It's time to begin

A couple of friends took me to lunch the other day and said that I had sounded so down in my last posts that they were worried about me.

I felt a bit bad, because I hadn't meant to sound down, and then I wondered if I have been, and why.

Well, I guess there is the usual.  It has been a long, brutal winter for everyone, and I have had lots of colds, and so has my family.  Work has been uninspiring.  I have been on my usual "cancer watch", which is exhausting.  While I look forward to spring, in the back of my head, I am worried about redoing my mammogram, which I will have to do, for fear that it will lead to another biopsy.  I have other upcoming appointments too, and possibly tests. In a way, I hope to have some tests, otherwise I don't feel reassured about my health.

I think something that has been making me a bit sad is a problem with a friend, and it has been filling my heart with anguish.

A bright part of my winter was a weekend trip to Montebello with my family and our great friends, where our activities and food and our long conversations warmed us up.  And helping Amrita play the piano.  She is practicing for the her grade 1 exam as well as a duet she will be playing at the Kiwanis Festival.  Her teacher is great but intense and it has meant a lot of work for Amrita and her home coach (me!).  It is forcing me to rediscover playing the piano, and just like my dance class, it forces my brain to focus in a creative way and helps me to be in the present. 

Also, I think I have taken two potential positive steps this winter.

The first is agreeing to participate in the psychological, clinical study at the hospital. I went for an interview and I am eligible to participate.  I am not sure when it will begin - sometime in the spring or fall, if they can get enough participants.  It is going to be a bit of a pain - I will have to take 2 hours off from work every week (at a time when our sick leave is being trimmed back to virtually nothing) and I will have to take a taxi back and forth to the hospital.  The taxi will make me nauseaus, and the 7th floor of the General isn't my favourite place in the world.  But I am hoping that the interventions they are testing may help me a little to manage my fear of cancer recurrence.  And what I am hoping even more is that I will meet someone - someone who feels like I do.  Someone I can talk to.  Someone I can be friends with.  

The second is that I think that, after several false starts, I have succeeded in starting on my novel.  For all my life, all I have ever known is that I wanted to be a writer, and I wanted to write a novel.  I wrote and wrote so many things, but never my novel.  And it is time to begin.  I found an article about writing by Annie Dilliard, from her book The Writing Life, and it filled me with inspiration.  She said to write like you are dying.  I can do that.  And she said to write something that someone who is dying would want to read if that is the last thing they could read.  I don't have any grand subjects to write about.  The novel I have in my heart is all about love and loss and redemption.  It may not be what everyone who is dying would want to read, but it will have to be something that I would want to read, and it is up to me to write it. 

S, it is time for me to begin.  To begin another part of my life's work, and to hope that the spring will come.

P.S.  Thank you to my friends who reached out and made me leave my desk to have lunch!  I think it pushed me to examine of things and to start writing!  Grateful. 

A Little Help Is On Its Way

Yesterday, my psychologist called me. We hadn't talked in many months. Despite initially thinking that I had an anxiety order, she seems to now think my reactions to things are normal - just that there are some challenging things to react to. It was nice to hear her kind voice.

She asked me if I would be interested in participating in research - a study on the fear of recurrence and other common feelings - like anger, depression, anxiety, sadness - in cancer patients/survivors.

I said I am interested in learning more. I think it involves group work once a week during work. I am not sure that will be possible to square with work. But for now, while I wait for a call from the researcher, it is in the realm of possibility. It is help sent in my direction from the universe.

Don't Google It

It's the middle of the afternoon.  You are done all your work.  All your important work anyway.  You are waiting for decisions, and there is not much progress you can make until you get them.  You've made some headway on your correspondence, but correspondence can be mind-numbing at best, if not soul squashing.  You have nobody to talk to - because everyone around is busy and deadly quiet.  You've already read the Globe and Mail. 

Something triggers you.

What's a girl to do?

I know I shouldn't. I usually don't. But sometimes I just can't help it and I google the kind of cancer I had. A cancer mentor had warned me against it. The Internet is not your friend, she had said firmly.

I know, but sometimes, the Internet is the only friend I have. 

I feel that I need to know more about my cancer. I feel like Dr. H kept it very high level - on a need to know basis, thinking I didn't need to know very much. I know I shouldn't know too much.

Nonetheless, sometimes my fingers have a will of their own.

And what I read scares the hell out of me! I see that my diagnosis is so rare that there is very little information about it.  The few academic papers warn against accepting it at face value.

