optimism

There is danger in optimism.  If you have a disease, particularly one that has visited more than once, people look to you as a baseline for anyone/everyone else they meet with the same disease; regardless of diagnosis.
If you look too upbeat or 'like normal', many will assume that their neighbor should look the same. We are not all the same, our lives are so vastly different, there is just no way to compare one persons reaction to diagnosis/treatment/recovery to another.  Very recently, I was told that I was told that I was "too positive a person" about cancer.  At first, I was taken aback; but then realized that the patient who said that is struggling with issues I can't understand.  We are at different levels of acceptance, pain management, discourse.

When I was diagnosed with breast cancer, my weekly doctor visits included a) my oncologist and b) my ob/gyn.  Being pregnant was an additional tweak to the diagnosis, but not to my life.  This little fella inside was a good reason to fight on, and every day I woke up was reason enough to celebrate.

It is this joy that gives me pause when relating to others.  I've learned not to chime in when I hear pregnant women bemoan morning sickness, although in my head I say things like "Sister, please. Try morning sickness with a chemo chaser." I also try not to interject when my fellow cancer patients are detailing their woes - my situation doesn't compare.  They might not be pregnant, but I had amazing friends surrounding me.  A family that loved me every day, a worldwide group of church friends praying for me, a roof over my head, decent insurance, a reliable vehicle, a doctor that is the best in the universe.  I had a difficult journey, but had so many other things that many people don't get to have -  I chose to focus only on the good stuff.

Which is where the danger comes in.  I try to find the good in every situation, in every person (even the hard ones), and try to highlight that, not focusing on the bad.  When I'm introduced to a newly diagnosed person, I do all I can to encourage and uplift; but I do share the tough stuff, too.  I've made list of things they will need during chemo, radiation, post surgery, etc.  I do this not to scare them with hard facts, but because I've learned the hard way about what is helpful and I want to make it easier for them. 

My journey was, and continues to be, an intensely difficult situation.  It's impossible to explain what bone pain feels like, for example, so I chose to only talk about that with other people who share a similar diagnosis.  That doesn't mean that don't constantly have bone pain, I just opt not to talk about it. I don't feel that I am hiding the horrible side effect of my treatment, I just don't think it serves any purpose to tell people. I had surgeries, new tumors, more medicine, the works - but each have resulted in what I choose to see as success.  I'm still here, after all, aren't I?

When I am interviewed, serve as a keynote speaker or panelist, I adjust my message for the audience.  Oncology groups want, need and can handle all the details I can pour out.  A ladies group at a church tea, however, might not want to know about nipple reconstruction.   So, yes, I will continue to be that 'cancer gal who is funny and optimistic' (actual title once given to me at a speaking engagment. to my great delight.)  Not because bad stuff isn't happening every single day.

But because good stuff is happening as well.

CREATED

I've been blessed to have seen a great many 'things' in my life.  Things that men have created; breathtaking in scope.  Size, scale, medium - all of the things people with which people can fashion objects of awe.  I can wander in ruins from antiquity for hours and never get bored.  Standing in the presence of simple documents, penned as an impassioned stand for independence,  reduce me to tears.  That's not an exaggeration.  My husband had to pull me out of the National Archives because I was just weeping.  Unbeknownst to him, he dragged me right into the Magna Carta exhibit.  More tears.

Structures from Chicago to Florence have taken my breath away, and the elegance of engineering with ancient tools is the penultimate example of beauty.

I say penultimate because I have also witness the perfect example of beauty.  Walking adventures with my family have led us to perfection.  'Created by God' is the designer label.  One can mimic a cove, carved over millennia by pounding surf, but one can never truly duplicate.  No matter how many chemicals one pours into a cement pool, it cannot match the perfection of the ocean at it's most remote spot. 

I know many of you disagree with me about J.C. and the possibility of a divine entity - his existence, his worth, his .... well, everything.  But I think in my own heart, he's astonishing.  The beauty I see around me is better than anything that even my most talented artist friends can make (and they are wicked talented, believe me). I know He exists because I have seen the water and the cove in this photo.  I know He exists because of the little girl in that photo.  Who, upon seeing this water, looked up at me and smiled.  Like I've never seen her smile before.  Of my own merit, I wouldn't deserve to see that water.  And would never deserve that smile.  And yet I was shown both. 

So He exists, because I don't deserve the good I have been given.  And yet I keep getting good stuff every second.  And I am humbled by that.  Thank you, JC, for my every day.  

