The New Abnormal

Those diagnosed with any form of cancer immediately are thrust into a world known as “the new normal.”

It is anything but normal.

“The new abnormal” would be a better name.

Normal will never happen again for me. My reality of attempting some form of normal for the last seven years doesn’t mean life is normal for me. It means I’ve learned how to exist in crazy. Maybe I should refer to present-day life as my old crazy because I’ve existed this way for so long. The new normal phrase has always rubbed me the wrong way because normal was ripped away and replaced with nothing of the sort.

Is calling what I do the new normal supposed to somehow make me feel normal? It doesn’t. Instead, it makes me feel like I can’t even do the new normal normally. Is it meant to make me or others feel better? It doesn’t make me feel better. I’m not sure if it makes others feel better. It potentially minimalizes what I do in the eyes of others. It invalidates my struggles in what really is abnormal because of the language that this is the norm.

The new abnormal is a topsy-turvy world of back and forth. It’s a world of opposites. I have felt wonderful and miserable.

I’ve gained and lost weight even though my level of exercise has remained about the same.

I’ve had my share of down days plagued with fatigue and others with more steroid induced energy than I know what to do with.

I’ve had no appetite and other times where I’ve eaten everything in sight.

Diarrhea. Constipation. One word sentences here are fine.

The medical world is a potpourri of repeating abnormalities. There are more one word or near one word sentences coming.

Labs. Office visits. Treatments. Side effects. Repeat.

Scans. Anxiety. Regrouping. Repeat.

I call insurance companies and billing departments far more often than is necessary. I rarely did when my life was supposedly normal.

I’ve gotten to feel at home with nausea. Ondansetron works well for me when it hits.

I’ve gotten to feel at home with many other drugs and supplements. I know what works for me and what doesn’t. I know my body well. I think I have finally broken through and convinced my team NOT to give me one particular drug used during MRIs that causes a worsening reaction. Every office visit begins with a review of my long list of medications.

How is any of that normal whether it’s the new routine or not?

In between all of this complete abnormalness are all the attempts to squeeze in any normal moments that are possible. ME time. I exercise and plan activities I enjoy that will keep me moving. Time with family and friends fill in normal moments. Football season has started. Go Badgers! Special occasions are sprinkled into my schedule when possible. There still is meaningful work that matters to me. Whereas my schedule had always been fairly rigid, I love the flexibility I now have. Being able to focus on purposeful work has been one part of my new abnormal that feels pretty close to my old normal.

The only constants are change and the need to live in the moment. Cancer has taught me lessons in change repeatedly. I am more present. It’s why I like #NotTodayCancer so well because I can be pretty definite about certain things as I go through my day.

The new normal is not the right term for how I live. Life is abnormal. Calling my life permanently abnormal is the best fit.

What even is normal?

Living in the Storm

The role of a teacher is important and valuable. A teacher’s influence is still seen years later. Students return to say hello, to thank you, to hug you, and to say they made it. It’s the best kind of recognition a teacher can receive. I enjoy seeing former students. The oldest students I taught must be around thirty-five or thirty-six years old by now. For the record, I’ve taught around 543 students. Admittedly, those numbers make me feel old, but it’s a good old because I loved teaching. Working with children brought me immense joy and sometimes it drove me crazy. There were good days and hard days as are inevitable when over twenty children were put together on a daily basis.

I remember one student of mine who had very troubling years getting through elementary school. He was violent and destructive. He scared children. He scared adults if I’m being honest. Staff eventually learned some of his trigger words and actions that foreshadowed he was close to losing whatever control he had of himself. One such signal was if he suddenly started clucking like a chicken. He was a teacher to us in that way. We all wondered if he would make it through middle and high school. He did. He returned with other graduating seniors several years ago to visit. We talked and he struck me as happy and excited about his future. He had plans to attend a community college and learn a trade. He told another teacher that he was better now. Elementary school held a positive place in his heart even though it was excruciating for him. He wouldn’t have returned if we hadn’t mattered.

