And they thought it wasn’t possible

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“They” thought it wasn’t possible or at least it was highly unlikely.  I recently got home from my ten-year bone cancer scans and I remain cancer-free!  Okay, no one has ever said that, they say “no evidence of disease,” but I’ll take it.  And although my surgeon told me at the end of the appointment that he would see me in a year (as he has every year recently, before it was much more frequent), his after-visit summary posted online said so much more.  More on that a little later.

My bone cancer was a very rare and very aggressive sarcoma and the prognosis was not favorable.  You can find all the details in earlier blog posts.  So, each year that passed without a recurrence was both wonderful and remarkable.  Every visit to my surgeon for monitoring scans caused so much stress and anxiety and I often wondered how many years follow-up was necessary and responsible.  After about seven years, when I would ask my surgeon at each appointment (I suppose I was hoping the answer might someday change), he would respond that I had good insurance, so why not?  I would think “Why not?  Because each and every time I have to visit with you my PTSD kicks in with full force.”  I discussed this topic many times with my counselor.  He would always say I would know when/if the time was right to stop these appointments.  My intuition would let me know.  My intuition and I are not on as good terms as I would like.  I spent the first many years of my life living completely in my left brain.  There was no room for “feelings” and especially no room for listening to them if I had them.  Heading into each appointment I would pray that if I was to determine I was followed long enough I would be given some sort of confirmation.  Let me clarify something here.  I was not trying to stop monitoring my cancer status one second before I responsibly should, but I also didn’t want to keep putting myself through this solely out of fear.  So, I asked again this visit and his response was “why, do YOU want to stop monitoring this because it IS always your call, but your insurance will cover it?”  That may sound like a benign response, but my surgeon (in my opinion), although brilliant in the operating room, is very passive aggressive in person.  I’ve heard people refer to it (in relation to him) as “a God complex.”  That comment was very much said as if he did not recommend it, but if I wanted to override his recommendation he couldn’t stop me.  I made another appointment for next year on my way out.

This is why I was so surprised and excited when I read his after-visit summary.  He would never say anything the least bit encouraging during an appointment and was even more careful to not put anything remotely encouraging in writing.  But there it was.  Under the heading of “Plan” it said “At this point, it has been 10 years.  Chance of recurrence is very low, but not 0.  Her options are to follow-up as needed or we see the patient back here for routine oncology surveillance follow-up in 12 months with appropriate imaging studies as ordered.”  No doctor can ever tell anyone their chance of cancer is zero, but for him to put in writing that my chance of recurrence is very low and to offer the option of following up as needed going forward felt like exactly what I had been asking both my intuition and God for.  So, I canceled my 11-year follow-up appointment.  I won’t hesitate to schedule an appointment, if there is any question about something, but I really feel that was the confirmation I was requesting.

My Undifferentiated Pleomorphic Sarcoma bone cancer was so aggressive it doubled in size between the initial find and final diagnosis three months later.  Many of my other doctors have expressed their opinion that if any of this cancer was still remaining in my body it would have shown itself by now, but my surgeon never said anything like this even when I would ask him point blank.  So, his note spoke volumes to me.  I am reminded of my initial prognosis all those years ago and the bleak odds even though I did surgery, chemotherapy, and radiation.  There was no one in the medical field that I spoke with who really thought I’d be here ten years later.  But my family and I decided to take it one day at a time and never give up hope.  To my doctors I say thank you, to my family and friends I say thank you, but most importantly to God I say thank you.  I do not have my head in the sand, I am well aware there are no guarantees in life.  I will continue my ongoing scans/appointments for my more recent breast cancer diagnosis, but for now I am going to live each day choosing to believe I am healthy (even on the days my fear creeps back in).  When I reflect on my initial prognosis and if any other health concerns arise in my future, I will try to never forget something I have attempted to remember every step of my journey (some times more successfully than others).  People may count you out in this life, BUT GOD…

 

Seeing others through the lens of your heart

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Last week I found myself sitting in the waiting room of a breast imaging office.  It had been one year since my surprise breast cancer diagnosis and I was back for my annual scans.  In the past year I have undergone surgery, radiation, and the necessary follow-ups, but this was the first time they were specifically looking for any new developments.  To say I was anxious was an understatement.

