Maybe Tonight, Maybe Tomorrow

Maybe Tonight, Maybe Tomorrow, a song by Austin modern rock group, Wideawake, is now available on iTunes, with 100 percent of the proceeds going to the Lance Armstrong Foundation. Inspired by a friend's cancer diagnosis, Wideawake lead singer Scott Leger wrote the track to honor cancer survivors (woo hoo - like me!) across the world. The track debuted May 19 at the LIVESTRONG Gala. Leger says the song "is dedicated to [his] friend and the millions of people affected by cancer. Those who we've lost and those who survive, fight, volunteer, support, research, raise awareness, give and inspire."

I downloaded the song from iTunes and did my best to capture the lyrics, because they are awesome:

I heard the news today
It came out of nowhere
Wish I could run away
But where would I go?

Is this my destiny,
Something so unfair?
What will become of me?
God only knows.

And they say the road to heaven,
It might lead us back through hell…

Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow
We will win this fight
And bury this sorrow
We’re so alive, still holding on;
Not ready to die,
So we live strong.

My pride is left for dead
As my world gets shaken.
Thoughts inside my head, so hard to control.
I’m staring down the unknown;
One thing for certain:
That it may break my body,
But never break my soul.

They say the road to heaven,
It might lead us back through hell.
So we’re holding on for more than stories to tell.

Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow
We will win this fight
And bury this sorrow.
We’re so alive, still holding on;
Not ready to die,
So we live strong.

We will live strong...

Despair and Die

Several weeks ago we dragged out our DVD copy of The Chronicles of Narnia: the Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe and watched it with our son. It is well-known for its Christian themes, particularly with Aslan the lion, who sacrifices his life to meet the justice demands of the White Witch, and to save mankind. Later his life is restored. One of the most memorable lines from the movie happens when the White Witch is about to slay Aslan. She raises her dagger and says, "Despair...and DIE!"

Now, since everyone who lives will eventually die, we know that death is not automatically preceded by despair. Even very happy and positive people get tapped by the reaper at some point. Death is part of the overall plan. However, there are different biological responses to hopefulness and despair, which may play a role in the management of serious illness.

Studies have shown that humor, hopefulness, creativity, and other positive and constructive approaches tend to correlate with better immune system functioning, better self-care behaviors, and optimized outcomes. By contrast, despair tends to correlate with depressed immune system functioning, poor self-care behaviors, and poor outcomes.

Despair is more than just the sadness, stress, and grief of dealing with a serious medical condition. Those feelings come and go like the tides of the sea. But within a framework of faith (okay, and maybe with a little chocolate therapy -- we just had a chocolate-themed family party for my daughter's first birthday), those feelings can be managed in constructive ways. Despair, on the other hand, is a lack of faith. A lack of hope. A lack of anything to help stay afloat. Despair will sink a person. Despair...and die.

Have faith and hope...and live. Well, actually, die anyway...someday/eventually...like we all will. But live more and live better.

Baby, I can drive your car

Assuming that my bouts of illness in recent past were not seizure-related, I am legal to drive again as of June 10. Hooray - a milestone to celebrate! I just have to stay seizure-free.

Of course, the irony is that I no longer have my car! Earlier this year we traded two cars for one seven-passenger SUV, because we only had one driver in the family, and this way we could fit ourselves, the kids, and friends all together into one vehicle. So I'm still grounded during the weekdays when my husband takes the car to work, but it's nice to know that I'm once again street legal, if/when I can manage to get a car into my possession.

I have been spotted driving on those lucky occasions, and it adds fuel to the ever-spreading rumors that I am "done" (as in cured, not dead). Announcements of my recent clear MRI, combined with new demonstrations of independence (taking care of my own kids, cooking my own meals, driving, etc.) have led some of my friends to believe that this is now behind me, like a toenail infection that finally cleared up or something. My theory is that there are so many hopeful, faithful people who have been praying in earnest on my behalf, and so there is a widespread expectation and hope that I WILL be cured. So lots of people are just hearing news that fits well with their good hopes for me. And that's nice, even though I am not out of the woods yet. I'm still in the battle of my lifetime. I still need all those prayers!!!

I also hear a lot of "you look great", which could mean anything from "wow - you're not as bald as I thought you'd be", or "you're not schlepping around in your jammies like the last time I saw you", to "you actually look great, you hottie" or maybe anything in that wide spectrum in-between! It's just nice to know that I still look human, despite surgery, radiation, chemo, sleep deprivation, five months of exercise restrictions, and steroids! (Ba-ba-ba-bald Ba-ba-ba-lloon!)

