Far from Perfect

After my treatments I often hang out by the nurses station while I wait for my ride.  We usually engage in small talk and catch up on each other's lives.  Sometimes they ask me for advice, or vent to me about whatever is on their minds.  I was chatting with a couple of ladies I've grown close to this afternoon.  They are both going through some issues with their significant others.  They asked for some friendly advice.  I told them what I would do if I was in their situations, in hopes to ease some of their anxiety.  Both ladies took to my suggestions, and plan on trying the tips I gave them.  Before I headed out to catch my ride, the nurses collectively told me I was perfect, and that I always know the right things to say.  I laughed it off saying that I am far from perfect.  I simply told them that I have manners and common decency.  I know when to act like a lady, but I definitely have my faults and quirks.  They challenged me to prove them wrong, so here it goes.

- I take excessively long trips to the bathroom.  Whether I am getting ready to go out, or just urinating.  It take at least 15 minutes long than the average person.  Showering is in a league of its own.  A quick shower for me is a long shower for most.  I guess I'm just slow.  Many people complain about waiting on me.  Sorry...

- Water is both my best friend, and my worse enemy.  I'm a bit OCD when it comes to hand washing...okay more than just a bit.  Washing them takes only a minute, but I dry my hands MUCH longer than most people.  It's important that they are completely dry because water breeds bacteria.  That little jewel of advice has pretty much become my motto.

- While we are on the topic of cleanliness and OCD.  I freak out if people come to my home and wear shoes in the bathroom!  If those dirty shoes touch the bath mat I nearly have a full-blown panic attack.

- I have moments in which I swear like a sailor.  Mostly during sporting events, or if a car cuts off my car while driving.  I will cuss them out even though they can't hear I word I'm saying.  Everyone on the road is a prick.  I never use that word unless I'm in the car.  I adopted it from my dad.  Thanks Papa!

- I blare my music and sing at the top of my lungs both in my car and at home.  It wouldn't be so bad if I had a good voice, but I don't.  I still do it at the expense of those around me.  Sorry again...

-  I spend an inordinate amount of time in Target.  I go through the ENTIRE store every I'm there, even if I was there two days earlier.  They might have something new I didn't see two days ago.  I can never pop in for just one, or two items.  I walk out with a cart full!

-  Any store that has scented candles, or greeting cards, expect me to spend 45 mins in each aisle.  I will read 700 cards to find the right one.  Sometimes I don't even need a card, but I'll stock up on them for when I might need one.  The same goes for candles.  I have to smell each and every one to find the perfect scent.  Ridiculous...I know.

- I am terrible at returning phone calls!  I have weird sleep schedules because of my health, so my phone is always on vibrate.  This causes me to miss a lot of calls because I'm resting, or at the hospital.  By the time I see that I missed a call, hours have passed.  I don't want to interrupt the person's day by calling back hours after the initial call, so I usually resort to texting them back.

- I am a very indecisive person.  It takes me forever to make up my mind.  Once I do make a decision, I often second-guess it.  I'd much rather someone else make decisions for me.  The one exception is my health.  I can't shy away from what's best for my healthcare.

- I am a TOTAL handbag snob.  I can spot a fake designer bag from a mile away.  It's become a game between my husband and myself.

- I laugh really loud.  I don't have a quiet laugh unless I get to that the point when it's coming straight from my gut.  That laugh is completely silent, but my mouth is wide open, and tears are running down my cheeks.  Sometimes I snort when I laugh too.  How embarrassing. 

- I can be EXTREMELY stubborn.  The stubbornness peaks when I don't feel well.  I have ripped off medical instruments, including IVs, and walked out of the hospital because my hardheadedness.  I can be a bit of an ass.

- Lastly, I spoil my puppies to no end.  They have 3 bins of toys, and I give them treats in excess.  They can do no wrong in my eyes.

My nurses sparked the topic for this post, but I hope everyone enjoyed reading about my unusual mannerisms.  

Choices

I frequently get asked how I maintain a positive attitude since getting my cancer diagnosis four years ago.  In fact, I was asked three times at treatment today.  A little secret...I'm not always positive.  Okay, that's probably not much of a secret.  Through my blog, and personal interactions, I know most of the people in my life have seen me upset.  No one can be happy and positive ALL the time.  I might just have a backwards approach when it comes to my health.

