A big part of survivorship is physical, that is obvious. But, the mental takes the award for the most challenging. There are normal ups and downs, morning of losses, nightmares of the future, and frustrations that your body as it functions at a slow half tilt. But, the things people and the media say can be some of the most challenging.
My favorite shows, somewhere along their time lines, usually have someone dealing with cancer. Sometimes the script is well written. Private Practice, for example, has a mother with a brain tumor. It is hard to watch how she deals with her son. I doubt some nights whether I should watch the show as it brings up a lot of emotions. Even a comedy I watch, How I Met Your Mother, dealt with cancer. Of course it was a sub-plot and in the end she was cancer free.
Most of the time, especially on dramodies, the scripts about cancer are not written well. They can be hurtful in their naive nonchalance and under researched reality. Sometimes they are so far fetched they are easy to blow off. Other times they can make a "real" survivor laugh at the ridiculousness of the comment.
In general, before I was forced off the plank into the deep water, cancer seemed so far out of reality. It was exactly the laughable killer of the old guy in the apartment above that causes the weird smell on the comedy or the one season long struggle of a Desperate Housewife. Lynette, by the way, only revisited her cancer once after she was "cured" of breast cancer several seasons back. But, I can't complain because the script dealt with the character's cancer journey fairly well that season as well with other characters on Wisteria Lane.
All this thinking about the comments said by those not close to cancer and my own reactions to them started Saturday night. My husband took me to a gala in Boulder. It was a creative black tie art auction for the Transitions Global and the Naropa University International Art Therapy Organization in charity for their work with survivors of the Cambodian sex trafficking. I had donated one work of art based off of the matchbox the University provided for inspiration. We had a good time, chatting, dancing, and making bids on the art work. We came home with two pieces. So I will leave you with the comment that stabbed me. Yes, I understand the nativity of its reference. And, yes, I can brush it off as I am a Survivor with a capitol S. But, it is a reminder that it takes a bit of a back bone daily. Keep in mind that I have lived with stage four cancer for three years exactly.
(MC is talking up a piece of art that was donated by a local artist to get more bids.)
"This piece has an extra value because, [the artist] has stage four cancer and won't be with us much longer. He will be gone soon so get some art from him now. Put a bid down and it could be yours."
Monday, March 19, 2012
Tuesday, March 13, 2012
Why?
It is not surprising that during the past couple of days I have been asked why I decided to be baptized as an adult. Some question because of curiosity. Some ask because they are asking themselves. One asked someone I know, who then told me, if I would be marching around witnessing to others since I was joining one of those "big" churches. Nay, that is not the Sara you know. My religion is a personal one that is meek. I witness through example and charity.
But, let us get back to the question at hand, why did I choose to be baptized? As I listened to the explanation of the history and theology of the church I had been attending, but was not a member of, I learned that it was where I belonged. Basically, they exsist somewere between Presbyterians and Methodist with a little Baptists thrown in the mix. I grew up in a Methodist church in Texas where the pastor looked just like Jesus from the hair to the sadals. During my teen years, we moved to California and joined a Presbyterian church. I was very active in the high school youth group and even sat in the very front pew with my pals on Sundays my parents could not attend. I woke up at 5:30 am, mind you I am not a morning person, to drive 20 minutes north to a Wednesday morning bible study. I promise I was never a second late to the 7:55 am start time at my high school. Well, maybe you will have the ask Mr. Akamichi for sure as I was the only fourth year art student in his first block and probably snuck in the back door on a few mornings.
So, moving out on my own to Colorado, I attended Presbyterian churches and eventually joined one when my children were born. I worked in the nursery every other Sunday and immensely enjoyed the Easter egg hunts. Again, that church went through some political issues that made me feel uncomfortable. I felt through this process that the philosophy of the church changed to one that was exclusionary. That was not who I was. It wasn't what I believed. Jesus sat with the prostitutes, the poor, the wretched, and yes, I am sure, those who were gay.
I started to attend Rocky Mountain Christian Church because it was easy. My kids went to school there and it is ten minutes or less from my house. I kept attending because I was welcomed. I was not judged. Every Sunday, I was given a nugget of clay, and it was up to me to mold it. Finally, I found again what I found in high school. I found the voice of God in my heart and a place that said it was okay to trust what it was saying. Oh, yes, sometimes the music is too loud. Sometimes I doze off for a second. Just a second, I promise. Sometimes I miss the old hymnal. And, I hate it when they run out of donut holes. But, nothing is perfect.
