This, too, shall pass

Thank you for your prayers and concerns about the bleeding I was having. Since I’ve gone through both menopause and a hysterectomy, I thought there would be no more of that. Perhaps the name of the game is, “Assume Nothing.”

I called my doctor, fearing that he would insist that I jump back into chemo. Instead, he recommended a watch and wait approach, and I felt comfortable with that. Well, as comfortable as I could be. The worry persisted, but chemo wouldn’t help that anyway.

I went to tong ren, and the bleeding stopped.

In the meantime, life continues. My day consists of tasks that simply…take time…and in my focus to complete them, I frequently hear myself saying, “in a minute” to the kids.

For example, I might be online booking summer camps and one of the boys will say, “Mom, look at this!” I don’t want to stop, lose my place, look at that, and then have to re-oreint myself to wherever I was in the registration process.

So I say, “In a minute.” Of course, by the time I am ready to look, the moment is over. I’ve missed it, and then spiral into fear that they will stop inviting me to share in their discoveries.

Since change comes slowly to me, I decided to start by observing where I put my energy and what I put off, to learn what I am prioritizing every day.

One morning, I dropped the boys off at school then stayed to watch one of them play basketball with his friends. It felt idyllic. The boisterous boys dribbled and shot on the asphalt against a backdrop of blooming trees.

Wouldn’t it be nice to take a picture so someday the boys could get a glimpse of their kindergarten mornings?

This photo does not show the morning light as it streamed through the trees. Consistent with my “in a minute” approach, I didn’t take the photo that morning at  basketball time. Instead, I thought I would do it another day.

I went home, got busy and then panicked. Would the flowers be there when I got around to taking the picture? What if it rained and the rain knocked them off the branches? This was the moment. It was now.

Maybe the name of the game isn’t “Assume Nothing.”

Considering the moments of worry and the moments of joy, perhaps the name of the game is, “This too shall pass” so I can feel safe in immersing myself in whatever happens to be right now.

Living on a prayer

These days, I am living on a prayer. More accurately, living on YOUR prayers. Thank you. This is way more fun than living on chemo. I am incredibly aware of each lovely chemo-free day and insanely grateful for the prayers, positive thoughts, presence and other gifts of your heart that enable me to have this life.

These provide an uplifting strength, enabling me to attend the boys’ May Day celebration at school, participate in my yoga class, attend a reunion, meet a friend for coffee, and throw (and enjoy) an early birthday party for one of the boys and his friends.  I even got to go rowing – woo hoo! – and rowed further than I ever have. (For those of you who are familiar, I rowed from the Cambridge Boat Club to the basin.)

I also decided that I had enough strength as well as enough distance from medical appointments to stomach a mammogram. In the face of actual cancer treatments, my regular mammograms fell out of the picture. Lately, I’ve had this panicky feeling that I need one, but every day this week, postponed making the call.

Finally, on Friday, after dropping the boys at school, I looked at the phone and thought, I’ll call in a bit. Just then, the phone rang and it was….The American Cancer Society. Seriously? Okay, message received and mammogram quickly scheduled.

On Saturday morning, I started bleeding and feeling ill, sending me into a bit of a tailspin.  To reign in my anxiety, I attempted to reframe the situation.

I tried telling myself that it wasn’t really happening. I tried telling myself that it would stop. I tried telling myself that it wasn’t a big deal.  I tried telling myself that it doesn’t mean anything.

As each approach failed, I kept thinking of that Bible verse, “Give thanks in all circumstances.” So I gave thanks for the good-feeling stuff in my life. Still didn’t help. Then I gave thanks for this. At first, that was a stretch, but I surprisingly did get there. Talk about practicing gratitude.

I could give thanks and be grateful but still wasn’t entirely thrilled about the bleeding. On Sunday, while listening to the song, “Let It Be” by the Beatles, I studied the logo on my iPhone, trying to figure out which face was which Beatle. Awhile later, while speaking with a friend, I noticed that same logo on his t-shirt, along with the words Let It Be.

I LOVE serendipities. They feel like personal messages from my guardian angels. I could sink into the Beatles. I could trust Mother Mary. And I could just let it be.

I hope you are finding lovely serendipities in your life. I know there are lots of us who need help and support in so many ways. Thank you for your continued prayers and your help in my life. Know that it makes a tangible, positive difference.

I thank God always for you.

Ephesians 1:15-19

Love and prayers,
Marie

Joyful Surprises

Our six-year-old son, dressed and ready for the day, grabbed my hand with his cute little one, dragged me out of bed and rapidly pulled me downstairs.