Curriculum is significant, but HOW teachers teach it and the connections we make while doing so are even more important. I always thought my two largest roles as a teacher were to help my students become critical thinkers and to teach them to be kind to one another. Knowing how to think and be kind will positively impact the world more than knowing a lot about numbers, science, or words (all of which are amazingly awesome on their own).

I am finally getting to how all of this connects to storms. Life has storms. We need to know how to think and be kind when one of life’s storms comes our way. Storms are teachers.

Poems also are powerful teachers. Writers create images that stick with people for different reasons. Mark Nepo is a poet and spiritual advisor who has taught poetry and spirituality for over thirty years. He has written fourteen books and has a wide following. He also is a cancer survivor. His poem titled Behind the Thunder weaves together ideas of learning to be strong without losing yourself. I believe its point is that an event can change you but that you don’t give yourself over to it. At its core, the poem is about resilience.

 

Behind the Thunder

~ Written by Mark Nepo

 

I keep looking for one more teacher,

only to find that fish learn from water

and birds learn from the sky.

If you want to learn about the sea,

it helps to be at sea.

If you want to learn about compassion,

it helps to be in love.

If you want to learn about healing,

it helps to know of suffering.

 

The strong live in the storm

without worshipping the storm.

 

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Image credit: pexels.com

 

Cancer is one bleeping kind of a storm.

And no, I can’t use the word I’d like to use after a poem written by Mark Nepo.

It wouldn’t be right.

What a storm it is. It has drenched me. I have lived with this storm. Like a fish that has learned from water, and like birds that have learned from the sky, I have learned from the storm. I have suffered, but I feel I have also learned a little about healing. This is what the storm as a teacher has taught me:

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Image credit: pexels.com 
  • It’s better to exist in the storm from a place of healing rather than a place of suffering.
  • The storm has made me stronger than I knew I could be.
  • The storm hasn’t broken me. It won’t. It can’t destroy my soul.
  • Cancer has been a rather cruel and unrelenting teacher, but effective. Maybe it intended to turn me bitter and negative, but it failed. Through it, I have learned about joy, kindness, peace, and gratitude.
  • Just because I live in a storm doesn’t mean I’m a human lightning rod. I will protect myself seeking shelter and sanctuary in whatever way I can.
  • The storm has not made me ugly. I am more beautiful than ever. Living in this stupid storm has taught me how to finally embrace and recognize my beauty.
  • There are some who will never understand how I think or feel about this storm. It’s okay. I don’t understand myself a lot of the time anyway.
  • Others live in similar storms. We can support one another and learn together.
  • There will be more storms.
  • I am resilient.

Thunder can’t hurt me.

It’s the lightning that’s the problem.

I’m still learning.

 

Consider responding:

What lessons have you learned from living in a storm?

Revisiting Grief

I ran into a friend of a friend a little over a week ago that I haven’t seen in a long time at a local restaurant. One of the things Laurel and I have in common is that we have both lost people we’ve loved due to cancer (my mother and her husband). She was with a group of about six or seven others. There was nothing remarkable about anyone’s appearance. Everyone looked normal. I stopped by her table for a quick hello as I left the restaurant and learned she was eating with her grief group from hospice. Her husband died around three years ago and although they do not meet formally as a group anymore, she explained they still get together every so often to check in on how everyone is doing.

“So, how are you doing?” I asked her.

“I’m vertical,” she told me.

She looked great. I know. Even though I heard it in my head, it was my first reaction. Looking great has nothing to do with how a person is feeling. I even used the word “normal” above to describe her.

It’s cringe-worthy.

I was thankful I hadn’t said it out loud. I know so well that someone can look like they have it all together on the outside when the inside is a hot mess. This is true whether the inside is slammed with treatment side effects, pain from sickness, anxiety, depression, or grief. The inside often is in some state of constant churning. It may be such a present feeling that it is normal for you. Normal always fluctuates for me and has an overpowering element of uncertainty of the future. Normal has to be rooted in the NOW. I’m good at holding it together on the outside. Most of the time.

Grief is messy.

Being vertical shouldn’t be so hard. But it can be.

