Gratitude

Walking Through Cancer: Part 20

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Midway and Beyond

Christmas and New Year’s have come and gone this year, with 2025 freshly starting. After the year I’ve had on the health front, and the rest of the country on all fronts, it’s time now to take stock if we haven’t already and plan for the year before us to be a good one. Maybe not on all fronts, but I’ll settle for remission from my lymphoma after treatment ends on February 3rd.

To that end, my oncology team at Fred Hutch Cancer Center never misses a step in my monitoring. A midpoint PET scan was scheduled for January 6, and I always dread those tests. They don’t miss a thing. The radioactive dye they inject into me and allow to marinate for an hour reveals all the “hot spots” in my body. Hot spots are where many infections reside, and cancer cells in particular love them. So with some trepidation I looked at the results, remembering that I still have two more infusions to go.

My tumors are mostly gone, and that’s good news. Ninety percent of them have disappeared. I felt this had been happening, just based on how I’ve been feeling since my treatment began in October. The CHOP chemotherapy formular has been working to fight the proliferation of t-cells in my blood, which had been sapping my strength. They’re not all gone, I’m not there yet, but hopefully two final infusions will zap the last tumor in my groin. Maybe the PET scan in February will show me in remission. Six infusions seem to be the magic number.

Mindful that t-cell lymphoma tends to be refractory, I’m aware that whatever amount of years I’ve been granted may come to an end eventually. But why think about that? If fighting a deadly cancer has taught me one thing, it’s to focus on the here and now and utter appreciation for whatever good is happening in my life. When have I ever been motivated to behave this way? When have I ever learned to fully appreciate all that I have and all that I’ve been given? It’s like being a “grateful” alcoholic. If I hadn’t found the tools to help me be the best person I can be, I probably would have lived my life pretty much operating at 50% of my potential. Now I have the opportunity to be better and do better. And that all translates directly into improving my relationships. This is the basis for my happiness, how I relate to other people, and the end of my isolation.

I just celebrated my seventy-seventh birthday. This is quite a milestone! Every new year asks us to take stock, and I believe birthdays do that as well. But past birthdays are just that: milestones. The journey they mark is the thing.

“Age is irrelevant.  Ask me how many sunsets I’ve seen, hearts I’ve loved, trips I’ve taken, or concerts I’ve been to.  That’s how old I am.”

Author unknown

Walking Through Cancer: Part 19

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The Rewards of Friendship

It’s part of the human condition to take things for granted sometimes. We have a myriad of excuses, of course. We wouldn’t want to do periodic self-assessments to see if we need to change anything. The older we get, the more set in our ways, the more prideful we become. We’re doing fine, we say, it’s young people who need to shape up and emulate us!

This is why I am a “grateful alcoholic.” If I hadn’t been a substance abuser and had to face terrible personal consequences because of it, I might never have tried to change my character. Enter Twelve-Step recovery, a guide for living that helps us be the best people we can be.

That’s it, just a few guidelines to follow, many of which strangely echo the Golden Rule. Most of my childhood friends don’t remember me because I was very unhappy in that town. When we moved away, I never looked back, and neglected to keep up with them, sure that it would be of little consequence.

My oldest friend in northern Virginia was my best friend for years. Our children grew up together, and we were a constant support for each other. But after I moved West with Gene, I dropped her as well. Out of sight, out of mind?

But I’m happy to say that I reached out to Gail recently and we arranged a Zoom chat on her account. First, the amends. I was so sorry for carelessly discarding her like I did. “No apologies are necessary.” she offered, “we all have busy lives.” And we proceeded to chat as though no time had passed. What a gift to us both to reconnect like that. And all because of cancer.

Cancer can be a deal breaker in some ways. It was telling Gail about my cancer that was the conversation opener in my email, and something she responded to, predictably, with love and concern. It can serve as a motivator in so many ways: from valuing our days as though they were numbered—and living accordingly; to making amends to people we’d been avoiding because we can do it later.

It has to do with vulnerability. Allowing myself to be vulnerable is hardly a sign of weakness. I’ve been told over and over from people who’ve read my memoirs that it’s a particularly appealing trait. If nothing else, it evens the playing field among friends and acquaintances. No more need to compete. We are all equals.