“I have something to show you, Mama,” he said with excitement.

My barely-awake self followed along, primarily because I felt like that is what a good mom should do, and I do try to live up to some random set of imagined standards. Also, he has more upper body strength than I do.

I loved but didn’t share his enthusiasm. I could not imagine anything that would make me happier right now than a steaming shower and my usual morning routine.

The semblance of order in my morning routine helps me to feel like the events of the rest of the day can be within my control. I held tightly to my little illusion, pushing down unsettled feelings of impending chaos as we progressed toward the kitchen, where, without a word, he led me to this:

That is me in a scull! Or at least, a clay model of me in a scull. Apparently, he got up early and made a sculler out of clay and two toothpicks, especially for me. He even crafted it on newspaper rather than directly on the kitchen table. Love that boy.

This was way better than a steaming shower, or anything else I could envision for my day.

Over the past few years, I’ve done alot of praying and one of my most frequent prayers goes something like this: Dear God, Things are a mess. I give up. I’m going to let You be in control from now on. Just lead me and I will follow.

Then God generously cleans up whatever mess I was in, and I basically say, “Thanks, I’m good. I can take it from here.”

Apparently I can’t. I need reminders that it is okay to sometimes have less control. I may even need reminders that my way is not always the only way. Clearly, and thankfully, God and the amazing human beings around me can bring me to wonderful places I could never imagine on my own. Even in my very own scull.

I hope that any disruptions to your plan and any surprises end up bringing deep joy to your soul and your life.

Lots of love,
Marie

Including a friend

When I have chemo, I spend much of my time either in the cancer infusion center or in our house, making me feel isolated and my world very small. Afterwards, when I reenter the rest of the society, I join my friends who have ongoing connections with each other. They are wonderful and open but getting back into the flow of our connections initially feels like entering a foreign world. Each time, I need to get over my shyness and remember how to navigate the dynamics. I make fumbling attempts as I start.

Thankfully, friends help me in this reconnection, so smoothly that I don’t even notice that they are the ones opening the path for me. However, an experience with one of our sons drove this right into my heart.

Recently, our six-year-old son had four of his classmates over for a playdate. After climbing onto the trampoline, the five boys started jumping, which quickly turned to wrestling. Amid peals of laughter, I heard comments like, “Out of my way!” and “Your butt stinks!”

Periodically one would yell, “New game!” I naively thought that meant switching to basketball or baseball. Nope. Each time, I watched them unfold from their puppy pile, stand for barely a second, and then gleefully tackle each other again.

One boy I’ll call Max kept himself on the fringe of the fray. Max is a sweet kid who follows the rules. He eats neatly, takes off his shoes when he enters my house, and politely says “please” and “thank you” without missing a beat. He even flushes the toilet and washes his hands. He didn’t give off a rough-and-tumble vibe, and he kept one eye on the roughhousing as he ran around the perimeter of the trampoline.

I stood next to the trampoline, ostensibly to make sure that no one got physically hurt, but more to make sure that no one got emotionally hurt. Because I hate to be left out, my antennae went up as I watched Max run around the action and not be part of it.

“You’re not playing, Max,” one boy stated as he launched into another tackle. His voice held no judgment, just observation.

“I want to play,” Max stated in a calm, matter-of-fact tone while he continued to run in a circle around the moving pile of boys, careful not to step on anyone. “I WANT to play,” he repeated with emphasis.

“Okay then, you can play, Max. All you have to do is tackle people.” Then, that boy tackled him. Not hard, but enough to knock him down.

The tackling boy then spoke to Max with kindness, as if he were instructing. “That’s how you play, Max. Like that.”

Just as Max stood up, two other boys tackled him. While those two got up to tackle someone else, Max remained still and face-down on the trampoline.

Concerned, I walked closer. “Are you okay, Max?”

Max remained in his position but lifted his head and looked at me with a huge grin. “I’m fine, Mrs. Pechet.”

My heart swelled with gratitude knowing that Max was more than fine. Then that gratitude instantly expanded, first toward the boys on behalf of Max, but then toward all my friends who do the same for me, and soon, toward to every person who helps to include others in their lives, especially when someone wants to share in the fun of life and doesn’t quite know what to do. Thank you.

Unbounded Joy. Always.

As much as I love to see this kind of joy, I rarely feel it inside myself. Though I am happy in my heart,  I would not call it unbounded joy. Even if I feel that everything is wonderful, I still notice something I could have done better. Other times, I feel a twinge (or more) of guilt for things being so good. Often, I simply feel undeserving. Whatever the reason, something inside holds me back from feeling pure, unmitigated joy.

