It's my party - I can cry if I want to...

Today is my 48th birthday. I'm not afraid or ashamed to tell my age because I'm downright thrilled to be alive and well enough to celebrate this awesome day. Some people went to sleep last night and didn't wake up this morning. I'm glad I'm not one of those people.

Photos from 12-14-12 - including two from our table in Starbucks

(I still struggle taking "selfies"), 

some of last year's birthday loot,

and an awesome mini-cheesecake that I devoured soon after this image was captured.

Last year on this day, I went to Starbucks with my children to have a birthday drink. While we were there sipping our drinks, my phone rang. It was my dearly beloved friend, Karen, and she told me that there had been a shooting at an elementary school in her town. Yes, she lives in Sandy Hook, Connecticut.

Shock. Terror. Horror. Tragedy. Sorrow upon sorrow - 20 times over, and then some. How have we arrived at this place in our world where things like that keep on happening? And why? There are no words, no answers, nothing to say that can relieve the agony of the loss of all those lives, children, adults, and even the shooter. What a tragic day in the lives of so many people...

Yesterday, I gave myself an early birthday present - a day of silence at a serene retreat center an hour from my home. I spent all day in "the red room" - reading, journaling, praying, taking photos, reviewing this past year of my life and laying out a few goals and hopes for the coming year. I ate an awesome salad and vegan sushi from Trader Joe's, drank tea and water and ate homemade vegan chocolate chip cookies. I don't always eat a vegan diet, but I knew I would NOT be eating terribly clean today, so I figured I'd give my body a healthy start to the weekend. The money I paid for that Quiet Day was the best $20 I've spent in a very long time. Happy early birthday to me!!!

Photos from 12-14-13 - including a gift from Gibbs,

a collage-style birthday card from my daughter,

and the spice cake my husband made and decorated - all by himself!

Today, Kristiana and I returned to the same Starbucks for a celebratory drink. I have come a long way since being there last year. I have hair now. I don't have kanswer or a chemo port anymore. I am no longer concerned about my immune system every time I hear someone cough or sneeze. My life is no longer measured by doctor's appointments or chemo treatments. I am strong, happy, at peace, and looking forward to all that is yet to come in this life of mine.

Two fun and smile-inducing coincidences today - I overheard two people behind the counter at Starbucks say that one of their co-workers wasn't working today because it is her birthday as well. Happy birthday to her and to me!!! Also one of the presents I received today was a Target gift card, so after lunch with my mom, Kristiana and I went to Target so I could use the card. I am one of those people who gets a gift card and keeps it for at least a year because "you never know when you might really need something, so don't spend it now." I still have Itunes and Amazon money from last year's birthday... Today I was determined to spend it on the day I received it. I didn't spend it all, but I spent more than half. Anyway... while walking through the store, we overheard a woman ordering pizza on her cell phone. "Do you need a name? The name is Henderson," she said. I smiled. I love those serendipitous moments; they always make me smile and say, "God, you have a great sense of timing and humor."

*****

This morning, Karen's sister gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. I can't think of a much better way to honor those whose lives were taken than to celebrate his new life recently begun, to celebrate my ongoing life, and to promise myself that I will continue to celebrate love, laughter, peace and joy - not only today, but also every other day that I am fortunate enough to awaken into and enjoy.

It's my party and even though I am celebrating myself today, I am also deeply sorrowful for the families for whom this date will always be a reminder of the loss of someone near and dear. I'm sure many tears are being shed in Sandy Hook today on the occasion of this awful anniversary. Nonetheless, it is also a day to remember how important it is to live every moment and every day to the fullest. I hope and pray that no one else will ever have an encounter with a crazed gun-toting lunatic again, however there is no denying that we will all face the end of our lives someday. Between now and then, may we be determined to live every day as a celebration of life.

Now please pardon me while I go eat the banana creme pie I brought home from 131 Main, my favorite restaurant.

Thankful Thursday

Today my gratitude is leaning forward and not looking back.

* I am grateful that I will leave my house in an hour or so, head to Trader Joe's, perhaps stop at The Fresh Market, and then go enjoy a sleepover at my dear friend's lovely home on the lake. It has been far too long since I've hunkered down in front of her fireplace nursing a glass of wine or a mug of tea.

