C is for Crybaby

Little did I know when I wrote my last post that things would get worse before they got better.  Turns out my shortness of breath and cough were caused by fluid accumulating around my heart, and on July 1 I was admitted to the hospital for an unplanned surgery to remove that fluid.  I spent 3 long days and nights on the 5th floor of St. Thomas Midtown.   Unfortunately, fluid is now accumulating in my left lung, so I have one more surgery scheduled for this coming week.

When  I was a kid I loved riding the roller coaster.  The speed and turns were exhilarating and I would scream out loud with pure joy.  Now, imagine the worst kind of roller coaster, the rickety ride that makes you queasy and sick and scared.  That's what the past 2 weeks have felt like to me, hurtling along an uncertain path filled with  stress and discomfort.  I think I've shed more tears in the last ten days than I have in my entire cancer journey.

I still don't feel great physically, but emotionally I finally caught some much needed breaks today.  I got the results of my most recent chest and abdomen scans and there is no sign of any new cancer!!  The cancer I have is microscopic, irritating the linings of my lungs and heart, but not growing into tumors nor showing up in other parts of my body.  And it looks like I am good candidate for a clinical trial that is showing promising results.  Small victories to be sure, but sorely needed.

I still have to get through another surgery this week, but I know I can do it.  My family and friends continue to exceed my wildest expectations with their continued support, love and care.   I've been crying all day today, but for the first time in two weeks they are tears of relief and hope and renewed optimism.

C is for Confession

I'm not very good at confession.  In the Catholic Church it's called the Sacrament of Reconciliation, and my First Confession happened as a 4th grader. Learning the Act of Contrition prayer was easy but my first Examination of Conscience was terrifying.  It should be a thoughtful, prayerful process of calling to mind our sins before we confess, but my guide through this first time was a plump, negative, overzealous nun. She drilled into us the abomination of our sins, and reminded us repeatedly that forgetting to confess a sin to the priest was in itself another horrific sin.   It's easy to blame a crazy nun for turning me away from this sacrament, but in truth, I've never been very comfortable with the act of confession.  I'm actually much, much better now at examining my conscience and owning my mistakes and eccentricities; I just don't want to hash those things out with anyone else.

If you've been a regular reader of this blog, then you may think I have rainbows painted on my walls and sleep with a stuffed unicorn. Truth time? Confession?  This past week has been incredibly difficult, physically and emotionally.  The side effects from the drugs I am taking are wreaking havoc on my body.  I'm not sleeping very well, am bloated, swollen and in pain from retaining water, have a dry, raspy cough in addition to shortness of breath and have very little energy.   I just cancelled a work trip that I've been looking forward to for weeks because I know I'm not up to travel.  My doctor is tweaking my meds and I'm hopeful that I'll have some relief soon, but right now I'm just miserable.

In the spring of that same 4th grade year, my father was transferred and we moved from Dallas, TX to Brighton, MI. I didn't want to go and remember crying hysterically when I told my best friend the news.  She was understanding and sympathetic, but the closer we got to our move date the more she disengaged from our friendship.  We were just ten years old and I know now that she was protecting her feelings, but back then it felt like a betrayal.  Ready for confession number two?  What if my friends now slowly drift away, weary from slogging through the ups and downs of this disease with me?  No, I don't really think this will happen.  But oh, the insecurities of my former ten year old self take over at 3 AM when I am wide awake and uncomfortable.

I've said from the beginning that I want this blog to reflect my determination to stay positive and grateful, but several wise friends have reassured me that it is OK to to share the good with the bad.  They've actually encouraged me to do more of that.  So I confess - it's been a crappy week.  I'm wallowing, feeling sorry for myself, wishing I was on that business trip with a wonderful colleague.  But don't worry - next time I write, C is for.....well, I'm not sure yet!  But C is always for Colleen, and I always bet on myself.

C is for Conversation

I count journalists, chefs, doctors, philanthropists, architects and teachers as friends, and  last night I attended a dinner party that reminded me how lucky I am to know such interesting people!  Over a wonderful dinner of crab cakes, spicy slaw and a nice bottle of Pinot Noir, with Fleetwood Mac's Rumours playing in the background, the conversation went in a thousand different directions.  We debated swing dancing, Winston Churchill, vegetarianism, canoeing, the resurgence of beer in a can, the merits of Twitter, the upcoming city elections, and spotting famous people in odd places. 

