Nine Ways to Find Peace of Mind

1. Start a blog and meet the most amazing people on earth.
2. Try to listen to what they say and internalize it.

The other 7 are hopefully coming soon.

Afraid to Love

I'm going to stop posting, and now the writing comes so simple. Or rather the coming here seems easier, the emotion behind it simpler. Anyway.
Listening to a lot of Ben Folds and Elliot Smith these days, which I can't figure out is good or bad. But the afraid to love theme is always coming up nonetheless.

Writer's block. Or Rider's block. Whatever.

Here is your bi-weekly harassment post.

1. I am in contact with the Too Faced people to get the winner's free sample. It's a Love Lisa Beauty Box and it's worth $32.5o. Quite a cute kit, I've been using one and I LOVE it! Very glamorous colors and it's the softest powder I've ever felt. So as soon as I know hear from Too Faced, I'll put all the names in a hat and have the Boob draw one out. Fair and square! If you want in you still have time. Just email me or post a comment about it and you're in the hat!

2. I may be taking a short leave of absence, like 2 or 3 weeks, from the blog. I must say that when I come here to write lately I have found that I am at a loss for words. I think I'm dealing with something, but can't really go into it here. Let's just say that something is there. And when I say dealing, I don't even mean I'm sad, I'm just really wrapped up in this other thing, so my head isn't here. I figure if my head isn't here, my body doesn't have to hang out and look at the screen. So there's that.
3. Did you hear about the guy with the stage IV melanoma that was cured, using his own cells? Pretty cool- check it.

Dat about do it. I appreciate all of you who have been emailing me and commenting to check on me. It means a lot.

Love ya.

-MM

Silence is golden. And duct tape is silver.

My life in movies:

I sit down to write, and the truth is- it's difficult to.
I think to myself, why is this so difficult? You love to write. You write all the time.
Except, my voice says, you really don't. You only REALLY write when you feel connected.

And the big ball drops in my stomach.
And the guilt wells up in my chest.

Haven't we been over this already? We figured this out already. It's already ready already.

It's like all those movies we love: Jerry McGuire and Pretty Woman and Bridget Jones, but in all those movies it's a traditional 3 parts: the set up, the conflict, the nice and neat wrap up. Nice and neat with no strings left dangling, 2 hours and everything is resolved.
And I don't have to say that life isn't really like that, because we all know that already.

I heard someone say today that the love we hold back in this life is the only pain that follows you when it's over and you pass to the other side. It's tough to think that- that in those moments when I think, "just say it," and I'm fighting the instinct to be vulnerable- that all those moments are the ones that will follow me after death.

Allow me to just state the obvious here: life is messy and just like my day today, never wrapped up nice and neat. And the truth is, as much as I hate to admit it, I face my fears every time I sit down to write this blog, because to write it is to revisit what I thought I was already over.

I'm not over it.

I revisit cancer fears, and fears of morality, and the hatred I have that my body is so vulnerable, and the pain that I feel whenever I think about how my leg will never be the same. I refuse to work out most days because it's so hard for me to mentally deal with the physical pain that I fear will be there for the rest of my life. The limits that I don't want to be there.

And then, like American Beauty, I tell myself to just breathe. And to stop fighting. And to just realize how awesome this one little tiny moment right now is.

And right now is a good moment.

I have so few free moments these days- but there are 11 school days left so there is hope that I'll get back to posting regularly.

But instead of getting all wrapped up in that, let me just throw out the old adage that every moment is the most important moment of our lives, so as I write you and bid you goodnight, I send out gratitude that there are those of you still hanging in there and reading this blog and that I can share that gratitude with you.

For now, goodnight.

-MM

"One good thing to remember is that giving thanks- expressing gratitude- generates growth. And one way to ensure that your growth is easy, effortless, touched by grace, is to be grateful for the difficult circumstances and situations in your life. The harder it gets, the more grateful you should become. The more painful you believe it is, the more grateful you can become. And one way is to simply affirm in the midst of your difficulty and darkness I can hardly wait to see the good that will come forth from this experience, and for the strength to endure to the end, I am so grateful." - Iyanla Vanzant

It's beginning to look a lot like Procrastination

This is going to be a short post, but I'm hoping by posting this that maybe I can motivate myself to write here again. I've been having a lot of trouble getting myself to post here, and I finally came to the conclusion that it's not so much busyness or laziness as much as it is me not wanting to talk about things that I'm just now figuring out that I'm not wanting to talk about. I'm good, just taking my time about getting around to those feelings. It's not that I don't love you-- I love each and every one of you that read this deeply and somewhat inappropriately. Nonetheless, I'm a little withdrawn. But I'll keep you posted on the emotional progress I intend to keep making.

love ya,

MM

Could you come back in a few beers?

