The Yes Mom

We moved!  After 13 years at the same address, we have moved to a new house.  Actually, it’s not just a house.  It is an adventure.  Flowing waterfalls, a Koi pond, exotic ferns from the Jurassic period, a Jacuzzi on the roof, overgrown vines stretched like wrinkles across the stucco, and sun burnt wood from Dolly Parton’s old house covered in Burmese honeysuckle and Queen Isabella grapes frame the entire scene.      

From the street, the house is a 1974 monstrosity.  Although curb appeal is not something you can measure like square footage or bra size, I admit it is a bit of a deviation from what one might call a good investment.  No cookie cutter master planned community, manicured lawn, red tile roof, or neatly pruned trees.  No, it is more like Godzilla meets Mothra.  Japanese Zen garden and tropical rainforest rolled into a mangled, tangled magnificent mess, not unlike my new breasts.  Scars, dimples and blemishes abound but in spite of the imperfections, it is still beautiful.  I am still beautiful.    

 

 

Many of our friends helped us move.  I am so grateful to them.  Thank you!  One night, after bringing a load over to the house in Raundi and Michael’s van, we sat amongst the boxes and ate our first official dinner together, “In and Out” burgers with fries, animal style.  No time to cook these days.  Michael said, “Deanne, this house is soooo you.” 

He is soooo right!

When I first walked through the double doors, I knew this was the perfect place to recover from this last year.  You could feel the energy resonate in your inner most being.  It felt like you entered a living entity.  With its spacious, light and airy environment, you got the impression you are still outside.  Albeit a bit dated, it has amazing character and good bones.  I fell in love.  We all did.

In an attempt to update the house a bit and add our own thumbprint, we pulled up the old white carpet and replaced it with hard wood, demolished the tile countertops, installed black granite and retextured and painted the walls. Clean white walls like heaven. 

The house, not knowing what hit it, rebelled furiously.  Like a child pushed to the limits, it had a few temper tantrums, spewing its guts into the family room via the downstairs toilet, leaking from the rooftop where the jacuzzi sits over the garage and blocking its main artery with intrusive roots under the driveway.  At those moments I truly wanted to run.  “What have I done,” I asked myself. 

And when Maggie needed to get to soccer back in Laguna Niguel, 30 miles away, and Casey needed picked up from school in Santa Ana for early dismissal (I had no idea how to get there from the new house), and the pond was losing water by the minute, risking the lives of riduculously expensive Koi I desperately wished for a “pause” button.  I wanted to put the rest of the world on hold while we moved in, got settled and I learned to navigate the crazy freeway system in a new town.

But like the Koi, there is no stopping.  We must all keep swimming especially in the most difficult of times.  “In Japanese symbolism the Koi represents perseverance in adversity and strength of purpose. The strongest Koi swims upstream until it reaches the final waterfall, where it vaults into the mists and becomes a water dragon.”

 

Every day I sit next to the pond and watch the Koi swim.  They continually remind me to never give up, work towards my goal and vault into the mist so that I too can become my own version of a water dragon.   

I am even considering a new tattoo, a Koi. 

The Koi came with the house by the way.  Eleven spectacular Japanese carp; gold, white, orange, black, yellow and red.  Maggie named each and every one of them.  There is Sam, Wish, Heart, Bug Eye, Stripe, Smurf, Orangeilocks, Dave Grohl, the Professor, Smurf and the great big white one, Gandalf.  You can’t go wrong when Gandalf lives in your back yard.    

So, in spite of all the difficulties and imperfections, I love it all; my new home, my new breasts and the Koi.  Every flaw and defect is mine.  It is where I reside.  My permanent dwelling, reminding me of where I have been and the far from ordinary life I plan to continue to live.  Someone recently told me, “Deanne, you are not a suburban housewife, that is just not who you are.”  You are right.  You are always right.  So, why this house?  Besides the fact that we needed a place to live, it called me like God called Joan of Arc.  Come and heal within my walls.  Come and finish raising your family.  Come and write your story.  Come and swim up waterfalls.

 

 The Color of Me

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The color of me is purple

Purple is particular, and fun

Purple is crazy, and cool, like a

Cup of Hawaiian shaved ice, at the

Beach, in the winter

Purple is sometimes gentle when it’s

Light

When it’s dark it despises, like a

Bee despises you

Purple is spunky, and sweet like grapes

Purple is me

The Color of My Brother (Casey)

 

 

 

 

 

 

The color of my brother is blue

Blue is relaxed like a lake

Blue is funny when it’s light

Blue is mad when it’s dark

Blue seems quiet, but

When you get to know it

Sometimes it’s over powering

Like a wave

Blue isn’t good at being

Responsive, but sometimes

It can out smart you

Blue is my brother Casey

 

The Color of My Other Brother (Riley)

 

 

 

 

 

 