Dinner parties are also a time to share the latest books we've read, the movies that made us cry, and the new restaurants we've tried.   In the 1990's, the only restaurant downtown was The Old Spaghetti Factory, which miraculously is still in business.  (Although, really, is it ever a good idea to put factory into the name of a restaurant?)  Now, Nashville has become quite the foodie town, and while we love our new reputation we bemoan how hard it is to get a reservation.  We used to be able to pull a group together on Wednesday and make a reservation for Saturday night anywhere in town - now we often need a month's notice!  Perhaps sentimentality just comes with middle age, but we reminisced about the Nashville of old with great fondness.  Does anyone else remember the Italian Street Fair, the Summer Lights Festival or Faison's?  How about the IHOP near Vanderbilt where one of the waiters dressed up like Elvis?  We're making plans to see a Sounds baseball game since it is the last summer they will be playing in Greer Stadium. 

As I was driving home, I couldn't stop smiling thinking about the friends I have made since moving here in 1990.  We've changed, just as our city has, and I like to think we're all (mostly) the better for it.  Our conversations overall have become deeper, more thoughtful, but are still laced with humor and irreverence. And thankfully, I don't think we will ever run out of topics to talk about.

C is for Childhood

My parents are downsizing yet again, so last weekend I was in Jacksonville helping to clean out their house.   Although I am doing just fine, I was deemed "not fit for duty" in the stifling garage and was relegated to tasks inside the air conditioned house.  (And yes, I owe my siblings a huge debt of gratitude for that one!) So I settled in on the sofa, surrounded by many boxes and bags of old photo albums and frames. There was a lot to cull through - my mother chronicled every birthday, holiday and graduation - but the time flew by as I relived the best memories of my childhood, album by album.  There were countless pictures of my siblings, too, but hey, this is my blog.  :)

The early years:   Sure, I am biased, but I was absolutely adorable.   I'm in footie pajamas or a smocked dress in every shot, complete with a bowl haircut and an impish grin.

The middle school years:  Ah, the 70's were tragic.  I got glasses, acne and boobs all at the same time, and I wore the unflattering bell bottoms and earth shoes of the day.

The early high school years:  My glasses got bigger and my skirts got shorter, and apparently I was trying to channel Farrah Fawcett with my perfectly feathered hair.

The later high school years:  A move from rural Michigan to the suburbs of Chicago inspired my classic preppy look.   Alligators, add-a-beads and madras ruled my wardrobe, and I traded my coiffed hair for a ponytail and ribbons.

The albums continued well past my high school years, but it was the photos from my childhood that made me smile the most. I know I'm looking back with rose colored glasses, but my formative years were pretty idyllic.  We had everything we needed and most of what we wanted.  Dad worked hard at a job I knew nothing about, and Mom was always there to fix us a snack or drive us to an activity or appointment.  I was a Girl Scout, went to summer camp, played four square in the driveway and babysit the neighbor's kids.  I loved jumping on our trampoline, ignoring my younger siblings and watching The Brady Bunch and The Partridge Family on TV. It was all so blessedly innocent and normal.  I don't know what I will do with all the photos I brought home with me, but I do know I will always cherish the memories they evoke.

C is for Concert

I estimate I've been to 40-50 concerts through the years.  In high school I saw bands like Journey, Styx and Foreigner, and have seen a variety of artists through the years including Lyle Lovett, Elvis Costello, Patty Griffin, and of course, Jimmy Buffett.  But last night I saw what may now be my favorite concert of all time - the Indigo Girls backed by the Nashville Symphony.

I started listening to the Indigo Girls when they first hit the musical scene in the mid to late 1980's. Their haunting harmonies and intelligent, thoughtful lyrics spoke to me then, and still do today.  As a young college graduate struggling to create my future, I related to the words "and the less I seek my source from some definitive, the closer I am to fine".  When I spent a summer in Dallas working for Habitat for Humanity, I was inspired by the lyrics of Hammer and Nail, "if I have a care in the world I have a gift to bring".

