I went straight to the bookstore after I got the “I’m sorry it’s cancer” phone call; surely amongst all the wisdom coded into letters and words, pressed to paper, and bound to books, would be some little snippet that would tell me how to move forward.
Since that day I’ve read a lot of books about living with cancer, but when Katherine Malmo placed the slender, uncorrected galley of “Who in This Room” in my hands, I knew I was in possession of something different.
Katherine’s book did not tell me how to move forward. But it was the first I’ve read that really connected with me on how it feels to have cancer.
That’s not to say the book is touchy-feely, in fact, it’s quite the opposite. One of my favorite quotes from the book shows her trepidation at joining a cancer support group: “You are afraid someone will try to hold your hand or leap from behind the ficus to hug you.” That pretty much sums up the way I felt the first time I walked into a support group meeting with the Young Survival Coalition.
I’m a little embarrassed to admit that I’ve had this book for well over a month, and I’ve been struggling with how to write this review. I want to tell you that reading this book is like going through the process of diagnosis, treatment, grieving, and moving on – but then who would want to read a book described like that?
And I do want you to read this book. I want my friends to read it. I want my family to read it. Because even though this is Kate’s story, it is my story, too. And the story of all my friends who have looked cancer in the eye, and stared down death… even if only for a little while.
This is not a sad book. This is not a book that is just about cancer, although that obviously drives the story line. This is a story about getting up every day and living. And this is a book that ends at the start of her brand new life.
The stars came out and hung a giant, full moon for her birthday party, as we sipped our drinks under twinkle lights strung from a Parisian street lamp at Bastille in Ballard.
We noshed on good food
Enjoyed great company
As the sky continued to darken
Thanks to the Perseid meteor shower, it was a good night for shooting stars; I saw quite a few.
I am so ready to get on with my life, but first I want to take a moment to say thank you to everyone who helped get me through the past 16 months since my diagnosis.
1. Gem
Look at that face. She is such a powerful motivator. And sweet, too.
No matter how rough things got, she was enough to get me out of bed – Even if that meant just going to the living room, and cuddling up with her on the floor.
It’s amazing how much she has grown up through this ordeal. Here she is just a week before I was diagnosed:
2. My Husband, Aaron
Aaron is my biggest cheerleader, the one who kept telling me that I CAN do this. He was the one who held me when I cried, and told me he would still love me no matter what, and made me feel sexy even missing a boob.
He wouldn’t let me get depressed, and he fills my life with music.
3. Mom
My mom was the one I could count on to drop everything, and come running at a moment’s notice
4. Friends who formed a little army of volunteers
Kristen, Mary Jane, Diane, Sommer, Carrie, Candice, Tim, Mel, Sharon, and Perry – I can’t begin to describe how much you helped me. From bringing meals, to babysitting Gem, to washing dishes, to just sitting with me or taking me outside for a walk, you really helped to carry me through.
5. The young women of the Young Survival Coalition
It’s one thing to experience sympathy and empathy, but nothing helps like meeting others who understand because they’ve been there. I have written about the Young Survival Coalition before, and I’m sure I will do so again and again and again going forward. These girls are my confidants, my hand-holders, my glass of wine with a side of giggles, and my sneaking out from a vegetarian retreat to bring back a side of bacon.
5. Debbie Cantwell and The Pink Daisy Project
A breast cancer survivor herself, Debbie started The Pink Daisy Project to help other young women deal with the overwhelming facts of everyday life that pile up while battling this disease. She came to my rescue by sending grocery cards so I could buy diapers, and hired a cleaning crew when I was too sick to deal with housekeeping. Debbie is truly a hero. Stay tuned: I’ll have more to say about Debbie in future posts. 🙂
6. Delia
Dee is one of my oldest friends, and she’s been there for me through thick and thin. When I was diagnosed, she flew out to be here with me during my mastectomy. She helped whip my house into shape while I was recovering, and watched the baby, and helped in too many ways to list in one post. She’s another one of those people that I can count on no matter what.
