Have you noticed?

The Missouri Botanical Garden has a large presence at Siteman Cancer Center. They send volunteers to help patients in the chemo pods make flower arrangements or floral cards, as examples. Yesterday I saw this flyer in the waiting area from the Therapeutic Horticulture Team at the Missouri Botanical Garden:

It reads:

The Benefit of Noticing

A small amount of time spent noticing nature can change the course of your day.

Take a moment to observe the plants outside these windows.

As the seasons change, begin to see signs of what is to come.

Notice, are there buds forming on the plants and trees?

Are the leaves young and tender green?

Are there any nests or wildlife that you can see?

Is the wind causing movement or does everything seem still? How does it all make you feel?

Noticing is the process of actively selecting and interpreting relevant information from the broader environment. This practice helps us learn in all areas of life, but nature is a great place to start. Slow down. Use your senses intentionally. What do you see, hear, feel, taste and smell right where you are at in this moment? Be in this moment. That is mindfulness. When my thoughts are too messy to find a starting point in my journaling, I turn to this quick journal exercise. Write down 10 things you see, hear, feel, taste or smell right now. It is amazing how this simple exercise grounds me and clears my mind for deeper thought. Sometimes I do this as a mental exercise when I am away from my journal and spiraling with anxiety. It reminds me to be present in all I do. When I walk Madi I do not take any listening devices. I take my phone for emergencies (like when I faceplant in a road ditch) and to snap occasional photos. Otherwise I focus on noticing things on our walks – vegetation, sounds of birds and squirrels, the smell of cut grass or freshly tilled earth, and Madi’s cute little butt wiggle when she is shoulder-deep in a culvert. I love slow motorcycle rides when Dave and I can tell what is pollenating in a field from the scent as we drive by. In the fall we can smell a backyard wood fire pit from a mile away.

I am blessed with friends who help me notice nature, like Kris, who can make me think moss is utterly beautiful, and like Barb, who takes gorgeous photographs of things I walk by all the time without noticing. I have started snapping photos of things I notice so I can remember them later. I scroll through those photos on my bad days to remind myself of all the blessings around me. How lucky I am!

The Beacon and the Wreckage

This resonates with me. It begins to describe how I feel, almost 7 years into MBC. I almost feel healthier, happier and more whole than I did before cancer, but that is not quite accurate. Those particular words are not exactly right.

Healthier: This cannot be within a body with incurable stage 4 cancer, a body that is physically and mentally limited, a body plagued with digestive problems, fatigue and pain. Perhaps I mean that I am comfortable with this body I have. I like it. I may even love it. I marvel at its abilities, even when those are much more limited than before cancer. People my age seem so concerned about aging and I see aging as a wonderful privilege.

Happier: How can I be happier when there is gut-wrenching fear of dying young, before my kids are ready and without my fulfilling my biggest wish in life – to grow old alongside my husband? Surely I am not happier. Perhaps I mean more at peace, more comfortable in my own skin, more confident to practice self- compassion, much better at time management, much more skilled at setting priorities with my own time.

More Whole: How can this very broken body be more whole? Perhaps I mean that I know myself so much better than I did before cancer. I have experienced much trauma related to my cancer journey – chemotherapy, radiation, surgeries and so many scans. I had to quit working, throwing us into financial insecurity and uncertainty. Outside of cancer there have been so many problems. Surviving all this has made me stronger, like bones knitted together after a fracture. Knitting together fractured relationships makes them, in my opinion, stronger than they were before they broke – definitely built on a more solid foundation.

I started this cancer journey with the scary realization that I am in control of nothing – hence the title of the whole blog, “I am NOT in Control.” I have developed a closer relationship with God. I talk to God so much in the normal course of a day. I swear at God. What the eff, God? Seriously, God? God, give me the words. God help me put on my big-girl panties today. God, I just cannot. There is too much pain, anxiety and fear to say, smugly, that I am happier and healthier than I was 7 years ago. I see my cancer in the faces of my husband and our three children. I saw it in my mom. But, to use the selection from this poem, I am now learning to be both lighthouse and sinking ship, the beacon and the wreckage.

Mindfulness

Today is one day after treatment. I had a metastatic cancer support group zoom mid-morning and then spent some time in my Llama Lounge – reading, reflecting and writing. Several loved ones checked in to see how I am, via face time, video chat and text. It is so good to feel loved. Dave made me one of my favorites – black bean burgers. He is an amazing cook and makes food that is appetizing and healthy for me. The false spring continues so Madi and I took a walk today. On our walks I don’t wear any listening devices. I just want to be present in the moment with Madi and notice everything around us. She is a great teacher in this. She loves to go shoulder-deep in culverts. Sometimes she pauses her movement to just sniff the air. She frequently looks back to check in on me. Today is windy so I enjoyed watching her ears flap in the breeze. Being present in the moment is so refreshing and healing. It stops the racing mind of anxiety and a list of shoulds. It grounds me to all that IS instead of worrying about what WAS and what WILL BE.