By the way, being street legal means that I have been "stable" for six months on seizure treatment. I'm actually six months from my surgery date. I had brain surgery six months ago, on December 12. It seems like it was so recent, but I guess time flies when you're having fun. The creepy thing is that it was also when I got my cancer diagnosis -- the worst of the worst, with a 12-14 month average prognosis. It occurred to me that I have already spent about half of that time, which is an unpleasant thought, but then I realized that I could also look at it another way: I am halfway toward beating my prognosis.

Beep beep'm beep beep -- yeah!

Slumber Party Therapy

Yes, I'm feeling better than I did during my last post (many have been asking - it's nice to know how much people care).

I'm doing well because I have a diverse treatment regimen. I have my monthly 5-day dose of Temodar chemotherapy (my latest one started yesterday). I take medication to control seizures, and I take vitamins. I try to eat lots of fruits and veggies, drink lots of water, and I exercise EVERY day. (Still going since May 5!!!) My favorite workout is on a bicycle, because it's a good neuro test, I feel like Lance Armstrong, and we added a child's tandem attachment so our son can pedal with me. My husband puts our daughter in a trailer behind his bike, and off we go for a family ride most evenings!

In April I had "gaggle therapy", when my high school friends came to town for a visit. It was awesome! And this past weekend I enjoyed "slumber party therapy". My bestest friend from sixth grade came to visit me from Wisconsin. We used to be in school together in the Chicago area, but tearfully separated when my family moved to Utah during the summer before seventh grade. We remained pen pals and met up again at around age sixteen (that's the photo where I'm sporting my cool 80's headband), but we completely fell out of touch around the time we each got married. So it was a joyous reunion when we recently found each other again after so many years, and it was especially joyous to be able to visit in person. (The other picture is the two of us standing outside Southfork Ranch last Friday.)

I call this visit "slumber party therapy", because it was like a typical slumber party: lots of talking and very little slumbering. My husband joked about how he should have come out into the living room to tell us to keep it down, since that's what dads usually do during slumber parties. As a third-generation insomniac, a former early morning seminary teacher, and the mother of a baby girl who used to have her days and nights mixed up, I'm pretty used to sleep deprivation. But this was such a fun reason for being tired! We laughed and cried and gabbed about everything from old times to current challenges and the faith that carries us through it all. Before we knew it, hours and hours would slip away so fast. Just as it was with my high school friends, it was as though the gap of space and time had completely disappeared, and we just picked up our friendship where we left off. It was good therapy for the mind, body, and soul to add more love and laughter to our lives.

Surprise!

I woke up this morning, pleasantly surprised to be awake!

Last night was a very rough night. It seemed as though I was having the worst seizures ever, at least as far as the sick feeling goes. There was no accompanying deja-vu feeling or funny smell, as was always the case with past seizures, so I'm not sure what exactly this was. But I had a series of waves of feeling really sick, as though I would lose consciousness. I considered going to the emergency room, but since my original ER experience last November, I have little faith in the competence of the care I would receive there. Back then, the ER doctor insisted that I was not having seizures, and because my C-T scan was clear, "it's not like you have a brain tumor or anything..." Had it not been for my brother (a dermatology resident) who could recognize a textbook seizure, and who insisted that I needed to press for an EEG, I'd be dead by now. Because within a couple of days I was seeing a neurologist, who ordered an EEG and MRI, and voila - seizures caused by a deadly, aggressive tumor. Left untreated, glioblastoma multiforme can kill in a matter of months. So anyway, I'm not likely to revisit that emergency room ever again.

For some reason last night, it got to the point where I wondered if this was IT for me. It's interesting, the thoughts that go through your mind when you think death is imminent. I remembered having scolded Jacob that day, and wished I hadn't. I thought about the things I still wanted to finish. I wondered if Jared would know my preferences for the funeral details. I was really glad that I said "I love you" lots of times to my family. And then, there was a sense of, "hey - this isn't such a big deal." That was an interesting reaction to the situation. I knew that even if this WERE it, there was much to look forward to after this life is over. That was a comforting feeling. However, I still reached for my inner beagle and refused to go anywhere. I wasn't ready to go. I want to live and be with my family. So I got feisty and told myself that I wasn't going anywhere - hopefully it was just the healing process making me feel lousy right now. (Remember Lance Armstrong: "The ironic thing was, the worse I felt, the better I got.") And so when I woke up this morning I was very happy to find myself alive and well.