Last night was more than just a concert - it was an amazing experience made possible by the generosity of two of my best friends, and made sweeter by the presence of my sister.  We started with dinner at one of the top restaurants in town, then strolled over to the Symphony Center to our box seats complete with wine and snacks. We were on the second level, with seats so close to the stage we could clearly see the facial expressions of the musicians.  The familiarity of the music, the intimate setting, the swelling of the strings and the beat of the timpani were overwhelming; when the concert began my eyes filled with tears.  I found myself singing along to the songs of my youth, surprising myself that the words came back so easily.  Backed by the excellent Nashville Symphony, these beloved favorites took on a new level of intensity and beauty.  To the amusement of my friends and sister my tears kept flowing, fueled by nostalgia and the voices of the Indigo Girls, all the better with age.  The night ended with a rousing rendition of "Closer to Fine" with the entire audience on their feet singing at the top of their lungs.  It was a truly magical concert experience that I won't soon forget.

C is for Commencement

My beautiful, smart niece graduated from Father Ryan High School this past Sunday.  Resplendent in her purple robe, she was positively beaming in every single picture she was in.  (Check out Facebook - she was in a lot of pictures).    We capped the day with a family dinner where we toasted her accomplishments and shared our favorite silly stories about her.

The graduation ceremony itself was lovely, and the words of her principal struck a deep chord with me. In fact, I leaned over to my sister and whispered "I just figured out my next blog post".   He shared the results of a survey given to parents of high school students in which they were asked - if you could only choose one outcome, would you prefer to see your child successful, happy or good?  Overwhelmingly the parents chose happiness.  At face value that answer makes a lot of sense, but the principal said the results puzzled him as he expected a parent would want a child to be good, first and foremost.  After all, you can be happy but not be good, and yes, you can be good and not be happy.  But if you develop and cultivate gratitude in your life, then being good can and will bring you happiness.    I've thought about his words frequently over the past few days, and it struck me that the happiest people I know are also the most grateful.  It is also telling that those same happy people have faced more than their fair share of adversity, yet gratitude fuels their happiness despite the challenges.

This August my niece will start college in Connecticut, studying to become a nurse.  I think she has the right mix of skills and temperament to be successful in her chosen profession - she is caring, has a steady head and steady hands, and the sight of blood doesn't faze her one bit.  She is an outgoing, vibrant young woman who I believe is happy with herself and excited about the future. And maybe I am biased, but I do think she is good.  For her graduation I gave her a pair of earrings, and now I give her this blog post so that she will always remember the lesson of her commencement, that there is no real happiness without gratitude.  I think she is going to be just fine.

C is for Coast

I'm back from a few days in one of my favorite places, Rosemary Beach.  This little town on Florida's gulf coast has everything - a cool coffee shop, amazing restaurants, a few great boutiques, and of course, a gorgeous beach!  The greens and blues of the water, the sugar white sand, the crashing of the waves - the sights and sounds of the ocean have always calmed and comforted me.  Every evening we'd walk down to the beach to watch the sunset and marvel at the way the light bathed the water and sand in a rosy, shimmering glow.  And most nights, we'd walk back to the beach after dinner to gaze at the multitude of stars above the dark water.   It's easy for me to forget the minutia of my own life when standing next to the immense, ever changing entity that is an ocean.  It is perspective on the grandest scale of all!

I can admit it now - I was worried that Rosemary would somehow feel different this time around. It was definitely a study in moderation for me, something for which I am not generally known. I took a daily nap to keep up my stamina,  limited my wine consumption, and opted for appetizer size portions for many of my meals.   But I finally realized that the only one who cared how much wine I drank was me, and in the end, I really didn't care that much.  The truth is, I am different than the last time I was there, but so are my friends, so is the town itself.

My "moderation vacation" was actually pretty wonderful. The weather was perfect, every meal was better than the last and I read two great books.  And each evening when I watched the sunset over the gulf, I did so in the company of four smart, funny and compassionate friends.  We're already looking at houses for our next trip to this special place, whenever that might be.   In the meantime, I'll treasure my memories of surf, sand and laughter.

