Happy Birthday, Margaret!

Nearly 30 years ago, the very first mother with cancer I would know was diagnosed with breast cancer.

She was in her thirties herself then, and the girl who would become my best friend and I were only children.  Because of that, all I know about her fight I learned much later, in the last few years, but even if I had been older, I suspect that I still would not have heard much beyond whispers of illness or seen much beyond the baking of casseroles and cookies for the children.

It was different in those days.  People didn’t talk about cancer the way they do now.  I’m chagrined to remember that my own grandmother was diagnosed a couple short years later, and soon died, of what was enigmatically labeled “a female cancer.”  No one, not even her daughter and son, knew exactly what kind — a fact that irritated me, and then made me angry, as I filled out health history form after health history form and didn’t even know what box to check.

But Pastor Margaret knew all too well.  She had a tumor, a complete mastectomy on the affected breast, and she had the full course of treatment then available.  She made her decisions, she made her peace, and then she made it work.  She made it work so well that those of us who met her later, after her treatment was complete and her hair had grown back, never even knew what she’d been through, unless she told us.

Pastor Margaret’s fighting a different kind of cancer now, and fighting it with a different kind of bravery.  You see, now, she’s fighting it out loud.  She’s blogging her journey, like her daughter Marty, and she’s taking us with her on her appointments.  She’s letting the world see what it’s like behind the cancer curtain.

I am so proud of her.  For then.  For now.  For sticking with it, and fighting so hard to be Momma to my best friend, Marty.  My heart is so full of happiness, and pride, and, well gratitude that she stuck it out, that her doctors were wise, and that she was blessed with more years of life.  With more time with her children.  With time to lead Sunday School, to see her children through school, and with time to go to Seminary and become the woman she is today.

Pastor Margaret.

The Momma who is teaching us about miracles, about unyielding faith, and about how to fight this hideous cancer, once, twice, and yet again.

Happy birthday, Pastor Margaret.  I am so, so grateful for the 29 birthdays that you’ve had since you first heard the word “cancer,” and I wish you many, many more.

November 1: Sound off!

Happy November, everyone! Although we’re still a day or two away, I couldn’t WAIT to set up this month’s check-in! How are you? How’s treatment? Recovery? Mothering? If you haven’t posted in the last couple weeks, or if you just want to leave an update, this is a great place to do it!

Also check out the latest from our group blog:

Frankenlefty has left the building (by ThrowsLikeAGirl)

Death be not proud (by Rivka)

More birthdays, please! (by Susan)

Courage (by Sarah)

Benefit or burden? (by Stella)

I’m home (by Lyn)

Everyone is welcome to leave a comment on this monthly check-in post, to ask questions, to share concerns, and to leave notes of support, whether you currently are a writer for this blog or not. We’re a community ’round these parts, and this is one of the big places we act like one.

Now go hug those little goblins, and have a Happy Halloween!

Courage

“Courage doesn’t always roar.  Sometimes courage is the little voice at the end of the day that says I’ll try again tomorrow.”  ~Mary Anne Radmacher

On Friday my support group for young breast cancer survivors BCAUSE held it’s annual Courage Night. BCAUSE stands for Breast Cancer and U Support and Encouragement. Courage night  is a special night when we celebrate being breast cancer survivors. There are not many things to celebrate about having breast cancer, but once a year we all gather together for a party in our honor. It’s kind of like a big group birthday party. A celebration of life.

I am very lucky to have such a tight circle of strong woman to talk to, to lean on, and to celebrate with. I feel twice as blessed because of my online support group, Mothers With Cancer. I refer to my support groups as my “home” support group and Mothers With Cancer as my “bloggy” support group. 

We had a special speaker, Geralyn Lucas author of Why I Wore Lipstick To My Mastectomy. What a treat it was to meet her. She was so gracious and eloquent, a very kind and genuine person. She read an excerpt from her book, it was hard to listen with dry eyes. It was such a wonderful thing for her to be there. Traveling and making a special trip here to our little town to celebrate with us. She stepped into our group just as if she knew all of us personally.

It was a bitter sweet night. One of our founding members lost her battle with  Metastatic breast cancer last spring and it was our first courage night with out her there. She lived for ten years with metastatic breast cancer. We really missed her but I have a feeling she was there smiling down on all of us, happy that we could all be there joined together in a sisterhood of strength.

I can’t imagine not having someone to talk to while going through a thing as terrible as cancer. Knowing that there is someone just a phone call or a key board away has made a big difference in my life. I am very thankful for the friendships and strong bonds I have with these brave and courageous woman. If it were not for my cancer diagnosis I would have never had the privilege of meeting these wonderful young woman. breast cancer, any cancer for that matter is not a walk in the park. I would never ask for it. I am however blessed with a network of friends that I know are always just a click away. These woman have taught me a lot about life and living. Living with cancer, being happy in spite of it. It makes all the difference for me, it makes everyday easier to put my feet down on the floor and continue to fight.