Throughout the evening, as I pondered what might have happened, I remembered that some of my friends thought I was done and cured, because the latest MRI was clear. And I wondered if maybe some of those friends figured their prayers had been answered, and so maybe fewer prayers were going out. (Each one really counts!!!) As I was told by a dear friend and cancer survivor, you're never "done" with cancer until you're dead. Until then, it's a cycle of treating the tumor, hoping it works, and then checking and waiting for the next tumor to pop up. Remission periods are great, and I guess the longer they last between recurrences, the better the prognosis. So anyway, I'm good for now, but I'm unfortunately (or fortunately) not done. There will be another MRI at the end of July, and hopefully it will be clear once again. There will continue to be chemo each month and whatever else needs to be done. I'm good for now because of the power of prayer, and I hope that those prayers will continue on my behalf, so that I can continue to benefit from them. Got a (hopefully) long journey ahead, because - surprise! - I woke up this morning!

Buster, Nemo, and Me

Our home already has two examples of great physical endurance, and I hope to become the third.

First of all, we have our beagle, Buster. On June 11 he will celebrate his fourteenth birthday. He was our first "furbaby", acquired as soon as he was weaned, as a birthday gift to me from my husband. Beagles are known for their tenacity, and I have blogged before about my "inner beagle" as a symbol of endurance. Beagles are also known for their merry faces and dispositions, and for their rich, distinctive voices (more attributes worth trying to emulate).

The average lifespan of a beagle is 11-15 years, so 14-year-old Buster is technically an old man. It's amazing that he has made it this far, because he is not exactly in peak physical condition. He is fat and has had a worsening heart condition for years. He has had a couple of surgeries to remove tumors. He has chronic problems with his teeth, and often has to have several removed when he has his regular checkups. He has allergies, he's going deaf, and he has joint problems. All combined, one would expect him to be hugging the early side of the bell curve, but instead he remains a vigorous and cheerful companion living on borrowed time.

And then we have Nemo the betta fish. Nemo was a Christmas gift to our son in December 2004. We bought him at a kiosk at the mall, where they sold betta fish in cool glass block "fishbowls". We were told that this fish would be easy to maintain, which was a good attribute for a creature placed under the care of a three-year-old boy. They told us to feed him/her/it a couple of tiny pellets a day (or whenever - if we miss a few days it won't matter), and then when the water gets cloudy (maybe once a month), just empty out half the bowl and refill with spring water. That's it.

The bowl was cleaned for the first time yesterday - more than 17 months after we brought Nemo home. I swear that this fish must eat its own poop. The water has remained crystal clear since the day we brought Nemo home, and the only reason we finally changed the water and cleaned the bowl was because Nemo (a vibrant red fish) started to change color, and we could see some excess food building up in the gravel.

Unlike the 28-cent Walmart goldfish (also purchased in December 2004 but died two weeks later - you get what you pay for), the average lifespan of a betta fish is anywhere from 1-3 years, and the average age of a betta fish in a store is six months. So we assume Nemo is almost two years old. Once again, we have a pet who is enjoying an uncharacteristically long life under their circumstances (I mean, come on - the poop-eating fish living in the same water for well over a year, still alive and feisty at an age when many betta fish have been flushed into the next life).

I swear that there are times when Buster and I look at each other as if to say, "who's going first, Short-timer, you or me?" Same thing when I look at Nemo. None of us has statistics on our side. We have to find our own staying power. I think faith and hope and stubbornness have kept me going so far. Maybe Buster's staying power comes from his merry disposition and the free use of his powerful voice. And maybe Nemo just has (excuse the expression) a high tolerance for crap. Maybe there are lessons to be learned from these tenacious creatures, so that I can join their ranks and push the upper limits of my lifespan.

Knee-Deep

...well, actually N.E.D.P. = No Evidence of Disease Progression!

MRI looked "beautiful" today, according to my oncologist. I wonder if Carlos (my hair stylist) gets any credit for that. (Speaking of Carlos - I FORGOT to ask my doctor about highlighting. I'll have to follow up...) And except for forgetting to ask about the highlights, I passed all my neuro tests with flying colors. Once again, being sober pays off. I also clocked in nine pounds lighter than last month, so that daily exercise (26 days so far) is also paying off.

Big thanks to everyone for your prayers. It was easy for me to be calm throughout this day, because any time I started to worry, a voice would remind me about the many prayers that were being offered on my behalf. And it really carried me through what is normally an agonizing moment.