7. Old and New Friends; Some I’ve Never Met
Social media is an amazing phenomenon, and it has had a profound effect on my life. It’s brought me back into contact with old friends I haven’t seen in more than two decades, and it has introduced me to new friends, some I speak with every day, but have yet to meet face to face. These friends have followed me through the ups and downs, provided encouragement, hope, sometimes a little gift or cash, an ear, a shoulder – and often at 3 in the morning, when normal people aren’t available.
…
So now I’m done with treatment. I’m still contending with some of the side effects. I have some neuropathy, the fatigue is still slowing me down, and I’m typing with one hand because my arm is bound up to treat the lymphedema. But these are little, non-life-threatening issues, and we can deal with that.
Right now, my heart is just full of gratitude.
Now, we are looking forward. We are looking forward to Aaron getting a job. We are looking forward to me finishing my degree. We are looking forward to Gem being potty trained, and learning to read, and getting ready for pre-school. We are looking forward to a long, happy, and healthy life together.
Shortly after we were engaged, Aaron and I went to dinner with some friends. We got to talking about my family, so I pulled this picture of my dad and brothers from my wallet. Lars looked at the picture a moment, then set it down on the table while backing away a bit.
He turned to my husband and said, “Dude, whatever you do, don’t piss her off.”
My 20 Year High School reunion is taking place in Palmer, Alaska this weekend, but I won’t be there. I was planning to go, in fact I was looking forward to this reunion. I wanted to show off my daughter, and introduce my husband to the people who were such an important part of my past.
It didn’t work out. Why doesn’t matter, although money was no small part of the consideration.
I find it interesting how my feelings in anticipation of this event changed over the past few years. Several years ago, when looking forward to the reunion it was all about comparison. I was anxious about seeing my classmates. I was lucky in love, but the tides had turned financially and I was no longer bringing in the big bucks. How would I stack up against my classmates and their achievements? I didn’t have a beautiful house, or a cabin on the lake, or money – or time – for vacations. How would I fare in the competition of “Who’s got the best life?”
Then MySpace happened, which was quickly followed by the even better Facebook. My classmates joined up one after another, hunting down other classmates and cajoling them to sign on as well. A circle of friends grew. We were interacting with each other in a way we never had before. Looks didn’t matter. Those extra 40 pounds were irrelevant. As we shared baby pictures and survey results, built farms together and challenged each other to scrabble games and mafia wars, friendships reconnected and new ones grew irrespective of the cliques that existed during our high school days.
At our ten year reunion we showed up, showed off, exchanged email addresses, and promptly got back to our lives once the reunion was over. Few of us stayed in touch. Don’t get me wrong, I had a great time and I’m glad I went. But I suspect this reunion will be different.
This time we reconnected before the reunion. Over the past couple of years we’ve shared each other’s trials and triumphs. We’ve cared about each other in specific ways: hoping a job interview goes well, a healthy baby (or grandbaby), a big cross country move, and a cancer diagnosis. We stopped being a generalized and generic collective and, by interacting with each other through Facebook, became a collection of individuals. Competition matters less (unless you’re playing Scrabble against Liz), those 40 extra pounds matter less, the paycheck matters less, the living arrangements matter less.
What really matters is who you are when you sit down and start typing. Are you real? Do you give a shit? And, remember when…
So I’ll be thinking of you this weekend Palmer High School Class of ’89. And when you get back home, I’ll still be on Facebook, awaiting your updates, and photos, and maybe a cherry tree for my farm.
Cheers!
On a side note: What do you do with a 20+ year old woolen letter jacket? I know the streets are crowded with people who will desperately need a coat this winter, but this coat is so tied up in my identity (not to mention that my name is embroidered all over it), it doesn’t feel right to hand it over to just anyone. It still fits. Maybe I’ll wear it this winter and see if it makes me feel younger.
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