* I am grateful for these days of Advent, waiting, anticipating, pondering the coming of the Christ Child. I am grateful for the remaining days and weeks of singing Christmas carols, of hearing the story of that miraculous birth, and for the new lessons I am learning about Advent. This book, given to me by the same woman whose house I will sleep in tonight, has been guiding me towards Christmas morning in quiet and poignant ways. (Thank you, my dear and generous friend.)

* I am grateful for this passage from today's reading -  In traditional religious circles, we are rarely taught the value of quiet contemplation. We are a "doing culture" by habit and conditioning. Even when we go on church retreats, we expect an agenda of speakers, workshops, and activities. Most of us would consider a silent retreat an unreasonable way to spend our time when our to-do lists seem unending. But carving out space for contemplation and solitude can invite God to speak into our lives and offer us an opportunity for us to steep in the depth of what God is already doing and saying. (Silence and other surprising invitations of Advent, by Enuma Okoro, page 53)

* Speaking of solitude, silence, and contemplation, I am grateful that I will get to spend tomorrow in silence up at Starrette Farm in Statesville. Eight hours of prayer, journaling, reading, eating, drinking, pondering Advent, and planning for next year. What will my word of the year be for 2014? What will be my verse for the new year? What are my spiritual, physical, emotional, marital, parental, personal goals?

* I am grateful that Saturday is my birthday. I know that it is also the anniversary of the tragedy in Sandy Hook, and I will pray for the families of all those people whose lives ended far too soon and too violently. But I am also gonna celebrate my life. I am going to look back at my first 48 years and ponder the next 48.

* I am grateful that my daughter is making lists and checking them twice, filling in forms and choosing classes because early in January she will begin her sleepaway college life. She has worked hard and earned her associate's degree, so it's time to spread her wings and fly out of the cuckoo's nest. It's time for her to establish her own nest on her own terms. I am thrilled for her.

* I am grateful for the upcoming gathering of some girlfriends here at my house. I haven't seen them in far too long. We have stories to share, food to eat, and children to meet. Apparently, one of these beautiful ladies has gotten married and had twins since we last got together. I cannot wait to hear that story and hug her little ones.

* I am grateful for the ways in which all that I have lived, seen, tasted, experienced, and endured in the past have brought me to this moment on this Thursday when I can look forward to all that is yet to come with excitement and joy.

* I am grateful that even the parts that will be challenging and demanding will teach me much and transform me more into the image of God with each passing day.

* I am grateful for the hope of growth and change.

* I am grateful for this day, this hour, this moment.

Extraordinarily Ordinary

So what is a girl to do when kanswer is no longer her main squeeze? What does a girl do with her time when there isn't another doctor's appointments for four months? What does a girl write about when kanswer is no longer the main theme of her life? When the port is gone? When the scars are healed? When the tears flow less frequently and life flows more smoothly? What will keep a girl from feeling like life is a bit too ordinary? And what is it gonna take for me to stop referring to myself as a girl?!?

Life is feeling pretty ordinary these days.
Cooking, dusting, doing laundry.
Vacuuming, mopping, sweeping.
Replacing light fixtures and light bulbs.
Ironing, organizing and decluttering.
Making beds, laying out towels, and welcoming friends for overnight visits.

Driving with Daniel to tennis and the gym.
Driving with Kristiana to the bookstore and the supermarket.
Reading, writing, journaling.
Preparing to teach Sunday School.
Lifting weights, jumping on my rebounder, and doing yoga.

Talking on the phone, telling stories, listening to adventurous tales.
Surfing the internet, doing my daily writing practice, dreaming about the future.
Raking leaves, ducking raindrops, going on long walks.
Sleeping, waking, exercising, showering.
Then doing it all over again. Day after day.
Extraordinarily ordinary.

Last week, Daniel and I took a field trip to the Columbia (SC) zoo. He drove the last 45 minutes or so - he has his learner's permit, so it was an excellent opportunity for him to practice his highway driving. Ninety minutes in the car each way - we talked and laughed and listened to music together. I'm enormously grateful that he doesn't isolate himself under a dome of headphones and ignore me when we are in the car.

Even though most of the enclosures are too small for them and they deserve to run free, the animals fascinated both of us. We laughed and groaned and held our noses and asked questions and took photos and oohed and aahed with intense delight at the wonder of creation. I love animals - as long as they are behind plexiglass, well-controlled, or weigh less than 25 pounds.