So now we are busy planning something fun tonight to celebrate, and my N.E.D.P. brain is singing and taunting the Reaper, who was foiled once again:

All our times have come
Here but now they're gone
Seasons don't fear the reaper
Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain
We can be like they are
Come on baby... Don't fear the Reaper

A Little Entertainment During the Suspense...

"Good Riddance (Time Of Your Life)" by Green Day:

Another turning point, a fork stuck in the road
Time grabs you by the wrist, directs you where to go
So make the best of this test, and don't ask why
It's not a question, but a lesson learned in time

It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right.
I hope you had the time of your life.

So take the photographs, and still frames in your mind
Hang it on a shelf in good health and good time
Tattoos of memories and dead skin on trial
For what it's worth it was worth all the while

It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right.
I hope you had the time of your life.

It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right.
I hope you had the time of your life.

It's something unpredictable, but in the end it's right.
I hope you had the time of your life.

Pray for Peace, People Everywhere

Remember that Christmas song, "Do You Hear What I Hear?" In my head I keep singing this line from it: "Pray for peace, people everywhere..."

I know that it's not Christmas. (Yay - I know the correct date - at least that neuro test passed!) Instead, it's MRI Eve. A time to pray for peace...and hopefully another accurate and reassuring scan.

We are coming up on nearly six months since my diagnosis of a cancer that has a 12-14 month statistical prognosis. The likelihood of tumor recurrence within the first 6-9 months is high. One news article once gave me the willies by talking about how "most" GBM patients see the first signs of a fatal recurrence within the first nine months. I have an uneasy feeling but strive to remain hopeful. After all, based on the way I can breeze through any neuro test (100...93...86...79...72...65...58...51...) and easily navigate a bike through my neighborhood, I would appear to be okay. So I hope that the MRI will agree.

There have been other nervous times before, and I was carried through those times on the faith and prayers of good family and friends. I look forward to that help again, for I know that many are praying (and some are even fasting) for me. Every one helps, and every one is appreciated.

Back to Life

Today included a "back to life" experience. I was reunited with Carlos, my favorite stylist. I finally have a head that can endure a third-party washing, combing, and styling (if they are gentle - my right side is still tender), and I was ready for a "Carlos" caliber style (because he is a miracle worker who can read my cancer-riddled mind and give me the hair that I want). So off I went today for my first "real" haircut in more than six months. It was awesome! Carlos was running behind, so he treated me to a complimentary hot towel conditioning - a very pampering experience - before I got my turn in the chair.

Together we surveyed the reality of my roots, which are quite deep, since my last highlight appointment was before my surgery. Even my husband's best efforts to "say something nice" have failed to conceal the brutal truth about my two-toned coif. But under the circumstances I have been both too sore to endure a foil wrap, and too wary of putting so many chemicals into my head. I promised Carlos that I would check with my neuro-oncologist to see what she thinks about highlighting a head with cancer in it. Hopefully she will sanction the proposal. If not, well, I can always go as Cruella DeVille this Halloween.

So, no highlights for today. But a hot towel pampering and a super cut and style from the miracle worker made me feel like I was back to the good life again.

God's Desk

Now that my home office is gorgeous again, I can survey the things that inspire me as I work. Over my desk are various reminders of professional achievements (framed certificates/college diploma, my article that was published the same month as my tumor diagnosis, etc.), reminders of personal achievements (my son's artwork, family pictures, etc.), and some things that really tickle me (gifts from former employees and co-workers, a framed copy of an advertisement that features my son when he was a baby/model, a box containing "CEO Barbie" - dressed in a pinstripe suit - so I could pretend I looked like that when I became president of a medical device company - the one whose ad features my son - and one book that influenced me as an adolescent second only to the scriptures: Real Women Don't Pump Gas). Hanging on the wall opposite my desk is a framed print of The Elder Sister, by William Adolphe Bouguereau, which along with a matching mousepad were gifts from two of my younger brothers who lived with us one summer. I also have a shelf with some antique medical devices and pharmaceuticals displayed, along with some antique medical books (including one ominous copy of Essentials of Neurology -- who knew??). It's hard not to walk into my office without learning a lot about me. Thank goodness it's not the huge mess that it used to be (and thank goodness I'm not, either).

In his book, 101 Exercises for the Soul, Dr. Bernie Siegel says that over God's desk there is a plaque that reads, "If you go around saying 'I've got a miserable life', I'll show you what miserable really is. And if you go around saying 'I've got a wonderful life', I'll show you what wonderful really is." Whether that is literally true or not, the concept is right on target. Misery does breed misery, and gratitude does reveal an abundance of blessings. Dr. Seigel goes on to say that "The future is unknown, and we should never let our fears, worries, and negative attitudes prevent us from enjoying the day and finding fulfillment, no matter what tomorrow seems to hold."