In general, the patients and nurses at the hospital are pretty grumpy when going through treatments.  Understandably so.  The treatments are painful, time consuming, and leave you with a host of awful side effects.  Most patients get very emotional while being pumped full of chemo, or zapped by radiation therapies.  Some of these processes can take hours.  It's a lot for one person to handle.  More often than not, patients take out their aggression on the nurses and technicians.  I remember coming home in tears everyday when I went through my first course of treatments.  I thought crying, or becoming angry in front of my doctors would make me look weak, and they would give up on me.  Instead of letting my emotions out, I kept them bottled up.  I feel like I am inconveniencing the hospital staff if I let my emotions get in the way.  My husband always tells me I'm probably the most apologetic patient most doctors and nurses have ever encountered.  Instead of letting my frustrations out at the hospital, they come out when I get home.  My poor husband has to deal with all my meltdowns.  My parents have also gotten their share of phone calls, at all hours of the night, with me crying hysterically on the other end.  I am definitely not positive in those moments.

I think that I have a positive outlook because I have learned how to channel my energy.  How awful would it be to be Grumpy McGrumperson 24/7 for four years?  There is a quote by Jean Nidetch that has truly impacted the way I live my life.  "It's choice, not chance, that determines your destiny".  I have chosen to only focus on the things in life that make me happy, especially when I'm at the hospital. Taking the time to get to know fellow patients and hospital staff helps me get through everyday challenges.  We can lean on each other when times are tougher than usual, or when we just need someone to talk to.  I chose to be the person that others can come to when they need a shoulder to cry on.  This is particularly relevant when it comes to the children fighting such horrible illnesses.  Their families are going through so many struggles, and wealth of hurt themselves, that sometimes they forget sometimes all their child needs is their mommy, or daddy to tell them everything is going to be okay.  They are so focused on the finding the best medications, and treatment options to heal them, they forget how important it is to provide the same parent/child relationship that they would get outside of the hospital.  I am in no way implying that the parents of these children are doing any wrong by their child.  I see how much love and support surround the children I visit.  I just try to give the children, and other patients of all ages another outlet to voice their feelings.

As I was explaining this to one of the nurses that asked about my positive attitude, she looked at me with strange facial expression.  I asked her what the face was about.  She proceeded to tell me that taking on the problems of others sounds like a heavy burden to carry.  I told her that I couldn't disagree more.  To me, a burden is something placed upon you.  I open my arms and heart to these people because helping them through such hard times brings joy to my life.  We are both benefiting from the friendships and bonds.  Our parents, siblings, significant others and friends can't always be with us during treatments.  I just want the people around me to know that they aren't going through this alone.  I will be their strength when they feel weak.  I can be that person for them because I have such a strong support system around me.  Many of the patients I encounter daily don't have the abundance of support I have helping me through each day.  I know what it's like to feel all alone in a room full of people.  I don't want anyone to experience that feeling if they don't have to.  I can be there to hold their hand, or give them a hug.  I can be their sounding board, and their unrivaled support when they have nowhere else to turn.

Cancer has brought on a slew of difficulties to my life, and the lives of my family.  Physical struggles, emotional hardships, and extreme financial challenges have to be addressed on a daily basis.  I try not to dwell on how hard life can be.  I choose to make laughter and love the focus of my life, not my illness.  I have to credit cancer for making me a stronger and more independent person.  It has also shown me the things in life that are truly important to me.  The unconditional love that my family and friends show me, and the hope of a new day keep me motivated to beat cancer!  With each bad day comes a good day.  Forget about the bad, and cherish every good.

More than just a hard candy

Waking up this morning, I was dreading going to the hospital for treatment.  My husband and I both had a relaxing day off yesterday.  We haven't had a calm, low-stress day together in months.  It was a breath of fresh air.  I didn't want the relaxation to end, but Jeff and I both had to get back to reality today.

I headed to the hospital carrying a chip on my shoulder.  With a new diagnosis comes a new treatment plan.  My body is still getting used to the new medications, the new radiation types, and jumping back into chemotherapy.  Sadly, I've gotten used to being thrown curveballs, so my body is pretty used to going through many changes.  I generally adjust pretty well to the physical changes.  My mental state, however, takes the hit much harder.  I get comfortable with my doctors, nurses, techs, and other patients in the unit.  They all turn into my little "hospital family".  With such strong focus on aggressively treating the sarcoma, I have been uprooted to a new area in the hospital.  It was a challenge for me to make connections when I relocated to Tennessee from Arizona.  Now that I have formed friendships within one section of the clinic, I am being forced to move.  The unit with the equipment needed to perform the treatments necessary to my healthcare is on the opposite end of the hospital.  Of course, I can still visit the other areas, but I no longer feel like a part of my "hospital family".  I am worried that it will take another year to form bonds within the new unit.