Before I went into recovery, my outside didn’t match my inside. If I had any friendships at all, most of them were pretty superficial. But as I’ve become more comfortable in my skin, I’ve become more honest with everyone.

And the rewards? Many more friends, an end to loneliness, and deep gratitude that I have been given a second chance to live life better than before. I’ve enjoyed such a wonderful life. And now I have the good sense to appreciate it and reap the rewards.

Dancing In The Rain

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The road to my spiritual life began when I was a young child growing up in an alcoholic family. But I didn’t start to walk down this road until halfway through my life when my daughter fell ill with substance use disorder.

I was very unhappy growing up. It’s a classic story of family dysfunction that many of us have experienced as children. But back then I didn’t have Alateen to go to. My father was never treated and died prematurely because of his illness. I, too, was untreated for the effects of alcoholism, and grew into an adult child.

Well, many of us know how rocky that road is: low self-esteem, intense self-judgment, inflated sense of responsibility, people pleasing and loss of integrity, and above all, the need to control. I carried all of these defects and more into my role as a mother to my sick daughter, and predictably the situation only got worse.

I was a very hard sell on the first three steps of Al-Anon, and my stubbornness cost me my health and my career. But once I did let go of my self-reliance, my whole life changed for the better. The Serenity Prayer has been my mantra every day. I’ve learned to let go of what I can’t change. I don’t have the power to free my daughter of her disease, but I can work hard to be healed from my own. This is where I’ve focused my work in the program.

My daughter has gone up and down on this roller coaster for more than twenty years, and right now she’s in a very bad place. But that has only tested me more. My faith grows stronger every day when I release my daughter with love to her higher power, and I am able to firmly trust in mine.

Friends of mine ask me, “How do you do that? You make it sound so simple!” I tell them, “First of all getting here hasn’t been simple. It’s the result of years of poisoning my most important relationships with the defects I talked about earlier. I knew I had to change in order to be happy. Secondly, I fill my heart with faith-based unconditional acceptance of whatever happens in my life. It’s my choice.

Somewhere in the readings, someone wrote ‘Pain is not in acceptance or surrender; it’s in resistance.’ It’s much more painless to just let go and have faith that things are unfolding as they are meant to. There’s a reason that HP is running the show the way he is. I just have to get out of the way; I’m not in charge. I also read somewhere the difference between submission and surrender: submission is: I’ll do this if I get XYZ; surrender, on the other hand, is unconditional acceptance of what I get. Well, the latter is easier because I’m not holding my breath waiting for the outcome. I just let go – and have faith. Again, it’s a very conscious choice.

We all have different stories. What has blessed me about a spiritual life is that I can always look within myself and find peace regardless of the storms raging around me. I’m learning how to dance in the rain.

The Duality Of Holiday Hype

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There’s something about the month between Thanksgiving and Christmas that helps to distract me from whatever cares and woes might be weighing me down. As you know, I resist those woes anyway—gratitude is a powerful tool. But they’re still there. The hype of the season has the power to bring any losses into sharp focus, even as we are celebrating our good fortune. We’re only human.

How can I forget the past twelve Christmases when I knew nothing of Annie or where she was? I can’t. I have pictures of her all over the house along with all my other loved ones. She’s not dead, and even if she were she would be remembered by me in countless ways; using her name as a login for some of my accounts; decorating the Christmas tree with all the ornaments she made when she was still my young and innocent daughter.

Perhaps because of the terrible stigma attached to substance abuse disorder, friends and family members shy away from speaking of her, as though that would erase the pain of her loss.

I seem to be the only one in my family who can remember her without shame or guilt. Only love. Even her brother and sister won’t speak of her. My son refused to tell his children about his sister, and so I finally did. In the most matter-of-fact manner, they had already been curious about the “phantom Annie” in the pictures, and I answered their questions. Not too much information, just enough to tell them that drugs destroy lives, as they destroyed their aunt’s. Take this, I implored them, as a cautionary tale.

And so I put my thoughts of Annie in a back drawer and open the front drawers of my life. I take joy in my two other children, grandchildren, Gene, my family of origin, and many friends, both new and old. From my three memoirs and all my blog posts over the years, I have made my life an open book so that any reader could see how one can rise from the saddest of circumstances to a place of spiritual good health and joy. With work, and dedication, and the desire to make the most of the rest of my life.