This is a natural time of fear and worry, awaiting this week's MRI scan. We don't know whether it will give us one more sigh of relief, or whether it will open a new Pandora's box. My dad put it well after I told him the results of my last MRI scan, when he said, "Of course it was good, and it will continue to be good until the Lord decides you are finished down here." (Hopefully cleaning my office wasn't the last thing I needed to do in this life!) He makes a good point. But when the medical team treats recurrence as a "when", not an "if" situation; and when "glioblastoma multiforme" automatically labels me in their world as the walking dead who will hopefully string along for a few extra months, it takes a concentrated effort to avoid absorbing that attitude. But no matter what the next scan looks like, I have to remember that my only guarantee is today - in some portion, at least. Even if I were somehow miraculously cancer-free. That's how it is for all of us. We have today. Tomorrow could bring anything - plummeting aircraft, freaky aneurysm, drunk driver, unsanitary restaurant workers, bird flu - or whatever. Today brings an opportunity to live, love, and savor. If I make it to Thursday, I will have an emotional ride through the MRI tube and a sentencing hearing with my oncologist. Whatever is, is. I know that I will have the resources I need to deal with whatever "is". If I spend each Today acknowledging the wonderful life that I have, and the great blessings that are always attending me throughout this experience, perhaps Thursday's outcome - whatever it is - will be an opportunity for God to show me what wonderful really is.

The Space Shuttle, Cleaning My Office, and Living with Cancer

It seems like a party game - what do these have in common?

I remember hearing a long time ago that the space shuttle consumes a huge amount of fuel and energy during the lift-off, and then once it has cleared the atmosphere and is able to orbit, it just coasts along easily.

This morning I was organizing my office - one room in my house that is always a disaster. I was doing my quasi-manic/depressive impression halfway through the process, where I looked around and got overwhelmed at the remaining amount of work to be done. I was exhausted (although - hooray - I did sleep pretty well last night), and I thought this just couldn't be done. For some reason, though, I remembered the space shuttle and thought that if I could just persevere for a little while longer, the task would start to get easier. And it did. Soon I was finishing up, and it was much more manageable. And now I'm sitting in a clean office, feeling pretty pleased with myself.

Someone recently asked me what it was like to live with cancer every day. Well, at first there was the initial shock and insult of the news, followed by an intense period of grief and adjusting to this new circumstance. It consumed a lot of energy and effort. But now I think I'm in that orbit mode. Don't get me wrong - it's not a breeze by any means. But it's easier to manage on an every day basis than it used to be. And sometimes I guess I have to leave orbit mode and persevere through some dips and dives -- like this week, with the dreaded MRI coming up soon. I have a choice: I can give in to the worry and crash and burn, or I can keep pushing on through until I am safely in orbit again.

Insomnia

I come by it honestly, as a third-generation insomniac. For as long as I can remember (even way back in my B.C. life) I would lie in bed with a steady stream of thoughts that wouldn't quiet down. Sometimes they would be worries. Sometimes it would just be a song that persistently replayed in my head. Sometimes they are just random thoughts - happy, sad, neutral, whatever - that want their time onstage.

One thing that has fascinated (and pleasantly surprised) me is how well I have slept in my A.D. life. That is, until very recently.

June 1 is my next MRI scan - the next peek into my brain to see if anything is growing there. Meanwhile, I am to be aware of - and report - any neurological symptoms, including the return of seizures. Thankfully (knocking wood) I have not had seizures for a long time. But I have a terrible fear of them returning, not only because they are so unpleasant, but because they may signal disease progression. I have an uneasy feeling about this upcoming scan and such an awful fear of seizures, that I am hyper-sensitive and paranoid about anything that comes close to a seizure. Any time I feel deja-vu, or start to feel a rise in my stomach, or even if I come near anything that has a strong smell, I start to panic and wonder if a seizure is coming on. And then I wonder if I am going to have a hysterical seizure simply because I am so afraid of them. Also, because these seizures started with the "smell nightmares" - where I would wake up with adrenaline rushing, followed by a funny smell - I have a fear of going to sleep and waking up with one of those again. On a few occasions - like tonight - I would start to fall asleep but would wake up with adrenaline rushing and heart racing. Over and over again. No funny smell, though, so hopefully I'm just experiencing some anxiety.