The color of my other brother is green

Green is nice, like the pitter patter of

Rain

Green is shy and gentle, like a soft

Teddy bear

Green can be mean without a word

Green knows when to be helpful

Green is a nature-esk, like a mountaintop

Green is my other brother Riley

 

The Color of My Dad

 

 

 

 

 

 

The color of my dad is yellow

Yellow is a big bowl of sunshine in

The morning

Yellow is the color that uses all it’s

Energy, like the sun

Yellow is funny, like a joke

But sometimes stressed

Yellow is happy, and quiet

Yellow is quick, and doesn’t

Poor like honey, but acts that way

Instead

Yellow is my dad

The Color of My Mother

 

 

 

 

 

 

The color of my mother is red

Red is a crazy wonder

Red is a puzzle that solves

Itself

Red is powerful, like lava

But sometimes is soothing

Red is rich with flavor, like

Dark chocolate

Red is a calling

Red is my mother

The Color of My Family

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The color of my family is Brown

 If you mix all of our

Colors together it makes

Brown, our last name

Like a strong and sturdy horse

Brown is my family

 

 

 

“The privilege of a lifetime is being who you are.”…Joseph Campbell

Some of my best writing material comes to me in the early morning hours while I am lying in bed, half awake, not quite ready to open my eyes yet.  Creative ideas come flooding into my brain like the morning sun through my bedroom window.  This morning, thoughts of medieval kingdoms, battles, maidens in distress and the search for the Holy Grail occupied my mind.  It makes sense in view of the fact that I have been reading King Arthur and the Round Table to Maggie.  I love these legends.  A bit of twelfth century history tangled with tales of magic, illicit love and spiritual quests. 

I am also reading, or shall I say devouring another book, “Reflections on the Art of Living, A Joseph Campbell Companion.”  A teacher and mythologist with a brilliant understanding of life, Campbell studied the symbolism of myths around the world.  One of the myths he decoded was King Arthur and the search for the Holy Grail. 

Two books.  One King.  A woman on a quest.  A coincidence? 

Still lying in bed, I remembered a wise quote from the companion that would make a great blog, something about a journey and coming to birth from within.  I had one major problem.  I had absolutely no idea where to find the quote, page 10 or page 110?  This is going to take a while, I thought.  I got out of bed, headed downstairs with my book and opened it to a random page.  I stopped in mid-step, completely blown-away.  There it was: the quote.  Not only was it on the first page I opened to, it was the first line I read: 

“And in this life-creative adventure the criterion of achievement will be …the courage to let go of the past, with its truths, goals, its dogmas of “meaning,” and its gifts: to die to the world and come to birth from within.”

I am convinced there are no coincidences.  It was a sign like the bat-signal calling Batman into action.  Deanne, this is your next blog, your new quest, your destiny.  And, the best part, the universe was making it easy for me; the biggest clue that I was on the right path following my bliss. 

 

According to Joseph Campbell, the twelfth century was considered “follow-your-bliss time,” a phrase he coined himself.  Basically, the idea is that we all have an inherent capacity for growth and fulfillment, and it is our job to reach our own potentiality, our bliss, enlightenment.  In fact, it is our most important job; our destiny.    

The quest for the Holy Grail is a metaphor for this journey.  Medieval legend held that a grail was a cup or plate used by Jesus at the last supper.  But in fact, “What the Holy Grail symbolizes is the highest spiritual fulfillment of a human life,” says the awesome Joe Campbell.  I love this man!

Of course, we all know that the quest for enlightenment is not a new idea.  Many have written or prophesized about it including Jesus, Buddha and Carl Jung.  The cool thing is that these rad dudes all believed enlightenment is for everyone.  It is not reserved for the few.  Everyone without exception, even the jerk that cut you off on the freeway, has the same potential to find his or her bliss.  

And, not only is it for everyone, it is not something you find out there.  The Gnostics believe Christ is in you. Buddha taught that all transcendental powers are within.  Carl Jung states our ultimate purpose is to individuate and find our “self.” Again, within.  So, the good news is that the source of this bliss, this eternal energy is not found in another person, at your local bar, on a rack at Nordstrom’s, that house with an ocean view or that other house with a steeple.  It is in you.    

The part where many of us get stuck is when we get lost following someone else’s path instead of creating our own.  Look around, how truly different is your car, house or life from the neighbor next door.  Maybe you have almond beige shag carpet and they have cashew beige.  Americans have become horribly homogenized in our eternal quest of the American dream.  And sadly, it is miles away from the Grail. 

Famous Knights like Percival, Sir Galahad, Sir Gawaine and other Sirs I can’t spell or pronounce knew you had to create your own path, sometimes over and over again.  They also knew there will be times when it takes immense courage and strength, hacking away in the thickest of woods and through the loneliest of times.  But, it was considered a disgrace to do otherwise.  “When any knight sees the trail of another, thinks he is getting there, and starts to follow the other’s track, he goes astray entirely”.

And, you will know when you go astray.  Things don’t jive.  There is no harmony in your life.  Relationships suffer.  Shit hits the fan.  You get cancer. 