I can't even write the other things they say about it. 

I feel like I am watching a scary movie by myself but just can't make myself stop.

Someone finally talks to me and I snap out of it.

Walking home, I know that Dr. H didn't just take it at face value.  She either removed or biopsied every possible organ and lymph node that she could.

But she can't give me what I want, which is certainty.  I know that there is no certainty, so I just have to make every moment count.

Sometimes it is a lot of pressure to try to make every moment count - especially when so much is not in my control.  I can only control how I respond.  I can only control how I am.

But a little encouragement from the universe for me and my family and friends would, of course, help!

Desiderata

I came across the poem Desiderata by Max Ehrmann this week.  I took comfort in reading it, feeling that I could relate to each line, and it encouraged me to be brave.  

Because I was feeling kinda blue this week, tearing myself up over issues both big and small, both existential and mundane.

Will the cancer come back?  When will it come back?  What is my body trying to tell me now?  How much time do I have left with my children?  With my parents?  Why do we always have to do the crappy shift in the carpool?  Why wasn’t I included?  I am going to be (5 minutes) late for work.  What did it mean that Aveen and I almost got run over by a car, separately, at opposite ends of centretown, at the exact same moment?

It’s been a week of minor illnesses, big drudgeries, little disappointments, and hurts.

And it always takes me back to my fears.  Despite the lovely Winter Solstice yoga class where I wrote, on a piece of paper, what I wanted to let go of in 2015 and watched “fear” go up in flames.  Where I lit a candle, so that I could see in the darkness.  Where a stranger hugged me.  

But it isn’t so easy as that.  

This week, I found myself back in the darkness.  

The poem made me see that, most of the time, my fears are indeed born of fatigue and loneliness.  I am often fatigued because of chronic sleeping problems, exacerbated by many things, big and small.  And this week, I was lonely.  I felt left out and alone.  I felt Ottawa to be a cold and lonely place.  I was longing for warmth, both in the weather and in humanity.  I wanted a proverbial hug.  

Today.  Well, it is warmer today.  I feel a bit less lonely.  And I am a bit less afraid, though I know it will get cold again.

But whatever happens, no doubt, the universe will unfold as it should.    

Desiderata - Words for Life

by Max Ehrmann

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.

Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.

Keep interested in your own career, however humble;
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.
Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.

Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years, 

gracefully surrendering the things of youth. 

Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.

But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. 

Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness. 

Beyond a wholesome discipline, be gentle with yourself. 

You are a child of the universe, 

no less than the trees and the stars; 

you have a right to be here. 

And whether or not it is clear to you, 

no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should. 

Therefore be at peace with God, 

whatever you conceive Him to be, 

and whatever your labors and aspirations, 

in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul. 

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, 

it is still a beautiful world. 

Be cheerful. 

Strive to be happy.

This is why I love to dance

At the dance studio where my daughter and I both take dance classes, there is a contest going on.  “Write, in at least two paragraphs, about why you love to dance.”  If you win,  your story will be featured on the website and your dance profile will be displayed in the studio.”  Well, for reasons that will become obvious, I am not going to enter the contest.  (I don’t really think my daughter or her friends need to see my dance story.)  But, if I could enter the contest, this is what I would write:

 

I started to dance about a year ago.  On a cold January night when Amrita wouldn’t eat her dinner.  Spaghetti with meat sauce.  How can there possibly be a more child-friendly meal?  This is a regular occurrence at our house, but, for some reason, that night, it made me feel frustrated.  Probably, there were other things contributing to the way I felt than just the dinner incident, but I don’t remember what anymore.

 

I wanted to go out for a bit, but once I stepped outside, I realized I had no where to go.  It was a Wednesday night in Ottawa.  Bitter cold January.  Everything near-by was closed and I had no car.  And we don’t have a culture of dropping in on friends or neighbours.  

 

I walked to the community centre at the end of my block, a second home for my kids, and went inside for warmth.  It was almost 7:00.  I looked at the board to see what was going on that night.  I saw that there was a beginner hip hop class starting at 7:00.  Since it was early January, it was the first class of the session.  I had to make a choice, either go to that class and see where it would take me, or go back home and remain in a grumpy mood.

 

I hadn’t danced since ballet and tap lessons with Doris MacDonald in elementary school.  And I had hated it.  “Point your toes, Monsumi,” the crotchety old Doris would always say to me.  I would be in tears by the end of class.  