C is for Coleridge

In my first semester of college freshman English we read Ars Poetica by Archibald MacLeish, and I distinctly remember our professor reading the line "Silent as the sleeve-worn stone of casement ledges where the moss has grown".  The class grew quiet and watched as he stepped over to the window, and with a far-away look in his eyes, ran his fingers over the ledge.  It was such a simple gesture, but that line, that poem, and poetry in general came alive for me that day.  I devoured works by 20th century writers like Eliot and Frost, but, oh, the poets of the Romantic and Victorian periods spoke to me!  My favorite poem is Ulysses by Tennyson, and his words resonate in a new and more meaningful way than ever before:

We are not now that strength which in old days

Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;

One equal temper of heroic hearts,

Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

After my Dad's cancer diagnosis, he told me that three things were helping him cope - his love of God, his love of family, and his love of poetry.  I've sat with him through several rounds of chemo which can last up to 5 hours.  His favorite poet is Keats, so on one of those long days in the infusion room I googled my Dad's favorite poems by Keats on my iPad and read them aloud.   Then I googled some of my favorite poems and read those aloud, too.  There is beauty and power in poetry, which I had forgotten, and a really long, tiring day became a little bit brighter. After years of being "too busy", I've started to slowly rediscover and enjoy poetry again.

We're all fighting a demon, and for my Dad and me, that demon is cancer.  We often quote the lines below, as a reminder that we have control over our attitude and tenacity in that fight.  So I close this post in honor of my Dad, with the words of Dylan Thomas:

And you, my father, there on the sad height, 

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.  

Do not go gentle into that good night.  

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.  

C is for Cheesy

My brother is following my blog, like a good brother should, but he told me the other day that it is a little cheesy.  He's absolutely right, and that is kind of the point! In my very first blog post I wrote that I "refuse to huddle under the covers" as I battle this disease yet again.  That is only partly true.  The whole truth is that if I stay under those covers for too long, I fear I will never get back up.  Sure, I'm an avowed optimist, but I have moments when my cancer diagnosis slams into my consciousness so hard I can't see or think or catch my breath.  Many nights I have trouble sleeping because I can't turn off my whirring brain.  I'm trying to define what the new normal is for me, but my symptoms, and my emotions, are constantly shifting.

The physical and emotional roller coaster that is cancer is exhausting, but I'm trying to focus on the parts of the ride that bring me joy.  I do have some physical symptoms, but right now they are completely manageable and don't interfere with my ability to work full-time or spend time with loved ones.  I do have my moments of darkness and doubt, but I had those kind of moments before cancer, too.   I choose to be positive, to be grateful, and to be kind to myself and to others.   I choose faith over fear, love over hate.   And if that's a little cheesy, then I choose cheese.

C is for Cardi

After enduring both rain and snow earlier this week, we've seen absolutely perfect spring weather these past two days.  Flowers and trees are blooming, the sky has been a beautiful blue, and the temperatures have been in the high 60's.  I love this time of year when I can slip on a pair of flip-flops but still wear a light cardigan without sweating.  For the fashion impaired, cardi is affectionate shorthand for cardigan, hence the title of this post.  And I admit, I own a lot of cardis.  And a lot of flip-flops for that matter. No wonder I am so cheery these days.

I've been in my home for the last 10 years, and from the street it looks like a small bungalow with a front lawn and some shrubs and plants.  But it is actually a condo, so I haven't done any yard work in those ten years which is exactly how I like it.  Despite my black thumb and lack of attention to anything outdoors, every spring random flowers appear in my raggedy beds.  Right now, a single pink tulip stands by my front door.  It looks fragile but is surprisingly sturdy; it has already survived severe thunderstorms and a late frost.

The comfort of a cotton sweater, the sassy smack of a flip-flop, the resilience of a tulip - they all signal spring.   This year more than ever before, I am embracing the spring themes of hope, faith and new beginnings. I'm sure that pink tulip has sprung up for years, but this year I admire it and am inspired by it. And this year, I have new pink flip-flops - I'm ready for the season and wherever the journey may lead.  