Marigolds

MARIGOLDS



Gardening, as a teenager, was a form of punishment in my world.  Go weed; that was the solution to myriad of misdeeds and nefarious activity.  While this may not seem like much, please note that my mom was the proud owner of a garden that was a full acre of land.  Google that if you aren't familiar.  An Acre.  This was coupled with the fact that during my teen years, I walked beans for a farmer (google that, too), so the last thing I wanted to do on my free time was get out in the dirt and pull even more weeds thankyouverymuch.You would think that, given all of this data, I would have been a child who required no punishment.  Knowing the punishment is the best form of behavior modification, right? (said no one who has actually met a human being before)

Plus, mom was 'organic' before 'organic' was a phrase.  We didn't use artificial anything.  Weeds were removed with fingers, not a convenient squeeze trigger containing toxic warfare.  Bugs and animals were kept at bay by a copious, ridiculous, inconceivable amount of Marigolds.  The Farmers Almanac (did you know they have a website? wicked cool.)  told mom that these stinky little flowers were the natural way to solve all of your light farming needs. Hysterical.

So it was roughly 187 degrees out one July in Illinois, and I was weeding.  No, I don't remember what I did wrong, but I'm fairly certain I'm innocent of all charges, fyi.  Anyway, I complain out loud about the crazy amount of stinky orange flowers EVERYWHERE.  Don't know why we have them in a vegetable garden anyway this is the biggest waste of my time and they probably cost to much to buy and no one likes them and it's so hot out here. 

She says to me "They are just like people, Heidi.  Marigolds are just like people.  You can dismiss them, if you like, but they have hidden blessings." Whatever like I need some deep morality lesson or peptalk stupid flowers are not people and I'm really hot out here.  "If you just treat them with decency, they will pay you back tenfold.  Just take care of them as much as you can, give them the basics and they will pay you back".  Whatever no plant will pay you back and they are not like people and it's still crazy hot out here.  "Look, look right here.  See this flower?  She's near the end.  She's old, a bit dried up and laying down on the ground. But I made sure she had what she needed, water, no weeds, space.  And now she's ready to give back.  I just did a little bit for her, and now she is going to give me tenfold what she has".  Whatever you don't get things back when you do things this is a ridiculous conversation and I'm really hot.

Mom takes the little old dead flower and rubs it a bit in her palm.  There, in her hand, were about 30 little black-tipped remnants of what the plant used to be.  "What does this look like to you?" And, of course, they were seeds.  She now had more than she needed to start more flowers, and store them for next year.  She hadn't bought flower in years, she just took care of that which she had been given and her acts were rewarded.

So there you have it.  Marigolds = people. I've seen it now, of course, many times over.  When I am completely exhausted and don't think I have the heart to talk to one more person about their new diagnosis- coach a friend on what cancer feels like-can't muster the heartache that will come after talking to a husband about his dying wife - I do it.  I do it because Mom told me that if you do the smallest things, they can grow to become even bigger good things.  Paying it forward is something for which I strive every day.

And this photo?  It's my sons hand.  He goes to the garden every day.  He looks for the old, dried Marigolds that have spent their wee lives keeping away animals and insects, and gently rubs them on his palms.  He keeps the seeds in little packets for next year. And his grandma is smiling at him, I just know it. 

ps.  It's still really hot outside.  :)

WORK

All the time.  That's the only way to describe the frequency of questions I get about getting involved in charity work.  It is quite an unusual thing, this kind of discussion.  How to give, to whom, how much, what kind of time frame, the list is amusing.  I just shared these sentiments this week, and realized I wanted to get them in writing, and share with all of you.  Add, subtract and edit as you see fit.

You have expressed an interest in helping out. Doing a good dead, lending a hand.  This could be a five minute thing - getting a restaurant gift card for a homeless person. This could be a twenty five year thing - getting involved in a charity.  All of it will be hard. 

• It will take time from your life, precious and irretrievable. 
• It will take money from your wallet, potentially more than you think you can spare. 
• You will cry.  It will surprise you how much you will cry.
• It might seem easy, but it will not be. 
• You will be astonished with the number of obstacles in your way when you try to just do something nice.
• There might be a time that you can't enter a conversation, a building or a gathering without seeing opportuinty to help others.
• You will cry.  It will stop surprising you, this crying.
• There will be astonishment in your voice when you speak to someone who doesn't know about your charity.
• Everything from your clothes to your food will become fodder to help others.
• Your phone will ring at 2 am with requests, and very well might become a regular occurrence.
• You will cry.  You will accept this; it's part of who you become.

In other words, helping other people is very hard on your heart.  Your soul.  Your mind.  Your body.  Your family.  Your whole world. 

In other words, it's the best thing you can do.  Go, change your heart.