There is something comforting about being with others who have similar experiences. Support groups are great for this if it fits your comfort level. I went to one after my mom died. It was more of a workshop setting. It gave me a better understanding of my feelings and explained a few things that I wouldn’t otherwise have attributed to grief. Individual counseling is another option to support someone through grief.

Running into Laurel made me pause to revisit what I’ve learned about grief over the years. I reminded myself of many points worth remembering.

Grief Reminders

  • Grief is physically and emotionally exhausting. A grieving person needs more restorative sleep.
  • Grief is hard. It’s tougher to make decisions and trust others, including trusting your own abilities while grieving.
  • Many question truths in their personal belief systems such as religious beliefs, the meaning of life, and ideas of fairness.
  • There is a sense of having no control over anything.
  • Grief is distracting. Functioning in day-to-day activities or at work can be affected. There is a tendency to forget things.
  • Some people may bump into things, drop stuff, or be prone to accidents. They do not attribute these events to grief and wonder what in the world is wrong with them.
  • Some people find it easier to be at work and like having a focus away from grief, while others find it difficult to be in their work environment. Some who find an escape from grief at work find that it overwhelms them again as soon as they get home where the memories live.
  • Dates such as birthdays, anniversaries, holidays, and other important events will be bittersweet. The anniversary of a death will be dreaded and the day after will feel better again because there is a whole year before it happens again.
  • Grief is real and ongoing. A person doesn’t just get over it. The goal isn’t to get over a loss but to find a way to get through it.
  • People grieve losses other than death. Loss of jobs, a move, divorce, a friendship or relationship, failed plans, and changes in health are all sources of grief.
  • It doesn’t mean someone is over their grief if they are having a good day. They may just be getting through the day vertically.
  • Grief spurts come out of nowhere. They may not last long but can be intense.
  • There is no timeline. There are as many ways to grieve as there are people. What works for one person may not work for another.
  • Grief can teach us about life.

I find a lot of strength in affirmations. I’ve read and collected many, blended them together, and written my own when I have a specific need. I have close to one hundred in my affirmation file and I’m always coming up with more. Here is my group of affirmations on grief. Perhaps one or two will jump out as applicable to a situation in your life.

Affirmations That Acknowledge Grief

I allow myself to fully feel my feelings, both happy and sad.

I can still feel love in the world without my loved one.

I seek the help I need and accept help when it’s offered.

I hold on to love and will let go of the grief when I’m ready.

I am surrounded by seen and unseen love and support.

I am kind to myself while I grieve and heal.

I honor my lost loved one by living my own life in positive and beautiful ways.

I move away from memories that bring me pain and focus on memories that bring me happiness and peace.

Grieving is a part of life and I am doing okay.

There are many feelings involved with grief and loss and it’s okay to feel all of them.

I still feel my lost loved one’s presence and it comforts me.

I grieve loss in healthy ways that are right for me.

There is no timeline for when grieving is done.

Grieving ebbs and flows differently for everyone.

I recognize difficult moments and know they will pass.

I choose to grieve my loss and move forward at my own pace.

It is okay to feel happy again.

Moving on with my life does not mean I have forgotten someone I loved.

I am grateful for the time I shared with my loved one.

This experience has allowed me to discover new truths about myself.

I am done being sad for today and I move on to other emotions.

My life has changed and I will meet these changes day by day.

There are many people I can talk to who will listen to how I’m feeling.

I feel supported during this difficult time.

I am learning how life works for me with these new circumstances.

After I’ve given all this unsolicited advice, I think it’s also important to avoid offering easy answers or clichéd expressions to someone who is grieving. As an example, I often hear people say God needed another angel when someone has died. It’s meant to be comforting. I don’t believe this. Heaven has enough angels. Keeping people around longer on Earth that spread goodness seems like a better idea to me. We need those people to stick around. Someone who is grieving needs to feel listened to and feel comfortable enough to cry and express their feelings with the support of their friends. Telling someone how they should be feeling or dismissing their feelings with some tired or cute remark invalidates grief.

