"I used to think if I ever got cancer I would lay down and roll into a ball," she said. "But you can't. That is not an option."
During the tests, she continued her tumbling lessons. She dreamed of being a cheerleader her senior year of high school. But when she was diagnosed with cancer, the doctors said the lessons had to stop.
But when doctors told her she likely would not be able to attend the first day of her senior year, she told them, "Miss my first day of school my senior year ... I don't think so. I am going, straight up."
I guess I haven’t mentioned that I found out that I don’t have cancer. I know I never really posted that it was a possibility, but what with the thyroid nodules and all, there was indeed a chance. But the biopsy came back benign, thank goodness. I mean, I still have to have my thyroid out, apparently, but at least it isn’t cancer with all its chances for extra complication.
So while I’m frustrated at having a mysterious new health problem emerge from nowhere, I’ve also been trying to remember to appreciate that it could be much worse.
But I’ve also been having increasing difficulties with drooping energy level, irritability, and trouble concentrating — all of which are probably at least partly attributable to my thyroid. So even with proper perspective? This pretty well sucks.
Oh, but to complete my roller-coaster thought pattern, the doc did tell me that it’s unlikely that goitrogens have any real influence in my case. He says iodine is far more likely to be a factor, and I don’t really think of myself as having a diet that is in either way extreme when it comes to iodine, so that’s good. And it means I can still eat my fill of soy and broccoli, which is REALLY good. Because I don’t think I was really prepared to give that stuff up. I’d be like one of those people with advanced lung cancer who still smokes three packs a day — only in my case I’d have an ever-growing lump in my neck while I gorge myself on stir-fried broccoli and tofu.
Hmm. I think I know what I’m having for lunch tomorrow.
Originally published at The Bee Hive. You can comment here or there.
I was reading Elizabeth Gilbert’s “Eat, Pray, Love” on one of my flights a few weeks ago. (It’s a wonderfully insightful and beautifully written book; I highly recommend it.) There’s a passage where the author, having recently developed a personal relationship with prayer and a self-styled spirituality, is describing an exchange with her pragmatic sister, Catherine.
A family in my sister’s neighborhood was recently stricken with a double tragedy when both the mother and her three-year-old son were diagnosed with cancer. When Catherine told me about this, I could only say, shocked, “Dear God, that family needs grace.” She replied firmly, “That family needs casseroles,” and then proceeded to organize the entire neighborhood into bringing the family dinner, in shifts, every single night, for an entire year. I do not know if my sister fully recognizes that this is grace.
Karsten and I got talking about my father’s death. My father was a popular man, loved by many in his town and with a wide circle of friends and family across the country. Many people were praying for him as he waged his fight with cancer. Some people would probably conclude that the prayers must not have been very effective since the cancer ultimately won. But even as a non-spiritual person, I think that’s an unfair characterization of the effects of that praying. I would never attempt to claim that there is no power in prayer. I just don’t think it’s the only vehicle for the conveyance of caring, and it’s loaded with religious affiliation, which has no appeal to me. But I have no trouble accepting the possibility, perhaps not as a direct result of prayer, but perhaps resulting indirectly from the quantities of people who simply told my father and the rest of his family that they were praying for him, that my father died with more awareness of how loved he was, and that we, his family, could accept his death with more comfort because we knew how loved he was.
Maybe you wouldn’t call that the power of prayer, per se. And I would agree that it’s something different, but I think — and this is a non-believer attempting to understand the minds of believers, so I may have it entirely wrong — but I think there’s something uniquely potent about prayer to a believer that is somehow not present in the offerings of “thoughts” or “good vibes” or “positive energy,” or any number of alternatives you or I might suggest.
That’s the struggle I have as a non-believer who wants to offer comfort to my loved ones. I wish I had something I could offer my cousin’s family as they’re dealing with my 17-year-old cousin battling lymphoma. I have told them I’m thinking about them, but I feel acutely that that’s not as powerful a statement as telling someone you’re praying for them. To my eyes, as a non-believer, that’s the power of prayer: a communication shortcut that says you want to intercede for someone; that you feel their situation merits grace, and you’re looking to powers bigger than yourself to provide it.
