Birthdays and mammograms: a time for thanksgiving

I’m playing catch-up with my blog. I have so much to say, but no time to write! Here’s an update of recent events:

My Daughter’s Birthday
On October 8, my daughter celebrated her 20th birthday (flowers courtesy of her boyfriend, who was out of town). Fortunately, I was not scheduled to teach that day (a Friday), due to Homecoming activities. My daughter asked for a home-made meal of rolled meatloaf and a decadent chocolate cake from Costco. I was more than happy to stay home, clean house, and prepare a meal in her honor. I felt a little emotional all day, thinking of that day 20 years ago when I heard her first cry (she was a C-section baby), and my first words upon seeing her: “She’s beautiful.” I have always seen her that way (even during the seemingly interminable camouflage-wearing years).

I am honored, blessed, and privileged to be a mother and a witness to all the “firsts” of my daughter’s life. It seems like it has gone so quickly—just like everyone told me it would. I am incredibly thankful that God has allowed me to see her grow into the young woman that she has become—still beautiful, inside and out. God willing, I’m looking forward to many more “firsts” as she matures.

My Birthday
On October 11, I turned (ahem!) 54 years old. My daughter and I had a conversation that weekend about how most women don’t like admitting their ages. What’s with that? Yes, I’m 54 and proud of it, dang it!

Those 54 years represent a whole lot of trials and tribulations, sorrows and joys. Besides, it gives me an opportunity to glorify and thank God for all He has done for me. I am grateful for my family, my job, my home, and most of all, for God’s allowing me to live long enough to find the path of Orthodoxy.

Yes, Mamm!
On October 9, I visited the Skagit Breast Care Center for a regular screening mammogram. It had been six months since my last screening. I tried hard not to think about it because I knew it would be anxiety-producing. I brought my husband with me, as usual (my worst nightmare is getting bad news and being alone). After having had breast cancer, there are so many head games going on, it isn’t even funny. You want to embrace your survivorship and think of yourself as “normal,” like you were once upon a time. But then you remember that you can’t kid yourself--you will never really be the same.

Let me elaborate. A couple of weeks ago, I prevailed upon my husband to accompany me to the annual “Survivor’s Luncheon” held by Skagit Valley Hospital Regional Cancer Care Center (man, is that a long name or WHAT?). I have never been to one of these events before and felt a need to participate.

I go through most days not wanting to think about cancer or the fact that I had it. But there’s this other voice in me that says I should never forget. And there are times when I really do want to identify with other women who have gone through it . . . I guess it validates something in me. It says, “Yes, this really happened to you. It was traumatic. It was stressful, but you got through it.” And if I can pay it forward and encourage other women who may be dealing with a scary diagnosis, I will be humbled to do so.

So back to the luncheon. It was a very encouraging, uplifting time to hear people share their stories—very positive. The woman who was the keynote speaker has battled both breast AND ovarian cancer. But she’s still here, fighting, and she has a wonderfully upbeat attitude. She is an inspiration to others, although I’m sure she must have her moments when she is discouraged and scared. We all need each other and our encouragement helps to uplift one another--that’s what it’s all about.

While I was waiting to get a plate of food at the luncheon, I ran into one of the women I’d met from the cancer support group at the hospital. I haven’t been to the meetings for a few months, so I was happy to see her. I’ve always thought of her as a real role model—she’s a 12-year survivor of breast cancer. She takes good care of herself—eats right, exercises, and has a wonderful, positive attitude.

When I asked how she was doing, she dropped the bombshell that no breast cancer survivor wants to hear: she was diagnosed with a recurrence of her cancer last July and had a double mastectomy. She is now getting chemo treatment and, in spite of everything, still looks great and has a good attitude.

I spent the rest of the day fighting off fear and depression. “That could be me in a few years.” It’s the same old cycle of thoughts I went through while I was being treated. I always have to come full-circle and admit: “You know what? You may or may not have a recurrence . . . but whatever happens in your future, worrying about it won’t change it. Seize the day and enjoy your life NOW.”