Posted by Spruce Hill

Radiation Relationships

Cross-posted, with some edits, from Coffee and Chemo
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Radiation therapy draws its unsuspecting victims into an alternative universe.

For 20 consecutive days, excluding Friday and Shabbat, I descended into the darkest depths of Machon Sharett, the cancer ward at Hadassah Ein Kerem, in Jerusalem. Then I trudged down the long, dimly lit corridor, until I reached the last door on my left, room 38.

I really could get into painting this “gloom and doom” picture, but it really would not give you an accurate picture, nor is it really the point of this post.

True, the radiation department is on the bottom floor of Machon Sharett. Also true, my radiation room was at the end of a very long, rather dim hallway (though better than I remembered from my last radiation treatments).

But I did not “trudge” to some ominous destination, and I certainly was not a victim.

Besides, this post is not about the journey, but rather the people we meet and the mysterious magic that happens when strangers meet, day after day, for weeks on end.

I spent the first few days of radiation in a haze, still in shock from my diagnosis and how fast my doctor scheduled me to begin radiation. It took me time to get into a routine. After a few days, I figured out what time works best for me to get to the hospital (around 10:00), where and how to park (give my “date”/driver the parking permit, and get on line while she parks), how much time I can expect to be there (20 minutes to an hour), and what my day will look like afterwards (SLEEPY).

By the third or fourth day, I could pick my head up out of the water enough to notice the people around me.

By the middle of the second week, I recognized the “regulars,” most notably:

1. The solemn elderly Russian lady who, when I smiled at her, looked up and flashed me a gold-toothed smile. A few days later, I tried to talk with her, but could not understand her friendly response… in Russian. With no real common language, our exchanges consisted of very simple dialogue and hand signals.

2. The sweet older South African couple, with whom I established a real friendship. They came from out of the city, and arrived every day around the same time as I. I loved watching them together, so attentive of one another.

This couple is the inspiration for this post.

You see, for almost a full month, we saw each other every day. Once we became friendly, we also spoke almost every day. We shared details about our lives, our families, our friends.

In the waiting area, our lives became intensely connected.

It is a very strange phenomenon — this sudden connection and just as sudden disconnect.

Strangers become close friends, and then, in an instant, the day radiation is over, we return to our “normal” lives, and our “normal” circle of friends.

To a certain extent, this dynamic is also true about the radiation staff. Though the staff tends to keep a professional distance, some technicians are friendlier than others. Some of us even remember each other from my previous radiation (tw0 years ago, to my left hip).

I really appreciated it when the staff members treated me as a person, and not just a patient. It made the process a little less scary. For a few seconds, I could pretend I am out visiting friends and not in the hospital getting my brain zapped.

The relationship is even more intense, since I am relying on these people to get everything right. I was pretty nervous about the whole brain radiation, and every day I had another question or two. As I got more answers, I felt increasingly confident about my treatment.

And then, as with the other patients, one day it was over. These people, in whose trust I placed my life, and who I saw every day, are now… in another world.

They exist in an alternative universe, one I hope not to visit again.

another mother with cancer…

I found the blog world through an artist that I read about in Cloth, Paper, Scissors magazine in September of 2007… kellyraeroberts. Once introduced to this new world I began stumbling on many few and interesting people. Many artists but also through those artists doing “good will work” like Jen Lemen I was introduced to The Comfy Place, Toddler Planet and eventually all of us on Mothers with Cancer.

I have my list of favorite blogs that I check regularly and one of those is the editor of the Stampington Company magazines, Jenny Doh. Being in the art publishing business Jenny knows so many interesting people from all over the world. I was first “e”introduced to one amazing local artist through Jenny’s blog, her name is Janice Lowry. She has journalled for over 30 years and her journals have been inducted into the permanent collection of the Smithsonian Archives of America in Washington, DC.… so cool, click here to watch a video of her work.

The reason for this entire back story is this… unfortunately both worlds have collided again. While checking Jenny’s blog I read another post about Janice but she has now been diagnosed with Liver cancer and has entered Hospice. She is also a mother with cancer, she has 3 grown sons. Please take a minute and visit her blog and her website… and send some thoughts her way.

*** I just visited Janice’s blog and she passed away Sunday… the 20th.  Her husband wrote a very nice post and there is a part of it that I found very moving…

“It seems that the brightest stars can’t burn with such intensity for overly long periods of time and we have to enjoy and savor each moment with them as they pass through our orbits.”