Pimping Renee

Hello and hip hip hurrah! You made it and I think you look fantastic. Thanks so much for coming, let me take your coats, and please help yourself to a glass of champagne, or if you’re like me (a total dud) have a nice cup of tea. I can’t believe you came on such a cold day. Go; introduce yourself to the family and one another before the games begin.

One year ago today was when I started this little life-line of mine.

I had been reading blogs and thinking that it was something I needed to do. Colette slept over so I asked her if she knew how to set one up. She didn’t but thought that it would be easy enough and so it was.

Every time I have been asked why I joined my metastatic group, I always replied that I read that people who join groups live twice as long as those who don’t. Even though I have many reasons for starting this blog, one would be that you are able to give air to feelings that are being choked. I believe that if the feelings don’t get air, the cancer may be the second thing that kills you.

I have always intended this blog to be a place to record my thoughts, fears, hopes, and feelings. This is and always will be a place for me; a place for me to be true to my own heart. This heart is mine and I am laying it out here for me and for my children.

When I speak about my thoughts, fears, hopes, and feelings; I don’t want anyone to try to fix them or save me because that is not possible. But what I do want is to be seen and heard and to have my truth acknowledged and honoured. My problems, like many of you, are soul deep and my soul alone knows what I need to do about them.

Andrew Sullivan states that blogging is ‘writing out loud…it combines the confessional genre with the log form and exposes the author in a manner no author has even been exposed before. This is writing with emotion not just under but always breaking through the surface. It renders a writer and a reader not just connected but linked in a visceral, personal way. The only term that really describes this is friendship.’

I now get it Dad. I really have made friends because of either my blog or theirs.

The poet Theodore Roethke wrote ‘Those who are willing to be vulnerable move among mysteries.’ I want to move among mysteries and I want to be moved by mysteries. At 52 years old, I am only now learning that people have a hard time saying what they mean. I have always been an open book and assumed everyone else was too.

In the beginning of my post when I welcomed you to my party I mentioned that we would play a few games. Why don’t you all gather round and we can play one now. For me it is an old game but I thought maybe some of you would want to play along.

It is the game of getting to know me and me getting to know you. In this game no one has to be perfect, and as a matter of fact (if you are), you may have to take a time-out.

I will call this game ‘Exposed to the Wind or if you prefer Possible Ridicule.’ There are a few rules I use when playing but I hope you will bring your own to the table because nothing is more interesting at a party than a diverse group of players’ rules.

Be ready to be viewed naked; to seeing and feeling things that you might rather avoid. There are many aspects of myself that I would rather not witness, but by doing so I only up the ante.

Now if you are up to playing, we will start off very easy; tell one of the other guests (no modesty allowed) what you think is the best thing about you. See wasn’t that easy?

Now that there are only crumbs left where the food use to be and the dormouse is stuck in the sugar bowl again and the night is getting colder and you all must leave, I just wanted to thank you all.

Thank you to family, old friends and new friends.

Thanks to all of you for overwhelming me and my family with so much good that you have helped us to not be overwhelmed with the reality of the situation that we find ourselves in everyday.

*Blog header picture is by Kelly Vivanco
*Post picture is by Franck L

My Tuesday Peeps

I took this picture of us at an earlier meeting when it was really warm in the room. Do you ladies remember?

Anyway, I think you all look great. Hope to see you all Tuesday.

Three's Company Four's A Crowd

Last week in group, we rehashed what I had said about giving my cancer to a sibling if I could take it away from myself.  It seems that this is a hard concept for these ladies to understand.  (And of course, I find that hard to understand.)

Irregardless, I respect it.  I do not have to understand their truth; I just need to accept it as their truth.

I said I would even give it to my husband rather than have it.  I think Bernice thought that maybe I wasn’t crazy about my husband because she asked me what he was like.

I felt tears rise in my eyes and my heart beat a little faster.  Amazing, I said.  He is amazing.  Very kind.  A really good person.

He is a handsome man, one I adore and take for granted every day.  As if there will always be another day, every day.

I know I am a person of many peculiar thoughts.  One thought I have is that my marriage consists of three entities.  Wahid, me, and the marriage.  Our three was very good company indeed.  Now, however, we have a fourth who has joined our merry little group.  That entity is cancer and it can make us (me in particular) feel very crowded.

