a while. But when it did, it was like magic, a great way to kick off a weekend.  

Even though the canteen was eventually sold and became a single family dwelling, I always glance at it on the way past, when we go back to the old homestead to visit.  It's a glowing, wonderful memory - a jewel in the mire of yesteryear - one I hope I will never forget.

The Road Not Taken

Today I found myself thinking about Robert Frost's poem, The Road Not Taken (published in 1920).  I looked it up and read it again and found myself moved once more by his description of a choice he made that had a great impact on the rest of his life.  And so it speaks to all of us at one point or another.  

I have noticed that in the last few months, I have been approaching closer and closer to those divergent paths, all the while "sorry I could not travel both and be one traveller..." (lines 2, 3) ... and I find myself wishing, as I read about Frost's experience of choosing the 'road less travelled by' ... that the same will be true of my life, that I will find that 'that has made all the difference (lines 19, 20).  

When I mentioned this to my husband, he smiled. "But you've been taking the road less travelled all of your life!" he exclaimed.  Then he started listing all of the choices I made that were firsts in my family, the community where I grew up, the various spiritual journeys of growth and healing that I have been on, and on and on the examples came.... everything from getting my Bachelor's degree in the 1980s, to child-rearing choices I made, to applying for a management position when I was still a clerk (and being in the top three candidates to be assessed - 14 years ago - a lifetime for some), ... and now this.  

Image "Arrows Choice Shows Options Alternatives
Or Choosing" courtesy of Stuart Miles at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

This - this career path I've chosen (and for which I am going for my Master's degree) - this feels somehow more ... pivotal than most of the other times. As I get closer to where the paths REALLY diverge, when I am going to have to make that decision, clear away the brush and follow that second path, I notice more and more how different the paths seem from each other, and how much more that second path is in keeping with the series of choices I've made all of my life. Like my husband told me, I've never been one to follow or to join ... and I can lead when I have to ... but this is more like walking alongside individuals on their various journeys. And getting to that place is not going to be easy. It's going to be a lot of hard work, and I don't know what lies ahead.  I have an inkling perhaps, but I don't KNOW.

It's scary.  It's really scary.  But in their own way, all of those previous decisions have been scary too.  And if I never follow through with this choice, I'll always wonder what might have happened if I had.

So as the crossroads loom closer and closer, I take the next step. And the next one.  One at a time, bit by little bit.  Yes, I know where the road will take me, but if I worry about stumbling, I will end up pacing back and forth in the middle of the road - and that will get me nowhere.

Deep breath. 

The importance of self-care

As busy as life is working full time and fitting in all the other important things into the day (add to that school for most of the year for me), it is easy for me to assume that retirement will give me more time to do those things that just got "fit in" before. However, watching my hubby the last 7 years has taught me that retirement doesn't do that at ALL!! In fact, retirees have LESS time to fit everything in because everyone thinks they have time on their hands to do extra things, and their days easily fill up with errands, projects, visits, and appointments. Self-care is just as important (perhaps even more so) for the retired person as for the career-minded person. 

For those people who are mentally and emotionally drained by spending time in social situations with others - even if enjoying that time (like me!) - sometimes that means letting opportunities pass by for activities that they might really enjoy but they have just no energy to spend on those things because they need to spend that energy on getting through the rest of the day. I find the explanation known as "spoon theory" quite fitting to describe this phenomenon.

Photo "Mix Spoon It Multicolored On White
Isolate Background" courtesy of jk1991
at www.freedigitalphotos.net

Spoon theory was invented by a lady who has lupus (Christine Miserandino) to describe to her best friend what it was like to live with a debilitating sickness.  It has since been used to describe what it is like to live with any chronic illness (including mental illness).  And, while I've never been officially diagnosed with a mental illness, I'm sure that I would be diagnosed with several if I were to seek a referral to a psychologist: the ones that come to mind are social anxiety disorder, complex post-traumatic stress disorder, agoraphobia, seasonal affective disorder, and maybe one or two others.  