C is for Chuckle

I just wrapped up a weekend in Florida with my parents and most of my siblings and their spouses.  It was supposed to be a weekend to celebrate Dad, but he was incredibly fatigued and wasn't feeling well. We still held a gin rummy tournament and had a great meal at his favorite restaurant, but we spent a lot of time discussing his health and making plans for his care.  But something wonderful happened last weekend, too.   Despite concern around my Dad, despite my own recent diagnosis, despite everything that my siblings have on their very crowded plates, we laughed.  We laughed a lot.  It's hard to describe the way we interact, but I suspect that from the outside looking in we're a bit like an improv comedy group on speed.  We hurl insults at each other, drop curse words, sing snatches of songs (usually in unison) and recite lines from classic movies. Old stories are told over and over again, and this time, photo albums that chronicled our childhood came off the shelf.  (As an aside, the 70's were not a kind decade to any of us.)

And yes, we cried.  I was hugging my brother goodbye on Sunday morning and laughing at some silly joke, and suddenly, without warning, I was sobbing.  The goodbyes were definitely harder this trip for obvious reasons, but they were sweeter, too.  We're supporting each other like never before and our emotions are more raw and more authentic than they've ever been.  You could say we are using humor to cover up our real feelings, and perhaps there is some truth in that.  But I would argue we are using humor to help us navigate through a dense fog - it is our beacon, our light.

C is for Crazy

I had dinner with two wonderful guys on Monday night and the conversation turned to our many mutual friends.  One of my dinner companions said he and his partner decided that if you plotted our group of friends on a bell curve of crazy, we'd all be in the tail.  As a side note, I completely suck at probability and statistics and for a minute thought - great! - that means we're normal!  Then I realized that what he was talking about was a big fat standard deviation from normal.

Trying to define what is crazy vs. what is normal is completely subjective, but as the conversation progressed I started to think that being in the tail was a pretty good place to be.  To be clear, we weren't talking about crazy in any clinical, destructive or negative sense.   Instead, we were kicking around words like unique, spontaneous, quirky, opinionated and silly.  Perhaps crazy isn't even the right word, but it's a fun way to describe the qualities and the freedom that come with being older, wiser and finally, blessedly, comfortable in our own skin.

If you talk to my family and close friends, apparently I have a really long list of quirks.  I like to think they are endearing although I suspect others might disagree.  I can't sleep without white noise, am freakishly fast at doing the daily Jumble, and I'm a food snob who can't cook.  I love a good plan, have been known to overindulge on sauvignon blanc and yell obscenities at the TV when I am watching sports.  My laugh is loud and often obnoxious, and I love to sing but actually can't carry a tune. Embracing my quirks was one of the hardest lessons I've ever had to learn, but I'm proud of the woman I am and the traits and habits that make me uniquely me.   So call me crazy - I'm just fine with being in the tail.  

C is for Coping

Is it just me, or are stories about cancer everywhere these days?? I  just read with dismay that Gail Kerr, a columnist with The Tennessean, has died at the age of 52.   Gail was a two time cancer survivor, and although the article didn't clearly state the cause of death, I inferred that cancer played some part.  I also just read that Jim Kelly, NFL Hall of Famer, is battling a recurrence of an aggressive form of oral cancer.  This insidious disease seems to be everywhere, touching everyone.  If you are reading this blog you know me, or know of me, but I would bet that you also know at least 2 or 3 other people who are currently battling a cancer demon.  We can't change the course of cancer for ourselves or our loved ones, but we can control how we react to that cancer.

The upside to these recent news stories is the focus on the community of friends, family, colleagues, neighbors - and even total strangers - who have rallied around those facing cancer.  I said from the beginning that I want this blog to be about gratitude, and let me tell you, I have never felt more loved and supported in my life!!  There are three specific things that friends are doing right now that are making a world of difference in my attitude and gratitude:

• They stay in touch:  The cancer road is often long and exhausting, so the occasional emails, calls and texts just to say hello and offer support mean more to me than you will ever know.  If you don't get a  response, don't assume anything other than I am busy or tired. Bother me again soon. :)
• They don't tell stories:  Telling me the story of how your aunt died of ovarian cancer in less than 3 months is not helpful.  We are all on a very individualized journey with the disease, and hearing stories of untimely deaths, and conversely, miraculous cures, can be very demoralizing.   I'm very lucky that my friends understand this.  
• They don't make it all about cancer: I have cancer, but I am not defined by that cancer.   And as much as I am fine to talk about my disease, I'm also planning a beach vacation, and at the moment, craving good sushi.  And vacations and sushi are best enjoyed with loved ones. 