As I was waiting to hear my name called by the Radiation Tech I noticed a woman, sitting a few seats away, with tears in her eyes.  I recognized the look of fear and uncertainty, as I am sure I have had a similar look many times over the last few years.  My heart immediately went out to her and I said “These scans can be really scary, can’t they?”  She began to cry and went on to explain she had recently noticed a lump, had a mammogram, and was referred to a breast surgeon.  She had seen the surgeon this morning and was now waiting to be called back for her biopsy.  As she continued, she expressed fear that it was cancer (as breast cancer ran in her family), she didn’t know if the surgeon she was referred to was a good one, and that this time of year was such an awful time for all this to be happening.  I was immediately drawn back to last year when I was experiencing the exact same emotions and concerns.

I asked her who the surgeon was that she had just met and the name she mentioned was my surgeon.  He was wonderful!  So compassionate, caring, willing to take whatever time you needed, and so knowledgeable and experienced in his field.  I immediately told her what great hands she was in and shared my very positive experience with him.  I also shared that I knew exactly what she was going through, as I was sitting where she now is just one year ago.  She asked me many questions about my diagnosis and subsequent treatments and seemed a little less fearful and alone.  I was never so thankful for an appointment running behind before and knew God had placed me in that exact seat, at that exact time, for just this reason.  We exchanged names and I told her I would be praying for her in the coming weeks.  She began to cry again, but this time from a place of some relief and a feeling of being heard and understood.

Just a few short years ago I don’t think I would have noticed a woman, emotionally distraught, sitting in a waiting room with me.  If I had I am not sure I would have engaged, as I wouldn’t have had any idea what I should say.  But that day I was there, present and willing to connect with another human being in need.  I was willing to see with my heart and not just my eyes.

I was called back just a few minutes later and prayed for her as I changed for my scans.  The wonderful news is my scans were clear and the surgeon doesn’t feel I need to be scanned again for another year.  I am so thankful, but am also very aware that it doesn’t always go that way.  My mammogram friend has been so on my mind and in my heart over the last week.  I will continue to pray for her as she awaits her pathology results and makes any necessary decisions over the next few weeks and months.  And I continue to be grateful that I was there that day and was able to see someone in pain instead of just being lost in my own fear over the tests of the day.

As this holiday season fast approaches, let’s all look for ways to see others through our hearts and not just with our eyes.  There are so many hurting people all around us who need our smile, kind glance, or willing ear.  Be on the lookout for opportunities to be for others what we sometimes need others to be for us.  Wishing each of you a peace that passes all understanding during this holiday season.

 

Radiation, but no chemo!

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Consultation after consultation.  More doctors’ appointments than I could keep straight.  I just looked back through my calendar and this is the list of who I saw just in January: Surgeon, Oncologist, Palliative Care, Dietician, Cancer Rehab, Radiation Oncologist, and Social Worker.  Thank goodness for good insurance.  The consensus was no chemotherapy was warranted (thank God), but daily whole breast radiation with a boost to the tumor site was recommended.  That began in February and completed in March.  April is mainly dedicated to recovery from the radiation treatment, physical therapy/rehab, my covid vaccines, and the start of daily maintenance meds (an aromatase inhibitor to suppress my estrogen production) for the next five years.  Please pray the side effects from that medication are minimal.  I am thankful for modern medical advancements, but am tired, both physically and mentally.