“Life is not always what one wants it to be. But to make the best of it as it is, is the only way of being happy.” ~Jennie Jerome Churchill

Walking Through Cancer/Part 18

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                                          Testing My Mettle…Yet Again

Last spring when I had raging carpal tunnel syndrome in my hands AND a viral mouth infection so severe I couldn’t eat anything but pablum, I whined that “it never rains, it pours.” Well, those two maladies were a walk in the park compared to falling down the stairs and breaking my humerus three days before my first chemotherapy infusion.

“God,” I said looking up as though that were where He lived, “You are really testing me. Geez, isn’t t-cell lymphoma bad enough without having to cope one-handed with my arm in a sling?”

It’s a good thing I couldn’t see Him because I knew he was smiling, sure that I would meet this challenge just fine. And I would have slugged him, I was so mad.

At myself, of course. I talk about remaining teachable and I think THIS time my self-will has wrought a bad enough consequence to make me stop in my tracks. How did this happen? I failed to turn the night light on, was nearly finished barreling down fourteen steps in slippery socks, missing the last one, and plummeted onto my left side at the base of the stairwell.

My first thought: I will not be defeated by this. I got up and was grateful I could walk without pain. More gratitude: it was my left side and not the dominant right. I went to my phone and called 911.

Camano Island Fire and Rescue was there right away and whisked me off to Skagit Regional Hospital in Mt. Vernon. X-rays were taken, and I waited in the outer area for my friend to come and take me home. Oh, did I mention that Gene had just that evening flown to San Francisco for the memorial of a friend? Timing…

I was quite alone in my house, but not for long. The front door was constantly revolving all weekend with friends coming over to teach me how to wear a sling, cut up vegetables, open bottles for me, perform a myriad of tasks reserved for two-handed people. I’m so grateful for them.

My son took me to my first infusion the following Monday. He held his tongue, but I knew he was furious that I could allow such a disaster to happen at the start of my chemotherapy. When Gene flew back the next day, more dismay and head-shaking that I could have been so careless.

So there you have it. This occurred on October 17, just eight weeks ago. It was fractured badly and the ice cream is nearly off the cone. Still quite painful, it’s not going to heal on its own. So I saw a shoulder surgeon this week and he’ll schedule surgery for as soon as possible, when treatment is over.

The sooner the better, so I can get through rehabilitation therapy and hopefully get back to paddling my kayak this summer. Am I too ambitious? Nah.

And I’m nothing if not determined…

Walking Through Cancer/Part 17 conclusion

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A Changed Life

It’s a fortunate person who has evolved enough to realize that he needs to change in order to live his best life. I am one of those fortunate adults.

Spending many weekends down in Seattle at my son’s house to bond with my young grandchildren, I was regularly drinking in his basement where I’d been sleeping. I was not ready to work on myself and give up my thirty-year habit. Then one day he and his wife took the time to confront me about it.

We sat down together at their dining room table, and he minced no words:

“Mom, we know what you’re doing in the basement. All our vodka bottles are empty.”

Immediate shock, humiliation, and the realization that I had not been fooling them all these years. If this intervention had happened years ago, I’m sure that I would have responded like this:

Full of indignation, I would have shouted, “How dare you speak to me like this? You owe everything you are, your education, your trips, the love and support I have given you since the day you were born, primarily to me!”

But on that day, April 25, 2017, I responded differently. I said very little, just that I was so sorry that I’d been behaving so recklessly for so many years. They never asked me to join AA. That was my decision. And from that day, I’ve never thought about drinking alcohol. At last, this student was ready for the teacher. I’m so grateful that I’ve remained teachable.

Since then, my life has improved exponentially. I continue to be devoted to my Al-Anon groups. But, a “double winner” I am called, I also attend AA meetings even more frequently. Some of the meetings are just for women, and the other ones I attend with Gene. This awakening on my part has brought Gene and I closer together. He had endured my drinking in all our years together, but knew better than to pressure me to quit. That desire had to be born deep inside of me, and not to please him, or my son, or anyone else. I had to believe that I was worth the effort to stop drinking.

