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.