the whipped cream conundrum

I read a book!  A whole book cover-to-cover! This is probably not a big deal for most of my readers.  But, for me, this is a huge accomplishment.  It is a step towards the normalcy I have been craving over the last year and a half.  All I have wanted is to do things “normal” people do and reading is just one touchstone on my journey to finding my new normal.

Due to treatment, and a slight case of chemobrain, I have been unable to focus for extended periods of time.  My mind is not as sharp as it once was; I have a hard time remembering names and continue to have to write things down to remember them.  I maintain two calendars – one on my phone and one in a planner.  I consider myself far too young to have “senior moments,” but I often do.  The last thing my brain could handle during this most recent period of treatment was reading a book.

As I have been developing my writing skills, I have come to realize that in order to write more, I need to read more.  If I want to write something more than this blog, I have to experience other styles of writing and pick one that works for me. I recently met with a writing coach and she gave me a long list of books to help me develop my voice.  I felt I needed these book and I needed them immediately – thank you Amazon Prime!

After staring at the stack of books that arrived 2 days after I placed the order, I decided to start with  Tiny Beautiful Things: Advice on Love and Life from Dear Sugar by Cheryl Strayed.  I had read Strayed’s book Wild: From Lost to Found on the Pacific Crest Trail while undergoing treatment for Hodgkins lymphoma in 2012.  I was inspired by her story and could relate it to my own, as I felt I too was hiking a mountain with shoes that didn’t fit!  Reading about someone else’s discomfort helped me come to terms with my own.

So back to the book…it was a nice, easy, entertaining read and the perfect book to read as I reenter the world of words.  I started reading the book about a week ago and couldn’t put it down.  I even abandoned my lifelong habit of watching bad television and, instead sat in the quiet of my living room taking in the words.  Sure, I’d have to go back and reread passages to refresh my memory; I would take out a pen to underline anything I’d like to reference in the future.  The most important thing is that I was doing something that mere months ago I thought was impossible.

A step towards normalcy…it’s as simple as reading a book.  On to the next one…

Cancercation: n. a period of time a person disconnects from reality to take care of oneself to fight cancer.  A cancercation usually involves a leave from work and one’s job becomes fighting cancer.  During a cancercation, life goes on for everyone else, but, for the patient, time stands still.

My cancercation began about 15 months ago when I was first diagnosed with endometrial cancer.  Unlike other things that end in “cation,” there was no relaxation and restoration. Instead, it was my  “job” to fight cancer. During this time period, I experienced hormone therapy, over 50 radiation treatments, chemotherapy, four surgeries, and a few hospital stays.  My social circle was doctors, nurses, physicians assistants, and radiation techs.  If I were to have a performance review of the past year plus, I’d say I deserve a raise for all the “work” that I have accomplished; I have proven my worth.  However, the real reward for a job well done is remission (I’d also like a week at Canyon Ranch!)!  Needless to say, I am happy my tenure as a cancer patient has come to a close.

Tomorrow marks the end of my 15-month cancercation.  I have reached a point in my recovery where I am ready to return to my job as a teacher.  I am returning to my job with both excitement and trepidation.  I am looking forward to reconnecting with a community that has meant so much to me during my challenging year; this community has always had my back.  I am excited to have meaningful work again.  I’ve missed my colleagues and the students and families with whom I work.  The trepidation comes in when I think about what happened in the 15 months I was away – new students, new faculty, even a new email platform.  I have to rebuild relationships and establish new ones.  I have a lot of catching up to do.

The end of my cancercation does not mark the end of cancer in my life.  The “R” word doesn’t necessarily mean the battle is over.  I’ve been here before … there’s physical, emotional and even financial recovery.  The transition from patient to person can be filled with ups and downs.  During recovery from Hodgkins lymphoma, I struggled with post-traumatic stress, along with anxiety and depression.  For me, I am holding on to hope – something I didn’t have a lot of during my cancercation.

As I end this cancercation, there is so much I am grateful for – my amazing Mom and Dad who were with me every step of the way, my friends who stayed connected with me even though sometimes it was hard for me to stay connected with them, the world-class doctors and nurses and other medical professionals who helped me navigate my treatment,  the people at work who were unwavering in their support and flexibility, the nice lady in the radiation waiting room who comforted me when I was upset … the list is never-ending.

Now it’s time to get back to work!

The death of the iconic David Bowie has been on my mind all day; in part because of the loss of his unparalled talent, but primarily because the cause of his death hits close to home –  cancer.  His passing reminds me that cancer can hit anytime to anyone – famous or infamous, rich or poor, male or female, young or old.  I think it would be virtually impossible to find anyone these days who hasn’t been affected by cancer.  So what now…

While somewhat of a non-sequitor, I would be remiss if I didn’t acknowledge the comments made recently by Vice President, Joe Biden.  As he explained his decision to remain out of the 2016 campaign for President, he took the opportunity to address the continuing challenge of cancer:

“I believe that we need a moon shot in this country to cure cancer. It’s personal. But I know we can do this. The president and I have already been working hard on increasing funding for research and development, because there are so many breakthroughs just on the horizon in science and medicine, the things that are just about to happen. And we can make them real with an absolute national commitment to end cancer, as we know it today.” – Joe Biden

When I walk into waiting rooms at Massachusetts General Hospital or Dana Farber Cancer Institute, there is often an overflow into the hallway.  There have been times I couldn’t get a blood transfusion for days because the transfusion units were booked.  I had to wait hours to be admitted to the cancer unit when I was admitted to the hospital.  Often times there was barely a space to sit in the radiation waiting room.

