Every Breath We Take

Geoff is at a funeral right now. One of his friends, (a co-worker) died on Christmas day. This was a man he met just this last year, right after I was diagnosed with breast cancer. Right before my diagnosis, this man was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. When he heard about me - Geoff and he began talking. I remember Geoff coming home so sad about this man's condition. As his condition worsened, Geoff watched him get thinner and thinner. I think seeing this man, and also knowing him - and the fact that he didn't have much time left, made Geoff realize how lucky we really were. And the whole time, this man would ask Geoff how I was doing. He was praying for me! He knew he didn't have much time left, and yet he was thinking of me. This last week, the hospital sent him home. He could barely eat. In fact, I believe Geoff told me that he couldn't eat anymore. I can't imagine being sent home from the hospital basically,... to die.

I don't think I will ever know how truly lucky I was - that my cancer was found so early. I can't imagine being diagnosed with cancer and knowing I only have a little bit of time left before I will die. Life as I know it, simply existing - effortlessly inhaling and exhaling breath,... is something I don't even think about. It is something I take for granted. Even after having a double mastectomy and going through all the recovery - I still can't relate to the fact that I could have so easily died! Never having pain or symptoms, and how I bounced back so easily after my surgeries - my whole cancer experience still seems so surreal.

And this man,... after opening his Christmas presents,..... died. I can't even imagine. As I write this, I have a really bad headache - one that is quickly turning into a migraine. But at least I can feel this pain. I am alive to have this headache. I think of this man, and of my father who passed away two years ago - and I can't imagine not being! All of us who just took a breath of air without thinking, without even realizing it - please know how lucky we are. Say a prayer for someone out there who is not so healthy or so fortunate.

And......

when this brief life

has ended,

.... the angels

shall lift us

on golden wings,

.... into the Light

from which we came.

Hell has GOT to be better than this!

I know I still have to break down and tell the hellacious story of LICE that our family lovingly received from WHO KNOWS WHERE, but it is such an exhausting experience, that I have been procrastinating. Maybe when I'm 90 and after going through hypnosis, I will be able to pull it from the depths of my mind (where I have blissfully hidden it away) and relive it. But anyway,... yesterday I felt I could NOT catch my breath in my insane race of life, merely surviving, the ridiculousness of children, evil errands, being a mom, and did I say life already? After running all over the earth and back doing errands, trying to pacify Hannah with some kind of craft,.... making phone calls and being made to wait for HOURS while customer service reps put me on hold and (I seriously believe) they must lay their heads down and take a nap - and just slaving around the house, I finally took a deep breath and tried to stop my erratic heartbeat and keep myself from having a nervous breakdown.

Of course, I could NOT keep still and simply relax. I needed to vacuum. Had such a deep urge,... an obsession because I was sick and tired of wiping my bare feet onto my pant leg to remove debris that had collected on the bottom of my bare feet simply from walking across my carpet or kitchen floor. I turned on Christmas music, gently stoked the fire and began my new task. Oh! The sheer pleasure of losing myself in vacuuming! I felt my shoulders relax. I felt a smile began to replace the "I'm going to die right NOW!" scowl that lately has branded my face. I was in heaven.

When out of nowhere, my back door burst open and London whirled in from getting off the bus. With her powerful, usual hyperactive energy, she took a moment (just for extra effect...) and just stood there - staring at me. Oh no, I thought. What is it? Surely, even at this time of year - 7 days away from Christmas, there could not be another miracle in history! But by the look on her face, I clearly knew London was pregnant - at 9 without yet ever having her period! But hey,..... a miraculous conception has been known to have happened before, right? I waited for her bomb to hit as she stared me down, and then finally announced that the older sister of the girl across the street had lice. LICE? LICE did you say? I think by this time, I would rather hear that I had breast cancer all over again!! In fact,... I would give anything for London to actually BE pregant - at 9, (without yet having her period) before I wanted lice AGAIN!

And then as I stood in bare feet on my kitchen floor, the vacuum still gracefully held by my beautiful, motherly hand - Haven reached up and took a plastic cup from the counter. NOTE: This plastic cup contained a Christmas ornament London had made the night before by pouring PAINT inside a clear, ROUND, glass ball ornament. The ornament sat IN the cup upside down, to allow the PAINT to run out, thus giving the inside a chance to dry. PAINT had collected in the bottom of the plastic cup and my girls had been fascinated by this paint-dripping procession ever since. Every hour or two, they would run by the counter to peek at the extraordinary sight of this rare, but ever-so-unusual display of gravity. I need you to take extra notes now and let me know if you did listen carefully when I said the word paint... (Now back to our previously scheduled program.)