The fourth steals from us, it sneaks up on us at any time of the day or night.  Boo it screams.  It calls us dreamers.  It adds nothing to the company.  Cancer is always contrary, when we are happy it wants to make us miserable.  It rarely showers.  It is stinky and full of ka ka.

I don’t consider myself or Wahid to be rude people but we do snub the fourth.  We are as happy as we can be at any given time, until we are not.

This is a conversation between Wahid and I that has occurred many times.  You will see how the fourth always tries to win and how the third does not allow it too.

“I fucking hate this cancer.”

‘Well dearest.’

“I don’t want to have this cancer.  I am going to die anyway, why the hell am I putting myself through this shit.”

‘Well dearest, we have to go through the process.’  (Jill in the group pointed out how relevant it is that my husband uses the term WE.)

As simple as this conversation is, it is the conversation we have.  Wahid knows me to a tee.  He knows I don’t want to hear crap.  He knows I just want him to be with me.  He knows that I know and that the third knows that he can’t fix it; he can only be there for me.  Being there for me is where the third has its greatest power.

Wahid is very wise.  He is probably the most modest man you would ever meet.  One of the things that is very different (we have many differences) about us is that he is not arrogant and does not believe that he has the answers to my problems.  He does not take on the fixer role.  He knows better.

I can count on Wahid and he can count on me.  I know that he will stand in the centre of the fire with me and I know that he will not shrink back.  While the fourth tries to destroy us, he and the third will hold me up.

So as you can see it is not that I don’t love my husband (or my siblings) it is that I love me.  I love them and I love me.  I would never want them to have cancer along with me;
after all two wrongs would not make it right.

Dearest Wahid:

You, me.
Then, now.
Us, always.

Love Renee

Enjoy The Trip

At the second-last meeting of the Stress Reduction Group I asked if everyone would bring in some words or quotes that inspire and help them deal with their cancer.  I remember that Angie brought in some psalms, but I don’t recall what anyone else brought.

These are the words that comfort me.  They are written by Pema Chodron who is a Buddhist nun.  She is describing life:

It’s like getting into a boat that is just about to sail out to sea and sink.
There are no life rafts, no floats and no one gets out alive.
Rather than try to ward off the inevitable,
Why not accept it and enjoy the trip?

For me it was comforting knowing that I was not doing anything out of the ordinary.  I was going to die and so was everyone else.

Once again we were all in the same boat and the fact that death was inevitable and that we can still enjoy our life helped me.

Rickety Leaking Ship

Now you are all going to get to see how intelligent Nadalene is.  How Nadalene is so in tune with me and how much she gets my cancer.  What she said to me will be put in italics.

After I first started going to group meetings on cancer, I would return to my family and friends shell-shocked.  As time went on, my group friends would get sicker and some of them starting dying.  It was the end result of cancer.  And to be honest, it is the end result of life.

My first group of fellow sufferers all died with the exception of me, Sally and Bernice.  Of my Wednesday group after Jill, Helen, and Angie died there is nothing left except me and the day of the week.

There is a deep sorrow in all of this.

Family and friends would ask “Why do you keep going?  This is too hard on you.  Wouldn’t it be better if you stopped going?”

It would definitely not be better for me to stop going.  People did not quite understand.  All they saw was my pain; they did not see the benefit of how I needed to share my sorrow with people who understood me.  They didn’t realize that these were my people, the people who would also leave their children behind.  The same people who would have motherless children.

Nadalene understood and put it to me in a wonderful way.  I shared what she said to me with members of both my groups and everyone was “Nadalene gets it.”

It seems to me Mom that it is as though you and your friends are on a ship.  It is a rickety leaking ship and you are all holding on for dear life.  None of you knew each other to start with but now none of you wants the other to fall off of the ship.  As you travel you see other women in the water reaching out for you to bring them onboard.  You reach for them and pull them on.

As you do this, you look at the shore and all of your families are standing there.  They cannot come on the ship or even in the water.  They are waving to you and cheering you on.  But the ship keeps drifting further from the shore.  More women call for help and you reach down and bring them aboard.  Some of the women fall off and you can’t help them anymore, no one can.

The worse part for all of you is that while you are on this rickety leaking ship holding on for dear life you are drifting further and further away from your family.  You can see them and they can see you.  But the ship is for women only like you, women in a very desperate situation.