I didn't know I would be baptized. The voice spoke. And I was. It is pretty simple, really. To do something as Jesus had done felt comforting, warm, uplifting, and accepting. It felt like love. It felt like the first minute I held each of my children after they were born. I had no idea. I was baptized alone with my family as witnesses because I needed it to be still of emotions and sounds that would distract me from his presence.
For everyone out there, no matter if you are Jewish, Hindu, Unified, Buddhist, Catholic, or Islamic, step forward with God. Yes, I believe our God is one God for everyone. Step forward with whatever ritual, meditation, celebration your teachings offer. Maybe doing so sounds really big and or a little scary. So listen to the God-voice inside of you. (By the way, some call it intuition and others call it listening to signs.) You know when it is right. Step forward and sit on God's chair. You might like it here.
But, let us get back to the question at hand, why did I choose to be baptized? As I listened to the explanation of the history and theology of the church I had been attending, but was not a member of, I learned that it was where I belonged. Basically, they exsist somewere between Presbyterians and Methodist with a little Baptists thrown in the mix. I grew up in a Methodist church in Texas where the pastor looked just like Jesus from the hair to the sadals. During my teen years, we moved to California and joined a Presbyterian church. I was very active in the high school youth group and even sat in the very front pew with my pals on Sundays my parents could not attend. I woke up at 5:30 am, mind you I am not a morning person, to drive 20 minutes north to a Wednesday morning bible study. I promise I was never a second late to the 7:55 am start time at my high school. Well, maybe you will have the ask Mr. Akamichi for sure as I was the only fourth year art student in his first block and probably snuck in the back door on a few mornings.
So, moving out on my own to Colorado, I attended Presbyterian churches and eventually joined one when my children were born. I worked in the nursery every other Sunday and immensely enjoyed the Easter egg hunts. Again, that church went through some political issues that made me feel uncomfortable. I felt through this process that the philosophy of the church changed to one that was exclusionary. That was not who I was. It wasn't what I believed. Jesus sat with the prostitutes, the poor, the wretched, and yes, I am sure, those who were gay.
I started to attend Rocky Mountain Christian Church because it was easy. My kids went to school there and it is ten minutes or less from my house. I kept attending because I was welcomed. I was not judged. Every Sunday, I was given a nugget of clay, and it was up to me to mold it. Finally, I found again what I found in high school. I found the voice of God in my heart and a place that said it was okay to trust what it was saying. Oh, yes, sometimes the music is too loud. Sometimes I doze off for a second. Just a second, I promise. Sometimes I miss the old hymnal. And, I hate it when they run out of donut holes. But, nothing is perfect.
I didn't know I would be baptized. The voice spoke. And I was. It is pretty simple, really. To do something as Jesus had done felt comforting, warm, uplifting, and accepting. It felt like love. It felt like the first minute I held each of my children after they were born. I had no idea. I was baptized alone with my family as witnesses because I needed it to be still of emotions and sounds that would distract me from his presence.
For everyone out there, no matter if you are Jewish, Hindu, Unified, Buddhist, Catholic, or Islamic, step forward with God. Yes, I believe our God is one God for everyone. Step forward with whatever ritual, meditation, celebration your teachings offer. Maybe doing so sounds really big and or a little scary. So listen to the God-voice inside of you. (By the way, some call it intuition and others call it listening to signs.) You know when it is right. Step forward and sit on God's chair. You might like it here.
Sunday, March 11, 2012
Act Now
Act. Act now. Decision making is not my best talent. I suppose that is the result of being very accepting of just about everything that doesn't stink or cause harm. There is a list in my head, and now on my LifeRoo site (http://liferoo.com/,) of day dreams of what I want to do in this lifetime, my Life List. Yes, I know, you have all heard it before, I want to write a book. I always have. I have wanted to since my minor in creative writing in college nearly fifteen years ago. The problem with a minor is you never get to the classes that teach you how stop writing and be an author. Or so that is my excuse.