I told Daniel that God must have a pretty wild imagination to come up with all the designs and models for animals and plants. Elephants? Giraffes? Galapagos Island turtles? Meerkats? Penguins? Ostrich? Birds that swim underwater? Birds that are too heavy to fly? Alligators and crocodiles? Why both? Wouldn't one or the other have been enough? Howler monkeys? Why put the red butts on those other monkeys? How is it that koalas can spend so much time sleeping in the trees and never fall? And who needs all the species of snakes? Seriously, why so many snakes, Lord?

We didn't get bitten by anything or chased by anything - and for me that counts as a good day at the zoo. Not that I've ever been bitten by anything at the zoo before, but several years ago at the main zoo here in North Carolina, I was standing near the plexiglass of the gorilla enclosure when one of the gorillas ran towards the glass and slammed into it with great force. If there had been no glass or if the glass had been breakable, that beast would have killed me with the impact of the collision. I am glad I was too young to have a heart attack, but the sound of that massive animal hitting that impossibly thin piece of plastic nearly caused my heart to explode.

The docent who hosted the "gorilla encounter" told us that the gorilla in these two photos 

is 29 years old, weighs nearly 400 pounds, and has the strength of five or six adult men. 

Carmelized onion pizza and salad for dinner tonight.
Watching Monday Night Football.
Sending and receiving text messages.
Cutting images and words out of a magazine and gluing them into my journal.
Paying a medical bill that insurance didn't cover.
Walking the 8 pound dog that rules our roost.

Extraordinarily ordinary.
Ordinary and extraordinary.

Remembering and honoring the fact that a year ago, I couldn't do most of those things.
I certainly couldn't do them without feeling exhausted.
Right about now, ordinary feels pretty darned extraordinary.
Thanks be to God.

To God be the Glory - Part 3

It's out. That ding dang port is out of my body. To God be the Glory, indeed!

Dr. Turk was chatty and funny, informative and inquisitive while he put on his gloves, prepared his instruments, and then injected the anesthesia into my upper chest. He asked what I do for a living, where I went to college, did I like small town life in Williamstown (this is gonna hurt a little and then it will burn), what was my major (scalpel, incision, snip, snip), where I live here in Charlotte, do my children also speak Spanish (pressure, pull, stitch), and he told me about how some people don't get through surgery well (more stitches) and about how fortunate I am to have been eligible to receive herceptin treatments (this is like crazy glue to keep the incision covered. It will peel off in a week or two) because it has been an effective drug for people who used to not have a great prognosis.

I thought - "Okay, wait a minute, doc. You're not the first medical professional to tell me that about herceptin. I mean, I'm glad that it works well with the kind of kanswer I had, but what you all are saying is that I had a bad kind of kanswer, the kind that used to kill people. Yikes."

Then I thought - To God be the glory. If I had to have kanswer, then I want it to be the kind that is treatable. I want it to be the kind that responds well to this new protocol. And I want to be treated by two of the best doctors in Charlotte. I mean, if I have a choice, I will pick the best this town has to offer by way of doctors, surgeons, nurses, and medications.

A friend asked me if I hugged him after the port was removed like I hugged my oncologist two weeks ago. Unfortunately, I didn't get to hug the gentle and soft-spoken surgeon. The "crazy glue" closure was still wet and sticky on my chest and I was still on the treatment table when he scooted out of the room.

I remember his first words when I met him a little over a year ago - "I'm sorry you're here." I said, "That makes two of us." Later that evening, my son said, "Two of you? That makes about 7,000 of us. (Have I mentioned lately how much I adore my children and their wide open, loving hearts?) The surgeon's last words to me today were - "I'm glad this is behind you. See you in a year for a check-up."

I am soooooooooo happy to have the port gone.
There will be scars on my chest for a long time, I suspect,
but I consider these scars to be
evidence of a miracle,
evidence of healing,
evidence of strength,
evidence of survival,
evidence of victory,
evidence of hope and a future.
Thanks be to God that this chapter of my story is complete.