In return, there are a few things that I am trying to do for my friends:  

• I don't want to make it all about cancer, either:  If we are talking and I fail to ask about you, your kids or your job, then shame on me.  Your stuff is just as important as my stuff!
• I want to keep you informed, but not bombard you with the details:  I have a Facebook friend who likes to post what she eats for breakfast, how long it takes her to commute to work, when she does her laundry....you get the picture.  Bless her heart, her posts just bore me to tears.  If you ever want to know what's going on with me just ask, but I'll try to keep the minutia to myself.

I hope it lifts your spirits to read this blog as much as it lifts mine to write it.  Thanks for checking in with me once again!

C is for Cute

When I was a young girl, feeling insecure and unattractive, I asked my Mom, "Am I pretty?"  And as the legend goes, her answer was "Honey, your personality shows in your face!"  To my Mom's credit, I'm fairly certain this is NOT what actually transpired, and I suspect she was trying to teach me a valuable lesson about inner beauty.  Still, the story lives on as recounted above, and we love to tell it over and over again at family gatherings, much to my mother's embarrassment.

It is only now, with the passage of time and the advantage of perspective, that I can see how this story shaped the way I viewed myself for far too long.  I've never been physically beautiful.  I can pass for cute, occasionally pretty in the right light, but I've never been confused for a super model.  But I've done myself a disservice by separating beauty into two distinct categories - inner and physical.  At the ripe age of 50, I am arguably the least physically attractive I have ever been.  My squinty eyes look smaller, my wrinkles are larger, and my once thick and healthy hair is stringy and sparse.  So I'm surprised when I look in the mirror these days and see a strong, stubborn, and yes, beautiful woman looking back.   I see a woman on a journey that is getting progressively harder, but I've finally figured out that I am well equipped for the ride. The beauty of family, friends, attitude and gratitude is inside of me and all around me.  I hope that my personality does indeed show in my face.  :)

C is for Courage

I learned that courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it.  - Nelson Mandela

I'm already overwhelmed at the outpouring of love and support from friends and family, near and far. People are calling me brave, but truly, the bravest person I know is my father, James B. Grady.  (Or as he likes to say, James "B is for Beautiful" Grady.)   He was diagnosed with Stage IV pancreatic cancer last June, and almost 10 months later, continues to defy the odds.  Every two weeks he gets a chemo infusion which must be brutal, but you would never know from the way he teases the nurses and smiles at every patient in the treatment room.  He thinks the reason he got cancer is to help brighten the lives of people who are in dark places, and I am going to do my best to live up to his example.  He inspires me through his selflessness, his optimism, his sense of humor, and his strong belief that death is not the end, but the beginning of something more beautiful than we can ever imagine.

I take after my Dad in a lot of ways.  I have his keen wit, a tiny bit of his intelligence, his big thighs and his crooked teeth.  He instilled in me a love of literature and poetry, taught me how to drop the f-bomb and play gin rummy, and shared the strategies of football and hockey so I would really understand what I was watching  on TV.  We differ mightily on politics, but that makes our debates more spirited.  I have a lot of my Mom in me, too, but even she acknowledges that I am clearly my father's daughter.  Never have I been more proud of that comparison.

So I should probably finish up this entry so I can go call my sweet Dad and tell him how to navigate to this blog.  Did I mention he is IT challenged?  Did I mention that my sister, Elizabeth, helped me set up this blog because I am an IT moron, too?   Like father, like daughter.   In the areas that truly matter, I have some work to do to make sure that is true.

And it begins....

I refuse to let my cancer diagnosis define who I am.  And as much as I like to sleep, I refuse to huddle under the covers.  So....I think this is the perfect time to start a blog.  I promise this won't be all about cancer, although I will post some updates on my health from time to time.  Instead, I hope you'll indulge me as I muse about life, love, family and friendship.  I am going to publish this short paragraph now, make sure I know what the hell I am doing, and then be back on this page soon.  Thanks for joining me on my journey!