I have grieved my parents and other family members, friends, neighbors, and people I have never personally met who have died from cancer. I don’t think I’ll ever be done grieving some deaths, and that’s okay. It’s there. I can still be happy. I’ve grieved a child and an unfulfilled dream when cancer put a screeching halt on plans to become an adoptive parent. I’ve grieved relationships that have changed. I’ve grieved my teaching career when it became clear it was in my best interest to retire. I’ve grieved my past because I can’t reclaim my life and health to what it was before cancer. I’ve grieved my present because of disappointment and anger and changes that still don’t fit my plans. I continue to grieve my future because of fears. Although it isn’t what this post is about, I also have hope for my future and I will not let go of my hope.

There are many parts of myself that I grieve. I choose to keep many of those thoughts private for now. It’s my work to do, difficult to share, and very hard for me to put into words.

Grief is universal but everyone does it differently. There is no one right way to do it, but it needs to happen in its own time and in its own way. I don’t want to forget my loved ones who have died. I do want to quiet memories that haunt me. I do want to remember all the happy times I’ve shared with people who’ve died.

Laurel is incorporating grief into her life as she keeps living and moving forward. Looking fine on the outside doesn’t tell the whole story. It seldom does. I hope I can meet people with compassion and empathy to offer whatever support is needed.

Three affirmations from my list jump out at me as I write today:

I honor my lost loved one by living my own life in positive and beautiful ways.

Moving on with my life does not mean I have forgotten someone I loved.

My life has changed and I will meet these changes day by day.

 

What are your thoughts on grief?

Blogging Anniversary

Happy Anniversary!

Finding A Way – Living with Cancer while Living Well – officially is one year old. I am amazed at how much I’ve written and have grown as a writer. It is a good time to review the year and make goals for moving forward.

In the beginning, I wrote about what I searched for in order to be my best. I sought to find ways to increase my strength and stamina. I wanted to stay motivated and never give up my belief that I am healthy. I planned to lead and live by example. I’ve always searched for purpose and meaning in my life.

I am interested in finding joy, positivity, strength, and hope. Finding A Way involves living with cancer while living well. I wanted to achieve this for myself but also hoped that by writing some of my thoughts and story that I would be able to help others find their way. My intention has always been that anyone reading could come away with something to apply to his or her life whether that person had cancer or not.

Strength and hope are two themes I’ve spent a lot of time on. I suspect they will continue to be common themes for posts. Other themes I plan to explore more deeply are identity, fear, trust, perspectives, and change. I enjoy exploring topics through story, metaphors, and when using narrative lends itself to showing these concepts in action. Using these elements provide a visual hook for me and tends to solidify meaning. I remember things better when I have a story attached or have made a personal connection.

Health and exercise have been and will continue to be repetitive threads in my posts.

Frustrations (and perhaps positive experiences) of my interactions with the medical world as I navigate it from my position as a patient may become more common.

I plan to continue posting positive quotes on Wednesdays to add a bright spot into people’s weeks.

My most viewed post was Stage V and Kardashian Power. I have never watched the reality show or follow them in the news. My intention to live and lead by example and change perceptions, definitions, and conversations around metastatic cancer is still a main goal of mine. I know what the statistics say regarding metastatic breast cancer but I still choose to live with a mindset that has moved past the confining medical constraints and live in expectation with my own. I continue to be surprised at what appeals to people. I find it absolutely hysterical that my most liked post was Exercise and Nutrition. At last count, it had 31 likes. I’m so not an expert.

I don’t feel like I’m an expert in anything. I just write about my feelings and how I’m trying to live well with cancer.

I’ve looked over my posts and have identified some of my favorites. I have many! These are listed below and you may click on any of them if you’d like to look back and reminisce. If you are a new reader, I hope they provide insight into what I write about, how I think, and that you enjoy them. I may repost some of these that I want to highlight again. They are still relevant. There is no need to reinvent the wheel if the wheel I’ve created still rolls well.