Here's another unexpected realization I came to this past weekend: Even though I am now boobless, wombless, and mostly hairless, except for the duration of the two pregnancies that produced my dearly beloved children, I have never loved my body more than I do now. Flat chest, empty pelvis, stretch marks, scars and all. This body has been a tremendous gift to me for the past 47 years and 50 weeks, strong and resilient, reliable and dependable. It has carried me every step of my life's journey and endured the worst that I could subject it to. It didn't reject the port, cause me undue discomfort, or fail me at any point during my times of greatest pain, suffering, and sorrow. I hate the fact that it took a grueling year of kanswer treatment before I came to this place of loving my body so much, but I'm glad for this outcome. Better late than never, right?

To God be the glory!!!


PS. Kanswer sucks. It always has and it always will.

On this, The Most Thankful of Thursdays

Today, on Thanksgiving Day, I'm even more grateful than usual.

When I woke up this morning, I stayed in bed for quite a while thinking about today, about the food, the drinks, the family, the inevitable stomachache, and came up with a long list of things I'm grateful for. Here are a few of the things that are on my gratitude list for today.

* I am grateful that I woke up to a bright sunny day
* I'm grateful for my ridiculously comfortable bed
* for another year, another Thanksgiving Day
* for how far I have come from last year to this year
* for health, hair, happiness, and hugs (and the letter "h")
* I'm grateful for all 26 letters, all the pens, all the keyboards, and the words that give me the means by which I can express my profound thanks for the blessings of my life

* I'm grateful for turkey farmers
* the fact that I don't have to catch it and pluck it myself
* the farmers who raised the cranberries, the corn, the wheat, the carrots, and the broccoli
* the men and women who harvested it all
* the engineers and  machinists who created and installed the sorting machines
* the processing plants that sort and package it all

* the stock people at Trader Joe's and Harris Teeter
* the produce sorters
* the cashiers
* the bag packers
* the men and women who devised the recipes

* the factories that made the pots and pans, the silverware and plates
* the oven manufacturers
* for the kind and patient gentlemen who came and installed our oven and stove, refrigerator and dishwasher
* the folks who picked the canola plants and then created the oil
* salt harvesters and pepper growers

* the truckdrivers who bring it all to the supermarkets
* construction workers that build the highways that the delivery trucks ride on
* the highways and streets themselves
* gas stations where delivery trucks and people like me get the gas that bring food and consumers together
* for the bank where my husband works and where I gain access to the funds that pay for the thanksgiving feast and everything else we have

* I'm grateful for facebook and all the status updates related to gratitude
* for emails that wish me a happy day of giving and living thanks
* for photos of cooked turkeys, liquor cabinets, double ovens, and snowy mornings in the mountains
* for the many friends whose names and faces appear on my many electronic screens and also in my heart and mind
* for the internet and all the thanksgiving recipes I've downloaded and used

* I'm grateful for professional and college football games
* for the Modern Family marathon on today
* for Directv

* I'm grateful for the digestive enzymes and vitamins I took in anticipation of the huge meal

* for the anti-oxidant green tea that will fortify my system

* for water with lemon

* whole grain toast and eggs for breakfast

* I'm grateful for family members who drive many long hours to visit
* for family members who send texts and letters and love
* for friends who are more like family than my actual family
* for family members who check in with me regularly, even though I am not nearly as faithful to them

I'm grateful to be able to be grateful.
I'm grateful to be alive and oh so well.
Thanks be to God.

I want this bumper sticker...

**********

This sweet little fella

grew up to be this sleepy little guy

(yes, he is sound asleep on his feet in our bedroom)

and kept on growing until he became this big guy 

who is the best student in our one room, one student schoolhouse.

He is also the captain of the varsity tennis team.

Somehow I think a certain older sister 

might want to express her opinion 

on the matter of homeschooling excellence.

But she's all grown up now, 

no longer a student at our Silvermine Academy 

(hence the url for this blog...)

moving out of the nest in less than two months, 

heading off to sleepaway camp,

I mean college.

She will be a junior in college up in the mountains of North Carolina.

My baby girl is moving on up...

It doesn't seem possible that she is gonna to complete her 

associate's degree program in less than a month.

Where have the years gone?

I am a grateful Momma tonight. Two children I adore. 

Two children who seem to like me too.

What more could I ask for?

Thanks be to God.

To God be the Glory??? Part 2

So today was gonna be the second installment in this week's three or four part installment about thanksgiving and gratitude. Being at the end of the kanswer journey. Getting the port taken out of my chest. A celebratory dinner out with friends tonight. Rah, rah!!!