That was a long way to say I am well on the road to recovery and thank each one of you for your kind words, thoughts, and prayers over these last few months!  A cancer diagnosis is something no one ever wants, but far too many of us experience. We can do all we know to do to reduce our chances, but there is nothing that is guaranteed to make us bulletproof.  So, I continue to eat healthfully (whole food, plant based), work on my mental health (PTSD is a very real part of these journeys), and pray this is the last time I face this disease.  I know many of you have been affected by cancer or have someone close to you who has.  There is so much fear associated with this diagnosis.  I recently read “Courage is fear that has said its prayers.” So, I pray.  I pray for courage to just do the next thing and a peace that passes all understanding.  I pray that for every one of you as well.  Let’s embrace the comfort and hope that is found in community and continue doing this thing called life together!

 

Back in the fight

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It began just like any other day.  It was two weeks before Christmas, I had errands to run, and my annual mammogram and ultrasound scheduled.  And then it happened, “there is an abnormality on your ultrasound.”  “Most likely a glandular mass.”  “Recommend a biopsy just to be safe.”  Life went into slow motion.  What if it’s cancer again?  I can’t do this again!  I scheduled the biopsy for the following week.  The day arrived and the physician agreed with the original radiologist that it looked like a glandular mass (not a concern).  I would have the pathology in two days.  Those two days moved like molasses in winter.  And then the call from my GYN, it was Breast Cancer.  Cancer, a word I NEVER wanted to hear again in my life.

I saw the surgeon the week of Christmas and was scheduled for surgery the week between Christmas and New Year.  What a holiday season it was.  What-ifs weighed heavy on my mind at all times, even though I knew focusing on it every second wouldn’t change anything.  The day of surgery arrived.  First, I was sent for a sentinel lymph node injection and locating, then on to a needle localization (a wire is inserted into the mass using imaging guidance, that was fun).  Finally, it was time for surgery.  I was so thankful I was able to do all this as an outpatient, especially given the current Covid situation.  Now to start the surgery recovery and await the pathology.  The lab was really backed up with two holidays in the previous two weeks and the understaffing because of the pandemic.  What should have been two to three days dragged on to nine, long days.  When it finally came back this past week the results were favorable (as favorable as a cancer can be).  I will see the surgeon for follow-up this coming week and get more information then.

Then, I’m off to the oncologist.  I am hoping the next steps won’t include chemotherapy!  There’s that work, Hope.  It seems to appear more in my life in the last few years than ever before.  Hope is so important, but sometimes so elusive. There have been so many times in my cancer battles that hope felt all but lost.  Yet here I am!  I am left wondering what the purpose is in all these diagnoses, but I choose to believe there is one.

So, I am firmly back in the fight again.  A place I never wanted to be once, no less twice.  Questioning why my immune system seems to not be able to contain rogue cancer cells before they become something more.  I have changed my eating choices to the most inhospitable for cancer growth (whole food, plant based), am at a healthy weight (most of the time), work on my stress management (not always too successfully, if I am being totally honest), but here I am.  So I ask you, my Hopeful Survivor friends, to send well wishes and/or prayers my way during these next few months.  I think community is so important and I consider each of you mine.  And never forget, as you face your own road you never wanted to travel, that there is always hope!  It is not only my blog byline, but a constant theme in my life.  Wishing you all a healthy and peaceful new year and sending so much love your way!

 

Just Ask Him

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Last night I found myself watching one of my husband’s favorite television shows with him, “Star Trek: The Next Generation.”  The episode we watched involved a god-like entity that controlled the destiny of a planet they visited.  One of their crew members unknowingly violated a law on that planet and was sentenced to death.  Captain Picard was wrestling with the decision of whether to let that one crew member be killed and leaving the planet with no additional casualties or forcefully removing him (saving his life) and risking that the god-like entity might destroy the entire Enterprise and its crew.  I found myself yelling at the tv “why don’t you just ask him?!?”  I wasn’t sure the entity would answer, but he didn’t even ask.  Picard was instead trying to guess what logic and thought process the entity would employ.  After much stress and unnecessary energy spent, he removed the crew member from the planet and waited.  The entity did not react.  Picard was then trying to determine his next course of action and decided to (finally!) ask the entity if he would allow it.  The entity immediately responded.  How many times in our lives do we spend so much unnecessary energy on situations that could be resolved if we just asked the question?