I felt like a just another number when I walked into the hospital this morning, but after meeting a very special lady, I am singing a different tune.  Since I am unable to drive with the amount of medications I'm on, and the side effects of my treatments, I receive rides to and from my appointments from hospital volunteers.  Most days I get to the hospital early, or have to stay past my appointments because of the medi-van schedule.  In general, I don't mind spending extra time at the hospital.  I enjoy chatting it up with the nurses, and meeting new people.  

It was a rare slow day the hospital today.  Not nearly as many patients were there than usual.  My ride came earlier than expected, and when I got to the hospital my doctor told me maintenance was repairing the machine needed to conduct my treatments.  They were running roughly an hour behind schedule.  I went out into the common area to watch the Today show while I was waiting.  There was only one other woman in the large waiting area.  She seemed pretty wrapped up in the news program, so we exchanged pleasantries before I chose a seat.  I was listening to Matt Lauer and Al Roker banter back-and-forth while I caught up on Word With Friends.  At a commercial break the woman sitting a few seats down started unwrapping a hard candy she pulled out of her pocket, along with a stash a facial tissues.  She leaned over a bit towards me and asked if I would like a cinnamon disk.  I politely thanked her for the offer, and reached out for the treat.  As I was unwrapping my piece of candy, thoughts of my Grandma came to mind.  She always kept cinnamon Certs in her purse.  She would give them to me and my sister all the time.  The woman went on to tell me that she keeps sucking candies in her pockets at all times to suppress her appetite.  She said that if it wasn't for the hard candies she hoards in her pockets, she would be constantly stuffing her face.  I couldn't help but giggle. I would never believe that this little old woman has such a large appetite.  She must be all of 90 pounds.  

After breaking the ice with candy offer, the woman slid down a few chairs next to me.  She said she had to come over to look at the "paint" on my arm.  She was referring to my tattoo.  I explained to her that it wasn't paint.  It was a tattoo.  She was very intrigued by it. She grabbed my arm and twisted it around to see every angle.  We talked about it for a little bit.  I told her it wasn't complete yet, and that I am getting it finished on Saturday.  From there, we went on to talk about my family, her family, her children, my puppies, the weather, random news stories and life in general.  I felt very comfortable around her.  It was like I've known her for years.  She had so many similarities to my Grandma.  I took me back to all the wonderful times I spent with my Grams.  

The time flew by.  When I heard the nurse call my name to head back to the treatment room, I was sad our conversation had to end.  The entire time I was getting my chemo, I was thinking about my Grandma.  She was such an important presence in my life, especially after she came to live with us in WI.  I wish I would have gotten more time with her as an adult.  She always knew the right things to say when I was sad, mad, frustrated, etc.  She could always make me laugh too.  She was a remarkable woman.  The woman in the waiting room brought back such wonderful memories of her to me.  Those memories helped me get through a long morning at the hospital.

After my chemo session was complete, I couldn't wait to go back and talk to the little old lady in the waiting room.  She was no longer sitting by the TV when I finished my treatment.  I knew it was more than likely she would be gone when I returned, but I was hoping she would still be there.  Just as I was walking down the hall to hitch a ride home I heard a voice down the hall call out to me.  It was the adorable woman screaming out to me.  She said that I had to show her the complete "painting" on my arm next time I see her.  I walked towards her to thanked her for the nice chat we had today, and to let her know I will be sure to show her the finished tattoo.  She smiled and said "What do I call you?  Other than the painted lady".  I told her my name was Meg.  When I asked her name, I was taken aback by her answer.  Her name is Alice.  My Grandmother's name was Alice.  I was shocked by the irony.

The striking irony made me think about a conversation my mom and I had the other day about God and praying.  She always tells me about how she asks God for guidance, and to take care of me.  My response to that is always the same.  After years of illness I find it difficult to talk to a person that may, or may not exist.  Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against prayer and/or devotion to God. I just prefer to ask for guidance from the people in my life whom have past on.  The two people I talk to the most are my Grandma Alice and my Aunt Sister Pat.  I had strong connections to both of them.  I always have, and always will cherished their wisdom.  

With all the new challenges that have been presented to me the past few weeks, I have been asking my Grams and Sister Pat for a sign to show me that I'm making the right decision.  Today I got my sign.  My time here just might not be up yet.  This life, no matter how difficult it may be at times, is worth fighting for.