Fires, Tigers, and Trees

Why I like Men in Kilts

Tennis and Life: A Resilient Match

Hope, Belief, and A Monthly Planner

Alabama Alligators and Being Normal

Empathy and Cancer

Hiking and Invisible Crutches

When Your Oncologist Leaves

Pelican Lessons

Taking Risks and Ospreys

I plan to continue to write about my life. I invite you to follow along as a subscriber on WordPress by clicking on the gray or blue “Follow” button, or become an email subscriber and receive an email notification whenever I post something new. Please also remember to like a post if you enjoyed it. Comments are always welcomed. I encourage you to leave one. The prompts I provide at the end of some posts are only a guide.

I appreciate you all as readers and taking the time to read my words. Your emotional support means a lot to me. I wish each of you the very best on your search to find a way, as I keep searching for mine.

Find a way.

Always.

Consider responding:

  • What have been favorite posts you’ve enjoyed as a reader?
  • What topics or themes would you like to read about in the future?

Cross the Line

There are many times in life where people are just trying to get through the day. I am not up for attempting to change the world or my little part of it when I have one of these days. On other days I can be quite formidable. It was on one of these more rebellious days I heard a good old Johnny Cash classic come across the radio – Walk the Line. Do we do what Johnny Cash advises in this song and stay in middle ground area to play it safe? There are advantages to not creating a fuss and staying socially accepted. Respecting boundaries is huge with me. I am not looking to cross any clear boundaries that have been made or have mine crossed. It’s tough for me to hold others to some I have made, but I have gotten better. I can say NO and mean it. Boundaries are meant to mark the limits of an area, to keep us safe, to enable us to play by the same rules.

But there are times you don’t get the notice you deserve if you walk the line all the time. Being a cancer patient is no time to walk the line. Cancer patients must dare to cross it. We must make a fuss because it’s our health that is on the line. Cross it, blur it, erase it, and boldly step into territory where you ask for what you need. New limits may need to be marked and a new set of rules written. These are a few of the times when I think it’s appropriate to advocate for yourself and dare to cross the line:

Cross the line when someone tries to make you feel “less than” because you have cancer, or that you’ve done something wrong because of it, or that if you just did this or that it would go away, or that you aren’t thinking clearly, or that you just aren’t good enough. None of these things are true. There are many pesky questions. These comments are a reflection of the person giving them. Just because I’m thinking about something differently doesn’t mean I’m not thinking about it clearly. It’s insulting to infer my mind is affected because I’m making decisions that don’t jive with decisions someone else would like me to make. I won’t be gaslighted. I believe some comments that fall into this category are made in an attempt to feign that the person speaking them cares or to somehow make themselves look good. MAYBE they are sincerely trying to be helpful, but I don’t get it. You can’t lift yourself up by putting someone else down. Call these folks out while you’re at it. Possible responses may include:

  • Why are you asking?
  • Where did you hear that?
  • That’s not true. (I’m not interested in debating it.)
  • I disagree.
  • Let me answer your question as it pertains to me.
  • I choose not to discuss my health.
  • Choose more of an impolite response of your own choosing.

Cross the line when you feel your treatment plan may not be giving you its best. Patients never fail treatments. Treatments fail them. It’s more than okay to ask questions. Secondary cancer does not equate to substandard or second-rate care. We are not any less deserving than early-stage patients. Treatments need to be given in the spirit of the best possible outcomes as they are for everyone else. Sadness, pain, and suffering are all real feelings that don’t discriminate based on stage or prognosis. We should not have to ask for compassionate care or if something more effective may be available, but if these things aren’t there, cross the line. Keep asking if new treatments are available. You might not know if you don’t ask. Doctors may not know you’re interested in other options if you don’t speak up. Doctors may need nudging. Lots of nudging.

Cross the line if you do or don’t want to do something. This could be socially or medically, especially if you have questions about plans directly involving you. Remember it’s okay to change your mind. Everyone can change their mind and it doesn’t mean things have taken a turn for the worse. Everyone’s interests change and evolve over time. You can have energy one moment and none the next. You have a right to talk more about your treatment if concerns and questions have cropped up after agreeing to or starting something new. You are not being difficult. You are being an informed and empowered patient, a good patient in my opinion.