Well, I guess it's time for an update. Not sure if I'll get through everything I have to say, but here's a start nonetheless. I have an appointment with the surgeon on the 26th. The surgeon will be able to tell me whether this lymph node can be removed by surgery (hence the word surgeon) or if this will have to be handled with radiation. I've had a lot of people telling me that I need to get a 2nd opinion, and so I'm making an appointment at MDA. MDA, as in, you know, like the best cancer treatment center in the south. THE MDA. The problem, though, is this: how will I get treated at MDA? It's not like I'm going to be able to afford the out of network co-pays/deductibles/etc. Plus, how will stay there for 6 weeks when that's what type of radiation we're looking at? It's an outpatient treatment, I don't know anyone in Houston, and I don't make enough money to pay for that kind of hotel bill. It's a lot to think about. I guess I could work the corner. Some guys are really into scars.
For now, I guess we'll just take it one step at a time, and that means I'm only thinking of the appointment next week for now.

Bobby and I are both handling the news pretty well. Amazingly well, actually. We both keep saying, "Is it wierd what a relief it is to be fighting cancer again?" It's something only a cancer survivor can understand, I think. You just don't know until you've been there. It's the new abnormal, people. Sitting around waiting for it to return when every doc you see tells you it's most likely coming back will drive you up the walls. Knowing that it's here and it's really just one lymph node and that we can treat it, that's a relief. I know. I can't explain it.

Still loving the new oncologist. I called and left a message yesterday that I had a few questions, and I'll be darned if the buger didn't call me back today. I went through the whole list of what I've been wondering: am I a stage 4 now? is the cancer in my blood? how long would radiation take? what would surgery look like if we're able to do it? do fish have eyelids? what's your favorite Olive Garden entree? We weren't on the phone long, but he was very willing to answer all my questions and even told me to call him back tonight or tomorrow if I thought of more. This is just a whole new ballgame for me. The Parkland Oncologists talked to you with one hand on the doorknob and one foot out the door. It just feels like such a totally new level of care and I can't imagine getting anything better elsewhere, as false as I know that to be.

Anyway, that's about it. I'll go ahead and plug my TNT fundraiser that I'm doing for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society in case anyone is interested in that. It's a great cause!
http://www.active.com/donate/tntntx/tntntxLLee

As for now, I feel pretty okay, surprisingly. I've been thinking a lot lately, especially since Mary's death, that we don't just don't know much about this little life. Does it begin at birth and end at death? Or are we just assuming that because we tend to think of ourselves as all-knowing? Just something that's been rolling around in my head.

Okay, well, I'm all over the place tonight. But I'll be back as soon as I know something.

-L

To See things as they really are

At the beginning of life after treatment, I began to wonder what I would talk about on my blog. I thought that cancer and treatment were over, and that I would be at a loss of how to continue my weekly musings on life.

What I realized later that I am more in need of this blog than ever before. The last few months have been a turning point for me, and my coping with cancer has just begun. Even better than that, though, I've found my way back to a point in my life when I saw things neither optimistically or pestimistically, but simply as they are, a beautiful dedication to embracing "what is." I feel I've begun walking a path where I can honestly and willfully see things in that truthful light and learn to not only accept it but actually embrace it for the reality that it is. It's a crazy thing, but it's liberating and nice to be comfortable enough to face truth and be able to deal with it.

A few weeks ago I was faced, for the first time, with what I can only guess would be the makings of a junior panic attack. Racing thoughts, inability to sleep, chest pains, that sort of thing. My doctor asked if I should increase my anti-depressant, and I thought of crawling into a hole. I was so disappointed that I wasn't able to handle this.
And then I thought of this very ancient, wise saying, "If you begin to understand what you are without trying to change it, then what you are undergoes a transformation."

I hope that this is true, because I realize what I am right now is a continuing fluxuation between grounded and then in the next moment hopelessly vulnerable. And I am working towards being okay with that. In doing that, I realize that there is no hope in trying to control all the delicacies of life, that every day new stresses, new tasks, new dilemmas are introduced that we will never be able to manage. Some are even in our control, and still will be unmanageable.

This is a relief to me, that I don't have to try to do that anymore. That I can go about my life, realizing the incessant ebb and flow of stress and eustress, and just take it as it comes.

-L

Spring Break '07- This Year, No Beach, No Banana Daquiris

I swear to you I've written at least 15 blogs in the last few days, and have erased every one of them. My committment to you, right now, is to publish this blog no matter how ugly or inappropriate or whatever it is.

Spring break this year started with an art memorial service for Lia. There were 8 of us there to honor Lia and to have our own memorial for her since we weren't informed of the formal one till days after it was too late. I wish I had a picture of Lia to post here, but I don't. I wish that you could see her, though. It would add so much to what you read about her. Anyway, there was that on Saturday last, and it sort of "set the tone" for the whole break. I had a pretty emotional reaction to it, especially for someone who doesn't have emotional responses in public. Andrea started the memorial by just telling us that anything was allowed- tears, words, laughter, hugs, silence. I started to cry almost immediately, and cried much of the time I was there. The group talked about Lia, then about the last 2 years, as 5 of our group of 25 have slowly melted away from us. Then we talked about our fears- about making more friends at Gilda's club, only to watch them die, too. Only to force us to face our mortality.