One of the ladies on the ship is a very gentle woman, her name is Barb.  Right now she is about to fall in the water, but she desperately wants to dock one more time for her oldest daughters wedding.  It is in the first week of June.

I am having a meeting with God tomorrow at 10:15 to pitch the idea that he lets her live until after the wedding.  That is what she wants and that is what all the women on my ship want for her too.  Let us all pray that she gets what it is she wants.

This Room Full of Strangers

The third and final group I joined is a Metstatic Breast Cancer Group.  This group meets every Tuesday from 1:30 to 3:00.  There are usually ten people involved in the group at any given time, along with two therapists named Jill and Irene.

They say this is the group that you don’t want to belong to, as you have to be Stage 4.  I know I certainly don’t want to belong.  However, I couldn’t wait to get on the band wagon as I read in Greg Anderson’s ‘Cancer – 50 Essential Things To Do’ that people who join a support group live twice as long as people who don’t.

During group therapy, we begin to see that we are not alone and that there is hope and help.  We also see that it doesn't matter what we do, we are going to die sooner than everyone else.  I know that it is horrible to say this, but it is comforting to know that other people have similar difficulties and have been in the same place you are.  Some may have already worked through a problem that deeply disturbs another group member.  You can share the strategies that worked for you.

At the start of every group we use to do a bit of relaxation/imagery for about ten minutes.  That has seemed to fall to the wayside right now.  Then either Jill or Irene ask one of us how our week was.  I guess the person to be asked first, looks either the most pathetic, worried, had some tests, or for that matter, has the droopiest eyes.

We discuss our week, our worries, cry, laugh, and cry again.  When someone talks about their children it is really heartbreaking.  When we know someone is getting worse it is heartbreaking.  When we hear the words “They won’t give me any more treatment.”  “It is now in my liver.”  “It is now in my brain.”  It is terrifying.  It is just the beginning of the end all over again.

Don’t forget that this is a room full of strangers.  A room full of strangers who become very intimate friends very fast.  You love these people, you care about these people, and you care about these people’s families.  These people matter.  These people die.

My pain at losing you is overshadowed by my joy of knowing you.  Rest in peace sweet friends:

Ilona
Donna
Kris
Kathy
Lee
Cheryl
Pam
Judy
Darlene
Helen
Carol

Live in peace sweet friends:

Sally
Bernice
Noreen
Theresa
Pat
Sandi
Frances
Donna
Barb

I hate that you have cancer.  I hate even more that I have cancer.  You are all too lovely to have cancer.  I am too lovely to have cancer.

God bless us all, this room full of strangers.

Deep Breath In

The four of us first met at the 'Relaxation and Stress Reduction' group held at Cancer Care on McDermott. There was Helen, Angie, Jill and me. There were a few other ladies in the room as well, but really the only other one that mattered to me was Peggy.

The stress group was held once a week and I think it was on a Wednesday. The social worker was Tom and I was attracted to his compassion right away. Sometimes it is so feigned. His really was genuine.

Each session would start with us taking a deep breath in and a deep breath out.  We would then all sit solidly in our chairs with our feet on the floor.  Close our eyes and breath in and out.  Watch your breathing.  Next we would listen to Tom telling us to imagine walking through a forest, on a beach, looking at nature, basically anything that would take us out of our reality and place us somewhere that was more comforting and less threatening than what we were all facing.

We would then talk about different situations that stressed us out and what techniques we could use in those situations that would calm us down.  But mostly we would talk to each other about how we felt.  We all cried alot and we all comforted each other.  That is, it seemed that Helen, Angie, Jill, Peggy and I did.

My first impressions of these four ladies:

Helen was a petite lady and she was quiet and strong looking.

Angie was young, was sure of herself and asked lots of questions.

Jill was around my age and her joyfulness just poured out of her.

Peggy was older and looked like a beautiful version of Barbie.

Helen and Peggy have breast cancer.  I have inflammatory breast cancer.  Angie had colon cancer.  Jill had lung cancer (all people with lung cancer DO NOT SMOKE).

I lost my impressions of these ladies after I fell in love with them.  All I could see then was them.  I loved everything about them and I still do.  With the exception of Peggy, they are all dead now and I yearn to see them all once again.  

In one of our sessions Tom had another therapist come in.  We were crying and all talking about leaving our children behind which broke all our hearts.  The therapist piped in 'I understand what it must be like.'  Okay, we give her the floor.  She proceeds to tell us that 'It is hard when she brings her daughter to daycare and has to leave her there.'  Like is she serious.  Everytime I saw her after that, I was like what an idiot.