Cross the line when someone talks about someone who has died from cancer and then tacks on in a hushed voice that he or she was Stage IV. I mean no disrespect – but withstanding complications of surgeries or infections – of course they were Stage IV. It isn’t exactly a newsflash. I know I’m sensitive to those words. It always strikes me as somewhat insensitive and unkind to whoever died. Why does it need to a qualified by a stage label? Someone still died. Yes, life changes with a metastatic cancer diagnosis. I feel the time has passed, long passed, for people to whisper the words “Stage IV” after someone’s name. I’d feel better if they expressed more anger and outrage, asking instead WHY or HOW in this day and age hasn’t more research been directed to lower the number of deaths from metastatic breast cancer. THE NUMBER OF DEATHS HAS NOT GONE DOWN SINCE 1995!! I haven’t figured out a way to effectively address this growing annoyance I have with the whispers. Perhaps my first step is to find out why it matters to them to include the information of a Stage IV label with a lowered voice before I go on the defensive. It’s possible I’m misinterpreting their intent based upon the lens from which I hear it. I could then go on to explain how I’m living strong with a Stage V mindset.

I appreciate that people care about me. Most of the people in my life are not intrusive. Those folks get the boot. I have reached a point though that when I encounter someone who is either speaking about me or for me by way of assumptions or falsehoods that I won’t let it pass and be quiet. Perceptions about secondary cancer must keep changing. I felt such a wave of relief and support from a friend I had lunch with a month ago who listened with empathy as I shared how I felt about comments I heard about those with Stage IV. She said she knew LOTS of people who were living years past the five-year survival mark. She should know people like me because she’s a director of development with ties to events and donors at the hospital where I receive treatment. I know there are more people like me who are living by example and changing the perceptions, definitions, and conversations around metastatic cancer.

I am done walking the line.

Writing and Health

Words are powerful. They entertain, inform, and persuade. Whether written or spoken, words communicate. Something.

Writing is a way to self-reflect, express my beliefs, and share my voice with others. Tara Parker-Pope wrote an article in The New York Times titled Writing Your Way to Happiness. One path to happiness is through writing a personal story.

The goal is to create an “optimistic cycle that reinforces itself.” She explains that although our inner voice is choosing the words as we write, we can go back and edit our story. For example, I may choose to write a story about a session with my trainer, or planting morning glory seeds, or being kept awake by a thunderstorm. Rewriting it can bring about behavioral changes, improve happiness, and lead to better health.

Bringing about behavioral changes, improving happiness, and working toward better health are all important to me as someone trying to live well with cancer. I’ve written quite a bit about the progress I’ve made with my trainer. Through the rewriting process, I discovered how negative self-talk hinders me in my training sessions and then I made some changes. Maybe I’ll write a story about morning glories and understand why they make me so happy. Writing about sleepless nights during bad weather may motivate me to sleep in my basement where I can’t hear anything which in turn makes me feel a lot better the next day.

Stories lead us to better understand ourselves.

For anyone interested in journaling specifically about health, consider the following prompts:

  • What changes do I want to make in my behavior? Why do I want these changes? What is it I am hoping to gain? What is my plan? How can I take the first step?
  • What things make me happy from the inside out?
  • What small goals do I have that can lead to better health?

Or write a story about morning glories or something you think is entirely irrelevant to your health. After it’s written, you can look for possible connections that you didn’t see at first.

Timothy Wilson has researched writing as a way to change core narratives successfully and calls the process “story-editing.” His background is in social psychology and focuses on self-knowledge and behavior. I recommend one of his books, Redirect: Changing the Stories We Live By, for further reading if interested. He sees writing as a pathway to bring about change. A writer writes for about twenty minutes a night for three to four nights, and each night goes back to edit the narrative. The outcome is that a more honest narrative is written through reflection on consecutive nights.

It’s an enlightening process.

Try it out: Think of a recent situation where you felt some anger.

Anger is a wonderful feeling to use for this exercise because you have automatic conflict.