I guess I thought I was handling the whole thing better than I have been, but it became clear that day that I have barely handled it at all. I don't know what I've been doing, but I don't think I've been facing the pain. It has taken me all week to essentially come to grips with what is going on with me and what I am feeling. And what I am feeling is this: fear. Fear is a pretty foreign feeling to me- I've made my life out of stupid risks taken and living off the adrenaline from them. I'm the person that wiser people call wreckless and some call stupid, and am also the one that's pretty calm in most scary situations. A response from childhood or other hood, I guess- instant crisis management.
Up until a few weeks ago, if you asked me what I'm scared of, I would've said, "Disappointing my loved ones. But besides that, very little." Pain doesn't really scare me- physical, at least. I'm not scared of suffering, because I know for the most part that I can handle it. And I've learned much from losing things I loved and putting my life together afterward- to the point of feeling confident from such endeavors.
But things are different now. For one thing, I understand what a fear of death is. For me, it is attached to ego, as I am not so afraid of missing things as I am of the way life goes on without stopping to see that you are no longer a part of it. I assume this is nothing but a fear of essentially being forgotten. Or inconsequential. Of dying, and then, in essence, disappearing.
I also understand, I guess, the fragility of life now somehow, too. How it is here in our grasp, but, at the same time, it is not. It is mostly just beyond our grasp, because it is not something we can hold and protect, but merely something we are allowed to touch intermittenly and love and hopefully grasp and fully appreciate. And, after our time is up, it is gone from our sight.
That's enough to ponder for years, so I'll stop there. That's what's going on with me. I'm trying to use that, to understand what I've been taught from this, to make these days that are only mine a gift to myself. It is not always easy being so mindful, but it is important and a blessing, even when it hurts like it does today.

-Lori

A Moveable Feast

Sometimes I come to this blog and I have no idea what to say. I spin the words around in my head, trying to come up with something clever, trying to think what is important to say and what I can figure out on my own without worrying others.

Ernest Hemingway once wrote that he often had writer's block, and this would worry him. The thought of not being able to write would begin to make him anxious, and that he would "stand and look over the roofs of Paris and think, "Do not worry. You have always written before and you will write now. All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know." So finally I would write one true sentence, and then go on from there."

My true sentence for today is: I truly do not know what to make of the things we are asked to do in this life.

I attended the memorial service of Mary Davis today. She was only 62, and she was the first person in my support group that has passed away. I didn't know too much about her, but I saw her every time I was there. She once told me I had beautiful eyelashes. I learned about as much as I know of her today during the service. She was an old hippie. She loved to drink and smoke good stuff and surrounded herself with colorful people. She had two lesbian daughters, both with serious life partners, one of whom spoke today. She said that when she went to Mary's house, she was always the most conservative person there. I thought that was funny, and thought of how I wish I could've known Mary in better times. I think we would've gotten on famously. The last time I saw her, she had been taken off all of her pain medication except Advil because she kept having hallucinations, and she'd had brain surgery just a week or so before. It was awful to see her in so much pain. She said she was ready for the pain to end.

I don't know what to say really besides that. I guess it's good that the pain is gone, and that is that. That is about as much as you can say. It's unfair. So unfair that Mary had to go through this; unfair that so many people are losing their fight to this. And a part of me wishes I didn't know about this world, this place where so many people are fighting this disease. A part of me wishes that I could go back to just being oblivious to the struggle so many are having, a struggle of literally life and death.
In the last month, three of my friends have found out that their cancer has metastasized to organs in their body. To be honest, Mary's funeral showed me that I am not ready for this: to watch people I love fight this fight. And yet, I find myself coming to the conclusion that there is no choice here to be made. This is how it's going to be, and I will undoubtedly watch them do it. I will do my best as a human being to be there when they need to know that others can be. Isn't that what a support group is? People who understand the struggle you are having? My friends without cancer, so many have slipped away, unable to cope. And I can't do that to those that have been there and watched as I coped.
I am always amazed how my friend Faith does it. She keeps up with everyone, goes to see them in the hospital, brings food and cards and soup and checks up with all of us on the phone every week. I want to ask her, what is it that keeps you going? Don't you just want to quit sometimes, just disappear? Aren't you tired of watching everyone suffer and die?
After today I guess I understand that the only other choice is pretending it's not happening. So you buck up, you just jump in and do what needs to be done, and you learn to deal with it as you go. No one is born knowing how to look a dieing person in the eyes. But you do it because it's the best thing for you and it's the best thing for them, and what comes after that is really insignificant. Everything else sort of takes care of itself.

So that's it. I know in the next month and year and decade I'll see my friends go through things, some good and some bad. I am fearful of what may come, and I hope for the very best. I am not big on prayer, but, if you're reading this, I ask you to please pray for my friends. Pray that they not suffer the way Mary did.

And pray for all of us, that we be the persons we need to be when we are called to be that support. And for peace, not just on Earth, but everywhere, in every one of us. Lastly, pray that this is not in vain. Because if it is, I just don't see how any of us can look the same at our insignificant little lives.

-MM