 

Nonetheless, I was under the influence of Glee with all the singing and dancing.  I kind of wanted to do that.  Hesitantly, I chose to try the hip hop class.  I went to the front desk to buy one drop-in class, and went upstairs to the studio.  There I met Emilie.  A young woman full of contagious energy and enthusiasm about dance.  She wasn’t phased that I didn’t have the proper shoes or clothes.  She was just delighted that I had come.  

 

It was a full class and I knew no one.  We started with the warm up.  I somehow was able to keep up and follow Emilie, because the warm up seemed to be aerobics steps set to hip hoppy music.  And then yoga set to hip hoppy music!  Since I have done some aerobics and lots of yoga, it seemed pretty good so far.  

 

But then we went on to the next part of the class.  She got us to choose partners and I had a moment of panic because I didn’t know anyone and I was taken back to the stress of having to choose partners in school.  However, it didn’t seem to matter that I didn’t know anyone.  Someone caught my eye and we became partners.  We had to practice body waves.  This is what I find hardest about hip hop.  I still can’t do body waves!

 

Then we went on to learning the first steps to an actual dance.  Okay, this was getting a bit trickier.  All kinds of moves that didn’t feel natural to me.  Knee pops and chest pops.  Waves and rotations of isolated body parts.  No cutesy twirls.  No smiles or wispy looks.  There is an « attidude » that you have to have to do hip hop.  Hip hop is street dance, Emilie explained.  You gotta look tough.  You gotta be tough.  It wasn’t exactly Glee.  And it was one thing to learn and follow the moves.  It was another to dance to them with the music which was always fast.  

 

A the end of the class, Emilie asked me if I was going to come back.  “I don’t know, “ I said honestly.  “I had fun, though.”  And I was really tired.  

 

I felt a huge high when I went home.  And though the class had been really hard, I went back the next week, and the week after that.  I signed up for the full session.  The class got harder.  Because at every class, we would learn new steps to add on and it was hard to remember the sequence.  You had to have concentration.  

 

Many times in the last year, I lacked concentration.  When a symptom triggered anxiety in me.  When I had an upcoming doctor’s appointment or test.  The whole month of May, when I was going through my biopsy, is a blur to me.

 

There were times when it would have been easier not to go.  Cold nights when I just wanted to bundle up at home or wasn’t feeling well.  When I should have been helping my kids with their homework or should have been prioritizing my kids’ activities.  When I should have gone to see my parents or finished my work or made a better dinner or cleaned the house.  

 

But I kept going back.  Over and over again.  Every time I went, Emilie cheered and clapped just because I had come.  And in time, I started to get a hang of the steps.  I started to get to know my classmates.  I still didn’t remember very much of the sequences.  But then I started to practice, and that helped me to remember.  

 

My teacher looked at me this week and said, “I get very emotional at performances.  I see students who didn’t know their right from their left when they first came to me.  And now they can do whole routines!”

 

Now, a year later, this is one of my favourite hours of the week.  When I am in my class, I forget about cancer.  I simply have fun.  I focus.  I live in the moment.  

 

And this is why I love to dance.  

 

 

 

 

Raise Your Hopeful Voice You Have a Choice

It started like any other Wednesday.  I walked Amrita to the community centre for Breakfast Club, and I hugged her and said, “Have an awesome birthday!” We both giggled because I had meant “Have an awesome day, not birthday, but her approaching birthday and party were on my mind.

 Later in my office, I wondered why I didn’t hear the sirens.  My window faces Elgin Street.  I would have been able to see the War Memorial had I been a couple of floors higher up in our new building.  I guess I was engrossed in something.  Around 10:00, I heard a couple of our managers coming around to all the offices telling people not to leave the building.  My manager looked at me and understood that I had heard her speak to the others, though she did not say anything to me.  A few minutes later, my Director came to my office to look out the window.  I asked him what had happened.  “A soldier has been killed,” he said.  I was grateful for his presence in my office for a few minutes.

I went to the Globe and Mail site.  Breaking news.  A gunman had shot a soldier at the War Memorial and was tearing through Parliament.

What?

I stepped into the hall, hoping to make human contact, to make sense of what was happening and what we were to do.  People were scurrying but not gathering.  I called Jaime.  He hadn’t heard anything.  Hearing nervousness in my voice, he said, “You’re okay.”