Spoon theory says that every day, someone who has a chronic illness starts the day with a certain limited number of "spoons" - units of energy - that they get to spend on activities that require mental, emotional, and/or physical energy to do.  Getting out of bed isn't just getting out of bed, it's opening the eyes, screwing up the courage to roll over, to sit up, to put one's feet on the floor, to stand up.  Depending on the degree of effort, that might cost three spoons instead of just one. And so it goes.  Cooking breakfast costs a spoon.  Driving to work in tourist traffic at rush hour is at least one if not two spoons.  By the time one gets to work, half the spoons for the day are probably already gone.... and there's the rest of the day to re-plan.  If one runs out of spoons for the day, one can borrow from the next day's supply - but then that next day will be that much more difficult with fewer spoons to start with.  

Other people don't have to think about how many spoons they have. They just do things willy-nilly, and seem to get by with spoons to spare at the end of the day. Those with a chronic illness, though, have to plan every move, and often have to change plans ... sometimes without notice.  This can lead to them being judged by their non-sick friends, especially if the illness is "invisible." That is, the common perception is that if someone doesn't LOOK sick, they aren't. Whether these friends mean to do it or not, they can be quite judgmental, even if they try to be nice about it.  They spread shame and guilt as if running out of energy was a deliberate choice designed to make them feel bad.  "I'm so disappointed that you couldn't find the time to spend with me," I've heard people say.   

Wow.  Just ... wow.  

It is just as much self-care to refrain from spending spoons as it is to actively go about replenishing them - and there are things that replenish spoon supply - in whatever way works for the one who is running low.  For me, that looks like sunning myself (in the summer) with my music playing, or laying down in a quiet room with a white-noise machine going to drown out the constant ringing in my ear, or watching a feel-good movie, among other things.  But it also looks like staying away from outings that I know will drain me - anything with anyone outside immediate family: the more people, the more draining it will be - and from topics of conversation that require a confrontational stance: politics and religion come to mind.  (That one is HARD to manage because everyone seems to have a different opinion and I'm no exception! The last time it happened, though, it took me three days to recover to where I felt ready to face a full day again ...)  If someone is constantly bringing up topics that drain me, I am learning to stay away from that person.  The mere knowledge that I won't have to be exposed to those things tends to give me a bit more energy - strange, I know, but it is true - and at the end of the day, I might find a spoon in my pocket that I didn't know I had. That is a rare and special find - because while I can save a spoon or two for the next day, I can't save up a whole lot to use later.  I made the mistake of thinking that earlier this year ... and the results were disastrous.

The bottom line is that self-care is so very important, and at the same time, so very under-rated.  There are lessons I've learned about it that have been hard to learn; I am still learning others.  One of the most crucial lessons for me was that self-care, contrary to popular religious and cultural belief, is FAR from selfish.  It is often the kindest thing one can do for one's family and friends, because someone who doesn't practice self-care will NOT have any reserves left and could end up damaging people who are near and dear, sometimes irreparably.  And another learning is that it is okay to (1) say no, and (2) ask for help.  It doesn't mean that I'm less of a person; it means I am becoming aware of my limits and I am trying to stay within them. 

So if I use a spoon to spend time with you, know that (1) it is a good day for me and (2) if someday I can't, it's not your fault ... and it's not mine either.

Nothing to prove

In just a couple of months, it will have been three years since our daughter passed away at the age of 21. Grief, my constant and relentless companion at first, has become more of a travelling companion now, and I nod at it as it overtakes me and carries me in its wake at times. Other times, I travel life without it dogging my heels. Some days I even forget that I have been that profoundly touched by its presence. Other days, it's all I can think about.

At first, every conversation was about her. I needed to talk about her, needed to not forget her. I was afraid that I would forget what her laugh sounded like. I was afraid that if I enjoyed life, I might stop hurting - and I needed to hurt - hurting made the loss feel more fitting somehow.  

I kept reminders of her everywhere. Pictures, pieces of jewelry, little keepsakes, cards and letters from people expressing their condolences... things that helped me traverse the nettles of fresh grief, things that kept the wound from closing until it healed on the inside. I maintained that one never gets over the death of someone so close. And one doesn't.  Yet ... I started to get worn down by the grief. It was like being chained to a post. The reminders became burdensome because they were reminders of what I had lost, not of what she had gained by being free of her own chains, all the strikes against her.  I lost sight of how happy she is now.  

April 26, 2016 - the décor of our living room is changing.