Overall the group was great for me because Helen, Angie, Jill, Peggy and I started meeting at Jill's house every Wednesday.  We would meet from 1 pm to 3 pm and we would call it Jill's house.  We met for almost two years.  

Now I need to take a deep breath in.

The Ant and the Cheese

Two months after I was diagnosed with cancer I registered for an art therapy group that would meet once a week at the Breast Cancer Centre for Hope.  Angelique and Nadalene really encouraged me to attend this and I am really glad I did.

It was at art therapy that I met the only other lady I know that has Inflammatory Breast Cancer.  When I stated that I had IBC, Pat touched my arm and said that she had it too and that she was alive five years after diagnosis and that I could live longer than six months.  Pat has since become a very dear friend and I love her courage and enthusiasm.  Pat, you may never know how much you encouraged me that day and on the days since.

The session lasted about 1 1/2 hours and started with us all sitting in a circle (about 10 people).   The therapist would tell us what we would do that day and then we would work on it for about 45 minutes and then we would meet back in the circle and discuss what our work meant to us.  We were discouraged from talking while doing the work which was great because I always felt like I was alone and I was right into my project.

Flashback - April, 2006

Our first assignment was to do a collage.  Tanis, the therapist, had set up tables with different pictures torn from magazines covering the tables.  We were told to pick up any pictures that we had a reaction to and then make a collage.

The following are descriptions of my pictures and what meaning they had for me.

The Word Caught = I felt caught.

Robot Man on the Moon with the word Science = I depend on science to live.

Five Hearts = Wahid, Me, Angelique, Nadalene and Nathan.

Home Sweet Home = My family life.

The Number 49 = I was 49 years old when I was diagnosed.

A Lady Favoring Her Left Breast = My left breast is my healthy one.

The Word Play = Because I forget how too.

Sphere = My mind.

A Jug of Water = Because I have to drink it all the time and it makes me gag.

A Woman With Many Faces = The many fronts/faces I wear.

Sheep = I feel like a sheep being led to the slaughter.

Prison Bars = I feel trapped.

The Word Stroke = I wish I would have had a stroke and died then it would be easier for me and my family.

A Head With Another Head Growing Out of the Back of the Skull With a Screaming Face = I have to be careful that I don't let my mind go crazy.

The Word Watch = I need to watch.

An Older Lady With Her Face in Her Hands Looking Defeated = How I sometimes feel inside.

A Man in a Bed Holding on to His Back = Cancer in my bones causing a sore back.

A Ticket Dispenser With a Red Cross on It = Blood transfusions.

A Traveller Being Followed by a Crocodile = Just reminded me of a book or paper I have.

Cartoon of a Woman Dressed for Outdoors With the Reflection of a Man in a Mirror = I felt the woman is looking out at darkness and the man in the mirror represented my cancer outside, only it is inside because his reflection is in the mirror.

Snowflake = Because I love Christmas.

The Word Family = My family.

Five Stick Figures = Wahid, Me, Angelique, Nadalene, and Nathan.

A Life Machine Graph = Up and down, just like I feel.

Two Ants and One is Carrying a Long Piece of Cheese = The ant is doing the impossible carrying how many times its weight with the cheese; if the load gets too heavy the other ant can help.  It reminded me that the impossible can be done and I have a lot of support.  I am not alone, even though I have to carry the weight alone.

When we all gathered in a circle to show our work and to discuss it, I realized I was in a room of talented people.  My work all throughout art therapy was childish in appearance.  The work, however, touched my core.  After we sat, and others discussed their work and what the pictures meant to them, it was my turn.

I was extremely emotional.  And I mean EXTREMELY emotional.  I could barely string two words together.  I was sobbing like my heart was broken.  My heart was broken.

I came home and showed my family and each time I showed someone I was bawling like a baby.  It was great.  

I had never reached my emotions before in a visual way.  It has always been with words.  I honestly can't say enough about how helpful it was to me.  I now understand why they have art therapists who work with children from war-torn countries.  You need to get these feelings out.

Even though I know that this was just over two months after my initial diagnosis when I attended art therapy and that I was an emotional wreck, I believe that it did wonders for me.

I need to revisit art.