Then the surgeon's office called a little while ago and said they needed to reschedule this afternoon's appointment. I will have to keep this port in my chest for twelve more days!!! What? Why?

Oh well. This is my story. This is my life. This is my chest. This is my port.
Twelve more days to remember these twelve months.

Here are some photos of what happened on Monday afternoon, the day of my final treatment.

One of the many awesome nurses there, Brenda, checking me in 

and asking me all the pertinent pre-treatment questions.

The final time, the final accessing.

Yes, they do draw blood out of it before they put the medicine into it. 

 My kind, patient, serious, and cute oncologist.

He tried to shake my hand at the end of our appointment,

but I told him that I had to hug him because he had saved my life.

He laughed - and then accepted my hug.

I took a bunch of helium balloons and this certificate to the nurses at the office.

They were truly outstanding women, each of them and all of them. 

The final pouch of poison - here's to the death of all kanswer cells -

not only in my body, but in all bodies everywhere.

I will say it again: KANSWER SUCKS!!! 

I asked one of the people in the office to take a photo of me at the end of the treatment.

She said, "I've never had anyone ask me to do this before

or seem so happy to be in the treatment chair."

I told her it was my last time and that's why I was so happy.

But the truth is that my happiness extends beyond my relationship to kanswer and its final treatment. My happiness extends beyond and beneath the love of family and friends. My happiness goes to the core of who I am, the woman I am, the wife, mother, daughter, sister, cousin I am. 

My happiness, my joy, my peace bubble up and out of the love I have in, from, and for God. 

My Sweet Momma Jesus has walked with me through the darkest valleys of my life and atop the highest mounts of transfiguration and transformation. 

The Gentle and Holiest Spirit guides me and strengthens me, teaches and encourages me to stand strong in the trials and dance strong in the victories. 

I can smile and celebrate even with a chemo port in my chest because who I am and how deeply I am loved are not dependent on the health of my body, the length of my hair, the money in my bank account, or the stability of my relationships. 

My joy, my peace, my hope is Christ, is in Christ, and is because of Christ. 

To God be the glory??? Yes, indeed. To God be the glory, praise, and thanksgiving.

I guess the end of this mini-series of posts will be postponed until the afternoon of Monday, December 2nd. 

To God be the Glory - Part One (part 1,001)

On weekend mornings, my iphone plays the song, "Grateful," as the alarm.
On weekday mornings, it plays "To God be the Glory."
I have decided that they are the theme songs for my life.

When the song began this morning, I lifted my hands in praise and gratitude.
"Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, let the earth hear God's voice.
Praise the Lord, praise the Lord, let the people rejoice.
Oh come to the father thru Jesus the son,
And give God the glory, great things God has done."

There are so many things I am grateful to God for these days.

Five years ago today, my daughter was in the hospital. It was the third day of a 17 day stay at the end of which she would be diagnosed with bipolar disorder. Three weeks after that initial release, she returned to the hospital for fourteen more days. That year, she spent Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year's Eve in the hospital. Ours was a sad holiday season back in 2008.

A little more than four years ago, she had a manic episode that almost landed her back in the hospital. I remember holding her by her shoulders and even wrestling her to the floor at one point and screaming at her: "I am not taking you back to the hospital. You are not going back there. So snap out of this." My words were not enough to snap her out of that terrible moment, but medication, prayer, and several visits to the very best psychiatrist in the world were.

Less than half an hour ago, she backed out of our driveway on her way to classes in her final semester at the local community college. She is waiting to hear the outcome of her recent early decision application to Warren Wilson College in Asheville, North Carolina. She has not had a manic or depressive episode in four years.

The senior pastor of our church has been one of Kristiana's biggest supporters on this recent phase of this journey. He has already contacted pastors in that area and knows someone at Warren Wilson who may be able to advocate on her behalf. To God be the Glory!

One year ago today, I had the port put into my chest in anticipation of chemotherapy and a year of herceptin treatments. My mother and I ran into one of the pastors of her church while we were in the waiting room that morning. He prayed with us and wished me well on my kanswer journey. This past Saturday while waiting for a friend to meet me at Starbucks, I saw that same pastor. I don't think he saw me - or if he did, he didn't seem to recognize me. I thought it was great timing to see him again at the end of this journey. What a year this has been!