As well, as time wore on, I began to realize that my belle was all about living large - enjoying the moment - and she would want me to do the same.  So I began to put away in a safe place some of the little things that were such a constant reminder of her and which, likely as not, would just end up making me sad. All those snowflakes are mostly relegated to one Christmas ornament that hangs in the corner of our living room doorway, and a chain of snowflakes a dear friend crocheted for me for Christmas last year. Oh ... and the paper snowflakes my belle taped to a lampshade one year. Her picture still hangs in our kitchen, but the wall art in the living room - where we spend the most time during our waking hours - has changed to reflect the things in our lives that we enjoy. Things that remind us all of life, of beauty, of strength and freedom.

I think that before, I kept trying to prove to people that I loved my daughter and that I missed her.  I have come to a sort of place of peace about that, knowing that love is eternal, that it is probably the only thing that you take with you when you die (so I know she still loves me!), and that as long as we are separated, I will ALWAYS miss her.  I don't have to prove that.  It's a fact.

So I guess I have nothing to prove to anyone anymore - and I think that I have already begun to move forward, onward, upward - in small ways.  I don't need those constant reminders anymore.  I don't need to look back at what might have been; I can't change that.  I don't need to wish I could go to her in the sweet bye and bye.  That will happen soon enough; that's a fact of life.  

It's okay that she is free of having to prove herself too. She's totally free of that pressure to perform, that uphill battle to just have the right to take up space. I would not dare take that freedom away from her even if I could.  And I cannot.

What I can do is live.  Not just survive, but LIVE. Enjoy life.  Have goals. Strive for them. Relish today.  Savour the moment.  Not living in the "if only I had" or the "I can't wait until" but living in the "this is so cool" mentality.  That's how she lived her life.  That's how I choose to live mine.  Nothing to prove, not to anyone, not to her, not even to myself.  

It's okay to put some of her stuff away.  It doesn't mean that I forgot her or that I ever WILL forget her.  It just means that I embrace life, not death.  

I think that's what she would want.  I know it's what I want.

Press Pause

What a whirlwind the last three weeks has been! I have been in a city that is three thousand miles away from my home, knowing only the people I have met online through my master's program, and often depending on the kindness of strangers, or if not strangers, people who are new to my experience. 

Three weeks ago today, I left behind my office desk with a note on it to not give me new work because I wouldn't be back until nearly the end of July, and I went home to do my final packing. In a way, it was like I pressed "Pause" on my work life.  That world would no longer occupy me for a period of three weeks. And so it has not.  I have become immersed in the atmosphere of students desiring earnestly to develop their skills, just as I am. 

Academically, this has been intense - there has been such a strong component of hands-on practice in what some have dubbed "Summer Intensive" (as opposed to Summer Institute, which it is really called).  I can literally feel my mind expanding as I have gone through these few weeks. I chuckle when I remember how the smallest of skills posed such a problem for me at first, and then, looking back, I wonder what all the fuss was about. My confidence in my abilities has increased exponentially. Yes, academically, it has been a good experience. It will stand me in good stead in my practicum, but that won't happen until 13 months or so from now.

As challenging and invigorating as that has been, physically, it has been exhausting. It took me a few days to realize that I was lagging behind other people and feeling out of breath all the time because I was 3,500 feet higher above sea level than I was used to being! Altitude sickness includes symptoms of fatigue, shortness of breath, acute insomnia, headaches and joint aches ....and I had it all!  It lasted for almost two weeks! About a week after getting here, I was given the opportunity to book a place in residence (on the campus). It turned out to be a good move for me, as I could devote more time to self-care than I had in months. And now, a lot of those aches and pains have disappeared or vastly reduced. I can enjoy the walk to and from class now, and it doesn't tire me out like it used to. And I have even gotten some sunshine in the process! It's like I have finally been able to press Pause, to gather my legs under me, to get my bearings physically.

Emotionally and relationally, this period has been difficult.  I have been confronted with just how much of a jerk I can be sometimes (even moreso when I am feeling tired, weak, and lonely), which has led me to begin to re-evaluate my approach to communication in relationships. That was - and is - a hard (and emotionally expensive) lesson to learn. I have had to press Pause, to reflect on a lot of things surrounding my insecurities and fears about how to be a friend and whether I have the ability to be true to who I am and say how I feel without being afraid of making someone mad at me. I sense that this will be a long Pause. There is a lot to work through.