My relationships have improved since I’ve given up alcohol. The twelve steps are essentially tools to help us realize our potential as human beings. The ‘God steps’ I spoke of earlier are a lesson in humility, where I let go of my arrogance enough to admit my powerlessness over people, places and things. The next steps involve looking at ourselves honestly and becoming aware of our defects. This exercise is followed by sincerely making amends to people we have wronged.

Finally, “having had a spiritual awakening as a result of these steps, we tried to carry this message to alcoholics, and to practice these principles in all our affairs.”

This is the transformation I write about in all three memoirs, and it’s a glorious one, indeed.

Walking Through Cancer/Part 16

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                                         The Graveyard Shift

This is bizarre. It reminds me of when I had carpel tunnel syndrome last spring: I was in such burning pain that I couldn’t sleep. But that passed with time, and this insomnia will, too.

My new sleep schedule: I fall asleep between 7:00 and 9:00 at night; then I’m up at 11:30ish; I watch videos until my eyelids start drooping, usually a couple hours; then fall back to sleep until, if I’m lucky, 4:00 am, when my day begins. I drink a mocha, check emails, etc. At 5:00 I eat breakfast; at six I can start the work of the day: my writing. This consists of my daily gratitude journal and for the past six months my cancer diary. It’s pretty long, over twenty-five chapters, both before and after my diagnosis.

By 10:00, I start to fade and take a nap, about an hour. But before I nap, I eat a sizeable protein snack. After I wake up, I work on my computer until 12:00, lunchtime. Well, I guess some things coincide with real life! I go downstairs to watch Nicole Wallace, and even though the news is depressing, I love to listen to her  guests, especially Tim Miller.

Then I’m ready for another short nap, another snack, more writing, and then dinner with Gene. So, you see the routine is trying to glide into some semblance of normalcy. If I could just sleep through the night…

Why the insomnia? I only take prednisone for five mornings in a 3-week infusion cycle, so I’m not convinced it’s that, though it has a monstrous reputation. Then I read an article called “Why Do Cancer Patients Have Anxiety?” Geez, ya think?

Out of boredom, I started playing Dr. Google again. I read that my type of non-hodgkins lymphoma is not only incurable but has a very poor prognosis. Tell that to the lady who whizzed through 6 miles of Disneyland without getting tired!

The truth is that they are making huge strides in cancer research every day. Right now I’m undergoing my first line of treatment. My oncologist also has me in a clinical trial concurrent with my chemo. The theory is that if I go into remission, it might last a few years longer. Dr. Poh gave me a gold star when I saw her on Monday.

I believe in my heart that remission awaits me. I just don’t know. What I do know is that t-cell lymphoma is usually “refractory,” meaning it will come back with a vengeance, resisting the chemo I got before. This is when I’m glad it’s nearly 2025 and not twenty years ago. There are a number of new treatments they will surely try. But, as usual, I’m getting ahead of myself. I’m only halfway through this first line of treatment. February 3 is my last infusion. We’ll see what the PET scan shows, if  Dr. Poh can claim me to be in remission or not.

Fingers crossed!

Walking Through Cancer/Part 15

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                                                 Reprieves and Vacays

Tickets to Disneyland had been purchased months ago, long before I started chemotherapy with a broken arm. But Dr. Poh assured me that she would try to work my infusions around the trip to California. And she did. I was determined to weather all the discomforts of airplane travel with a broken arm in a sling. My cancer team not only cleared me to go, they arranged the chemo cycles around it so that I would be feeling my best during that week. I’m just amazed by the humanity of the staff at Fred Hutch Cancer Center. I’m much more than just a cancer patient in need of a remission to enjoy a few more years. I also want to have fun with my family as often as possible, and they fully cooperated with my wishes.

We flew into Santa Ana Airport the Saturday before Thanksgiving and spent a whirlwind week in Los Angeles. Sunday we drove to Santa Monica to have lunch with Gene’s sister. That’s a lovely town. Tuesday we visited the La Brea Tarpits in downtown LA, where the remains of Ice Age animals had been found by paleontologists. On Wednesday, we returned to LA for a visit into Universal Studios. A bit overwhelming for two old fogies like us. We took a few rides, but really enjoyed the studio tour. I was amazed at my stamina after walking three miles. But my feet were starting to swell.

