Archives for posts with tag: Breast Cancer
Photo from National Geographic magazine.

May 18, 1980. Eruption of Mt St. Helens. Photo from National Geographic magazine.

As you may already know, Mt. St. Helen’s erupted on this day, 34 years ago. This is a mountain in the Cascade range, one of the two mountain ranges in my state of Washington. I was in the 8th grade when it happened and although the mountain is nearly 200 miles from the city in which I grew up, I could see the ash plume from the home of the neighbor at which I was babysitting.

It was the first time I remember there being a natural disaster near where I lived. Unlike earthquakes, this seismic event could be predicted. The area was evacuated. Nonetheless, there were casualties, people who refused to leave the area. Harry Truman, an elderly man who lived on Spirit Lake, was interviewed prior to the eruption. He stated under no uncertain terms, would he leave the area. He stayed and he died.

What was most upsetting to me was the fact that two children, Day Andrew Karr (aged 11) and Michael Murray Karr (aged 9), were also killed. They actually lived in my town and their father TOOK THEM to see the mountain erupt. A photo of Day Karr’s lifeless and naked body, sitting in the back of a pick up truck was on the cover of a national magazine. I found the photo and planned to put it in this post but honestly, it is still too upsetting to me. The child had not been identified at the time the photo was published. As I recall, Day’s grandmother recognized him when she saw the cover of the NATIONAL MAGAZINE! What a horrible way to identify a body. My mother was asked to sing for the father and the boys’ funeral, which she did.

As I have mentioned, I have been dealing with anger about my cancer in the last few months. And as I have mentioned, anxiety typically underlies my experiences of anger. I feel it bubbling and sometimes it smokes and puffs a little. I have been less patient with my family.

I know that I am not going to blow like Mt. St. Helens. But I can feel something coming and I’m not sure how to prevent it. I can’t evacuate from myself. I keep walking in the woods, meditating, and so forth. I am trying to take care of myself. But this feels like a grief episode and likely increasing in part because next Saturday marks 2 years since my breast cancer diagnosis.

The other waves of grief have been ones I had to ride until I got to the other side. I suspect this will be the same. I can comfort myself with the view of a snow capped Mt. St. Helens that I saw from the airplane on my way back to Seattle from New Orleans. It was part of a beautiful range of mountains.

 

As I mentioned in The Hours, taking care of myself as a breast cancer patient is time consuming. For example, I still need 10-12 hours of sleep per night. I walk an hour to an hour and a half nearly every day. My wheat allergy coupled with the diet I eat to help maintain good health means that I eat very little prepared or processed food. Cooking from scratch takes time. I still find myself in health providers offices 2-3 times per week. And I work for a living. Right now, I bill about 18 hours per week. Twenty hours per week is considered full-time for a private practice psychologist. I used to bill nearly twice that much but admittedly, that was pretty unhealthy. The way I explained it to my husband was, “Imagine that you lost four hours of every work day and had 2-3 doctors’ appointments every week.”

And it’s not just trying to find time for work. It’s trying to find time for a social life, to spend time with my husband, and to spend time with my daughter. I have been looking at what I can give up to free up my time. There are some things like blogging and walking that take time but I will not give them up. My blog writing ebbs and flows in frequency. When I have a lot of ideas, it is because I have a lot on my mind to process and it is helpful to write about it.

I stopped seeing my naturopathic oncologist several months ago. I follow continue to follow her recommendations. We had transitioned to a maintenance schedule, anyway. I was also on a maintenance schedule with my acupuncture appointments. I was getting them every three weeks, traveling to a different city to get them. I told her I wanted to see if things continue to go well and check back with her as needed. I have decided that I am done with reconstruction and have no scheduled appointments with my surgeon. This means that I have scaled back to medical oncology appointments every three months, onco-surgery follow-ups every six months, massage every three weeks (I have been doing that for 13 years to manage chronic pain and stress issues), an annual mammogram, an annual MRI, a yearly physical with my internist (I am now one month overdue), psychologist visits every 2-4 weeks, and a trip to the dentist twice per year. I am still figuring out how to work in a dermatology visit as well as a trip to the eye doctor.

