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Beating Cancer With Love

September 27, 2011 by Farewell Stranger ·

September is Ovarian Cancer Awareness month. This disease barely registered with me until my mom showed up on my doorstep the day after I got home from my honeymoon and told me she had a tumour the size of a grapefruit. She’s here today to tell her cancer story.

***

How do you survive a cancer that has a 30% survival rate? It’s been 7 years since my surgery and I have long since been declared free of ovarian cancer, but I’m still not sure of the secret. Truly I think my time had not come. However, in addition to good care I firmly believe positive thinking and a huge dose of support are key.

Just before our oldest daughter’s wedding – first wedding, oldest of four – we were putting the the last details of The Plan in place. The couple wanted a relaxed get together with out of town guests so we planned a buffet at our house after the rehearsal.

I was feeling not so good. Unusually for me I decided to go to the doctor; I didn’t want to be sick for the wedding. If not for that wedding I doubt I’d have made it.

“How long have you had this growth?” my doctor asked.

“What growth?” was my response.

I’d read about the signs of ovarian cancer but there was no family history so I didn’t think it could happen to me. As it turned out I did have several of the signs.

By the Tuesday before the wedding I’d had blood tests. My CA125 score was really high, six times what it should be. An ultrasound was scheduled. The technician, looking serious, promised to have the result to my doctor by Friday. I told her to wait until after the wedding but it was there that afternoon, which seemed like a bad sign.

An MRI was scheduled for Thursday. My husband and I sneaked away saying we were picking up supplies for Friday’s dinner. By then I knew it was serious but (fortunately) didn’t have time to think. And of course we couldn’t tell anyone. How could we tell the other kids if I didn’t tell the bride? And how could they keep a secret like that? On the other hand for me not talking about it may have carried me through!

The wedding was wonderful, a huge success. I don’t remember much but do have one flash of memory, quoting an Ogden Nash poem during the speech I made on behalf of my husband and me: “To keep your marriage brimming, With love in the loving cup, Whenever you’re wrong admit it, Whenever you’re right, shut up.”

When it was done my marvellous gynaecologist oncologist suggested I do a course of chemotherapy “in case of rogue cells”. She was pretty sure she’d got it all and she would like to declare me cured before she retired. My family said I wasn’t through with life yet. (Remember that positive thinking component?)After that it was reality time. I was at the top of the surgery list and in at the first cancellation. The Universe decided it was to be right after the honeymooners got home.

My city has a terrific treatment facility due to a generous donation. The chemo room is surrounded by windows and trees. And I am truly blessed in my family. One of the kids came each time I went to my day-long chemo treatment. My husband (who had to skip the IV insertion part because of needle phobia) brought lunch. There was never nothing to do or nothing to say.

I had a few days of miserable neuralgia each time but limited nausea because of the timely invention of a good anti-nausea drug. I was bald and puffy from steroids and my energy was low but I never doubted I could make it. I even worked part of the time. What I remember now is the sea of love. That was the most important therapy.

My out of town daughter sent me a lovely journal suggesting I keep a sunshine journal, putting in only things that made me smile. (I am on the 4th one now and still smiling.) She invited me to come on a soul journey after chemo was over, to drive to the mountains for an injection of peace, hope and serenity.

A friend sent me to a wonderful alternative treatment program during the chemotherapy time.

My oldest daughter came with me and also gave me a treasured silver bell charm from her wedding to wear.

My son, who was both working and commuting to Vancouver for classes, came to one chemo treatment, supposedly for an hour and stayed 4 hours, causing him to miss his ferry and his class.

My healer daughter supported me in listening to my body rather than well meant advice and found me a wonderful cancer patient yoga CD which I still use.

People made marvellous soups and dropped them off. People sent plants and flowers. My son-in-law gave me mind-bending crossword puzzles. My husband did the cooking. My cherished colleague said, “go away and heal” and looked after my business. Another friend sent me some wonderful meditation CDs. How could I not get better?

Out of meditation came a couple of lullabies that appeared in my head for (then nonexistent) grandchildren. That was when I knew it was going to be okay for sure. I don’t know how to write music down. I had to be here to sing them myself.

Grandma and Connor when he was a couple of hours old

***

I will be forever grateful that my mom’s cancer was caught in time for her to be treated and fully recover. Please make sure you know the symptoms. Your grandchildren will be grateful.

PS The colour of my blog – similar to ovarian cancer teal – is a total coincidence, and one I only caught today. I think it was meant to be.

Filed Under: Happy things, Hard things · Tagged With: call for back-up, community, family, gratitude, hope

The Dummy Hung from the Water Tower

September 23, 2011 by Farewell Stranger ·

Ask and ye shall receive… In yesterday’s post I referenced one of my dad’s practical jokes that brought out emergency personnel and was remembered in a story in the newspaper years later. Some of you wanted to hear that story, so today I’m welcoming a special guest poster to tell it.

Here’s the story in my dad’s own words.*

***

I lived about one block from a water tower that had stood behind my junior high school for many years.