The next day was Thanksgiving when my family flew in from Seattle. We all met at a restaurant for turkey and all the fixings, which tasted great. We said our goodbyes and planned to meet the next morning at Disneyland.

Six hours of fun and frolic, I don’t remember when I’ve had so much fun. My son was especially solicitous and protective of me, particularly after he saw my feet. Not painful, just unsightly. By 6:00, we had walked six miles and I was still full of energy. My son was amazed at my stamina. But my feet were so swollen from edema that I had to put on some uncomfortable sandals just to keep walking. We all went out to dinner, and I surprised and delighted my grandkids by taking my hat off.

“Oh wow, Bela, you look amazing!”

“You look like Captain Picard!”

Cameras flashing, I had finally overcome my shyness at being bald. I proudly sent a picture around to my friends to see their reactions. I’m not ashamed or embarrassed. It’s my sign of hope that I may stay alive.

My feet required ice and elevation to return to normal. And flush out my kidneys with lots of water to shed the edema. I’m not sure what the lesson is for me. I can’t walk long distances?

A totally worthwhile trip. I’m so glad I made it. Life is too short to put things off. You never know when yours will end. And I’m nothing if not determined.

A Time To Give Thanks

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Dear Friends,

It’s that time of year again—that challenging time of year—when holidays and all they symbolize beckon us into that place of remembrance. This is the time of year when I really step up my program.  A spirit of gratitude has been the one tool that has always worked to elevate me from my despair around my daughter. So I hope that we can bring that spirit into our lives during this season of thanksgiving and count our blessings. We’ve all lost loved ones one way or another to the cruel disease of substance use disorder. But the sun still comes up every day and sets every night. Life goes on—and we with it. Let’s keep hope alive and live our lives as best we can. Blessings to you all!

Walking Through Cancer/Part 14

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                             Pink Clouds Don’t Last Forever

It would be so nice if they did.

I’ve had two chemo infusions, and the first one was such a breeze that I wondered what they put in the cocktail. No side effects, and I marveled at how easy chemotherapy was now. I felt wonderful afterwards, and the best part was that the fatigue in my legs was gone. I have energy that I haven’t felt in many months, and it’s been great to experience, especially when I remember how active I used to be with Gene. To have that taken away was hard.

So with my infusion last Tuesday, I expected the pink cloud to last. But it’s gotten a little rougher. The nausea has been really hard, so I keep popping nausea pills which have their own side effects. Heck, no one ever died of nausea. I’ll get through it, but I suspect it might get worse before it gets better. Chemo treatments end on February 3, and then I hope my hair starts to grow back quickly. Oh, I can dream…

All this is a small price to pay for possible remission from my lymphoma for ten more years. The Fred Hutch Cancer Center where I go to see Dr. Christina Poh is one of the best cancer centers in the country, right up there with Sloan-Kettering in New York and Anderson in Texas. And it’s right in my back yard. I’m so grateful to all the doctors and nurses there. They have pulled out all the stops and are exceptionally thorough. And no matter what happens down the road, I know that I’m getting the best care available to me. No doubts, a very secure feeling.

On the home front, my life is so fulfilling. There’s nothing like getting sick to inspire your friends and family to show how much they value you. We humans can be so lazy in that regard. I hope I never get that lazy again, and continue to pay it forward. Next Saturday Gene and I are flying to Anaheim, CA for a week with my kids and grandkids: Disneyland, Santa Monica, and LA! I’ve never been there and am so excited. We’ll go to a restaurant for Thanksgiving dinner, and it will be divine to not have to do all that cooking for once!

Then we fly back and I have two more infusions before Christmas. Gene will step up for me and do all the heavy lifting to prepare the house for Christmas: get the tree and decorate it, make dinner for us all while I hide behind a mask the whole time.

I used to dread the holidays because they were so sad for me as a child. But I’m not a child anymore. Now I see them as yet another opportunity to celebrate my life with my family in the present moment. And oh, what joy we give each other now. If we look for joy, we will find it.