Today, I will have my final herceptin treatment!!! My faithful friend and companion, Gibbs, was with me for that first chemo treatment last November and will be with me today for the last accessing of this port. (I cannot express how much I love you, Gibbs, and appreciate your steady, patient, humorous, generous presence this year.) To God be the Glory!

There's a part of me that feels sentimental, repetitive and hopelessly stuck in this kanswer cycle as I write about it so often. But this is my story. This is my song. This is my life's story. I have learned more about myself, about my body, about the side effects of medication, about baldness, about hot flashes, about menopause, about nutrition, about vitamins and supplements, about life, about gratitude, about joy, about family and friends, about solitude and silence, and about faith in the past year than in the previous 46 years of my life combined. And if I'm gonna be faithful in telling my story, then this is what I'm gonna tell, this is what I'm gonna write about. I'm gonna laugh and cry and repeat myself and fill journal pages - and overflow with gratitude.

I went out for a walk this morning, singing, smiling, marveling at the trees, the children on their way to school, neighbors heading off to work, the dogs barking, the birds singing, the squirrels crossing the road, and giving a stready stream of thanks to God that I am still alive, that I have the energy to walk 2+ miles on yet another gorgeous morning in Charlotte, and that I am soon to be a former kanswer patient. To God be the glory indeed!

**********
All of this gratitude is tempered by the sadness, the sorrow, the horror of the destructive tornadoes that landed in the midwest this past weekend and the typhoon in the Philippines two weeks ago. I have sent a limited amount of money to help provide relief and will send up unlimited prayers for restoration. A friend from Connecticut has had a recurrence of kanswer - lung kanswer - and is reeling from the seriousness of her situation. Two dear friends continue to search of work after being unemployed for far too long. Long term, chronic illness. Depression. Addiction. There is is much suffering. May God have mercy. And may we all find reasons to be grateful, even in the midst of all that we suffer.

Dedicated to Gibbs and the rest of the team in NYC

Here's an awesome video I discovered tonight.
I hope you get to see it before you head home tomorrow.

Traveling mercies to you all. I love you, girl. More than you know.

Thankful Thursday

This week, my heart has been bursting with joy and gratitude.

I am participating in an online experience of 45 Days of Joy with Jen Lemen. That woman can write! She inspires me in ways she simply cannot imagine. Check her out here. She used to have one of my favorite blogs on all of the internet, but now she's focusing on other endeavors. Her 45 days of writing about joy have ignited my joyful heart and given me new appreciation for joy and ways to welcome joy into my life.

I am also doing more writing of late. I get up and sit at my computer for 15 minutes each morning. Remembering details from my childhood. Recounting this past year of my kanswer journey. Laughing and crying my way through the vault of my memories. I am grateful for all that I remember and so happy to be able to draw on those memories and use them in my writing.

I love this quote by Anne Lamott on writing: "You own everything that happened to you. Tell your stories. If people wanted you to write warmly about them, they should've behaved better."

Yesterday I found a fabulous suede jacket at the Salvation Army Store. Wednesdays are half-price days there, so this black, slim-fit Liz Claiborne jacket cost me $5. In exchange for adding anything to my wardrobe, I have decided to get rid of two things I already have. It's a roundabout way of decluttering... at least that's what I tell myself whenever I find a gem and want to justify buying something new.

I am grateful for the many shelves of journals here in my study. Every now and then, I pull one out and read it. And every time I do that, I am reminded yet again of how blessed I have been in my lifetime. It's not that the things I read there are always good because my journals are not only filled with praise and thanksgiving. It's not that I was always happy about my situation when I wrote in my journals. I'm just glad to read what I was going through then and recognize how far I have come to arrive safely at this moment.

I am grateful for -

* the colors of autumn in my neighborhood
* Pinterest
* Art Journaling magazine
* Almonds and cashews
* scarves and sweaters on cold mornings
* Organic milk
* Yogi honey lavender stress relief tea
* postcards
* text messages
* new friends
* old friends
* Moleskine sketchbook journals
* quinoa and beans in the crock pot
* Gala apples
* the television show, Modern Family
* Stephen Colbert
* Anne Lamott's feisty spirit and delicious writing
* rice crackers
* the sewing machine repairman who is giving my tired, old sewing machine an overhaul
* lined curtains
* a toasted rosemary olive oil bagel with butter and an egg

* having the good sense to never eat tie-dye cake
* toothpaste and floss
* the fact that gas prices are coming down
* laughter and tea with my son every morning while we homeschool
* dreams in which my father and other friends from long ago and far away show up
* the upcoming Santa Pause sketch series with Kristin Noelle. I signed up for them last year and loved every single one of them.