Sidebar - Thanks to my amazing husband for figuring out the formatting!  I hope it makes my blog easier to read!

Smile Jar

It's an understatement to say that the past couple weeks have been tough. Receiving a new diagnosis out of the blue, and dealing with a multitude of issues from all of my doctors hasn't been easy. I've said it before, and I'll say it again. I wear my heart on my sleeve. I'm not good at hiding the way I feel. Even when I think I'm doing a good job keeping my emotions under wraps, the people around me can always see what I'm feeling by my facial expressions. I try my best to keep a smile on my face at all times, especially when I'm visiting the Children's Hospital. The staff, patients, and family members have all called me out on it. They question how I can maintain a smile while going through such difficult times. My answer is always the same...think happy thoughts. It's hard not to smile when you're thinking about rainbows, and cotton-tailed bunnies. When life throws me a curveball, I think about all the things in life that make me happy. My family, my friends, my dogs, scented candles, soft cozy blankets, rosy cheeks on a brisk fall morning, the smell after a summer rain, etc. It's hard not to smile when you think about things that are so happy, comforting and cheerful. The comment I heard most was that it's difficult to get into a positive headspace when surrounded by so many challenging obstacles. That got me thinking. What could I do to help the kids and family members smile while they endure such pain? Then it came to me. A smile jar. I got an ordinary mason jar. I put a decorative label on it, and put it in the children's oncology unit. I wrote out instructions how to use it, and placed the written directions next to the jar. They simply stated that on a piece of paper write down someone, or something that makes you smile and put the paper in the jar. You can write as many "smile papers" as you'd like to share. The jar will stay in communal areas of the unit. When anyone is feeling down they can reach into the smile jar, and be reminded of something happy, in hopes that it will bring a smile on their face. I started with one smile jar, and now there are multiple smile jars throughout the hospital. I received a voicemail today from one of the nurses a the Children's Hospital. She said she was delivering a message from the kids. They could tell that I have been pre-occupied lately(her words, not theirs). They said that I haven't been smiling as much lately as I usually do, and they wanted to help. Each of them put five "smile papers" into a jar today. They wanted me to have a full jar to take home with me next time I visit, so that I would never stop smiling. Knowing that such sick children are thinking of me while they are going through such terrible struggles themselves, is enough to keep a smile on my face indefinitely. I can't wait to pick up the jar on my next visit to the hospital, so I have a little piece of each of them with me at home everyday. Everyday is a gift, and there is always a reason to smile. Somedays it's harder than others to find something to be happy about, but there is never a reason not to smile. I believe smiles comfort the heart and heal the soul. They are the only accessory anyone needs. No amount of jewelry, make-up, or perfume can compare to a smile.