So my problem is I have the inability to execute a decision when it comes to myself. Now, as the Midnight Housewife, we well know I can decide away tasks of motherhood and household management. As an artist, when I am painting, there is no deciding necessary as what I put down on the canvas is a stream of subconsciousness flowing intuitively. And, that is why I like quilting. It is a balance as there is much more deciding in the creative process. With me and what I want to do, however, I can never decide whether it is what car to drive or which side to part my hair. Oh, wait, I don't have hair right now; check that off the list. My Humanness is just fine the way it is.
It was fine until I started realizing I wasn't moving forward. Fear of being wrong kept me here. The irony is that in the last three years, I moved through my cancer journey at a decidedly strong pace. I sought those second opinions. I decided which surgeon would best carry me through my journey and not just cut off my breast and through my sick parts in the trash. I enlisted two oncologist, a yin and a yang. I always insist on the medical assistant of my neurosurgeon look at my MRIs because he has saved my life...twice...with his hawk eyes. I never gave up yoga even when my body was weak. And, I found a new love for running outside that is oddly inspirational whether it is the endorphins, rocking to fun tunes, or the fresh air, I can't decide. So why then, is my Life List, as simple as it is, seem like Mt. Everest?
This afternoon, after church, I sat and listened to Pastor Allen and his wife discuss the journey of the church at an information luncheon about church membership. I think it is the slightly odd analogies that totally mirror my own that brought me to a decision today. There was an animated analogy about sitting in a chair simply because we said it was a chair, trust, and why we believe. There was something about being in the middle of something...oh forget it...I can't remember. There was another one about imagining life without a member of your body, say a thumb. No make that a leg, eye, ear. It is how all our members of our body work together that give us our Humanness. The analogy referred to church membership.
I have been attending Rocky Mountain Christian Church since about 2007. My former church, of which I was a member and was married through, became a place I no longer felt comfortable. So I started attending the church services where my kiddos went to preschool. I loved the sermons which moved me to cry on a regular basis. But, the baptisms by immersion sort of freaked me out. I am not really sure why, so don't ask. So I am hearing about the baptisms and how that is what you do to become a member of this Christian body when I decided I would be baptized again (my parents baptized me as an infant in the Methodist church.) There was one thing, I needed it to be my personal thing, not in front of the congregation on a Sunday morning. Call me shy or just understand that my spirituality is a personal one which I protect quietly in my heart and shine out to others through my hugs, smiles, and charity.
At the end of the luncheon, even though I knew my kiddos would be climbing the walls of the nursery that smelled like poopy diapers that they were sequestered to, I asked if I could be baptized by myself. After some arranging, picking up my kiddos, and calling my parents to come as soon as they could manage, I was baptized in a warm bath. I cried. It made sense. I took a step that was so simple so that I could move forward. And, I understood the reason the baptisms on Sunday mornings freaked me out. I am humble before my Lord. For me, doing this in front of a bunch of people would feel like a performance. I would be nervous. I would be fearful of doing it wrong. But, with my family as a witness, I was comforted in my humbleness. My true emotions would not be masked by the human reaction to publicness.
"Those who believed...were baptized...that day." (Acts 2:41)
Being baptized today is about being a member of a Christian Body. It is more. I promise myself to stop daydreaming and talking about my Life List and decide to move forward. I either put my money where my mouth is or scratch it off the list. Don't worry, Mom, sky diving and climbing Mt. Everest were scratched off a really long time ago. I sat for five years in those pews of RMCC trying to decide if I should join. Today, I decided. Tomorrow, I will paint. I will walk in the morning if it is warm or yoga if it is windy, even if my body feels exhausted. Yes, this I decided. Now, as hard as it may be, I will act...act now.
So my problem is I have the inability to execute a decision when it comes to myself. Now, as the Midnight Housewife, we well know I can decide away tasks of motherhood and household management. As an artist, when I am painting, there is no deciding necessary as what I put down on the canvas is a stream of subconsciousness flowing intuitively. And, that is why I like quilting. It is a balance as there is much more deciding in the creative process. With me and what I want to do, however, I can never decide whether it is what car to drive or which side to part my hair. Oh, wait, I don't have hair right now; check that off the list. My Humanness is just fine the way it is.