But, when you are on the right track, following your bliss with compassionate, responsible life affirming choices, things feel right.  You are centered, focused and doors open to you.   As you begin to say “yes” to life the universe responds by saying “yes” back.  You are in relationship with yourself.  You are you.

It is not my intention to use this blog as a pedestal to preach.  I am just so excited about my own quest and all the new doors opening up to me that I wanted to give you a little preamble before I share it with you.    

Apparently, while I was busy battling cancer, life went on without me.  Many of our homeschooled friends went to school, girlfriends started new careers and my boys grew up.  Maggie chose to continue homeschooling in spite of all the changes and Kevin has been at his new job for over a year still working and commuting ungodly hours.    

So what am I doing?  Like the phoenix tattooed on my left shoulder, I am rising from the ashes, hacking away at a new path.  I am writing a book, an anthology to be exact, about my adventures in breast cancer.  I also joined a writer’s critique group to help me through the book writing process.  I connected with a new homeschool group with lots of girls Maggie’s age and awesome women to boot with a common philosophy on life.  We have a new member in our band, an awesome singer, who adds a whole new dynamic to our music.  I am learning about the equine world vicariously through Maggie, diving into raw foods, and I got my nose pierced yesterday.  Please don’t tell my mom.  I even started up our old book group again after a long sabbatical.  And, to top it all off, we are house hunting.

It has not been easy.  I have had to make some really tough decisions.  I am sad about some of the changes and leaving certain things behind.  In fact, at times it is heartbreaking.  It takes a lot of balls or in my case boobs to put myself out there, join groups, meet new people, and possibly move to another city, but like the Knights of the Round Table I am hacking away. 

Okay, maybe not exactly like the Knights of the Round Table.  My table is square, I do not own shiny armor and I am not wielding a sword and shield.  But, I do have a rock’n haircut, a sparkly jewel in my nose, and I am armed with pen, paper and a microphone following my bliss.  En Garde!

My family’s new normal: No cancer. A year ago this was not the case.  Let me tell you, it has been one hell of a roller coaster ride. It feels glorious to be getting off.  I will never forget the night my family boarded, about to be taken on the ride of our lives.

A standard night at the Brown’s house: Dinner together finished an hour ago.  Everybody has dispersed. My brother and I are in the garage playing video games (as usual) when my mother called all of us into the living room. This was pretty typical of her when she wanted us to help clean up a mess – one that I probably contributed to.  She would lecture, we would clean, and then all of us would watch Family Guy together, filling the room with inappropriate discussion and laughter.

But tonight the laughter was gone. There was no color; the walls turned gray and bleak like an old soviet government building. My mom’s breast took center stage.

 “I found a lump in my breast,” she said.  

Those words penetrated the air and created a silence I had never heard before, so loud I could hardly breathe. I became transfixed on the green coffee table and rug (they had been in our living room for years, maybe I stared for a sense of comfort and familiarity) and thought to myself over and over again “please be benign, please.”

There is nothing else I remember from that day:  not what we had for dinner, not the weather conditions, nor if I had to go into work.  Nothing else held nearly the same importance or urgency as my mom and her well being. It cannot be cancer.  We could not lose her.

The next week, my mom got the results of her biopsy.  Sitting in the living room, “I know my mom is cancer free, there is no way she could have cancer,” was on repeat in my head.

I do not remember my mom’s exact words, but whatever she had said, screamed out loud and clear, “I have cancer!”

There was that damned green table again.

I tried to brush her news off like a stupid fly that won’t leave you alone. The initial indifference made me wonder, like my brother Casey, if I too am a sociopath. So astonishingly confused; I felt wronged by some mysterious power much greater than myself.

I looked at my family. Seeing them relieves me. It looks like they are feeling the same as me.  I must not be a sociopath. That’s good.

The next day I can tell my mom is stressed. She hides it as convincingly as actors on the Disney Channel.

One evening, I heard glass crashing in the kitchen.  I ran in and she was crying. The tears told me everything.  Ignoring the broken glass I wrapped my arms around her, letting her know I’ll be there through all of this (I am like a cat about physical contact. Only receiving when I want to, never giving except on rare occasions). An – infrequently spoken by me – “I love you” slipped from my lips. I know she is going to need all the love and support I can give.

My mom has never really been one to follow rules.  That two chord Judas Priest song just came to mind, “Breakn the law, breakn the law.” You know, she will just ignore the directions and figure out how to do it herself.  This tendency of hers caused her to somewhat distrust the doctors. Hours were spent reading and gathering all the data possible to make a well informed decision about how to combat the assassin that has claimed many, Breast Cancer.

All this stagnant waiting time between the diagnosis and treatment was really worrying me. I was stressed. Whether I knew it at the time I do not know, but I do now.