I have also opened up more work time by working on the weekends. I don’t work more than an hour or two each day but I don’t really like to do that. Due to logistics, cutting back a little on my practice means cutting back too much, due to the number of hours each of my testing patients requires. So I’m stuck between working a little less than I want to, which is boring and strapping us for cash or to work a little more than I’d like to. I talked to my husband earlier in the week and told him that I wanted to try to build a week off into my schedule every quarter. Because he is awesome, he quickly told me that he thought it was a wonderful idea. So, I’ve already taken off a week for New Orleans and have a vacation coming up in the summer.

I am so grateful to have flexibility in working all of this out and I will keep working on it since my energy level and responsibilities are still somewhat of a moving target.

APA-BlogDayBadge-2014

Today is the American Psychological Association’s Mental Health Blog Day. Since I am a clinical psychologist, not to mention a member of APA, I am republishing a post I wrote last fall, “I can deal. As I’ve disclosed in the past, I have a history of major depression. I have not had a depressive episode in over ten years. I attribute my years of good health even with enormous life stress to a combination of treatment (ongoing medication and psychotherapy, as needed), exercise, mindfulness meditation, good coping skills, and wonderful friends and family. One of the reasons I write about my own history of mental illness is that so many people fear it so much that they avoid getting support or even admitting that they have challenges. As a mental healthcare provider, I also know that people in my own field tend to either embrace the support that our field offers or to avoid using services or even the support of friends. If you are suffering from mental illness or even just unhappiness, what’s the worst thing that could happen if you sought out support? And what’s the best thing that could happen? You could get a lot better or at the very least, you would no longer have to suffer alone.

 

Today, my brain feels pretty functional and I feel calm despite the fact that I still have a number of unknowns in my life including the results of my MRI from last Friday. I spent a good 2-3 weeks up until last Friday on a roller coaster of anxiety. I can’t remember if it was Wednesday or Thursday of last week but on one of those days I was a mess for a few hours. I was so worried about my MRI and the prospect of going through cancer treatment all over again. I have had plenty of sadness and fear. This was different than in times past. As I have written, I have felt storms of emotion at different times during the past 1 1/2 years. But at my core there was a sense of peace and calm.

How was my core different this time? In addition to the stress around the MRI being scheduled, then cancelled, then rescheduled (I hate that kind of stuff), about a week or two into that whole mess, my energy dipped precipitously. I was really really fatigued. Like everyone else, I have a low energy day every once in awhile. But I had several in a row. And the fatigue felt different to me, it was the kind that can pull me down into very sad places. This scared me. Anxiety followed by prolonged fatigue is how my depression has started in the past. And I have had periods of time, especially in the winter when I experience this fatigue and although I can never be certain, it feels like the start of a depressive episode that never happens because I am able to fight it off with my medication and cognitive therapy techniques.

I have not had clinical depression in over 10 years but it has been a strong concern of mine that I would have a recurrence due to the stress of being a cancer patient. So I was really scared last week and although I talked to a few people about the fears I had about cancer recurrence, I told no one, not even my husband, about my fear of being depressed again. I felt isolated, lonely and guilty about being a very needy person. I was still able to work and behave with a semblance of normalcy when it was very important that I did so.

By Thursday night, I started feeling significantly less stressed. I had gotten the core of peace and serenity back even though I was still distressed. But I wasn’t entirely back to whatever “normal” is these days. My emotional states change so much more frequently and intensely than they used to and I understand why they do. I can live with the “normal crazy” of cancer treatment. I am still myself but in technicolor. When I am depressed I am not myself. There are some people who have persistent depression, which tends to be a steady, low level misery.

In contrast, when I’ve gotten depressed, it has been acute and more severe. I fell into a very scary, powerless, and hopeless chasm, into a world where I could act like myself for some periods of time but it was acting. And I didn’t feel like myself at all. The first time it happened, I kept thinking that if I just kept problem solving, it would go away. So I let my untreated depression go on for some time. The second time it happened, I recognized it within a week or two and thought, “Oh no, we’re not doing this again” and got myself back to see a psychologist and my internist within a week and my symptoms started subsiding very quickly, within a couple of weeks.