The Light at the End of the Tunnel

This week has been one for the books. I'm happy to have reached the end, and to be able to close the week on a positive note. Sunday was supposed to be a nice relaxing day. I was adjusting to some new medications, so the plan was to do some minimal housework and rest up for the week ahead. That plan was abruptly interrupted when I fainted and busted my face on the countertop. That little incident sent us to the emergency room. Jeff and I spent five hours there while they ran some tests and stitched up the wound above my right eyebrow. Needless to say, Sunday wasn't very relaxing. Monday morning snuck up on me. Before I knew it, I was in the thick of new treatments. I was not prepared for the battery of tests, and the abundance of radiation I would be put through that day. I got through it just to go back for more Tuesday and Wednesday. Wednesday night brought us another unexpected event. I was putting away a few groceries when my back completely seized up. The pain was indescribable. I couldn't even stand upright. Jeff and I made our second trip to the ER in a week. Slowly, but surely. Walking down the the steps at our apartment complex was a bitch! Excuse my language, but that is the only was to explain that pain. I received the necessary treatment at the hospital before we headed back home. My back is still very sore, but at least I can walk and no longer have to limp around like the Hunchback of Notre Dame. I was ready to scrap this entire week, and forget all about the pain I endured. That all changed this morning. My phone rang just as I was crawling out of bed. I answered the call only to hear a woman sobbing on the other end. My heart skipped a beat. My thoughts immediately went to a dark place. Something awful must have happened. My mind was racing. I couldn't understand what the woman on the other end was saying through her sniffles and tears. I frantically asked her what was wrong. She composed herself, and told me the news was good, not bad. I cannot explain the relief I felt when she uttered those words. The woman calling was the mother of a young boy at the hospital. She is single mother of a six year old child battling a rare form of bone cancer. He has been going through so many difficulties with his health, and his mother has been going through extreme challenges at her job, as well as with the hospital staff. This boy and his mother are immigrants from Mexico. They moved the U.S. so that her son could receive the best care possible while he fights such an aggressive disease. The single mother was able to obtain a job quickly after moving to Memphis. Her employer told her that she would be able to work flexible hours in order to spend the most time with her son as possible. After starting the job, she realized that her hours were not as flexible as promised. When she confronted her employer, she was told that her hours could be adjusted if she was willing to do some work from home. She was ecstatic to hear that she could spend more time with her son as long as she was willing to work from home. Of course, nothing in life is ever that easy. The one stipulation to her working from home was having a computer. The expenses obtained from her son's medical needs, and other everyday expenses prevented her from being able to afford a home computer. Until she was able to purchase a computer, she would have to continue to work the fixed hours at her office. When she told me about her situation I knew I had to do something. I couldn't let her go on living with the guilt she felt because she was away from her son so much. I also saw how much happier her son was when she was there with him. I started a donation collection through the doctors, nurses and fellow family members at Children's Hospital. Before I knew it, we had enough money to buy her an at-home computer. The staff at the hospital presented her with the gift this morning when she went to visit her son before heading to her job. She was completely shocked by the generous donations made to the computer fund, and for the gift we all couldn't wait to give her. She called her office and said she was taking the morning off. She would be in later in the afternoon to set up her NEW computer with everything she needs to work from home. She thanked me profusely for setting up a fund to raise the money needed to get her a computer. Before we ended our conversation she told me that her son wanted to talk to me. She passed the phone to him. I heard a soft voice on the other end say "Thank you for fixing me mommy". I asked him what he meant by that. He told me that his mom has been sad for so long, and that her eyes always cried. He said that he missed his happy mommy, and that I brought her back. I fixed his mommy. My heart melted. I was more than ready to forget this entire week, but today changed my thinking. I will never forget the joy that phone call brought to me. It goes to show that there truly is a light at the end of the tunnel.

Memories

I was in the hospital gift shop today filling some time between tests and treatments. I spotted some circus peanuts. Seeing those those strange, bright orange marshmallow candies immediately made me think of my Grams. She loved them. I personally think they are gross. Anyway, seeing them transported me back to the days when my family and I would go visit her in Iowa. She always had circus peanuts and wafer cookies at her house. Both of them were usually stale, but no mind, she would still munch on them. Every morning I would would wake up super early with her. She would put on a pot of coffee and we would sit at the tiny table in her cramped kitchen. Once the coffee was brewed she's pour herself a cup, always let me put the sugar in it for her. I don't know how she didn't go into a diabetic coma. I would put practically a pound of sugar in it! After her coffee was ready, we would sit in her little kitchen and nosh on toast, circus peanuts and pink wafer cookies. I can still hear the sound of her dentures clicking as she gnawed on the circus peanuts, which were more like circus bricks. Ha! I find it very interesting how such small things can surface memories from many different facets of life. Songs, foods, places, smells, etc. They can all so easily remind you of people in you've interacted with, or places you've been. There are a plethora of things that can stir up memories of friends, family, pets, and so on. However, there are those certain things that will bring up memories of that ONE person, place, or thing time-after-time. For instance, there are many triggers that make me think of my bestie. The one and only Tyler Shookman, but the one object that never fails is if I see, or even think about a Tracker. Tyler and I had so many happy memories in that car. I have a giant grin on my face just thinking about it! Another trigger for me is taco flavored Doritos. Whenever I see them I think of my adorable friend Abby Fritz. We spend a lot of fun times at her house eating taco Doritos and watching TLC. Little Debbie's make me think of my wonderful friends Kim Lea(Sutter) and Chelsea Moser. Kim loved swiss cake rolls and Chels was a big fan of the brownies. Those treats both bring me back to the fun sleepovers we would have. There are so many songs that transport me to different times and places. Whenever I hear "You are so beautiful" by Joe Cocker my sister pops right in my head. I have serenaded her many of times. I'm sure she wishes she could delete those memories from her mind! The Plain White T's song "1,2,3,4" takes me back to my first date with my husband. The song played in the car while we were driving to the hockey game. Even though it was our first date we both knew that song fit us perfectly. Jeff even bought the CD for me a few weeks later as a birthday gift. We were on the same page from the start. It was meant to be(insert aww here...out of cuteness or disgust...I'll let you decide). Enough with my sappy memories. I guess what I'm trying to convey is that these memories are important, and special. We should all take the time to reminisce in moments past, and enjoy making new memories. Savor the life we live because it is entirely too short. This post makes me want to break into the beautiful Barbara Streisand ballad "Memories". I might just have to go crank up the iPod for a little sing-song!