The questions differ, but the idea remains the same.  You are struggling trying to handle all that life is throwing at you that day.  You can’t understand why your spouse who “claims” to love you, doesn’t jump in and help you.  Did you ask?  Do they even know you’re struggling (you are looking like a superwoman on the outside)?

You feel that there is a strain in your relationship with your best friend.  You are “sure” you must have done something that offended her and you wrack your brain reviewing all your interactions over the last week, trying to figure out what it was.  You concoct an elaborate story in your mind of what you said and how she interpreted it incorrectly, but do you ask her?  Maybe she’s dealing with something totally unrelated that is causing her stress and she could really use your help, but she doesn’t ask either.  So now you are both struggling when it could be eased by just asking for some support.

As I was lying in bed last night and reviewing how my husband thinks Captain Picard is the best Enterprise captain because he is so smart and controlled (yes, I was actually thinking about this in bed last night) and thinking he actually wasn’t that smart because he could have caused himself so much less grief if he had just asked, I was caught up short.  How many times have I done the exact same thing?  How many times could I have spared myself anxiety, upset, and stress if I had just asked for what I wanted?  I reviewed my current struggles to determine if anything came to mind where I should ask.  My thoughts were immediately drawn to the constant pain I have in my feet and legs because of my chemo induced peripheral neuropathy.  I try to keep a positive attitude about my nerves’ ability to heal (even though the Neurologist specializing in neuropathy in our area told me seven years ago that it would NEVER get any better).  I eat a healthy, whole food plant based, organic diet and work on my mental and emotional health regularly, but am still in chronic pain.  God knows all I’ve been through over the last eight years.  He knows how I want so badly for my nerves to heal.  But how often do I actually ask Him to heal them?  I sometimes slip it into my other prayers, but how often do I set aside some time just to pour my heart out to Him on this one topic?  Not often enough.

What areas in your life would benefit from you just asking for what you need?  Just asking for what you want?  Just asking for your heart’s deepest desire?  I’m not saying all your problems will magically disappear when you do, but it might be worth finding out.  Like Captain Picard, you will never know until you try.  Just ask!

 

Scanxiety is real

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Do you know what scanxiety is?  If not, you are very lucky.  Scanxiety is the crippling anxiety before undergoing or waiting for the results from cancer detecting scans.  Those of us much too familiar with this event can attest to its existence.

Much has happened since I last discussed my scheduled scans.  No recurrence, thank God (seven years clear!), but anxious moments all the same.  My annual scan on a Friday in October was a cause of much stress.  It was the first time I had gone a full year between scans.  It was wonderful that my doctor felt I had gotten to that point, but my mind wondered what if there was something and it had a full year to grow?  As the day approached my anxiety grew.  I had an MRI and five x-rays and then proceeded to my appointment.  The doctor took a look at the scans, said he didn’t notice anything new (I had been told that at my five year scans and he called me three days later saying I needed to come in for a biopsy, that the Radiologist thought he saw “something”), but that they had to be read by the Radiologist to be sure.  Later than afternoon he called to say I was all set and I didn’t have to come back in for another year.  YAY!!  And then I received a call at 7:30 that night (I was at a concert) telling me the Radiologist noted something and they needed to circle back with him on Monday.  My mind immediately went to a potentially negative outcome.

That weekend was horrible.  I tried to keep myself busy, hoping to not think about it.  On Saturday my husband and I went to an event at the NYS Fairgrounds to pass the time.  That’s when I experienced what I now know was my first panic attack.  I thought I was having a heart attack.  My pulse was 126, I was sweating, shaking, couldn’t catch my breath, and felt like an elephant was sitting on my chest.  Off to Urgent Care we went.  Long story short, they recommended I go to the ER to make sure it wasn’t a heart attack, but they could tell me it sounded like a panic attack.  I said no thanks to the ER, signed their release, and headed home to take a Xanax and go to bed.  Sunday I felt like a wet noodle, no energy and pretty nervous overall.  The following day I received a call that the scans were indeed fine.  Such a relief, but so much anxiety for nothing.  I’m still not sure what was gained by calling me that Friday night, when nothing could be done before Monday morning but worry.  All these details to say scanxiety is real.