Initially, she decided to try a natural route. She had always eaten fairly healthy and eating well has always interested her. But she went crazy.  I am talking macrobiotics, all organic, cancer healing diet.  Macro requires a ton of cooking though, so it ended up too time consuming for her busy lifestyle.

After some time my mom finally put herself into her doctor’s hands. Chemo it was; an entire year was needed to combat the assassin. It was her full time job.  The problem with chemo is there is major collateral damage. Her nerves and organs would be harmed. Her hair would fall out. She would be bed ridden for days after each dose. 

Seeing my mom stuck in bed, well, I never thought I ever would. She hates to lie in bed all day.  Fresh air, exercise, her band, and taxi service for my siblings would all have to come to an end; but somehow, she micro-managed a lot of it from her bed.  It was painful to see her so sick and weak. She hated it, I hated it. We all wanted to see her get better.

A few weeks after chemo began her room turned pink from balloons, ribbons, mugs, cards, and blankets. Anything with a pink ribbon – she wanted to get a tattoo of it behind her ear, now she can’t stand the sight of them – was dispersed throughout her bedroom.

My brother and I began wearing those “I love boobies” bracelets. It was interesting to see people’s reaction to them. Most just thought it was a “high school thing.” Like this guy who said mockingly “of course you’re wearing one of those.” I wanted to tell him, “don’t judge me man, you have no idea.”

One year ago today she had a mastectomy.  We visited her in the hospital.  I cannot stand hospitals.  Whatever that smell is makes me sick, and those off white walls are repulsive. I want to leave from the moment I arrive, but I had to see my mom.

It was brutal to see her in the hospital all bandaged up. She was drifting in and out of sleep and the drugs had her so sedated she could hardly talk. Thank god the surgery had gone well.

I think the surgery; just the idea of surgery had us more on edge than we realized.  My mom’s nervousness, along with all her other moods, radiated outward; we all felt it.  She was obviously incredibly stressed about cutting out the thing that tried to kill her.  So was the rest of the family.  She felt it most though.

Incredibly, through this entire campaign, my mom stayed strong and could still complete all her motherly duties.  What an amazing woman. If wonder woman existed, it would be her.

She is now cancer free.  I remember once not too long ago, while I was at work, a woman came in I chat with sometimes. She said I was glowing.  She was right.  I was so happy for my family to be rid of the assassin that has claimed millions.

It’s official.  After years of bull shit, more shit and even bat guano piling higher and deeper, I am awarding myself an official Piled higher and Deeper Degree, which I refer to as a PhD from The University of Life.  It wasn’t easy but like those before me have stated, “If getting a PhD is easy, then everybody would have one!” 

I am now officially eligible to practice the art of life after serious understanding and preparation in the field of grief, loss, betrayal, doubt, guilt, loneliness, obsessions, addictions, anger, fear, angst and anxiety.  Each of these fields in suffering is required curriculum to achieve a rich and meaningful life.  I am proud to say that I passed each class, some with flying colors, some in the darkest of grays, but I passed nonetheless.

It was a huge life changing commitment!

But I did it.  I obtained way over the minimum amount of credit hours required in the field of suffering, as anyone diagnosed with cancer or faced with job loss or a mid-life crisis knows.  I researched extensively, read every self help, “How to”, psycho-babble text and instructional manual and searched through archive after archive, sometimes unveiling truths in the darkest of places.  I attended classes, went to study groups, joined book groups and re-evaluated the so called right food groups.  I recorded more lab hours than sleep, interned for the wise and not so wise, pulled all-nighters, pulled strings and pulled my hair out trying to make sense of the absurd, illogical, and bizarre always making sure to take good notes along the way.  And, last but not least, I published my findings.         

I admit that I have had a few setbacks; a few repeated lessons before it finally sank in.  I also confess to times when I was lured towards electives and extracurricular activities in search of fun, escape and instant gratification. But those classes were always fleeting, elusive and full.  I suppose therein lies the attraction.  The core classes required for my PhD, the classes I tried to avoid like the plague but always seem to have space, demanded not only my blood, sweat and tears but my soul.   It is not easy taking classes in suffering voluntarily.  

But, I did not give up even when funds were tight and I went hungry living off of chocolate, cheap beer, other people and hope.  I got back on course, sometimes kicking and screaming, like Dante, lost at mid-life, who in the end found his way out of the dark wood, a clutch win.   

Eventually, I finished my dissertation and defended it before a panel of experts; teachers, advisors, mentors, friends, my children, my family, my husband, the neighbors and community.  I argued with fierce determination and demonstrated my capacity to hang on when one feels there is nothing left to hang on to, to forgive when all seems unforgivable, to be accountable when I prefer not to count, to change when change seems impossible and to move on when I don’t feel like moving.   After intense scrutiny, and examination, I showed mastery, confidence, and preparation addressing and re-addressing any and all issues, problems, questions and concerns thoroughly convincing both the experts and myself that I am worthy of this degree. 