So, as Haven, with her small, innocent hands - reached up, and took this unusual (and of course, beloved) ornament from the counter, she accidentally squeezed a little too hard and sent the glass ball OVER the edge of its protective plastic cup. And this all happened so fast, almost instantaneously. I don't even remember Haven actually lifting the cup off the counter - it was as if it suddenly and magically just appeared in her hands. And as the glass ball cascaded over the edge of its plastic world, a small bomb suddenly exploded in my house. As the glass ball hit my kitchen floor, it shattered into a million shards of colorful glass and sent gooey blobs of wet paint everywhere.

I just stood there in shock. Paint dripped off the Christmas tree, trickled down my cabinets, ran down Haven's forehead, glistened from the cat's eyeballs and landed in creative drops and streaks across my kitchen floor. Glittering beautifully,..... on TOP of the wet paint blobs, were broken, sharp edges of glass - now stuck ON the paint as if they had been thoughtfully and purposely glued on with special care. I have to admit- as I stood frozen in one spot, not daring to trod into the delicate yet dangerous mine field of bizarre and curious shrapnel,... (remember, I had bare feet) - the thought, (although fleetingly) - suddenly screamed out in my already "fried" mind, "Hell HAS got to be better than this!"

I promise, I will let you know. I have personally called HELL, and after being put on hold for hours - (I am convinced that Satan's best customer service reps don't bother to take sneaky naps, but they actually pack up and go to college for four years and THEN maybe come back to answer your questions!) But I have called. I have seen all the brochures. And I will let you know what Hell is like. Although it cost me an arm, a leg, and one of my new breast implants,..... I have made reservations, and I am GOING! I will talk to you when I return - hopefully with a new outlook on life.

Breast Cancer for Christmas

This week marks the year anniversary of my being diagnosed with breast cancer. After my biopsy, I had to wait about 10 days for my results. In encouragement, my friends and family kept telling me I didn’t know anything until the doctor called – but I knew they were wrong. I can’t explain how sometimes we just seem to know things, but I knew.

The day before my birthday, (Dec. 14th) I was trying to stop thinking about when I would get the call,….. When I did finally get the call. As I stared at the phone ringing for the second time, I just stood there. With my heart hammering double time, I finally picked up the receiver. I didn’t want to hear it - and until I actually heard my doctor’s voice, saying those words to me - there was still a shred of hope. But none of that really mattered,… because I already knew. As my doctor went on about the biopsy, nothing clicked and fully registered until I heard him say, “And yes, I’m sorry to tell you - that you do have Breast Cancer.” As my sweaty hand gripped the phone, my shaky breathing suddenly switched to gasps.

I don’t remember crying hysterically,…. It was just that after that moment tears were always in my eyes. If I wasn’t actually crying, the promise of tears were always hovering or hanging from my eyelashes. I noticed everything I hadn’t noticed before. Devouring my children with my eyes, I suddenly noticed their habits more. I saw how tall they were,…and just how beautiful they were. At night, I’d sneak into their rooms, climb slowly under their blankets and snuggle up close to them. I would lie for hours just holding them and smelling them. As the pillow beneath my head slowly became wetter and wetter with my tears, I would stare out their doorways and watch how the reflections of colored lights from the Christmas tree danced off the walls.

My mind was racing. How many more Christmases would I have with my kids,…. with my husband? Would they know how much I loved them if I died? Who would fix everything up just the way they liked? Could I really give up the sweetness of my children’s kisses and accept that I had cancer? How big was my cancer? Where exactly was it? How fast was it growing? Why didn’t I have any symptoms? Was it possible that a nurse accidentally mixed up some files and I was really okay? During the 10 days prior to Christmas, my brain was a mess. Even though I had immediately made appointments to see specialists, it was the holidays. I was forced to wait until after the New Year to see anyone.

Christmas morning, my eight year old daughter London, wanted me to open her present first. At her school they have a special store planned by the PTA. The kids bring money and pick out whatever they want as gifts for their family. To a child – this is paradise, topped off with a pink pony. Not being able to wait any longer, London eagerly placed her gift in my hands. I peeled the tape away from the bulky, uneven blob of wrapping paper. (I think she used a whole roll of tape and wrapping paper to wrap it.) Inside, I discovered a small, red embroidered box. London had taped a small note on the outside that read, “I love you mom.” - TO: Mom / From: London. I looked up at London’s face. It was glowing with love and anticipation. When I opened the box, I found a small, glass angel with a golden halo. The angel’s small, glass hands were holding a red heart.