An e-mail soon came, instructing us not to leave the building.  We were on lock-down.

Should I call my parents, I wondered.  They might hear the news and worry.  I decided to call them.  They, of course, had heard the news.  I told them we were on lockdown.  I told them not to leave their building in the Market either.  For some reason, I wasn’t convinced that they wouldn’t step out.  They didn’t say, “OF COURSE NOT!”

Then I remembered that Aveen was allowed “off property” from his centretown school, so I called the school, and made them reassure me that they would not be allowed off property today.  “We’re dealing with a very serious situation today,” they said, a bit grumpily.  “Yes, that’s why I’m calling,” I said.

I tried to work a bit but I couldn't concentrate.  I felt disconcerted.  I tried to chat with people, but others seemed to be working.  Only later would I find out that everyone was feeling the same way I was.

Although I knew Amrita would be safe in her school, I decided to call anyway.  I think I just wanted to be with my family.  After a couple of tries, I got through, and the office assured me that they were fine and in secure school mode.  Hearing the warm voice of Amrita's school made me feel better.

I got an e-mail from my friend asking if I was in lock down. She was too. We started e-mailing back and forth.

I started to hear people saying that we should stay away from windows.  Then we got an e-mail instructing us to stay away from them.  Right.  That made sense, but where would I go and what would I do? We had laptops but I had not been able to connect online with mine.  Nonetheless, I took my iPhone and my laptop and went to a boardroom.  I expected all my other colleagues who also had window offices to join me, but I remained there, alone and cold, the whole day. 

We had no food.  It would have been a good day to bring my lunch.  But I wasn't hungry.  I was feeling stressed.  I was worried about my children.  What were they doing?  Were they scared?  Stressed?  What would happen at the end of the day?  I was also scared that the gunman would come into our building. 9/11 was on all our minds.  It was in the realm of the possible. 

I didn't dwell on it, though.  I was anxious, but I was conscious of the fact that it was a different anxiety than what I felt at the depth of my illness and ever since.  I was able to acknowledge that we would most likely all be okay.  And even though I was alone in the boardroom for most of the time, I knew I wasn't alone.  We were all in the same boat.  (In the same building.)  With cancer, I feel alone.  

Still, I wondered what would happen.  How this would end.  It wasn't until later that my thoughts turned to Corporal Nathan Cirillo, the soldier who had been gunned down at the War Memorial.  That would come later.

A lot of friends e-mailed and texted to ask if I was okay.  I passed most of the day e-mailing and texting, even though at some point we were instructed not to.  Communication seemed important, and I had not much else to keep my mind occupied, since it was not possible to work with the tools I had available in the boardroom.  Sometimes, people in the office came together and talked, but not very much.  

Mostly, I wondered who would pick up my kids if Jaime and I were still in lockdown and they were released.  The schools had no answer.  Then, my friend, whose kids and mine are the best of friends, texted me that she was working from home that day, and would pick up the kids if they were released.  Relief flooded through me.  An angel. 

Eventually, the kids were released and my friend picked everyone up and took them to her house.  They were safe!  But I still wondered how long I would be in the building. Aveen texted me, "Are you still in lockdown?"  I think he was worried.

At some point, I wasn't scared anymore.  I just really wanted to get out of there.  At 4:30, we were suddenly told that we could leave, using the south side entrance only.  We were all happy, but at the same time, scared to leave.  Was it safe?  After all, what had suddenly changed that made it safe now?  

We decided to leave in pairs, using what we knew from kindergarten, the buddy system.  It made us feel better. It seemed a grand ceremony to leave the building, gathering our things, making sure everyone was paired up.  We squinted when we finally reached the outdoors.  It had been a nice day!  Sunny for  a change.  It felt strange to be outside, almost surreal.  Everyone was regarding each other suspiciously.

I met Jaime along the way and we picked up the kids and walked home together, happily reunited, chatting away about the day.  We made a good dinner, and stayed inside, huddled together, squished together in bed, not wanting to separate.  I let them stay up later than usual, feeling certain that we wouldn't be going back to work the next day.

But early in the morning, we got the message that it was business as usual.  What?  How could it be business as usual?  How could we go back there to the building next to the War Memorial after we had been locked in there for so long?  I was still scared something would happen again.  It wasn't clear if there had been more than one gunman.  At the very least, I needed a little break from the building. 