It took a lot of guts facing the panel of experts and myself but “no guts, no glory.”  And, the glory is not mine alone it is for all the people that are a part of me.    

I know that getting my degree does not promise meaning or an end.  It is not a degree of entitlement.  There are no guarantees.  But it is a rite of passage of sort, an investment in my future.  It makes me better equipped as I continue my journey.  Maybe I can even pass-on the wisdom, knowledge and experience I have gained to others.

By the way, if you have not already earned your PhD, don’t worry, you will.  No one gets through the University of Life without it.  And a word to the wise, please do not fall for the quick accredited life degree scams you find on-line.  There is only one way to earn a real PhD from the University of Life; you must enroll.  There are no short-cuts, schemes or quick relief strategies.   

Class begins now…

Disclaimer:  PhD’s vary considerably based on time, location and experiences.  No two degrees are a-like, chocolate is not a cure-all and cheap beer can do more harm than good.

“Where there is much light, the shadow is deep.”  … - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Wherever you go, there you are.”  …Unknown

For the first time since I was diagnosed with cancer our family took a vacation.  We packed our bags, lubed the car and trekked across the desert to Arizona; our first stop, Phoenix to visit the family for the holidays.  After lots of Christmas cookies, old friends, music jam sessions and a visit from Santa, we packed up our gifts, said our goodbyes and headed two hours south to Tucson. Since Riley and Casey are soon to be university bound, we wanted to show them our alma mater, The Universtiy of Arizona, and the place Kevin and I first met 26 years ago. 

We had a blast.  I not only reconnected with my family, I reconnected to the desert and to my core.  Tucson is truly a spiritual place.

We saw two hundred year old giants in Saguaro National Park, met mountain lions and javalina, went horseback riding with a real cowboy, re-lived the shootout at the OK corral, hung out by the pool with fair skinned snowbirds, ate pollo smothered in Mole and went spelunking at Kartchner Caverns, an absolutely stunning limestone cave hidden in the desert.

  

Formed by 85,000 years of dripping water, the cave is one of the wonders of the world with its incredible calcite formations; stalagmites and stalactites, some reaching from the floor to the ceiling.  It is also home to hundreds of bats.  And where there are bats, there is guano, lots of guano.  That is bat shit in lay men terms.

There is no escaping guano.  Even in the most wondrous of places. 

But, where there is guano, there is life; rich, abundant life.  Fungi and bacteria, along with other life forms like cave crickets and gross little white blind bugs thrive in these caves all because of this organic material.  It is essential for growth, development and expansion; in other words, without guano, no ugly blind bugs, without shit, no life.

We have all experienced our fair share of shit in our lives.  It will come and go like the monsoons of Arizona.  And, just when there is a clearing and all is good, shit happens again.  We are all living proof of this life cycle.

The week before Christmas, guano hit the fan in the Brown household, a full out monsoon.  I had to go in for an emergency mini D and C after days of non-stop bleeding and a biopsy to boot to make sure I did not have uterine cancer (Uterine cancer is one of the side effects of Tomaxifin), all while getting ready to go out of town for Christmas while Kevin was swamped with an 8 million page production.  He slept eight hours in five days.   I think I saw him for four of those hours and he was snoring.   

It was hell week, not unlike the week pledges face at the U of A before achieving full membership in their fraternity or sorority.  But, I did not crawl back into bed.  I did not run off to Mexico with a hot sexy surfer or join some cult where they promised to save my soul.  I did not light up or drown my sorrows in a bottle of vodka.  I admit I thought about it though.  Instead, I faced it head on and persevered.  It wasn’t easy.  I wept and moaned and howled at the moon but I did not give up.     

Many of our addictions and neurosis are our attempts to escape, to run from suffering, to run from ourselves.  But it is in this suffering, this shit that life deals us, this bat guano, that we grow and true meaning comes to light. 

James Hollis, my favorite Jungian psychologist and author writes, “there is no sun-lit meadow, no restful bower of easy sleep; there are rather swamplands of the soul where nature, intends that we live a good part of the journey, and from whence many of the most meaningful moments of our lives will derive.” 

James you are one rad dude, Carl Jung, brilliant.  T.S. Eliot embraced this understanding as well. 

We must be still and still moving

Into another intensity

For a further union, a deeper communion

Through the dark cold and the empty desolation

So, don’t run.  Don’t try to escape.  Stay.  Fight.  Howl at the moon if you must.  Do not be afraid to go spelunking into the deep cavernous places of your soul.  It is in these dark places that we meet ourselves.

Deanne meet Deanne.

Friday night, as the sun was setting on the pacific, it was also setting in my heart.  I was feeling a bit sorry for myself.  My husband was still at work, happy hour was in full swing somewhere and I was home, alone, with the kids and the weight of this last year on my shoulders.  But, thanks to a little girl, a Jew, and the boy next door, my evening was salvaged and my heart ready to rise with the sun the next day.  My life forever changed by a book, “The Book Thief.” 