But without that communication shortcut, I guess I find myself in the role of the pragmatic sister, trying to think of when and how to make the proverbial (or literal) casseroles and hope that they are received as grace. (Here I should mention how humbling it is to have a sister who is both a praying person and a casserole maker in the most active sense — she was recently awarded Citizen of the Year in her hometown for her efforts in setting up a non-profit organization that helps the poor and needy in her otherwise well-to-do suburb. She’s a double-helping of grace.) What I lack in spirituality I make up for in plain old compassion, but how can I be of much practical use to a family hundreds of miles away? There’s a missing ingredient that could help bridge the distance, and to say “I’m thinking of you” sounds hollow.
I suppose it’s relevant in some way that I’m musing about this on Easter morning. I have no real ties to Easter: nothing about its religious implications carries weight with me, and the childhood chocolate-fest is behind me. Even the pagan traditions offer little to the pragmatic, so it’s simply a Sunday when more businesses are shuttered than usual. But there is something about the hope of renewal, the rituals of rebirth that carry through from the pagan to the Christian traditions, in welcoming spring and recognizing the cyclical nature of life — something about that does appeal to me. (Maybe it’s the gardener in me.) I know I’m looking for a chance to discover something in myself — some offering I can provide to those who need comfort that feels as powerful as prayer and does as much good as casseroles.
I don’t expect to find the answer today. But I’m asking the question, and questions are more important than answers.
Happy Easter, happy March equinox, happy Sunday, happy day. I’m thinking of you.
Originally published at The Bee Hive. You can comment here or there.
Yes, each of these probably merits a post of its own, and my blog has been sorely neglected of late. But since I’m powering through my to do list, I’m giving them each a bullet point, and I may choose to come back to one or more of them later.
Originally published at The Bee Hive. You can comment here or there.
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Country trio BlackHawk (Goodbye Says It All) will make a $15,000 donation next week to the Vanderbilt-Ingram Cancer Center in memory of their former member and co-founder, Van Stephenson, who died in 2001 from skin cancer.
The group set up a memorial fund in Van's name when he passed away. The $15,000 will be used for melanoma research.
The two other guys, Henry Paul and Dave Robbins, have taken on a new member, Anthony Craword, and they've now got a deal with newly-formed Rust Records.
I still miss Dad very much, of course, but I'm also amazed at how much healing happens in the course of one year. Then again, I'm equally amazed at how much still hurts after a whole year has passed. It's almost like time and healing can be measured in two different dimensions, on two different scales, with one exceeding my expectations and one falling so very short. Or whatever. I guess that's why it's easier just to say "life is funny." ;)
Yesterday, the Race for the Cure came through our neighborhood, and I stood outside with a cup of coffee and watched them, thinking of my dad, and how he lost his race. But it was encouraging to see how many people turned out to help raise money for the cause, so maybe someday cancer will be a thing of the past. 
On the plus side, there were kittens inside the shelter, which just about makes up for any shortcoming in event planning. Just like last year, Karsten was in one of the cat rooms playing with kittens most of the time we were there, and drew a crowd watching him get the kittens all excited. You should have seen these kittens crawling all over Karsten. I took pictures but they only hint at the stinging cuteness of it all. 
A Vietnamese coworker of Karsten's used to say: so much good, so much bad. I think of that a lot, and I consider it a victory when the bad doesn't overshadow the good. Right now, as much as it still hurts to miss my dad, I know the good in my life -- like loving and being loved so deeply by someone as wonderful as Karsten, and having a job I enjoy, and being part of a community of great people, and living in a home we have the ability to enjoy and improve, and having good friends, not to mention that I was lucky enough to have had a dad as wonderful as he was -- all that good is as bright as sunlight and nothing can overshadow it. And I guess that should be enough to get me through another small year.| S | M | T | W | T | F | S |
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” on one of my flights a few weeks ago. (It’s a wonderfully insightful and beautifully written book; I highly recommend it.) There’s a passage where the author, having recently developed a personal relationship with prayer and a self-styled spirituality, is describing an exchange with her pragmatic sister, Catherine.