When I was about 16 I stuffed newspaper inside an old pair of blue jeans and my old hockey team jacket to make a life-sized dummy. Halloween came and went and I didn’t use the dummy so it continued hanging in our basement in the laundry room. When my mother objected to having to dodge around it, I was instructed to dispose of it.

That night I took my dummy down the street and climbed up inside one of the girders on the water tower until I reached the catwalk. I had brought a rope that I tied around the dummy’s neck. I tied the other end around a cross brace before sliding it out so it hung out of reach between two of the girders.

We had a neighbor across the back lane who was a night clerk at a local hotel, and I think he used to drink at work. The next morning I saw our neighbor staggering around in his back yard with a pair of field glasses up to his eyes looking toward the water tower.

I went out our front door to see what he was looking at and suddenly remembered what I had done the night before. The schoolyard was filled with fire engines, a couple of police cars, at least one ambulance and a crowd of spectators. A fireman climbed up a very long ladder toward my dummy. He cut it down and as it fell to the ground people screamed and turned away.

I quickly got dressed, jumped on my bike and rode to school (a high school far away from the scene of the crime) hoping that nobody would notice it was my hockey jacket on the dummy.

The “hanging” made the front page of the evening newspaper and was referred to as a Guy Fawkes prank (I’d never heard of him). The event was remembered 25 years later on the front page of the newspaper in their “On this Date 25 Years Ago” section.

***

*Name omitted because, you know, they might still be looking for him.

Thanks for sharing, Dad! xo

Filed Under: Guest posts · Tagged With: family

Where I’m From

September 21, 2011 by Farewell Stranger ·

I am from homemade Playdoh in blue and green, from the endless possibilities of Brio trains, and multi-coloured afghans hand knit with love.

I am from beach houses, suburban houses, and the house of many trees, each one a home complete with dogs and dance recitals.

I am from my mother’s mountain, a freshwater spring spilling on to the sand, and a John Denver soundtrack on long drives between the two.

I am from summers at the pool and advent calendars at Christmas, from Rileys and Birds and the traits of the Nelsons.

I am from Calvin and Hobbes quoted at the dinner table and laughing so hard milk comes out your nose.

From you have your mother’s eyes and I’m going to drive with my eyes closed so tell me if we’re going to hit something.

I am from a belief system that knows kids and clothes can be washed and that little girls are more valuable than family treasures accidentally broken.

I’m from a hospital nestled in the foothills, tourtière on Christmas Eve and school lunches that were the envy of classmates, they who wore kilts and blazers and heard pull your socks up and dangly earrings aren’t allowed. (I wore them anyway.)

From boats and salt water oceans, a mother’s hand warm from her tea, and the man who summoned emergency personnel with a practical joke, prompting a fondly-recalled story in the newspaper 25 years later.

I am from fat, brown photo albums, artwork and photos above computers and a do-anything-for-you kind of love reflected in a lifetime of knowing what it is to have a family.

family photo of children playing in the sand

The beach house where the spring water flowed into the ocean. (That's me on the left. The 4th sibling came later.)

Linked up with:

and

With thanks to Mama Kat for the prompt using this template based on this original work, which I’d seen before but had not yet been inspired to try.

And with sincere apologies to my mother if I’ve made her cry (again).

Filed Under: Be enough me, Happy things, Writing · Tagged With: Be enough me, family, favourite activities, gratitude, living life, love, my wish for you, photos

On the Move: Sharing a Letter at Letters for Lucas

September 20, 2011 by Farewell Stranger ·

One day many months ago, I saw a Twitter conversation between two bloggers I sort of knew. They were talking about wanting more comments on their posts, so I barged in and said I’d be happy to give them some comment love. One of those people was Tonya from Letters for Lucas.

I was pretty much a total newbie at the time, so I didn’t realize how awesome Tonya is. I’d read (and liked) her blog before but when we made a sort of bloggers’ pact to leave comments for each other I started reading every one of her posts. I quickly discovered just what a beautiful soul she is (especially considering she was a more popular blogger than I but was nothing but nice to me!).

When I went to BlogHer ’11 in August, Tonya and I shared a room for one night. I would gladly spend much more time with this dear friend, but am grateful for that night, a very long conversation, and the opportunity to get to know her better.

Tonya has a new series on her blog called Letters for You, and I was incredibly flattered when she asked me to contribute to it. That’s where I am today, writing a letter to my daughter.

Yes, my daughter.

Intrigued? Come and visit me there.

Comments closed. Please come talk to me at Tonya’s!

Filed Under: Conversations with Connor, Guest posts, Happy things, Motherhood · Tagged With: family, hope, mom's instinct, toddlers are weird

Expect Your Toddler to Tell the World You’re Naked

September 20, 2011 by Farewell Stranger ·

[Update: the post referenced here seems to have disappeared. Search me (but you won’t find it).]

I’ve got a post up on What To Expect’s Word of Mom blog.

We all know toddlers like to be naked, but I sure wish I had known to expect him to announce to the world (okay, Old Navy) when I was naked (or wasn’t, as the case may be).

You can read my post here [link removed]. (And please tell me I’m not the only one.)