On the first night, just write a very brief account to get the bare bones of the event written. It’s nothing fancy. Focus on your feelings another night and how to convey those through descriptions or specific actions. Add dialogue another night. Or just see where the writing takes you each night. You really don’t need a plan if you don’t want one. Just write.

Sometimes I wind up with an entirely different piece of writing than when I started.

I see writing your way to happiness as much more of a “revisioning” of a core narrative than editing, especially where endings are concerned. Revising involves bigger changes. Some parts stay, some go. Ideas are expanded. You try things out and see if they work. In Wilson’s book, one of his exercises is called “The Best Possible Selves.” He asks a writer to imagine his or her life twenty years from now and write about how everything has gone as well as it possibly could. Details about how the events of things happened are to be included, as well as meaning, hope, and purpose. Again, writing for twenty minutes a night for three to four nights is part of the directions. It gives your subconscious time to ruminate and work through whatever needs more thought so you can make more progress the following night. I think this is the same reason you are asked to write in the evening.

The part about including details about how future events happened is important. Being specific helps you form a picture in your mind of what you want. It makes a picture with words. Adding meaning, hope, and purpose also makes your vision super clear. Clarity in meaning and purpose makes what you want more probable.

I can tell you in my version I am completely healthy, retired, and enjoying every day doing the things I love. Writing sets a powerful intention more than thoughts or spoken words. It involves being really clear on what you want and organizing your words in the best possible way to express your specific intentions. I found that reading what I wrote out loud to someone after I completed the exercise also very revealing because my soul really responded to the core beliefs that I hold the dearest about my future as I put it all out there to the universe. Writing your way to happiness is one positive affirmation after another.

Writing something down tells your brain that your ideas, thoughts, and goals are important.

Writing engages us with our thoughts and helps us process emotions. It makes those thoughts concrete. It prepares those thoughts for becoming actions. Writing really serves as a blueprint or map for all that unchartered emotional and mental territory. Regular journal writing about feelings or uncomfortable events can help lower anxiety and help a person sleep better.

In the world of living well with cancer, I have both read and written. I am still learning how to write what I know and believe about cancer.

This is how I break down words about cancer:

  • Medical journals/scientific articles on cancer findings/advancements. I’ve avoided reading many of these articles and journals as they aren’t written for patients. Once it was suggested I read one per month, but I found them confusing. Or upsetting. Or not applicable.
  • Test results also can be confusing (or upsetting, or have unclear applications), however, these are much more important to understand because they affect the patient intimately.
  • A personal health journal to document the factual side of a cancer diagnosis. Surgeries, treatments, radiation, medications, side effects, tests, appointments, and schedules fall into this category.
  • Diaries/journal writing from survivors, thrivers, lifers, however a person best identifies. There are narratives filled with tips. Some write about living with cancer. Some write about beating cancer. Some write about dying from cancer.
  • Fictional stories where characters have cancer. They read differently than biographical accounts but contain many of the same sentiments of life and/or death. Some hit the mark – others do not.
  • Advocacy writing that argues for better research and treatments for later stage cancer patients. In my opinion, the world needs more of this kind of writing. People focus on the wrong drivers of “awareness” or accuse women and men of being “negative” if they write about the hard, scary, and ugly parts of cancer. Change will come through advocacy. Current widespread attitudes need to be challenged.
  • Celebrities sharing their “I never let cancer get the best of me” stories. How courageous . . . and . . . inspiring? I think it’s just ducky if they never experienced one moment of fear, doubt, or anger. If you can’t tell, I don’t believe them. I would be more impressed if they used their platform in the public eye (that is much more far-reaching than mine) to put a mark on metastatic breast cancer that can’t be ignored or dismissed. It makes me sad. I feel like they don’t understand. Maybe they can wear pink and that will make it all better.
  • Private writing reflecting on some of the questions above or your own.
  • A few write blogs. 😉

Am I missing any?

Writing forces a person to process a pesky thought that has been floating about unrecognized or undefined. Once on paper (or the computer), it lets you see what you were thinking or feeling. If it isn’t quite right, you revise until your inner voice has spoken.