I read somewhere that if you embrace fear, it will fall asleep in your arms. I keep reminding myself that - okay - even if I have a seizure, it doesn't necessarily mean there is disease progression. And even if there is disease progression, it doesn't necessarily mean that the game is over. Acknowledging the fear helps minimize it down from a big monster to a little baby that will hopefully fall asleep in my arms.

And hopefully I can finally fall asleep in my husband's arms...

Milestones

I have a fervent wish to still be around when my son dons his graduation cap and gown, and tonight there is an opportunity to at least see one such moment. Jacob has his "Pre-K" class graduation tonight - in a ceremony complete with cap and gown. Pre-K graduation seems a little silly and contrived, but hopefully it will whet his appetite and give him a desire for many more graduation ceremonies to come. And hopefully this won't be the only one I get to attend.

Jacob is having some sentimental moments as he ponders the "goodbyes" from preschool teachers and friends. As he would tell me how much he misses someone, I let him know that when we love someone, we miss them when they are gone, and we are all the happier when we see them again. (Laying a foundation of understanding that hopefully he won't have to apply until he is an old man.)

We chose "Camp Mama-atta-homa" for his summer learning experience before he starts kindergarten in August. My first baby in kindergarten. It's exciting.

Meanwhile, my daughter, Emma (age 11 months) is threatening to walk. This milestone is imminent.

Kids grow so fast, because life in general moves so fast. On the one hand, I am so excited to see these milestones fly by, because maybe if they go fast enough, it will be easier for me to be around to see them. But sometimes it's just fun to slow down and savor the "today" moments, while it is still today.

May 17

Today (May 17) was Livestrong Day. Lance Armstrong's foundation always commemmorates this day every year, as it was the date when Lance Armstrong was diagnosed with cancer. They ask people to wear yellow and/or Livestrong apparel, and they have various activities to promote cancer awareness and advocate cancer-related causes. I wore my Livestrong polo shirt, baseball cap, and wristband, and when my dad and I went out to lunch, I got a lot of questions about whether I worked for the Lance Armstrong Foundation. (I don't.)

May 17 is also a special day each year for my husband and me, because it is our "kiss-a-versary." 23 years ago on May 17, we had our third date and I got a nice kiss on the doorstep as Jared dropped me off. He remembers this date, too - he even puts it on his PDA calendar. (How many husbands actually do that? I'm LUCKY!) It was also the day that I took and miserably failed my AP History exam, because I was distracted by "date tonight with Jared - woo hoo!"

We celebrated by having some new furniture delivered today. Because I can't drive (which is so silly because I can tool around skillfully on a bicycle...and I must confess that I did actually break the rules and tried driving a little bit last weekend...it was weird), I can't visit my clients, so they have to come to my home office for in-person meetings. So now I have some nice, new living room furniture (because it serves as my office lobby) and a nice, new dining table & chairs (because it's also my conference table). See - it's like I said before: cancer has its privileges.

Today also marks my eighth day of consecutive exercise - I'm back into the obsessive exercise groove again! Daily exercise - no excuses - unless a doctor says to stop (and then only when arguing with the doctor doesn't change their mind). That's the policy that worked for me really well in my B.C. years. I want to beat my previous three-year streak (especially because that would involve surviving for three years). I kicked it off on May 5 with Relay for Life, and I haven't stopped since. Lately we've done a lot of bike riding as a family, now that my daughter is old enough to sit with her brother in the trailer that Jared pulls behind his bike. It makes me feel very Lance Armstrong-ish as we pedal around. (Especially today as I did so in my Livestrong gear!)

Living strong and loving strong, and celebrating both today on May 17.

What Sweeter Music

Okay, so someone asked for details about the good choral music I like to listen to. Here's a quick list:

1. Anything performed by Evening Song (because my husband and I used to sing with them, and were part of the group during their first three CD recordings). You can visit them at www.eveningsong.com to order a CD or listen to a sampling in their recital room.
2. Anything written/arranged by John Rutter or Mack Wilberg (I accidentally left them out of my list of favorite composers!).
3. Anything recorded by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir under their new label (especially because they sing a lot of stuff by Rutter and Wilberg on these newer CD's).
4. Handel's Messiah as recorded by the Monteverdi Choir and conducted by John Eliot Gardiner(Philips/Polygram label). It's hard to find, and it's expensive, but it's the best recording of that oratorio!
5. Anything recorded by the Choir of Kings College, Cambridge.
6. Anything recorded by the Tallis Scholars.
7. The Choral Moods CD recorded by the Choir of Trinity College, Cambridge (especially Allegri's "Miserere Mei, Deus" - which is purported to be the song whose score used to be so carefully guarded by the Vatican until Mozart heard it once and wrote it down from memory because he loved it so much - and Barber's "Agnus Dei", which is a choral version of his famous "Adagio for Strings" that a lot of people tell me is "the music from Platoon")
8. Requiems written by Brahms (especially "How Lovely Is Thy Dwelling Place"), Durufle (especially "Pie Jesu"), and Faure (ditto on the "Pie Jesu"). (Hope that doesn't sound morbid, recommending requiems!)
9. Vivaldi's Gloria (especially "Et in Terra Pax" and "Que Sedes Ad Dexteram Patris" - the latter because it is a kick-butt alto aria that I wish I had the chance to perform somewhere).