I do generally feel incredibly grateful, especially for seemingly simple things. I am grateful for being able to get a glass of water when I am thirsty, for being able to go outside or open a window when I want fresh air, and for having friends who forgive my many shortcomings and generously fill my life.

Most recently, I feel gratitude for being able to start a chemo holiday and then, the next day, leave Boston for Arizona to begin a week-long physical holiday with my husband and sons. I carried more than a twinge of guilt on behalf of others who are dealing with cancer and cannot take a break from it, and for being lucky enough to be able to travel when I know that it is a luxury for many. The guilt is not strong enough for me to cancel the trip, but it does make me hold back some of the joy.

While we were away, there came Marathon Monday and the events that followed. Not that I could have done anything to help in Boston, and it was probably much better for all of us that we were away, but I had some trouble reconciling the events back home with the calm and relaxing atmosphere in Arizona.

In the middle of that week, we stopped at the Chapel of the Holy Cross in Sedona. This tiny chapel added a religious element to the awe-inspiring and spiritual feel of Sedona. We spent awhile simply sitting quietly in the chapel; the boys and I lit candles and said a few prayers.

Because we live in a commercial culture, the Chapel generously provides a gift shop. Before leaving the chapel, we explored the gift shop where I saw a marble stone with this carving:

Be joyful always, pray continually; give thanks in all circumstances…
1 Thessalonians 5:16-18

Be joyful.

Be joyful always.

If it is in the bible to be joyful, perhaps in the name of God I can push aside a little of whatever it is holding back the joy and know that it is okay to fully express the joy and the blessings of the moment.

I hope you are feeling joy, that it expands your heart and your world, because I do know that it lifts us all and gives me yet another reason to give thanks, even while I am still working on being joyful.

Angel in the waiting room

When I walked into the waiting room at Dana Farber, I noticed an older couple sitting together with some space between them. Her face pointed slightly away from him and turned toward a wordsearch book she was holding. She held a pen in her right hand but wasn’t using it. Her eyes appeared to be unfocused.

Settling into my seat, I heard his harsh tone.

“You are crying? You can cry when I croak.”

Without even thinking, I looked up. Since I was sitting in the section next to them,  I wasn’t looking straight at them, but saw them both from the side. She was closer to me and I now noticed her shaking shoulders and realized she wasn’t saying a word.

He repeated his words again, in the same harsh tone. “You can cry when I croak.”

Of course, everyone has their own way of dealing with emotionally difficult issues, especially heartbreak, and no one way is right. I still felt this overwhelming desire to help somehow (see previous posts on stranger-friends!), to hold her hand or give her a hug, I also felt like they would both turn on me and that it wouldn’t help. This was a private matter playing out in a public setting.

Her shoulders were shaking while she still made no sound. Soon, the nurse called him to get his vital signs taken and she remained seated.

Right then, a man in his early 30′s sat down next to her.

“Hi,” he said kindly. “Can I sit here?”

I didn’t listen to the rest of their conversation and I don’t even know how much they actually spoke. I did see that she looked at him almost as one would look at a lifeline as he continued to slowly connect with her.

I don’t know about her, but I was grateful.

Stranger-friends from another perspective

Guest blogger today! “Grace” is sharing her version of Stranger-friends. Just like we all share different stories about the same traffic accident, we have different stories about the same life event. I will admit that hers does jog my memory a bit more.

“Sylvia” remains, as always, beloved Switzerland.

Here is Grace:

Marie walks in with a stranger, and says “I ran into <Stranger X>, and so he gave me a ride home.”  Sylvia and I say (thinking that he is an old friend of Marie’s), “Great, come join us for dinner and an episode of LA Law (or whatever the popular show was).”  Marie runs up to her room to change, and Sylvia/I start peppering him with questions, like “How do you know Marie?”  Our Asian eyes start to get big and round, and we start to chomp on our dinner quietly.  Stranger X then has to go to the bathroom, and we start asking Marie “Did you know this guy????  Why did you let him come in?” Stranger X returns from the bathroom and we all watch TV silently, afraid to move, looking for a self defense object (in case we need it). Stranger X realizes that it is very uncomfortable, and he makes a quick exit.  I have still not recovered from this episode.

Marie again: Since this is my blog, I get the final word. tee hee. From the outside, Grace has apparently recovered enough to marry a wonderful man and raise two very bright children who do not accept rides from strangers. This helps to alleviate my guilt.