But we are professionals (another phrase I hate).  I reluctantly let my kids go for the day and I hauled myself back to work.  Back to duty.  Hardly an acknowledgement of what had happened the day before.

The following day, one of the managers at work arranged a discussion session so that we could talk about what had happened.  A small group of us went and we talked and shared our thoughts and feelings.  We were not alone.  We went home for the weekend, feeling better having talked and connected. 

That weekend, Jaime and I had tickets to see Once, a beautiful Irish story about love and music, at the NAC. It was a wonderful performance.  At the end, the actors talked about the shooting, and dedicated the performance to Corporal Nathan Cirillo.  They said that they would be taking up a donation to set up a trust for the Corporal's young son.

In the crowds, as we were leaving, I spotted the main actor.  I had only seen him and the other actors from a distance, their faces fuzzy.  Up close, I saw how handsome he was.  I dropped some money into his box.  Jaime said, in a clear and commanding voice, "Excellent performance."   The actor's face turned and found Jaime, like a moth turns to the sun.  He beamed with appreciation, as though he had never heard such a compliment before.  "Thank you, Sir."  I wish his attention had been to me.

I walked out of the NAC feeling good.  The words of the powerful main song in the performance stayed with me long afterwards.

Raise your hopeful voice.  You have a choice.

Falling Slowly

by Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova

I don't know you, but I want you
All the more for that
Words fall through me and always fool me
And I can't react

And games that never amount
To more than they're meant
Will play themselves out

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice
You've made it now

Falling slowly, eyes that know me
And I can't go back
The moods that take me and erase me
And I'm painted black

Well, you have suffered enough
And warred with yourself
It's time that you won

Take this sinking boat and point it home
We've still got time
Raise your hopeful voice, you have a choice
You've made it now

Falling slowly sing your melody
I'll sing it loud

Stillness

In the last couple of years, I have been in search of stillness.  Stillness of my mind.  I have been searching for it for many reasons – so that I may have peace of mind, so that I may sleep soundly through the night, so that I may understand.

 

I have been getting better at it.  Finding ways to still my mind, though I have a long way to go.

 

In the very early days, I could still my mind by focusing on the sweet sound of the singing bowl that Jaime gave me and its vibration.  It is difficult to quiet the mind from the noise and the chatter of daily life and anxieties.  It is hard to meditate.  But to have a sound to concentrate on helps enormously.  I played the singing bowl often in those early days to calm and sooth myself.  I let myself believe that the sound would heal me, cure me, protect me.  When I felt most alone, I went to the singing bowl.  When I felt most scared, I turned to it.  I even slept with it sometimes.  

 

I still believe in its magical properties.  I go to it for peace and balm, still.  To still my mind.

 

Other things also still my mind.  Nature is a wonderful way to do this.  That is why my fall walk in the Gatineaus is so treasured.  I treasured it even before all this happened.  I didn’t quite know why it was so important, but I listened and did it.  Now it is almost sacred to me.  Hearing the rustle of leaves beneath our feet.  Breathing the crisp, fresh air.  Taking in the burst of fall colour. All this, within minutes of my home.  

 

Swimming in a lake is also my temple.  Being immersed in tranquil waters cannot but still one’s mind.  Reset the body.  If not a lake, an outdoor pool will do.  This summer, I discovered swimming on my back.  With the perfect view of the sky.  And my hearing muffled by the water to block out the noise and clutter of the world.

 

Motion also stills the mind.  I turn to yoga, which is all about stilling the mind.  And even my dance class is a different kind of stillness as my mind focuses on learning the moves and their sequence and does not wander to other things.  And I am filled with endorphins leaving the class.

 

Gardening stills my mind.  I am an amateur.  But feeling the soil in my bare hands makes me feel close to the earth.

 

There are other ways to still the mind in an ordinary day, being lost in honest work, caring for your children, cooking a wholesome meal, reading a book.  

 

Nonetheless, I struggle with achieving stillness.  I have trouble sleeping.  I am still anxious.  I sometimes don’t understand.  There are many things that make me waver.  Any kind of conflict or misunderstanding throws me off my kilter and makes me unhappy.  Worry about my family, especially my parents.  Different symptoms in my body, sometimes fleeting, sometimes lasting.  The screens that surround me all day – my two computer screens at work plus the little screen of my iPhone that demands attention, leaving us just a little bereft.

 

I try to go back to the basics.  Eat, pray, love.  Still my mind.  Open my heart.  Try again tomorrow.