Folks, that is easy to say and hard to DO. But it’s the only way. I’ve asked myself, “What is your greatest fear?” and it’s this: I don’t want to be separated from my family. I want to be around for a lot longer because I’m selfish and I want to enjoy my family and any future grandchildren I may have.

A few days after the luncheon, I ran into another friend at the grocery store who shared the distressing news that her sister’s cancer had returned and spread. This is the reality that every cancer survivor deals with, like it or not. So those are the things that were on my mind as I had my mammogram on October 9.

Unfortunately, there weren’t any doctors on hand that same day, so I had to wait a few days for the results of my mammogram (same thing that happened two years ago when I was diagnosed with breast cancer). When I got home from work the following Tuesday, I called my radiation oncologist’s office for the results. His staff seemed a little surprised that I hadn’t received the results yet and called me back a little while later to let me know that my doctor had read the report and said, “Everything looks normal; you can stop worrying.”

This is the moment when all pretense of control dissolves. I felt like melting into the floor—a bumbling mass of protoplasm, on the verge of tears, grateful to God for granting me another reprieve—for who knows how long—mumbling a silent prayer, “I have more time.”

Thing is, this time thing is all relative--a matter of perspective. Recently, I said to my husband, “You know, when I was a kid, I thought Abraham Lincoln lived just ages and ages ago. Now that I’m older, I realize that it wasn’t really all that long ago at all.”

Age has a way of giving you that kind of perspective. Awhile back, I marveled to see an interview with a Civil War soldier on the internet. The interview was done many years ago, of course, and the guy was near the end of his life, but STILL—he was talking about his experience in the Civil War! It dawned on me how time is so much more compressed than I’d ever realized.

So we may pat ourselves on the back for dodging the Grim Reaper for the time being, but we all have the same destiny and that’s the grave. (As an aside, click here for a fascinating story about one man's  "smile from eternity.")

I hate to be on a downer, but I believe it behooves each one of us to think about our demise and especially about the possibility that it could be more sudden than we'd like. (In a previous blog entry, I wrote about the Orthodox practice of “the remembrance of death.”) The funny thing about remembering death is that it helps us to appreciate and really live LIFE. It’s a bit of a paradox, isn’t it?

Coming face to face with this paradox is why, with the help of God, I have re-invented myself (at least in the career sense). In the last couple of years, I have been struck by the realization of how fragile life really is. If I'd had been born in an earlier time, I would probably have seen death regularly and wouldn't have been so insulated from it. Our culture does a good job of protecting us from seeing death as a normal part of life, that's for sure.

Every day, as I drive to a job that is completely out of my comfort zone, I am scared. I’d much prefer to just turn around, go home, and cling to my comfortable surroundings. I really would! But I press on, putting one foot in front of the other, believing that God is with me and that He goes before me. I have the innate knowledge that in so doing, the rewards will follow. Who knows what form the rewards may take? Maybe not at all in the time or in the way I anticipate them.

Fall is my favorite time of year. My 35-minute commute in the morning gives me time to pray, to settle my mind before work, and to enjoy the beauty of living in the gorgeous Pacific Northwest. When I’m able to stop thinking about the cares of the world for a moment, I marvel at my surroundings.

I recently came across this beautiful poem written by Russian poet Mikhail Lermontov and would like to share it with you here. Enjoy.

When Fields of Rye Wave Golden

When fields of rye wave golden in the wind,
And green woods echo in the singing breeze,
And purpling berries shyly peer behind
A bush in cool-sweet shade of greening trees;
And when at dusk, or when the morning shines,
Scented with dew the lilies silver-fair
Nod languidly among the garden vines
With smiles of tender greeting in the air;
And when the brook runs bubbling in the vale
And pulls my thought in dreamland’s dim repose,
While murmuring a sweet mysterious tale
To me of peaceful lands from whence it flows;
Then, calm, at peace again I slowly plod;
Then, humbled, I forget my heart’s distress;
I then behold on earth my happiness,
And in the sky the face of God.