Resilience

It never ceases to amaze me how resilient children can be. They are not only resilient, but they can change the outlook of even the darkest days. It's no secret that I had the option to bear children taken away from me. I'll admit that before I had my "lady parts" destroyed by cancer, I was uncertain about motherhood. I worried that I wouldn't have the patience to be a good mom. I was unsure if children were a part of my future, but becoming a mother the "natural" way has been taken away from me. In the past when I thought about my fate as a mother, I maintained an angry attitude. I was upset that I would never know what it felt like to be a mom. I didn't see any possible way I could become a mother. I am infertile, and the all other options are far too expensive. I had to get used to the fact that it wasn't in the cards for me. That all changed when I started volunteering at Children's Hospitals. I am in no way related to the children I visit, but they accept me as part of their family. We share a bond(cancer) that is so intimate, and that connects us on another level. We are not related by blood, but by the experiences we go through on a daily basis. In some ways that relationship is stronger than blood relation. The children feel like they can come to me with questions, or fear that they don't think their parents will understand. They seek my advice, guidance, and love just like anyone would a family member. I have been so fortunate to have had such strong bonds with so many wonderful children. I may never be a mother in the traditional sense, but I know what it feels like to have someone count on you to help them through difficult times. I have had the opportunity to guide these children through the pain and sadness cancer brings them daily. I also have had the opportunity to see them fight their illnesses and come back from their challenges as stronger individuals. For every tear a child sheds when they feel hurt, there is a sparkle in their eye when they feel joy. The resilience of children is astounding. I am forever grateful for the lessons I have learned from the kids at Children's Hospitals. If they can bounce back from the everyday struggles, I can too.

One Could do Worse Than Be a Swinger of Birches

I received an interesting phone call the other day. The woman on the other end of the call was a parent of little boy I often see at the Children's Hospital. The fact that she called me wasn't strange. I often give out my phone number to patients and family members at the hospital. I know how difficult life can be when dealing with such serious illnesses. If there is anything I can do, or say to ease their minds, I will gladly do it. There usually isn't anything a hug and some friendly advice can't cure. The question she asked, however, caught me off guard. She asked me if I knew my life was going to play out the way it has, if I would have ended it sooner. She proceeded to tell me that her son's illness has advance, and she wants to relieve his pain. She wants to stop all of the new treatments before they even start. I told her that I understand how difficult it is to see her son go through so much. I see the pain and confusion in the eyes of her son and the other children each time I visit them. There have been many times that I have left the hospital with a smile only to breakdown the minute I step foot outside. It amazes me the strength and will that such young kids have. The most common problem I see is that the parents and doctors of these children don't ask them how they are feeling emotionally. They never have the chance to express what is going on inside of them. I asked the mother who called me with this specific question if she asked her son how he feels about his health issues. She said that she doesn't talk to him about his illness because he's too young to understand. She only wants to talk about happy things when she is with him. She doesn't want to upset her son more when they are together. I expressed to her that from my experiences at different Children's Hospitals, the kids are aware of what's going on more than their parents and doctors think. I told her to have a conversation with him, the best she can, about his cancer and his new diagnosis. She called me today in tears. Luckily the tears were of joy. She wanted to thank me for the advice. She talked to her son and found out that he had a lot to say about what is going on with his health. He understood that he was facing a new round of treatments, and that he would be spending longer in the hospital than originally expected. He told her that he was going to win the fight. It only took one conversation to completely change her way of thinking, and ease her fears. I have been extremely fortunate to have the unconditional support of my family and friends over the past four years. They have respected the fact that how I choose to deal with my healthcare is my decision only. They, of course, give me their advice and input, but ultimately the decision is mine alone. I have chosen to fight for years, but if and when I chose to stop I know my decision will be respected. I truly believe that maintaing open communication is the only way to get through the difficulties life throws at us. Talking about the struggles we encounter provide us with the clarity we need to make positive and informed decisions. Writing this post brings to mind one of my favorite poems by Robert Frost. It's called Birches. This portion really speaks to me. "I'd like to go by climbing a birch tree, And climb black branches up a snow-white trunk Toward heaven, till the tree could bear no more, But dipped its top and set me down again. That would be good both going and coming back. One could do worse than be a swinger of birches."