“It’s an Angel Worry Box!” London explained with pride, opening the red box a little wider to show me a small parchment glued on the inside. “This angel will take away all your worries, Mom!” I smiled a shaky smile. So bad I wanted this simple, glass angel to take away all my worries - but I knew better. I still had cancer, and I was terrified. And as I stared at this precious gift, I couldn’t talk. I couldn’t see through the wall of tears pouring from my eyes. As my emotions rose up from inside me and ran down my face, I couldn’t do anything but make small choking sounds. I pulled London into my arms. She hugged me back just as fiercely. As the tears slid down my face, I laid my head on her shoulder and sobbed. Reaching up, London gently stroked my hair.

I took that glass angel with me when I had my double mastectomy on Feb. 13. And although I lost my breasts, I received the best presents of all. I received love, comfort, support, a family who will always be there for me (no matter what,) my beautiful angel worry box and Breath. And no matter what anyone says - love and especially breath are the greatest gifts of all!

UPDATE: My Stage 1 Invasive Cancer was caught very early. So early in fact, that doctor’s are in awe of how lucky I am/was. All of the cancer was removed during my mastectomy and nothing reached my lymph nodes. I needed no Chemo and no radiation. My doctor’s tell me I definitely had an angel watching over me. I smile because I know this is true. I did have an angel watching over me,…. a small, glass angel with a golden halo and a red heart. As a matter of fact,… she watches over me still.

“The Angel in this box

Is the guardian of your heart.

Give her your worries

And your fears,

So hope and peace can start.

Keep this box nearby you,

And know how much she cares,

For when you need love and joy,

Your Angel will be there.”

Christmas Shopping at Tractor Supply Co.

Well, if there is a definite "sign" that we no longer live in Massachusetts and now live in Texas, this would be the one. Last weekend, when we went to Tractor Supply Co., to buy the monstrous bags of pellets for our goats, both London and Haven almost gave birth to foals the moment they walked into the store upon discovering there was a toy aisle. A toy aisle in Tractor Supply Co., you ask? Yes. A toy aisle amongst an endless sea of John Deere green, cowboy boots, feed and water troughs, dickie coveralls and anything else Cletus the slack jawed yokel could ever hope to imagine.

There were horse, cow, goat, donkey, dog, cat, and chicken calenders, all types of plastic horses in every size, paint by number kits complete with chalky, white ceramic horses, stuffed animals of all the previously above mentioned animals (again in all sizes,),..... and as Haven discovered the "mega-size" purple and white horse on the very, very top shelf, she exploded with high-pitched cries as she leaped and jumped about like a salmon swimming upstream. It's not enough that my children's rooms (and my entire house for that matter) is in a constant state of stuffed animal chaos and confusion,... it's just that London and Haven have so many stuffed animals that I seriously need a backhoe just to clear off their beds each night. But according to them, there is always room for "just one more!"

There were giant, wooden barns in boxes bigger than a 52" TV box lining the floor under Ponyopoly, Farmopoly, Fishin'opoly, dogopoly and London's all-time favorite - Horseopoly. Out of the corner of my eye I watched Geoff cowardly sneak away to "load up the shopping cart" with the bags of pellets we came for, while I was left to monitor my girls as they had continual spasms discovering new and "cooler" things further down the aisle. I take it back,... there was not "a toy aisle," as in singular - there were about six toy aisles total. As my girls shouted out an unorganized and jumbled list of what they wanted Santa to bring them for Christmas, my brain began to hurt. Finally, I borrowed a blank piece of paper and a pen from the cashier with the piece of straw protruding from under her obvious overbite and followed my daughters around like their own personal butler. Anything I could comprehend, I wrote down. All in all, my bill (should I actually buy everything they told me to write down) would have come very close to the amount of the recent Banking Industry Bailout.

There were a few things Geoff was pointing out to me that he would like. Some insulated gloves, a welder and of course the fancy little crop he kept smacking my butt with. (Men!) But when it comes to me, I'll stick with a massage, some new perfume, a gift card to a different, more fabulous type of store or possibly simply a new CD or two. I can tell you one thing,.... there had better not be anything from Tractor Supply Co., under the tree for me! And honey, if you happen to be reading this,.... especially not the fancy, little butt crop!