It was 1939, Nazi Germany, when a little man with big words and a bad moustache had a horrible idea.  A quirky dark narrator, “Death”, was busy collecting the souls of the dead while a heroic little girl, Liesel, stole books to help her get through a horrendous time in her life.  The characters captivated me as I curled up on the couch with a box of tissues, sipping tea and tears.  Not only did Liesel steal books, she stole my heart as well.  I was absorbed, like a Brawny paper towel sopping up spilled milk.  Slurp!

Why the book hype?  First of all, I will never look at life and “Death” the same way.  Second, it hasn’t been since Atticus in “To Kill a Mockingbird” and Owen Meany in “A Prayer for Owen Meany” that a character with such a pure spirit has spoken to me like Liesel and her foster pa, Hans Huberman.  Third, it has inspired me to start where I left off a few years ago and attempt to finish reading the top 100 classic books of all time.  Why, because I finally can!

There was a time in my life when a good book, a classic like Anna Karenina, Lolita and Ulysses was as delicious and enticing to me as a piece of chocolate.  I used to devour the classics, one after another, like a box of thin mint girl scout cookies.    

I hit a roadblock a few years ago.  I could not concentrate long enough to get through one chapter.  I was distracted, unfocused and scattered.  Then, I was diagnosed with cancer.  Leo Tolstoy, James Joyce and Vladimir Nabokov got put into boxes, stored away in my garage, left to a time before mid-life crisis, job loss, and chemo.  James Hollis, Wayne Dyer, Michio Kushi and Kris Carr took over filling the empty spaces on my bookshelves once adorned by classics as I worked to get my life back, re-focus and kick some cancer ass.

Today I unquestionably feel more focused.  It is not easy, a constant battle of wills, my own.  But I am closer and closer to getting my life back.  I definitely kicked cancer’s ass to kingdom come, now I need to kick distraction in the butt and unpack those boxes in the garage and let Tolstoy out.       

        

The “Book Thief” has given me just the fuel I need.  It has reignited my appetite and I am hungry! 

Seems my hunger for cookies came back with my hunger for a good book.  As I was reading last night, my kiddos baked homemade butterscotch oatmeal cookies.  I could not resist.  I must have eaten at least five cookies (I lost count), hot and gooey straight out of the oven.  They were delicious.

Honestly, I must admit, I was a bit worried that I would waste away on green leafy vegetables never enjoying a cookie hot out of the oven without thinking of it as feeding my cancer.  I also worried that I would starve, not just from lack of yummy gooey goodness, but from never being able to finish a good piece of fiction again, always distracted and unfocused. 

All that worry for naught!  I know better not to worry but I just can’t help myself sometimes.  I found this quote by Glenn Turner.  I think he sums it up well. 

Worrying is like a rocking chair, it gives you something to do, but it gets you nowhere. 

Ain’t that the truth?  I learned this lesson in more ways than one this weekend.  Not only is my hunger back.  My period is back!  After 9 months of chemo induced menopause, 9 months of wondering, is this it, menopause at age 45.  I got my answer.  I have never been more excited to go to the store and buy a box of tampons.  My body and mind seem to be screaming out, loud and clear, “No, not yet girl.  Do not throw in the towel.  You are still young, vibrant and tough.  Your appetite and enthusiasm for cookies, books and life is as strong as ever.  You have many periods ahead of you!”    

Bring it, I say, the cramps, the pimples, the sugar cravings, and the hormonal angst.  And move over James Hollis.  It’s time to unpack those boxes.  There is enough room for all of you on my bookshelves.  And while I am at it, show me the cookies! 

Welcome back Aunt Flow!  Welcome back Leo Tolstoy and James Joyce!  Welcome back butterscotch oatmeal cookies.  Welcome back girl!

“… and so we are grateful for ALL experiences in our lives, because they have come to teach us.”  …Mastin Kipp, The Daily Love

Every Thanksgiving, our family begins each meal with “thankfuls”.  Before we dig into the turkey, mashed potatoes and my favorite, the stuffing, each of us takes a turn to share something we are thankful for. 

Dinner will be cold if I share all my “thankfuls” before mealtime today, so I decided to share it with all of you in my blog.  Something my kids will truly be grateful for.

To begin, I am done with my cancer treatments.  Done, finito, fin!

It was exactly one year ago this week that I found a lump in my breast, had a biopsy and received the dreaded news that I had cancer, one year, 365 days, 8,760 hours, 5 surgeries, 5 chemo treatments, and 23 doses of herceptin ago.    

But today, on this Thanksgiving Day in 2011, the dog days are over.  No more treatments, no more tears, no more sleepless nights, no more daunting decisions, no more nausea, no more bald head, no more “it opens from the front”, no more cancer.

I may be done with the treatments, and the cancer is gone, but it has left its mark on me forever, the scars a permanent tattoo on my heart.  As Debbie Wasserman Schultz, congresswoman and breast cancer survivor shares, “Breast cancer is not just a disease that strikes at women. It strikes at the very heart of who we are as women.”