I’m not sure why it is, but I seem to get more anxious as time goes on.  My head knows the risk of recurrence decreases with each passing year, but my emotions don’t seem to get the message.  It may be because I was in shock the first few years and just put one foot in front of the other to make it through the day.  I was scanned every three months and measured my life in those short increments.  Now that the scans are annual and I am regaining strength and some sort of quality of life (good, but definitely different), I feel like I have more to lose.  Before my life was consumed with all things cancer treatment and recovery.  Now I go out with friends, take vacations with my husband, and dream of a future.  More to lose seems to equal more anxiety around the scans.

So, if you are a member of the Cancer Club, I get it.  No matter how long it has been since your original diagnosis, scans are still really scary.  But knowing others are experiencing the same feelings seems to be some sort of comfort.  Never forget that sharing a heavy burden lightens the load.  There is strength in community, make sure you find one.  And please reach out to me if there is anything I can do.  We are all in this together.

 

Don’t let what you don’t know get ahead of what you do know

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Words to live by!  These are the words shared by a friend of ours whose daughter has been recently diagnosed with leukemia.  They are words she is holding on to daily.  And they are words we would all do well to embrace.  Unfortunately, life has a way of giving us many situations during our lives where, if we look too far in the future, we are totally overwhelmed. Your mind starts sprinting (or hopping) down every bunny trail it encounters.  What if this happens?  What if we receive this news?  What if we are told this is the next step?  What if we aren’t given a next step?  What if…?

I am as guilty of this as any one of you, but where does it get us?  Scared, paralyzed, unable to make reasonable decisions, unable to sleep.  Not a place that any of us want to find ourselves.

I am reminded of a conversation I had many years ago.  I was in the middle of a really contentious divorce that I saw no end to, was looking for a job (because of the divorce), had just moved from my home of 14 years (again, because of the divorce), and my father was dying and had asked that my sister and I help him die at home.  So, I was trying to handle all that was going on back home in Pennsylvania and staying for weeks at a time in New York, facing the daily stresses of losing a parent needing 24-hour care.  One of my parents’ pastors came to the house to visit with my dad and took the time out to talk to me about how all this was impacting me. I explained how totally overwhelmed I felt.  How I couldn’t see a way to handle all the things I saw on my horizon (both physically and emotionally).  He shared something I will never forget.

As background here, this man was dealing with his own scary unknown.  His son had been diagnosed with a disease that had no cure.  They knew exactly how he would die, the steps the disease would progress through, and what tomorrow would mean.  Yet they were functioning and seemingly thriving.  I asked how. And this is what he said.

We cling to a verse in the Bible: The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases, His mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness. (Lamentations 3:22-23)

He went on to explain that God provides the mercies we need every morning for that day and that day alone.  If we try to live further in the future than that, we don’t have God’s mercies for that situation yet.  At first I thought, that’s easier said than done, and then I remembered what he was facing. If that was how he made it through the day, then it was worth trying.

So, when you face situations you just don’t know how you can handle, remember these ideas:

  • Don’t dream up worst case scenarios and run down every possible bunny trail. Don’t let what you don’t know get ahead of what you do know.  Put one foot in front of the other and deal with only what is right in front of you right now.
  • Remember that God will provide you the mercies you need today for today. And He will provide you the mercies you need tomorrow for tomorrow.  Try to live in today’s mercies.  Accept them, thank Him, and once again put one foot in front of the other.