And then there's the homesickness!! WOW have I ever suffered from that!! Especially in the last week, I have been (as my prof described to me) "off" - not quite on my game, if you will. And that has simply been a function of homesickness combined with the stress of public speaking without the benefit of either raised stage or microphone.  (Let me tell you, that is a totally different ball game...) But mostly it's just been that being away from my loved ones is wearing on me, and I just can't wait to see them again!!  I went to timeanddate.com to create a countdown for not only the plane landing back home, but also for it taking off from here.  What's that you say? I got it bad? Yeah you bet!! 

Health-wise, this has been a pleasant pause. I am strengthening my lifestyle choices regarding eating and activity level, and have learned that I CAN look after myself (and yes, medication helps) and eventually beat my health challenges. My sugars are ALMOST back to normal and I feel less draggy and tired than I was two short months ago when I was first diagnosed with diabetes. I can foresee a day when things will be completely under control and I will be able to get back to activities that I had to give up because it was just too uncomfortable and/or tired to do them. (Golf, folks. I was talking about golf.  And horseback riding. Tsk!) 

Photo "Stone And Sand Background" courtesy
of gubgib at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

And now I get ready to press another Pause.  After this weekend, I will be officially finished this course and won't have to start another until September - and even then, instead of two courses, I will only be taking one. August is a month I look forward to simply because it is a breather from the constant need to stay on top of a pretty intense school routine added onto an already full plate of work and home (not to mention sleep, nutrition, and activity).  One less thing to focus on gives me a slight break in that routine. I'm thankful for that; it will give me a chance to reconnect with my friends and spend time with my family.

That way, when September comes and I release that Pause button, I will be energetic enough to dance to the music again. 

Commemoration Days

Commemoration is something you do to honour the person (or people) who has (or have) died... for whatever reason.  Usually you hear the word around November 11, but someone said that word to me last night as I explained that the next day would have been my youngest daughter's 24th birthday. 

"Are you doing anything to commemorate? you know, something special?"

Frankly, I was just going to try to survive the day. But when I awoke this morning and started thinking about it, and planning my meals for the day, I began to think about my girl's favourite things... and how I could honour her in the choices I make in the little things today. 

I started with cooking a breakfast for myself that was one of her favourites: "hash" - which is hash-browned potatoes made with "real" potato (not the instant kind) - bacon (cooked chewy but not crispy), and scrambled eggs (that last bit was for me). As I ate it I recalled how she would relish every bite, rolling her eyes back with ecstasy when she took that first bite of bacon, that first taste of potato. Then how she would try to get as many potato pieces as she could fit on her fork, and give her potato-head fork a "haircut"... fill her mouth really full of the food and then act silly trying to talk through a mouth packed full. 

Arielle at Sam's - early 2012
Copyright 2012, Judy Gillis

I lingered over breakfast, savouring every morsel, each one a memory of fun times at the breakfast table either at home or at her favourite restaurant to have breakfast at: Sam's. Our family still goes there, quite frequently.  We like it there too. 

The last couple of weeks I have been living in Calgary, Alberta - I'm here for my schooling - and being this close to where she had her accident has been very emotional for me. It has made me more sensitive, and affected nearly all my interactions with people.

I find myself usually thinking about the things I miss about her - and there is a LOT of that! - and not wanting to think of the things about her that drove me crazy - her in-your-face attitude, her loudness, her impulsiveness to the point of taking unnecessary risks and not being considerate of people who were worried about her - but those things were a part of her as well. It took her quite a while for her to learn not to crowd me (she'd stand too close for my personal comfort and would NOT lower her voice) but she eventually learned that it "made Mom's skin get all snaky-feeling."

I miss her smile. I miss her laughter and her fun-ness. I miss how generous and loving she was, how she would put herself out for a friend in need.  I miss the quirk of her eyebrow ... and I miss her unshakable faith.  I miss her hugs ... most of all I miss those. 

I know that I will find other ways to make this day special.  But honestly, she left such an impact on my life that I try to "commemorate" her by living a little more like she did, by her unique life's motto, "Every snowflake counts" (see my October 24, 2013 post), every day.

It not only keeps her close, it's a wonderful way to live. 

Thanks, sweetie, for lighting the way.  

How did I miss this?

I sat in my doctor's office today and he asked me how I had been feeling the last few weeks since starting my diabetes medication.

I found myself gushing.  Literally gushing!  The words tumbled out of my mouth like a torrent.  I was feeling so good! not so exhausted all the time! more energy! not as ravenous! feeling like I was eating more even though the calories were way less than before! I almost felt like I was cheating!