As a woman, I am changed forever.  Something has shifted in my inner most core; a continental drift, convergent and divergent activity, leading to gradual expansion, transforming my boundaries.  It’s the plate tectonic theory, internalized and personalized in the deepest recesses of my soul.  I would equate this movement to a form of enlightenment, a spiritual shift in clarity of my perception of myself, my life and my place in the universe.  The Zen Buddhists refer to this shift as Satori, “a sudden inexpressible feeling of inner understanding similar to an epiphany.”  I can’t claim to be fully enlightened, that belongs to the masters like Buddha and Jesus.  But, I can say that my experience with cancer has given me a glimpse into this spiritual world and it is beautiful.

 

I am not the only one that has been changed forever by breast cancer.  Melissa Bank, author and breast cancer survivor says about her experience, “During chemo, you’re more tired than you’ve ever been.  It’s like a cloud passing over the sun, and suddenly you’re out. You don’t know how you’ll answer the door when your groceries are delivered. But you also find that you’re stronger than you’ve ever been. You’re clear. Your mortality is at optimal distance, not up so close that it obscures everything else, but close enough to give you depth perception. Previously, it has taken you weeks, months, or years to discover the meaning of an experience. Now it’s instantaneous.”

That is Satori!  And I am so grateful for the experience.    

To sum it all up, I need to put the turkey in the oven if we are to eat before midnight:  If something profound didn’t actually happen, it sure feels like it did.  This crazy confluence of events this past year, work, play, and cancer has brought me to my knees.  Not in defeat, but in triumph.  And, I am grateful.   

My Thanksgiving “Thankfuls” this year:

I am thankful to be alive.  I am thankful for the roof over my head, although it leaks.  I’m grateful for the food on my table albeit a bit bland for Casey’s pallet.  I’m thankful that I am surrounded by people that I love and love me.  I am grateful for all of you.  I am grateful for breast cancer.

It wasn’t long ago (almost a year now) that my life made a drastic change. It wasn’t because of something I did; rather, it was something that happened. My mom was diagnosed with breast cancer. She dropped the news rather well, informing the immediate family at a sit down. My mom, laughing as she told the story, about how suddenly the nurse’s face turned from that of business as usual to an overzealous smile, “How are you today Deanne?  Please sit down.  Are you comfortable?  Can I get you anything?”  Of course, the nurse was trying to pretend everything was ok, smiling to comfort my mom I suppose.  My mom said at that moment, she knew.  Anyhow, it wasn’t the news that hit me hard; we had been prepared for it upon discovery of the lump. It was how my brother and I reacted.

How is one supposed to take the news of your mother’s cancer? He and I went about our dinner, listened, and didn’t say much. We didn’t pretend that we didn’t hear it, we just didn’t respond to the news in a way some people would (OMG, gasp, tears, you know). I definitely know that I didn’t freak out in any way.  I can’t speak for my brother.  I wouldn’t know how he took it.  He certainly did not betray any feelings that he may have had.

But what about me and my reaction?  Why didn’t I find myself laden with fear?  Is that normal? Am I just a sociopath of modern society?  Maybe I’m just greatly desensitized with the rest of my peers.  Considering the way we are raised today; a generation raised on TV, movies, video games, etc… Could that have an effect on my reaction to the news?

It is now that I am finally processing all of this.  One year later.  The idea that desensitization is the cause of my near indifferent reaction is hard for me to take.  I can be a sensitive person, I think… but after hearing the news of my mother’s cancer, life continued on as before, with the exception of a change to even healthier foods, which in my personal opinion are rather bland. Thank god for fast food.

My mother’s cancer definitely affected the family in many ways. Money was tight and the world was collapsing around our shoulders.  Though, I continued to act the same way in my house.  I kept a same smile on my face, like everything was fine.  Hell, life was actually not so bad for me at the time.  I was doing well in school, chilling out with friends on a regular basis, and going to the beach.  Not often did my mind cross the fact that my mom was fighting a battle with cancer, except the occasional, “your mother had chemo today, she can’t drive you anywhere” which was fine, I understood, I understand.  I could stay home and play video games anyway.

My mom bought me an “I love boobies” bracelet, which I haven’t removed since. That was the one way I would express the entire ordeal, through the shaved head, chemo, herceptin, etc… A symbol to bright the fade that is my reaction to what was my mother’s cancer. That’s quite the mouthful.

Back to my question, why do I act that way?  I actually see the bigger picture.  It’s broader to me now than just a single event in life.  Nothing has happened to me that caused me to not worry about things.  For instance, at the moment I write this I’m putting off my math homework and I should probably be studying for a world history exam. But again, I don’t worry about my grade in math; I could skip homework for a week, even pretend the week never happened. Though that may seem too small an example compared to breast cancer, it is a look at the way I do things.  I can’t say it’s “looking the other way” because I’m quite aware of the consequences if I don’t do my math homework for a week.  I just am indifferent to the consequences of those actions.  Much like the way I reacted to the breast cancer ordeal.  It’s another bump in the road of life, another branch on a tree, branches which can fall or be changed and twisted, but there’s still the trunk holding it up.  So, math might not be my thing, a twisted branch protruding from the trunk, but there’s plenty of other room to grow instead of numbers.