And that's just what I came up with from the top of my pumpkin-carved/radiation seared head!

Broken Things To Mend

I had a great Mother's Day yesterday. My son made me three cards (including one that he signed, "love, Jacob Oakes") and told me I was "the best mom in the whole world." He made me a little potted plant in preschool, and is very proud of it. He also sang his heart out with the Primary children in church, as they sang special songs like, "Mother, I Love You". His little face beaming at me while he sang was even more precious than the nice Coach watch that his daddy gave me! My husband also made sure I was treated to breakfast in bed and Sunday dinner (including dishwashing service) without my having to lift a finger. My daughter's gift to me was mastering the word, "Mama" - which she repeated loudly throughout our church service. It was a fun day.

Another treat I had yesterday was the re-discovery of a general conference talk given by one of the leaders of our church, Jeffrey R. Holland (who happened to be the president of BYU when I was a student there). The talk (which is now an Ensign magazine article) was called, "Broken Things To Mend" (You can click on the title to view the article.)

In the article there is a wonderful poem, called, "The Carpenter of Nazareth":

In Nazareth, the narrow road,
That tires the feet and steals the breath,
Passes the place where once abode
The Carpenter of Nazareth.

And up and down the dusty way
The village folk would often wend;
And on the bench, beside Him, lay
Their broken things for Him to mend.

The maiden with the doll she broke,
The woman with the broken chair,
The man with broken plough, or yoke,
Said, “Can you mend it, Carpenter?”

And each received the thing he sought,
In yoke, or plough, or chair, or doll;
The broken thing which each had brought
Returned again a perfect whole.

So, up the hill the long years through,
With heavy step and wistful eye,
The burdened souls their way pursue,
Uttering each the plaintive cry:

“O Carpenter of Nazareth,
This heart, that’s broken past repair,
This life, that’s shattered nigh to death,
Oh, can You mend them, Carpenter?”

And by His kind and ready hand,
His own sweet life is woven through
Our broken lives, until they stand
A New Creation—“all things new.”

“The shattered [substance] of [the] heart,
Desire, ambition, hope, and faith,
Mould Thou into the perfect part,
O, Carpenter of Nazareth!”

- George Blair, “The Carpenter of Nazareth”

Dog and Butterfly

People don't have to know me for very long to realize how much I loooooooove music. Most of what I love to hear is the kind of stuff I'd hopefully hear in heaven someday (especially good sacred choral stuff). The more I have participated in music, the more I have learned to appreciate beautifully written stuff.

At the same time, however, I have some favorites that probably don't waft through celestial Muzack, but they feel great to listen to. My personal theory is that well-written music in general is good for the brain, so I like to treat it with both the inspired stuff and the fun stuff.

I am a super-huge fan of the girlie rock duo, Heart. Only the Longflicks will ever top them, I think. (Only die-hard readers of my blog might know who the Longflicks are!) When I'm in a "let-out-some-steam" mood, I love to listen to "Barracuda", and sometimes I just love how awesomely clean the drums are in "Crazy on You". But from my early junior high years I fell in love with their ballad, "Dog and Butterfly". I would listen to it on the radio often as I fell asleep at night. There was something soothing about the guitar and Ann Wilson's voice. I had NO idea what this song was about, but for some reason I liked it a lot.

Now, 28 years after the song was released, I have it on CD, and I listened to it a bunch of times today. I still couldn't get what the song was about, so I studied the lyrics and found an article online about it. It turns out that Ann Wilson was inspired to write the song after watching her dog chase a butterfly around the yard. Her sister, Nancy, was quoted as saying that, "As Ann watched her dog it struck her as symbolic as to how life can be. When you're an earthbound creature we're always jumping and reaching for things we can never really catch, but you try anyway. And that's the point of the song, we're always trying to grab at something higher."