His face flushed with pleasure. He was beaming.  (Note to self: this guy really CARES about me - he loves what he does and loves to see people healthy!) 

I was nearly breathless with telling him about all the positive changes.  And he asked me about my numbers.  I showed him my sugar log and noted the variations in my levels, better during the day and more in the morning than they should be. So we both agreed that he needed to up my dose of one of the medications - and he wrote the script for that.  We agreed to meet again in a couple of weeks. 

I couldn't contain myself anymore.  I caught his eye and said to him, incredulous, "How did I MISS this?"  I had always thought that eating healthy was so hard, so much work.  Yet here I was eating completely balanced meals and feeling so wonderful ... was this what normal people felt like? not getting hungry until almost mealtime? slowing down and enjoying the taste of food? 

He validated my good report and told me that it doesn't take long when adopting a healthy lifestyle to start noticing a difference.  Boy was HE right! 

Talking about it with my husband later, I started to shake my head with disbelief. Again. "I can't believe how good I feel!" I said to him.  

He grinned, and then looked pensive. "I'm so thankful.  He probably saved your life," he said. "If he hadn't made you take those blood tests, you'd still be tired and on your way to ..." his voice trailed off and his eyes misted a bit.  

"... a heart attack," I finished his sentence.

"Yeah." 

"I know.  We have a lot to be grateful for." 

"We do." 

I know that there are some people who have been trying all my adult life to guilt me into making healthier choices; guilt trips are red flags for me and I resist them. But it was the caring and concern of this stranger who sat me down and informed me of the facts ... with no "shoulds" ever coming out of his mouth ... and let me make up my own mind, who really had a big influence on my decision to live.  I chose to live. I chose to stick around. And that, my friends, is the truth.

How did I miss this?  I was ignorant.  I didn't know what was wrong - and in my arrogance, I thought that it was stress or normal reactions from being bullied or burning the candle at both ends. It turns out I was partly right; prolonged intense stress is a risk factor in the development of diabetes.  But mostly, I was caught in a web of fear ... fear of going to a doctor I didn't trust (my former physician), fear of what he might say and how he might say it, fear of how others might jump on the "jump on Judy" bandwagon, fear of something actually being wrong (and not fixable), fear of leaving the familiar and launching out into new territory, and fear that I wouldn't be able to make the changes that I would need to make. 

Photo "Young Plant" by amenic181 at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

It turns out that I had all that fear for nothing.  It turns out that diabetes - as life-limiting as the diagnosis sounds - freed me to have the lifestyle I enjoy now. I can't explain it any better than that.  Whether I lose weight or not, matters not. That I feel better for putting the right fuel into my body does matter. It not only makes my body feel better, it makes my soul and spirit feel better as well, because I am looking after myself and making time for me - even if it is only a small portion out of my day to pack a lunch for myself to take to work instead of buying my lunch from the vending machine in the basement at my work. And it only takes a couple of minutes a few times a day to write down what I eat. And maybe I feel good enough to go for a stroll once in a while. 

I'm so grateful. 

And don't worry, I won't be turning my blog into a fitness diary.  I've seen too many people get turned onto this or that "healthy" practice and become people I didn't like as much anymore. But I did want to say that here is one little gray duck that is so glad someone with patience, wisdom and respect took the time to give me the facts and let me decide what to do with them. He made sure that I didn't "miss it." And that my family wouldn't miss me.

The Road to Self-care

So okay, NOW I can talk about this on my blog. I had to make sure that everyone in my household was in the know and aware. And not overreacting. Because it's no super big deal.

So here goes: I am in the process of getting diagnosed with type 2 Diabetes (late onset, or what the old-timers used to call "shugar dye-a-BEET-us") I've been monitoring my blood sugars ever since this morning, so I can show my log book to the doctor on Thursday. He'll have the results of my second A1C (blood glucose, fasting) test, which he needs to confirm the diagnosis. He and I both expect it to be around the same as the last one, so yes, unofficially it's diabetes mellitus (the medical term.)

Then we'll talk about treatment (probably pills) and he'll probably refer me to a nutritionist. I've already made adjustments in timing, portion control and content of my meals and snacks. (Been doing a LOT of reading at the Canadian Diabetes Association site and at the Mayo Clinic site).