My reaction to my mother’s breast cancer diagnosis and the way I acted this year may be based on the fact that I live life to its fullest no matter what small road bump (or a cancerous lump, for that matter) rises in my way.  Maybe it’s indifference and insensitivity.  I don’t know.   It’s just a reaction, a natural process, even a chemical process to look at it scientifically.   So, take my reaction to my mother’s breast cancer, it wasn’t that I wasn’t afraid for her, or for my family’s way of life.  It’s that I knew life goes on, stuff happens you can’t control.  Roll with the punches and see what happens.

Casey being Casey

 

 

I had a bit of an existential crisis this past week.  My very foundation was shook with the death of a friend, Andrew Ferrell.  Drew, one of my biggest cheerleaders (without the skirt), was diagnosed with testicular germ cell cancer about the same time I was diagnosed with breast cancer.  He lost his battle.

Or did he?  As Lance Armstrong said about Steve Jobs recently, “Steve, like every football coach who ever lived, didn’t lose his battle, he just ran out of time.”

We all run out of time at one point or another.  That is life.

And, death.

But, can we defy the fates?  I admit I have been trying.  I guess I watched too many Bewitched episodes growing up.  I always wanted to be Samantha, a beautiful immortal witch that could clean her house, jet off to Paris and walk thru doors with a twitch of her nose.  Who would want to be Darrin, or Durwood as his mother in-law called him, a mere measly mortal who has to use the door knob to get thru doors?

I came face to face with my own mortality this week with Drew’s death and I realized that I am scared shitless.  I am desperately trying to control my circumstances and somehow trick the fates.  I guzzle 32 ounces of green juice daily, work out at the gym, partake in dry rubs and daikon leaf baths, eat whole grains and huge organic salads and take my Omega 3’s and Vitamin D, so my cancer will not come back.  It is a full time job and it is exhausting!

And to top it off, I am worried that I am so busy juicing, I am forgetting to live life fully.    

Just the other night Casey’s band, “Mother Function” performed at a huge “Not Quinceanera Party”.  It was a meeting of Mexican Catholics and Irish Catholics. So you can imagine Guinness and Tequila flowing generously.  There was a group of 40 something year olds in the kitchen doing tequila shots.  Typically, I would be the first one to partake.  Not this time.  There are studies that show a connection between alcohol and breast cancer. 

Why do I do this day after day?  Why do I drink gallons of green stuff, spend exorbitant amounts of mula on supplements and believe alcohol is Satan? 

So I don’t die.  Fear of death does this to a person.

A problem arises however when the fear of death keeps you from living.  Like Adi Da Samraj says in his book, “Easy Death”, “You will live in either one of two ways. One is the usual round of obsession, fear, and seeking — in which the egoic self is the actor and the meaning of the drama. The other is the way of unlimited intelligence, love, freedom, spontaneity, and infinite happiness.”

Shakespeare understood this dilemma as well in Hamlet’s famous soliloquy, “To be or not to be, that is the question.” 

The answer to this question is easy but walking the talk is a bit more difficult. 

But, no matter how difficult, I cannot live my life in fear.  The constant job of juicing, “because if I don’t I may die”, is a very heavy burden to live with.    

So, it is time for me to let go of fear, relinquish control and start living again.  Instead of juicing, because if I don’t I may die, I will juice because it makes me feel good.  Instead of running every day because it is proven to increase our life span, I will exercise because it is my happy drug.  I will do dry rubs because it makes my skin soft.  I will take my vitamin D because I am low in vitamin D.  I will take Daikon leaf baths because………well maybe this one can go.  And, I will limit tequila shots because it makes me feel like shit the next day.  Key word here, limit. 

Letting go, having some fun and enjoying life is just as important as my green goddess juice.  Actually, I am coming to the conclusion that it is more important.  As Shelby, Julia Roberts’ character in Steel Magnolias said, “I would rather have thirty minutes of wonderful than a lifetime of nothing special.”

Drew died way too young but I am certain he had thirty minutes of wonderful. 

I will miss Drew’s inspirational words, like “You rawk Deanne” as I am getting ready for a second reconstruction surgery scheduled for this Tuesday.   But, I know in my heart he will be cheering me on from above!  Maybe even in a cute little skirt.  I bet you can wear anything you want up there.

As for my own mortality, I am working on accepting this fact.  Whether I like it or not, I am Durwood,  along with the other 7 billion people on this planet, a mere mortal, relying on my own wits, family and friends to help me get through doors.    

So, to be or not to be, I choose to “be” god dam it!