* my son's request at the barber - a kanswer ribbon. He got one just after my diagnosis and decided to get another one on the one year anniversary of the diagnosis
* the fact that the barber didn't charge anything extra to do it
* honesty and integrity
* how well the scars on my chest are healing
* the fact that I have survived the first year since my diagnosis
* freedom in Christ, in my family, and in my own skin
* the December-Christmas journal I am creating for this year
* the ways in which my word for the year, "strength," has been an anchor for me
* lunch and dinner plans with friends tomorrow
* listening to my son sing hymns along with the online Life Management class he's taking
* how my daughter has taken charge of her education and the way she is handling the complicated process of applying to colleges upon finishing her associate's degree this semester

* Most of all, I am grateful that next Monday will be my last herceptin treatment at the oncology office. That will be the last time they have to access the port in my chest. And next Wednesday, the port will be removed. I am beyond excited about having this thing extracted from my body. At the same time, I am deeply grieved by the fact that I ever needed this f*cking thing!

As I discussed this with a wise friend of mine earlier this week, she said, "You must be feeling a lot of things about that." Well said. I am feeling so very much so very deeply: gratitude and anticipation, sadness and anger, hope and peace, fear that kanswer might come back some day and determination to do the very best I can to eat healthfully, exercise regularly, and live all the time I have left as well as possible.

Several people have asked me how I'm going to celebrate this huge milestone. Will I have a special dinner? Drink wine? Dance? I will probably do all of the above. I will also thank my doctor and the nurses for caring for me so compassionately during this past year. I will move forward into the rest of my life with joy, gratitude and contentment. I will honor every day with all the grace I can muster. I will love my family and friends and strangers alike from today until my last day. And I will sit in silence for a long time and let the tears flow - as they are flowing right now.

If you have any ideas of how I can honor this upcoming rite of healing and passage, feel free to pass them along.

Thankful Thursday

Today I am sooooooooo thankful and exciting that her video has gone viral. Someone told me that they saw the video on The Today Show. I saw a link to it on The Huffington Post. My husband said he thinks she will be on the Ellen show soon - won't it be great to see them dancing together? I am so thankful that she is showing the world that kanswer and a double mastectomy are not a death sentence. They don't have to steal our joy and our desire to dance. We don't have to enter the operating room or the boardroom or the classroom or the bedroom or any room in a state of terror and shame. I hope to meet her someday and, more than that, I hope to dance with her someday.

I am grateful for this moment. This breath. This day. Right here. Right now.

I am grateful that I kept returning to "this moment" when I was in Spain. Four weeks ago today, I left for that trip - four weeks already!!!

I remember arriving at the airport, getting through security, and sitting down in one of the many rocking chairs at the Charlotte Douglas International Airport. I pulled out my phone and called my dear friend, Lisa. She told me: "Turn off your brain and feed your soul." That became one of my mantras on the journey.

Whenever I felt myself float forward into the future with fear or worry, I pulled my thoughts back to "this moment." And very often, I would pull out my camera and take a photo of "this moment."

Here are a few of those moments.

On the airplane, flying from Charlotte to Miami.

"I am happy. I am healthy.

I am on my way. I am right here."

 Following Alvaro from his school to a koi and turtle pond.

"I am here, in Madrid, with Eduardo, Alvaro, and Jaime."

 The next day, at Harina, a lovely little restaurant, with Leticia,

Alvaro and Jaime's mom, my dear friend, I remembered: "be here, Gail."

She was looking at baked goods in the display case.

I was looking at the table and the folks around us.

"I am here. I am so very grateful."

Later that same day, Leticia and I stopped for tea at 

a luxurious and beautiful hotel in Madrid.

"I am here, sipping this tea, with my friend."

In the car with Jorge, Elena, and Irene, after dinner near La Plaza Mayor in Madrid.

A blurry photo, a crystal clear memory of deep contentment.

"I am back in Madrid, with friends, a full tummy, and an overflowing heart."