People are going to ask me if I'm okay - that's natural. The truth is, I haven't been okay.  The last 8 months has been simply awful: no energy, lots of fatigue, thirsty all the time, and ravenously hungry ... really irritable before meals and falling asleep while studying - and elsewhere. I just thought it was stress. Well, it WAS stress in a way, because prolonged, intense stress can raise blood sugar - but there are also other contributing factors, of which I have three: a family history (my dad's mother), a personal history of gestational diabetes, and morbid obesity. I get it that people will be worried about me and wonder what this means for my health.

 

Photo "Bowl Of Muesli For Breakfast With Fruits"
courtesy of Serge Bertasius at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

 

But for the most part, for me, the diagnosis of diabetes comes as a huge relief.  Finally, there's an explanation for how I've been feeling. Finally, I know what to do about it AND I am motivated to do so.  And best of all, my entire nuclear family is on board with getting more active and eating better (in fact, they are looking forward to it!) - talk about moral support! 

 

Having diabetes forces me to look after myself, not to skip meals, not to snack on empty calories, and not to sit in my chair and think of excuses why I should stay there.  Wow.  Not to lose weight (although if that happens - bonus!) but to keep my sugars under control so that I don't end up with heart disease and kidney problems.  

 

I even heard my husband say to me last week (echoing my own secret thoughts), "You know, honey, maybe this is a blessing in disguise."  It surprises me to say that I think he is right!  I can say that I have been scouring diabetes websites, looking at food lists, poring over supermarket flyers, thinking about meal planning, and getting my head around being more active and just making that part of my every-day routine.  

 

I have spent the last seven years trying to take care of my emotional self, and I have been growing in that respect more and more; now, it is time to take care of my physical self. I'm on the road again. Hopefully the skies will be sunny and the breeze warm.

Flowers and Hearts

We're coming up on one of the hardest times of year for me - Mothers Day. It's difficult to wade through the messages everywhere that all mothers are saintly. Some just ... aren't ... No matter what anyone else believes, nobody really knows what goes on behind closed doors ... except the ones behind those doors. Some kinds of memories can sour the pleasures of the present.

And of course, the annual event (and its hype) is also a reminder of one of my children who is not here anymore to wish me a happy Mothers Day. . . that kind of pain never goes away, but is more keenly felt on the 2nd Sunday in May.

For those of you who are fortunate enough to have had a wonderful mother, I am glad that you did. If your wonderful mother is still living, be sure to tell her - and show her (not just one day a year) - that you love and appreciate her. That means a lot more than gushy words in a card, pretty flowers or corsages, and chocolates once a year.

If your wonderful mother has passed away at any time (and especially recently) - I grieve with you for having lost someone very special in your life.

And if (like me) how you feel about your mom is "complicated" and you have mixed feelings (at best) about Mother's Day - and especially IF you are a mother with that kind of background ... might I offer my perspective?  I have learned through trial and error (mostly error) that the best way to survive the last week of April and the first half of May (with all the advertising campaigns capitalizing on guilt and shame) is to focus on the present and BE a good mom all year round. 

A good mom is one whose children feel safe to be themselves around her.
 

Photo "Dandelions" courtesy of sattva at
www.freedigitalphotos.net

"Now" is important.  Now matters. Continue breaking the cycle of bad parenting, abuse, and/or neglect. Treat your children - no matter how young - like the real people they are, not just as miniature extensions of yourself. Don't set them up to be laughed at - and NEVER laugh at them or call them names, or dismiss their "little feelings" (there is NOTHING "little" about feelings) as "cute" just because the reason for their distress seems minor to you. 

Respect their boundaries. Take their side. Celebrate their accomplishments. Go to bat for them when they are treated unfairly.  Say please and thank you to your children, and MEAN it. Say you're sorry to their face (and MEAN it) when you mess up. Teach them basic housekeeping and cooking techniques, do these tasks together, and teach them the joy of helping others for its own sake, not to avoid punishment or gain a material reward.  They will remember for the rest of their lives the way you treat them when they are little.  They will also remember how you treat others who have little or no power, and when they grow up, they will most likely treat others the same way.

And when the day comes (whether they're three or sixty-three) when they want to honour you for being that good Mom - and they will - don't rob them of that joy.  Smile and say thank you.  Even if all they bring you is dandelions, if it comes from the heart, see the heart behind it, look them in the eyes with all the love you have inside, and say thank you.