There I was with the old man,
Stranded again so off I'd ran.
A young world crashing around me;
No possibilities of getting what I need.
He looked at me and smiled,
Said "No, no, no, no, no child.

See the dog and butterfly; up in the air he like to fly."
Dog and butterfly; below she had to try.
She roll back down to the warm soft ground, laughing
She don't know why, she don't know why
Dog and butterfly

Well I stumbled upon your secret place
Safe in the trees you had tears on your face
Wrestling with your desires;
Frozen strangers stealing your fires.
The message hit my mind
Only words that I could find:
See the dog and butterfly; up in the air he like to fly.
Dog and butterfly; below she had to try.
She roll back down to the warm soft ground
Laughing to the sky, up to the sky
Dog and butterfly

We're getting older, the world's getting colder.
For the life of me, I don't know the reason why.
Maybe it's livin' making us give in.
Hearts rolling in, taken back on the tide;
We're balanced together, ocean upon the sky.

Another night in this strange town
Moonlight holding me light as down
Voice of confusion inside of me
No begging to go back where I'm free
Feels like I'm through,
Then the old man's words are true:
See the dog and butterfly; up in the air he like to fly.
Dog and butterfly; below she had to try.
She roll back down to the warm soft ground
With a little tear in her eye.
She had to try, she had to try.
Dog and butterfly

So I guess whether its fighting cancer or following any other challenging dream, we just have to try. "Maybe it's livin' making us give in", but we can't give in or give up. We have to try. And maybe we might be as silly or stupid-looking as a dog jumping around and chasing a butterfly. (My beagle is so tenacious, he can be funny to watch when he is going after something.) And maybe after trying and trying we fall back down with a little tear in our eye. But we still have to try.

No wonder I like that song! I mean, it's not exactly Handel or Bach or Mozart or Brahms (my favorite composers), but it's a feel-good song with a feel-good message.

I get to take chemo!

How silly is this - being excited about taking chemo?

My white blood cell counts are a little higher - still a little low, but my neutrophils are way up, so I'm cleared to start another 5-day high dose of Temodar.

And maybe it's okay to eat a raw vegetable again!

Life Flashing Before Your Eyes

I've often heard people refer to their "life flashing before their eyes" when they were in a perilous situation.

I am neither in a plummeting aircraft nor observing an oncoming drunk driver in a Mack truck. My threat is more of a slow motion thing. So I guess the life flashing before my eyes is more of a slow motion thing.

One of the "perks" of cancer is the opportunity to reflect intently on one's life. I've posted before my thoughts about how I have been blessed with a good life (a great life, actually). But it's also been kind of a "This is Your Life" season for me, where I have had the opportunity to be transported back in time. Back to my seminary teaching days, as I have been in touch with some of my seminary students. Back to my singing days with Evening Song choir, as we rejoined the group for a rehearsal and an upcoming tour. Back to my dancing days with Jared. Back to my high school days with "the gaggle". Back to the many years of Messiah. Back to the family vacation and "second honeymoon" days at Disney World. Back to the day when my son was born, as recently relived with his birth grandmother on the phone. And so on.

Long, long ago B.C. (before cancer) - about 11 years ago - during a trip to New York City, I had my first taste of time travel back to the sixth grade. I saw Shaun Cassidy perform on Broadway, and I caught him afterward at the stage entrance for an autograph. I think I even touched his jacket. He was my obsession when I was in the sixth grade, and seeing him in real life took me back to those days when I would have fainted at the idea of getting to meet him.

That crush had long-since been transferred to my husband, but there was another part of that sixth grade era that I have missed: my best friend at the time. Her name is Dawn, and we maintained a friendship not only during that sixth grade year at Lake Zurich Junior High School (in Illinois), but also for years afterward, despite my family's move to Utah during the summer before seventh grade. We wrote each other frequently and had a fun reunion at the Great America amusement park during a family trip back to Illinois when I was about sixteen or so. We continued to correspond for years thereafter, but fell out of touch around the time that we each got married. I would often think about my good friend and wonder where she was, how she was doing, etc.

I recently had a nagging feeling that I needed to find her again - NOW. And thanks to the magic of Google, I was able to find her! It has been a fun and exciting reunion as we have been catching up with each other through email and phone conversations, and every time we talk I get to have that fun time of life "flash" before my eyes. Dawn is coming to Texas for a visit next month, and I am very excited for the opportunity to let her meet my husband and kids, and to relive another great time of life.