 

Every day is a gift

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Not every day feels like a gift.  There are days where the to-do list runneth over, the kids are particularly wild, your significant other is getting on your last raw nerve, or you don’t have a significant other (although you have been praying for one FOREVER).  Or maybe your “doesn’t feel like a gift” focuses more on physical problems.  I have severe chemo induced peripheral neuropathy in my legs and feet, which causes daily, chronic pain even six plus years after treatment.  My pelvic bone (which was resected and now has very sharp edges) and surrounding tissues ache or hurt often.  My energy levels have never returned.  These issues seem to chant in my ears, “you call this is a gift?”

YES!  I am still alive!  Others are not that fortunate.  That was brought home so clearly last month when I learned a dear high school friend woke up one Sunday morning and thought it was a day like any other.  It was not.  He had a stroke and never got to kiss his sweet wife good night, as she went to bed that night in a bed that would never be the same.  Another high school friend, who has always lived a healthy and active life, suffered a heart attack last week while working out at the gym. Thankfully he survived, but not before having a stent placed in a totally clogged artery.  You see, every day that you wake up is a gift.

There is always something to be grateful for, even in the worst of days.  Sometimes you just have to look a little harder.  Do you have a friend you can call when you just need to talk?  Is the sun shining?  Is there a roof over your head?  Is your water safe to drink?  Is your heart still beating?  We all have so many things to be grateful for.  So, if today doesn’t feel like the gift you wish you were opening, look for three things you can be grateful for.  Just three.  It doesn’t matter how big or how small.  Come up with three.  And then really feel the gratitude.  Feel it in your heart and in your soul and say thank you.  Every day is truly a gift, even if it is wrapped a little differently than you might wish.  There are so many others who no longer have the chance to unwrap a new tomorrow.  As long as you are still breathing, there are reasons for gratitude and hope (and you all know how much I like hope).

 

Counseling Rocks!!!

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I don’t know about you, but I wasn’t raised in a family that encouraged counseling.  We were taught to be strong and self-sufficient.  Fear and failure were signs of weakness.  And most of all, we should take our struggles to God, not man. Now taking your struggles to God is a wonderful idea, but people sometimes also need trained counselors to deal with their issues (at least I do).  It took many years to arrive at this realization, but I am so glad arrive I did. The last three years have been a wonderful, painful, emotionally bare, learning time that I am so grateful for.  But all good things must come to an end.  My perfect counselor (perfect for me) retired at the end of April.  I didn’t see that coming.  I think I needed counseling to deal with the loss of my counselor, but alas, my counselor was retiring.  Now what do I do?

After many tears with both my counselor and husband, my husband uttered these wonderful words…

This chapter is ending, but the next chapter is only a page away.  You only have to turn the page.

So, turn the page I will.  Part of that page turning involves looking back on the many lessons I have learned during those years.  One of those lessons was the importance of listening to that still, small, God-given voice deep down inside.  My upbringing valued left brain, logical, fact-based decision making.  My career in finance and project management reinforced those values.  But when life deals you those unexpected, “never thought it would happen to me” cards, cards that can’t be reasoned or “logic’d” out, you have to open yourself to something more.  Without that possibility, life feels unmanageable.  So, I try to listen more.  I try to “feel” more.  I try to step out of that “only left brained” mentality and consider other possibilities. I try to live in the moment, instead of the past and future (this is still a major work in progress).  All of this is new to me, but I believe it is critically important for my well-being.

Another important lesson has to do with loving my inner child.  We all have past hurts that impact our decisions and reactions to this day. Hurts that may cause us to treat ourselves and others in a way that is less than ideal.  Hurts that have led us to some unhealthy coping mechanisms that have carried into our adult lives.  Our adult self needs to love that small child, thank them for all they did to get us to this point, and assure them that you can take it from here.  We are much better equipped to handle the situations we find ourselves in than that young, wounded child anyway.  Identifying this is the first step in healing that inner child in all of us.