On the train between Madrid and Valladolid.

With my backpack on my back, proud of how lightly I travel.

Amazed at how large and bright the train bathroom was.

"I am here, on the train, so happy to be on my way to see Antonio."

In Valladolid later that same day, out for a solo walk. 

Two nuns walked past.

"I am here, waiting to meet up with my dear friend for an afternoon adventure."

The following morning, I discovered a cafe that became my breakfast place

for all three mornings I was in Valladolid.

Toast with olive oil and tomato sauce, tea of exotic fruits,

and my pocket-sized Moleskine journal.

"I am here, hungry, and happy beyond description."

Walking in the Cañon de Rio Lobos.

Such beauty, such majesty, such peace, such quietness - 

except where the men were cutting down diseased trees.

"I am here, with Toño, walking, talking,

and I cannot stop smiling."

Behind a church that was more than 750 years old.

Perhaps even 1,000 years old.

"I am here, we are here, God is here."

In the car in Castilla y Leon, the central plains of Spain.

Although they say that the rain in Spain falls mainly on the plain,

it didn't rain at all while I was there.

The sun shone. The clouds rolled through. And the windmills spun.

"I am here, in the car, listening to the jokes, the stories,

and the deep wisdom of my beloved soul-friend."

Thanks be to God.

My soul was fed on this trip in ways I could never have anticipated.

Thank you, Lisa, for planting that phrase in my head,

in my heart,

and most importantly, in my soul.

One Year Ago Today

I heard the horrible, life-altering, unexpected news: kanswer. What??? Me??? Suddenly I was pulled out of my regular homeschooling, homemaking life and tossed into the midst of a whirlwind of fear, worry, more fear, determination, hope, doubt, tenderness, encouragement, terror, and also an outpouring of love that blew my mind.

I was so confident that they would say I didn't have kanswer that I had a text message pre-written on my phone. I had already entered a long list of names of recipients of that text and was ready to push the send button as soon as we heard the good news. After the doctor read us the results, I tearfully deleted that original message and had to write a completely different text. My son was in the room with us and he burst into tears right along with me. My husband left the room to call my daughter and give her the news. She later reported that after he said, "We didn't get the news we hoped to hear," she didn't remember anything else he said. I felt a similar sensation: once the doctor said, "We found kanswer," the rest of the conversation sounded more like Korean than English. I felt the planet of my life shift on its axis. It felt like the whole world started to rotate in the opposite direction around the sun.

All day today, I've been thinking about the past year. How hard it has been. How empowering it has been. Surprising. Beautiful. Poetic. Love-filled. Tear-drenched. Laughter-inducing. Painful. Stark. Faith-deepening. I have reread the journal I began one year ago today. The journal of that first month post-diagnosis is full of questions, research, sketches, poetry, quotes, emails, notes on scans, tests, and appointments - and a lot of asking myself, my husband, and my God, "what the fuck?" A lot of that.

All day today, I've been thinking about ways to write this story. To share this story. Should I write more blog posts about kanswer? Should I write a book? Should I write articles? Should I stop talking and writing about it all together and just get on with living my life? Should I do all of this? Should I have so many "shoulds" about this chapter of my life?

As this day comes to an end, I don't have any answers to those questions. I want to write a book, but am not exactly sure how to go about it. I want to write more blogs about it, but I am also feeling a need to begin to tell different stories, new stories, deeper stories. I want to move on to new topics and stories, but every time I look in the mirror, I see this short-haired, flat-chested, post-kanswer story staring back at me. And every day I am increasingly aware that there is more to uncover and discover about this year and this kanswer journey.

One thing I know for sure is this: I am soooooooo glad to be alive, to be healthy, to be free, to be able to look back at this year and see all the ways in which courage won. Joy won. Peace won. Life won. Love won.

I remember this woman, grieving and laughing a few days after the diagnosis,

- with all of her hair and both of her breasts.

I still don't know who put that balloon on our mailbox,

but it was the first of many ways in which love has shown up

in my life during the past year.

One year ago today I wasn't sure I would make it to today.

Thankfully, joyfully, hope-fully, here I am. 

Grateful, grateful, grateful, grateful.

PS. Check out this video of a woman in the OR before her double mastectomy. This took place earlier today. Wow!!!
Thanks, Launa, for the link. Thanks also for your friendship and love.