Thursday, December 17, 2015

The weight of gratitude

It's just a random Thursday in December.  It's not an anniversary of anything joyous or tragic.  Perhaps it's the joy that my kids brought to our activities this evening, or the successes at work today, or the excellent playlist I put together on Spotify, or the family I'm missing, but my heart is really full.  And I felt like writing about it.

After work I took my student out for a beer to celebrate the submission of his first manuscript.  It's a big accomplishment in a graduate student's career, and I wanted to mark it with a social outing.  We were joined by our collaborators after we had all bashed some code in a 2-hour bioinformatics sesh.  Everyone was feeling accomplished and merry.

Before the beers arrived, my colleague, S., started a conversation with me by saying, so, how's everything going?  This is always a loaded question for me because I never know if the person is asking about normal things or cancer things.  People often want to know about cancer things but don't know how to ask about them directly, so I have to infer from the way they ask if they're inquiring about my holiday shopping achievements or my PET scan results.  You can imagine the difference:  "How are things going?" in a light, skippy tone, vs. "How are things going?" with emphasis and gravity.  I don't see S. very often, so it was hard to distinguish what type of "how's it going" she meant.  I opted for a response of, "Really great, thanks!  I have treatment tomorrow, but last year it fell on the day after Christmas so tomorrow's a pretty good deal...".  I felt ridiculous and wished I had gone the route of discussing what Santa is bringing my kids.  Fortunately she's great and saved my lousy conversationalist self by diverting the conversation elsewhere.  I suppose the positive spin on this is that my cancer is a normal part of my upbeat existence, but I do feel badly for all of the innocent friends, family, and colleagues who fall under my cancer-accepting bus during normal conversations.  Please know that it's something I'm working on.

This brought to mind the news that I had yet another clean PET scan in November, on the Monday after Thanksgiving.  I've lost track now--is that three or four clean ones in a row?  Perhaps five?  It's a small mountain of clean PET scans.  You should know that I do not take any of them for granted, although the result of each one is a bit surreal.  In my mind I have stage 4 breast cancer, but the scans seem to be taunting, "no you don't".  Then my treatments say, "yes, you do".  Then the scans say, "no, you don't."  This argument can go on for the next decade as far as I'm concerned.  Whatevs.

Speaking of 10 years, my Medical Oncologist was on the radio a week or so ago because her research study made the popular press.  She was the principal investigator on an analysis of data from women who had stage 4 breast cancer between 1988-2011.  The part that I keep hearing on the news is that of these stage 4 patients, the 10-year survival rate for those who had surgery to remove their primary cancer was almost 10%.  The survival rate of those who did not have surgery was only 2.9%.  This news got me all excited because I of course chose to have surgery, so I have the potential to fall in with the 10%-ers.  My decision to have surgery was a big deal because none of the medical professionals could advise me on whether or not to keep or remove the breast.  All four surgical oncologists at the fancy hospital discussed my case at Tumor Board said that my case was a medical gray area, and so the decision was mine.  It was clear to me and my gut feelings that the breast had to go, and these new data seem to validate my decision.  10%!  That's a fantastic number.  As I have sometimes complained about when it comes to experiencing a rare side effect, I've rarely fallen in with the majority in my activities, so this is one time I'll be elated to be a part of the minority.  #bethe10%    

All of these thoughts were in my mind tonight as I was running the sewing machine on Calvin's Christmas present in between dance breaks with my daughters.  Azalea was choreographing an elaborate duet in the kitchen, sketching diagrams on the whiteboard for Eleanor and I to follow.  I sewed while she drew the next position, then she'd call me in to run through the dance with Eleanor.  Eleanor was my sewing buddy, pushing the pedal on the sewing machine at my instruction.  We finished both the gift and the dance, leaving all of us feeling full of creativity and productivity in equal measure.

They are such treasures, my daughters.  I am so grateful to be here to dance and sew with them.
      
Then Bruno Mars starting crooning over the bluetooth speaker, "You can count on me like 1, 2, 3, and I'll be there..."  I started thinking about all of the people who have been "there" for me.  I started to worry that I haven't been "there" for all of my loved ones in this year of recovery.  Have I been too selfish?  Have I spent enough time tending to the needs of others?  I don't think so.  So many people are in my heart to reach out to.  Hopefully I can improve the balance as I continue to survive.  
  
In the meantime, I have a few more nights with the sewing machine in my future as the Christmas holiday approaches, and hopefully the dance parties will continue in tandem. My heart is filled with gratitude for this life.

9 comments:

  1. Wouldn't be Christmas without a famous Aunt Heather handmade gift!!!! Calvin is excited for said gift and it's interesting he is always a part of your recovery. In some fashion you two are always connected in this journey.
    Great post, loved EVERY part. You being you is enough for us all. In the words of Mariah Carey (since you throw in songs, I will do the same) "all I want for Christmas is you [insert happy and healthy]" :P xoxoxo Aunt Holly

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  2. Love you dear girl!! Amazing in every way.

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  3. Gratitude from my direction for you as well. I'm glad you share these thoughts. Please know that when I ask you how you are doing, I'm genuinely interested in whatever answer you want to give me. I'm happy to know both good and bad, as I'm happy to be trusted.

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  4. It is so hard not to have a conversation without cancer in it as it is a big elephant in the room everywhere you go. Your strength amaze me as do your daughters. I enjoy their bright smiles at school.

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  5. Ah the late nights tethered to the sewing machine, very fond memories. We are so blessed that you continue to make your own. Can't wait to see one of the live performances! We are all proud and anyone that is truly interested in you will be gracious and accept what reply the moment sends forth! We love you my dearest.

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  6. So grateful to be an offical supporter of a 10%er. I find it interesting that you feel you may not be "there" enough for the people in your life. Your being "here" is the best being "there" for me I could ask for. Truth be told, I've been feeling guilty that I haven't been thereing enough for you these past few months. It's all a dance of balancing on a spiral scale - we shift when and how we must to prevent anyone from falling. So, so, so, so grateful for you and all the amazing parts of your life. <3

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  7. With you driving that bus Beaky we all took a seat and drove the fuc@ over that cancer piece of shit and left it in the rear view mirror, twice. Don't ever apologize for being the best damn bus driver (well there may be another..) there ever was and keeping your pedal to the metal. Love you. Honk honk!!

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  8. Great post and wonderful heartfelt comments from your fan club. You're an amazing story so keep writing and that UROD guy is a pretty funny dude.

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  9. Great post and wonderful heartfelt comments from your fan club. You're an amazing story so keep writing and that UROD guy is a pretty funny dude.

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