I end this post how I began it: Words are powerful. They entertain, inform, and persuade. Whether written or spoken, words communicate. Something.

Kayaking as Peace and Healing

Sharing your story is one way to heal. Shared stories create healing both for the storyteller and reader. I wrote about my first kayaking experience in 2013 after I returned home from spending time at a breast cancer recovery retreat on Madeline Island. Madeline Island is one of the Apostle Islands in Lake Superior.

It was a cold and rainy day in July that many would want to forget. It became a story I wanted to share because of the healing properties of being on the water. The experience taught me I could do anything and be stronger because of the experience.

I was delighted when I discovered the piece had been passed on to a regional magazine and published. Well, mostly delighted. I would have appreciated it even more had the intermediary party involved told me it was in print.

At any rate, it was shared, and it may have contributed in some small way to someone else’s healing that read it. I hope by sharing this personal narrative again that it may be helpful to someone.

Kayaking: A Metaphor for Peace and Healing

Breast cancer survivors don’t understand the word no. We’ve heard it too many times. The cold gray sky said to stay inside. A steady mist fell. It definitely was not the warm, sunny, end of July day everyone expected while at our breast cancer recovery retreat. It was, however, our kayaking day on Lake Superior. The weather would not stop us – instead it would make us stronger. Everyone agreed to go. Each of us had faced, or still faced in my case, cancer and screamed NO at it with all our might. A little rain would not interfere with our plans.

Kayaking was a structured activity and part of our learning at the retreat. To be part of nature. To do something physical. To do something spiritual. To listen to the water and to listen to ourselves. Kayaking encompassed all these and more.

Lake Superior is a place of story and spirit, along with the islands that make up the Apostle Islands. Our guide took us to a beautiful inlet on Madeline Island that eventually led out to the much larger lake. The tranquility was beautiful even on a rainy cold day. The inlet protected us from the strong wind and rocking waves. Each of us was about to write more of our own personal cancer story upon the Lake Superior water.

A steady stillness surrounds you when you’re in your kayak and on the water. The oar slices through the water silently and your kayak soundlessly skims across the top. You are submerged but not submerged – on the surface but not on the surface. A kayak puts you in the moment more than any other activity I can imagine.

There is a peaceful oneness with the water. The rhythm of paddling along with the inhaling and exhaling of all that fresh air creates a meditative state.

Kayaking changes perspective. You see everything from the middle, not from the shore. You are almost eye level with the water. You have control over where your kayak ventures to and at what pace. There is empowerment in a kayak.

Kayaking heals. Cancer, surgeries, treatments, and medications take a toll on bodies and spirits. Fear creeps in. It settles in and eats away at your hope. Yet, water has its own purification and renewal powers. Water replaces fear with hope and life.

Water trickled down from the oar I held and onto my legs. The mist coming down, sideways, from every direction cleansed spirits. Kayaking connected the healing aspects of physical, emotional, and spiritual together. Every stroke made me feel more powerful and farther away from cancer.

When there is a storm, kayakers are supposed to raft up . . . to come together and hold on to the ropes of all the kayaks and ride out the storm. You don’t try to paddle anywhere. You just stay together, all in a tight bunch. The point is to make the group look bigger for large boats to see you and to rescue you.

However, there’s another point, too. In life’s struggles, don’t you want to raft up so you can help one another through the storms? You do. The concrete becomes another part of the metaphor.

After about an hour, our group came together to assess our progress and make decisions. One kayak was filling up with water and in constant need of the hand pump. The mist had changed into rain. You could see by the wind moving it slantways. We headed back in silence to reflect on our experience.

Kayaking proved to me once again I could conquer my fears. Not just conquer, but excel, in this new experience. Every inch of me was soaked, yet I felt fantastic! I was stronger both inside and out.

Once out of the water I started to shiver. Yet, I knew this was not the toughest part of my retreat. The toughest part for me was earlier that morning as I took an emotional risk when I shared scary parts of my cancer story with my fellow retreatants. Emotional risks are scary.

I will paddle on in the warmth and sunshine.

I may paddle again in the cold and rain.

I can do anything.

And I will.