With cancer on our minds today, it is up to all of us to find a way to empty those waiting rooms.  The cynic in me thinks perhaps we can never “end” cancer, but I am starting to believe more and more that through research and perseverance, we can prevent and cure different types cancers.  We can transform how cancer is detected and treated.

One way you can help now is to support the research being done at the Claudia Adams Barr Program in Innovative Basic Cancer Research at Dana-Farber Cancer Institute.  This year, for the second time, my close friend Nicole is running the Boston Marathon to support the innovative research being conducted at the Barr Program.  Nicole has been a champion of raising money to support cancer research and a personal champion to me – she has spent hours entertaining me while I was in the hospital, she knows when I need a laugh and she always has my back.  This year, she has the advantageous goal of raising $10,000 to support the program’s efforts.  I would be grateful if you would consider making a donation of any size, but if you donate $200, Nicole will run a mile in memory or honor of someone you know affected by cancer.  You can donate to Nicole’s run here.

Cancer has taken an icon from us today…but just as we landed on the moon, we can find ways to end cancer as we know it (I think Mr. Bowie would appreciate the analogy to space!).

Perhaps you’ve heard the recent story about the crowning mishap at the Miss Universe contest.  Short story short…Miss Colombia was named the winner of the pageant, however her victory was short-lived when the host declared that he made a mistake.  The crown was abruptly removed and replaced on the head of Miss Philippines.  Oops…You must be scratching your head – where on earth is Lisa going with this?  Well, I’m feeling a little like Miss Colombia (yes, I just compared myself to a contestant in a beauty pageant!).

Around Thanksgiving, the doctors told me I was finally cancer-free.  I rushed to tell all my family and friends; I couldn’t wait to blog about the exciting news.  I celebrated with my family; I received gifts and cards from friends.  I trusted that I would be finally able to rebuild my life post-treatment.  I got to wear the sparkly crown.

But, like Miss Colombia, my celebration was short-lived.  I learned not long thereafter that one of my tumors, according to doctors, either grew back at a pace that is virtually impossible or the countless radiation treatments failed to get it all in the first place.  I’m not sure they really know, although they work hard to pretend they do.  I’ve always had a blind faith in my medical team; I am privileged enough to be treated at one of the top hospitals in the country and by experts in their respective fields.  But sometimes even the so-called best get stumped.

What now?  Radiation is no longer an option; it turns out there is a lifetime cap on the amount of radiation one person can receive and I’ve reached it in the areas that have been radiated.  Chemotherapy isn’t an option at this point.  As my surgeon said, “The scalpel is always available.” So, I will be undergoing another surgery to remove what is left of my tumor.  Will this get everything?  I don’t know.

I thought the start of 2016 was going to be a clean slate with a clean bill of health.  I was ready to get back to work and back to myself, but shit happens and it doesn’t always happen on my timeline.  I won’t lie…it sucks.  To have that sense of relief ripped away was just another punch in the gut.  My health, as one friend once described it, is like a game of whack-a-mole.  When will I get to wear the sparkly crown?

The good news is that I am feeling better these days and, while it may be temporary, I am savoring each moment.

Eleanor Roosevelt said, “You gain strength, courage and confidence by every experience in which you really stop to look fear in the face. You are able to say to yourself, ‘I have lived through this horror. I can take the next thing that comes along.’ You must do the thing you think you cannot do.”  This is resilience.

When my doctors recently gave me the good news that I am cancer-free, my surgeon told me that I was one of the most resilient patients that she has ever seen –  she noted that I took everything the doctors threw at me and showed a courage and strength that she had rarely seen in her patients.  I tried to accept the compliment (something I’m not very good at), while maintaining my humility (this was coming from an experienced surgeon at one of the top hospitals in the country).  I left her office in tears, both because of the diagnosis and the fact that she noticed something in me I had trouble seeing in myself.

The Mayo Clinic describes resilience as:  “the ability to roll with the punches. When stress, adversity or trauma strikes, you still experience anger, grief and pain, but you’re able to keep functioning — both physically and psychologically.”  This is a mindset that I strive to teach my students – we call it being #hydetough.  At a recent press conference, Tom Brady was asked how the New England Patriots were dealing with the onslaught of injuries on the team – “mental toughness,” he replied.  I couldn’t help but think that he was exhibiting an attitude of resilience.

I never thought of myself as resilient during this challenge.  So many times over the past year I wanted to quit; so many times I failed to contain my emotions – one day I even had a tantrum in the middle of a doctor’s waiting room; so many times I said aloud to whomever would listen that “I can’t do this anymore” and seriously contemplated the consequences of quitting.  But something inside me knew I had to keep going.  As described above, I let myself “experience anger, grief and pain,” but I didn’t let it get the best of me.  I drew upon those times I had to “look fear in the face” – when my character has been tested.

As I pick up the pieces of my year – heading back to work, reconnecting with friends, even getting my body back in shape – I know I will need to rely on my resilience.  Recovery is not easy.  The world is a different place than it was when this began nearly a year ago.  But now I know I have it – I can do the things I think I cannot do.