I was recently reading the “Best Self Newsletter” and I came across this statement by Kristen Noel which says it better than I could…

Your Inner Child may have learned coping mechanisms that saved your life as a child, but those coping behaviors don’t have to rule your life as an adult.  Grace is found in moments of silence when you take the hand of your fearful inner child and you whisper, ‘Thank you. You’ve done an awesome job getting me here. I honor the bumps in the road that you have endured, but I’ve got this now. You needn’t be fearful anymore.’

Those are only two lessons I take away from the last three years of counseling.  There are far too many to count, but I can tell you that I am forever changed. So, if you need someone to talk to, go find a counselor that is your perfect fit.  Interview a bunch, if you need to (I kissed a few frogs before I found my Prince Charming).  Don’t settle for just anyone.  This relationship may be one of the most important relationships you will ever have.  You didn’t marry the first guy you ever dated, did you (maybe you did and you’re blissfully happy, but you get where I’m coming from)?  And I leave you with one more quote.  This time from my all-time favorite musical, “Wicked.”  It is for you, Mark, if you are reading this…

I’ve heard it said that people come into our lives for a reason, bringing something we must learn.  And we are led to those who help us most to grow, if we let them.  And we help them in return.  Well, I don’t know if I believe that’s true, but I know I’m who I am today because I knew you.  I do believe I have been changed for the better.  Because I knew you… because I knew you… I have been changed for good.

 

I Am Here

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You may be asking yourself, has Hopeful Survivor fallen off the face of the earth?  Is something wrong?  Did she decide to stop blogging and never tell anyone?  The answer to all these questions is “No.”  I am painfully aware that I have been MIA lately.  I haven’t blogged in a while for two main reasons. One is that I have had one health issue after another.  None are life threatening (thank God) and after a cancer diagnosis I feel like non-life-threatening ills shouldn’t count.  But they do.  They still make you feel lousy, sap your energy, and lead to discouragement.  It all began with a UTI in September, followed by the lead up to my regularly scheduled cancer scans (which always cause worry and anxiety).  Before I even learned my results (yay, they were clear!), I started with the symptoms of what I now call “The Plague.”  I am not trying to be melodramatic, but after two doctor visits (in which I was told it is not the flu, but will last and feel like it), and 7 weeks flat on my back, I didn’t know what else to call it.  A cold just didn’t seem to adequately describe it. Thanksgiving this year was spent in bed, as my wonderful husband made our Thanksgiving dinner, complete with turkey, for just the two of us.  That took me into December and yet another UTI.  And let’s not forget the ever-present peripheral neuropathy.  So, blogging wasn’t exactly in the forefront of my mind.

The second and bigger reason was that I didn’t feel like I had anything to say.  I truly feel that this blog is a calling for me.  If I am being honest, I would prefer not to do it, as I am normally a very private person.  But I know that I know that I know that I lived through my cancer battle for a reason. I never forget that my prayer during that time was if I had to go through all this, that it not be wasted. I also know that, when diagnosed, I searched for one person who had lived with my very rare form of cancer (Undifferentiated Pleomorphic Sarcoma of the pelvis) and couldn’t find anyone.  I thought that if one other person had survived, then I could too.  So now I offer myself as that person for those of you who feel hopeless and despondent. That is my message, so I actually do have something to say.  If you are feeling that life isn’t fair, you are correct.  If you are feeling like you can’t take one more thing added to the long list of things you are currently dealing with, I am right there with you. But if you feel like you can’t go on, you are wrong.  You can go on and life can get better!  Maybe not in a linear fashion, getting a little better every day, but it can get better. Hope plays a huge part in that. There is always hope that tomorrow may be better than today, or at least next year may be better than this year. If we give up hope, there really is no reason to continue fighting the fight or take the next step on our journey (whatever that journey may be).  I am still here for a reason and I believe it is to help spread hope to the hopeless.  If you are feeling hopeless in one or many areas of your life right now, I am here. I understand and I care. Sometimes listening, encouraging, and refusing to give up on each other is why we are here.  I AM HERE!!