When your happiness depends on what somebody else does or does not do, you’re trapped, because you cannot control what they think or what they do.
You will discover a true liberation, a freedom beyond your wildest drams, when you discover that your joy does not depend on anyone else. Your joy only depends on what you choose to give your attention to.
– Sarah, Book 1, Esther and Jerry Hicks, 1995. Hay House Inc.
A Successful Shopping Spree.
I had dreamed last year, while planning our Quebec City getaway, of discovering some funky new hand-made winter clothes.
My diagnosis hit just days before our trip.
As I wandered that gorgeous city, barely daring to notice its inspiring art and creatively concocted clothing, I was pretty sure my shopping days were done.
But they weren’t!
I’m happy to report that, yesterday, Lucy and I spent the entire day in the Byward Market — and boy did we have fun.
We shopped like there was no a tomorrow.
And even though I’ll never look like this gorgeous gal, I decided it was now or never for those funky arm thingies I adore.
When it is dark enough, you can see the stars.
– Persian proverb
Heartfelt thanks to my dear friends Caroline and Jay for guiding me toward light during this very, very dark week.
And to Lucy and Mark for holding my hands.
Four twinklings in my murk.
I’ve been having a rough week.
On the plus side, my good friend Caroline let me rant today as we walked to the hospital and back, so I’m feeling well enough to write this curse-free post.
ps. Andrea needs to care less…Andrea needs to care less…Andrea needs to care less…
A sister dim-witted and bland,
Kept her head seven months in the sand,
Not one card, call or meal,
Through the cancer ordeal,
Yet her insults we’ll grin and withstand.
We’ve learned the hard way there are people who have no idea that what they say to cancer patients and their support systems is inappropriate. Andrea published a brilliant post about this, I See Dread, People, and I’d like to offer a refresher with five helpful hints of my own.
AT TIME OF DIAGNOSIS: Upon learning about the diagnosis, be supportive and keep your own horror stories about the disease (or any other less than positive stories) to yourself.
HELP: If you offer help, be specific — for example, ask when you can have the kids over for a play date or offer to send a meal over on a specific day (bonus: ask about any food alergies, nutritional needs and dietary restrictions).
DURING TREATMENT: Check in during the treatment process and renew (or offer new) specific offers of help. Make it known you’re thinking about the person and their family.
AT MILESTONES: When a milestone has been achieved, be a part of the moment by celebrating with the person and their family. Something like, “Congratulations!” is a very good start. You can freestyle that by acknowledging the difficult journey it’s been for the person to get to that point and how thrilled you are for the person that they’ve made it to this milestone. “Be there.”
SHOW GENUINE INTEREST: If you know the person has a blog, follow it. It’s a great place to stay up to date and even leave messages of support and positive thoughts at regular intervals. It’s also a great tool to know when help is needed the most. If you know the person has a blog, catch up before you contact them. It shows you care and their health and journey is important to you.
Lucy and Bayla are having a fabulous weekend. Lots of company. Loads of fun.
And I’m 100% grateful for their good health, their happiness and our beautiful life together.
Still, sometimes I get jealous.
I don’t want to but I do. It washes over me. And sticks. Like heavy, poisonous mud.
I get jealous of other families’ carefree lives. Their athletic endeavours, financial security, freedom, vacations, hobbies and warm relatives.
If I could cut out these feelings as easily as I cut out foods, I’d be set.
During my twenties, I had the coolest boss. Handsome, hard-headed, capable and curious, he was a windsurfer, a motorcycle-driver and an incurable devil’s advocate.
For our seven years as colleagues, I was a star resource, but Steve often bemoaned two of my big failings: my need for confidence; and my need to chill.
This week, on this blog, Steve may have helped with the latter.
When I’m dithered by diet decisions or fretting over family fiascoes impending or past, I’m going to repeat my new Steve-supplied mantra, “Andrea needs to care less”.
Its third-person perspective seems to squeeze issues down to a less scary size.
Maybe I’ll be chill yet.
The Wild Oat.
I’ve had a lot of firsts since chemo ended, but the only one to make me cry was my first visit back to The Oat. And I cried just as hard at my second.
The Wild Oat was our family’s cozy oasis — every day — for more than three years.
Its earthy attitude, funky, friendly staff and unbeatable organic coffee, baked goods and meals were well worth the line-up each weekend for breakfast.
Its mellow, homey atmosphere and steaming espresso machine sang backup each weekday morning as Mark and I recorded our daily discussion for Just One More Book.
We knew the staff. We knew the customers. All four of us felt completely at home.
Right up to my diagnosis.
I cry for the pre-c freedom The Oat represents. For our lost podcast. For my lost employment. And for the carefree morning “dates” that Mark and I enjoyed each day before work.
Still, happiness is The Wild Oat.
Peanut butter causes cancer* ?
I’ve been blissfully binging on this delicious protein while trying to avoid sugar and dairy.
I may as well have been drinking red wine.
* According to Food For Breast Cancer.
I’m drifting these days. I’m distracted and almost dizzy. My limbs and digits are groggy and stiff.
I’m moving slowly. I’m thinking slowly.
Maybe it’s a side-effect of being drug-free.
No Lifeguard on Duty
It is difficult
when one is drowning
to wave to the people on shore
one wants to be
friendly, of course
but perhaps it is
more important
to keep
swimming
– Lois Tschetter Hjelmstad, 1990. Fine Black Lines: Reflections on facing cancer, fear and loneliness.
Being back in the real world has been a treat: the freedom, the friends, the whiffs of pre-c simplicity.
Balancing freedom and caution — that’s been the rub. Deciding which food habits to resume, and to what extent. Which conditions merit exceptions, and how often.
Dairy, coffee, meat, caffeine, alcohol, refined carbs, even grains and beans.
It’s shocking how consuming these decisions can be, how frequently I tackle them and how convincingly I can make myself see both sides of each issue.
But it’s only been two weeks. I’m sure I’ll figure it out.
Five days ’til radiation.
But I’m having second thoughts.
Living the aftermath of chemo — the swollen eyes, the mounting fatigue, the weakness, the aching, the blurriness, frustration and fog — I’m questioning the wisdom of this four-fold onslaught.
Mark’s concerned that turning down radiation and hormone therapy would make me low priority for any relapse treatment.
It’s a tough call.
Mark
Andrea
Lucy* (10)
Bayla* (8)*Luba = Lucy and Bayla