It was fine until I started realizing I wasn't moving forward. Fear of being wrong kept me here. The irony is that in the last three years, I moved through my cancer journey at a decidedly strong pace. I sought those second opinions. I decided which surgeon would best carry me through my journey and not just cut off my breast and through my sick parts in the trash. I enlisted two oncologist, a yin and a yang. I always insist on the medical assistant of my neurosurgeon look at my MRIs because he has saved my life...twice...with his hawk eyes. I never gave up yoga even when my body was weak. And, I found a new love for running outside that is oddly inspirational whether it is the endorphins, rocking to fun tunes, or the fresh air, I can't decide. So why then, is my Life List, as simple as it is, seem like Mt. Everest?
This afternoon, after church, I sat and listened to Pastor Allen and his wife discuss the journey of the church at an information luncheon about church membership. I think it is the slightly odd analogies that totally mirror my own that brought me to a decision today. There was an animated analogy about sitting in a chair simply because we said it was a chair, trust, and why we believe. There was something about being in the middle of something...oh forget it...I can't remember. There was another one about imagining life without a member of your body, say a thumb. No make that a leg, eye, ear. It is how all our members of our body work together that give us our Humanness. The analogy referred to church membership.
I have been attending Rocky Mountain Christian Church since about 2007. My former church, of which I was a member and was married through, became a place I no longer felt comfortable. So I started attending the church services where my kiddos went to preschool. I loved the sermons which moved me to cry on a regular basis. But, the baptisms by immersion sort of freaked me out. I am not really sure why, so don't ask. So I am hearing about the baptisms and how that is what you do to become a member of this Christian body when I decided I would be baptized again (my parents baptized me as an infant in the Methodist church.) There was one thing, I needed it to be my personal thing, not in front of the congregation on a Sunday morning. Call me shy or just understand that my spirituality is a personal one which I protect quietly in my heart and shine out to others through my hugs, smiles, and charity.
At the end of the luncheon, even though I knew my kiddos would be climbing the walls of the nursery that smelled like poopy diapers that they were sequestered to, I asked if I could be baptized by myself. After some arranging, picking up my kiddos, and calling my parents to come as soon as they could manage, I was baptized in a warm bath. I cried. It made sense. I took a step that was so simple so that I could move forward. And, I understood the reason the baptisms on Sunday mornings freaked me out. I am humble before my Lord. For me, doing this in front of a bunch of people would feel like a performance. I would be nervous. I would be fearful of doing it wrong. But, with my family as a witness, I was comforted in my humbleness. My true emotions would not be masked by the human reaction to publicness.
"Those who believed...were baptized...that day." (Acts 2:41)
Being baptized today is about being a member of a Christian Body. It is more. I promise myself to stop daydreaming and talking about my Life List and decide to move forward. I either put my money where my mouth is or scratch it off the list. Don't worry, Mom, sky diving and climbing Mt. Everest were scratched off a really long time ago. I sat for five years in those pews of RMCC trying to decide if I should join. Today, I decided. Tomorrow, I will paint. I will walk in the morning if it is warm or yoga if it is windy, even if my body feels exhausted. Yes, this I decided. Now, as hard as it may be, I will act...act now.
Wednesday, March 7, 2012
I have been asked why I stopped writing. Well, I stopped because I was afraid of all the ugliness that it would be unearthed. And, it did. I sat down to write on the eve of my third anniversary of cancer life, and it hurt. So here I am still awake trying to get cancer out of my brain, literally. As I lay a awake in bed listening to the rest of the house breathing, I muffled my sobs. I thought, what has been the worst moment of this whole thing? Heck, there are a lot of candidates. But, the worst moment was the night I found out I had a metassis to my liver. My cell phone rang just as we were dressing to go to a family dinner at the Outback for my birthday. I went to the porch to talk. Just as I was hanging up the phone, my father-in-law pulled up in his 4 Runner. I decided that moment I wouldn't tell anyone tonight. But, he knew something wasn't right with me. So I told him and told him to keep it to himself tonight. Just then the family came out to get in the car. I pulled myself up by my bootstraps and smiled. I couldn't look at Larry as we sat there at a table for seven. I felt sick in my stomach as I blow out my candle on the complementary sundea and the thought crossed my mind that this maybe the lasT birthday I have. When the meal was over, my parents took the kids back to wash their hands. I took Scott outside and told him about the phone call. Why would I pick this to be the worst day? Well, that was the day stage two became stage four, in curable.
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