When we reach our long gravel lane, I turn her loose to run home. Today she saw Dave on a tractor in the yard so there was extra speed in her strides.

When my slower steps reach home, she knows I will refresh the bucket of water at the hydrant. She prefers this to the filtered water inside the house!

Today is Ash Wednesday. I am re-reading “Wild Hope” by Gayle Boss that my pastor recommended. During Advent I enjoyed “All Creation Waits,” another book by the same author. I highly recommend both. I try to build inner strength through the practice of mindfulness. I think of mindfulness as radical acceptance – being aware of what IS and being open to that instead of letting my mind race to what SHOULD or COULD be. Madi has no idea she is my mindfulness guru.

You don’t really want to know.

How are you?

It’s a simple conversation starter people use when they really don’t want to know.

I’m not making resolutions. They don’t usually work anyway but I also try to take life one step at time these days, trying to do the next thing and the next thing. I’ve been in a real funk lately. There are many contributing factors: short daylight hours, winter cold, the anniversary of my mom’s death, Christmas without my mom, rotator cuff issues, the return of hand foot syndrome that made walking painful again, fatigue, nausea, explosive diarrhea, a nation in turmoil. I have absolutely earned the right to be in a funk. I made a point to attend a Siteman Metastatic Cancer Support Group via zoom this week. It meets weekly but I have not forced myself out of bed in the morning to participate in several weeks. I am so glad I did. They asked for an update and I said, “Not good…no I’m fine…wait… I am not fine.” What a relief to say that aloud. In this group, no one’s eyes glazed over as I continued. No one tried to convince me that I really should be happy instead. No one tried to tell me how to fix it. No one changed the subject. They know I have the tools to get myself into a better mindset and that I eventually will, just like all of them. But for now, they let me wallow in it. It felt so good to say it and to say it to people who truly understand. No one said, “Well. We all are going to die someday.” I really hate it when people without a terminal illness say that to me.

I am also not a fan of well-intentioned people who see me and tell me I look so good that they would never know I have cancer. Just what does cancer look like? On my bad days, you don’t get to see me. You don’t see me suddenly have explosive diarrhea when I’m just watching tv. You don’t see me suddenly throw up as I am driving down the road. You don’t see that I carry a bag with extra clothes and baby wipes and ziplock bags whenever I leave home. You don’t see the fatigue. You don’t see the pain. You aren’t there when I get my port accessed with the huge needle. You aren’t there as I swallow chemo pills morning and night, knowing that in the next hour nausea will hit. You aren’t there to see me inside the clanging MRI machine. You aren’t in the exam room waiting for the latest test results. You don’t see my heart break as I wonder if this is my last “whatever” (Christmas, birthday, etc). When you talk about your job you don’t see my heart twist because it was not my life goal to be on SSDI at age 56 because I am completely disabled. When you speak of retirement dreams, I die a little inside realizing the chance of me living to age 65 is slim and, if I do, I will have no savings because I cannot work and our medical bills are large. Dave sees all of me, the good and the bad. He is there for all of it. Our children are also there in the trenches with me. My lab, Madi, also gets the real me. She listens attentively, never says the wrong thing, and loves me even on my most unlovable days. We should all try to be more like her.

I get it. It is awkward as hell talking to someone like me. You don’t want to say the wrong thing so you avoid me. It is probably a little scary being around me. If this could happen to me, it could happen to you, too. The dark sense of humor I’ve developed can be a bit too much for people. But I love random check-ins. I love funny memes, especially involving black labs and Diet Coke. (Speaking of that, someone sent me an adorable Diet Coke hoodie from Etsy. Whoever you are, thank you. I love it!) I’m not one to talk on the phone but I love to text, and video messaging on the Marco Polo app is fun. I love snail mail. I love to talk about my dog, my mom, my family, my favorite podcasts and true crime documentaries. And don’t forget Taylor Swift. It is hard for me to schedule things in advance since I don’t know how I will be feeling that day. I also don’t plan very many things away from home because of the cancer side effects unless it is with someone I’m willing to use that damned just-in-case bag around.

The next time you ask me how I’m doing, I’ll probably just say, “fine.” But now you know the rest of the story.