Now that I’m writing this, I am realizing that I handled that last episode pretty well. And I am also still seeing a psychologist every month, not to mention all of the healthy things I do that are good for both physical and mental health. Depression, you are not welcome, but if you come anyway, I can deal with you, too.

(Update: The results of the MRI showed “no evidence of disease” and that is my current breast cancer health status.)

When I was a girl, my younger brother, Jim frequently rode our bikes. I remember the pumping my legs furiously so that I could coast along for awhile without having to do anything to propel myself. It was exhilarating going down hills and on the flat, it created joyful stretches of ease, moments of effortlessness.

Being a healthy person, having a healthy marriage, and being a good parent are all “works in progress”. When John and I saw a psychologist for marital therapy years ago prompted by family planning issues, I asked her sincerely, “When is the time when we get to coast in marriage?” She promptly responded, “Never.” I remember my shock at her response at the time. It’s kind of funny looking back at my thoughts at that time. I do know that I was quite overwhelmed by my life and about to enter my second episode of major depression. It was a fantasy I had that after all of the hard work I had done in my life, that I would be able to coast. I would have an easy time as a wife, parenting  would get easy.

I was reminded of my wish to coast recently when I realized that after all of my hard work, I had strayed off of Weightwatchers and begun to gain weight. I didn’t gain a lot of weight and I’ve started losing again. It may not seem to be a big deal to you but I have gained and lost weight many times since I was 14 years old. And as I have mentioned, the last two periods of weight gain had put me into the clinically obese range. My breast cancer was highly responsive to estrogen and progesterone. Our adipose tissue (fat and other stuff) has glandular function and increases female hormone production. I know it is important for me to exercise and eat right. I am very lucky to not have physical issues that would interfere with my ability to exercise and to have a life situation that makes it possible for me to work part time. But even knowing these things, my weight has crept up in the past when I stopped paying attention to my habits, when I tried to coast in my life.

I have lived a good bit of my life working at capacity and feeling fairly stressed out. At these times, I have thoughts like, “It will be SO much easier, when ____________” This blank has been completed in many different ways over the years, “when I finish school”, “after the baby starts sleeping through the night”, “after my career is established”, “after my daughter is grown”, “when my husband’s job situation improves”, “after my cancer treatment is done”, “after my energy returns”, “after I start working full time again.”

But the truth of the matter is that although stress ebbs and flows throughout out lives, we are never done with it. And there are always unknowns and unexpected challenges that loom on the horizon.

In my work, I specialize in what for most children are chronic difficulties. And although many of them have loving and very skilled parents, even the most loving and skilled of the parents gets exhausted with the extra work their child or children require. There is also a period of adjustment after diagnosis that can take anywhere from weeks to more regularly, years, and sometimes, never. It is the adjustment to the idea that there will be no coasting as a parent and that one’s children will likely need more support and over a longer number of years, than other children.

I sometimes use an analogy with parents. I tell them, “Raising a child with these challenges is like running a marathon of unknown length and unpredictable terrain, with uphill, downhill, and stretches of flat. It is important to take the cups of water whenever you can.”

If I really think about it, coasting on a bike only lasted so long before I either had to brake because I was going too fast or start pumping my legs again so I could keep going. I have been working hard to take care of myself but also to nurture my relationships and carry out my responsibilities. I will keep working on the rhythm of knowing when to pump and when I can coast so I can keep moving forward and maintain my balance. And if if that little cup of water looks too small to last a lifetime, I will take them when they are offered.

 

My daughter saw it for the first time. She saw my TRAM scar. She had been very careful to avoid seeing any of my surgery scars especially a year ago, after she saw my very small and tidy scar that runs the circumference of my belly button that was a result of TRAM reconstruction. Seeing that little nothing of a scar was upsetting to her. She is not squeamish. It upset her because as she explained at the time, “They did it to MY mom.”

I was trying on blouses. I had to wear one in the charity fashion show with jeans. My daughter also happened to be trying on clothes and since I have a full length mirror, she was coming in and out of my room.

She happened to walk in when my TRAM scar, which sits about 3 inches below my waist, was exposed. She said, “Mom, your scar! That must hurt!”

The scar is wide; it arcs from one hip to another. I have been told by physicians that it is an incredibly neat scar for a TRAM; my surgeon is extremely skilled. It has faded over a year’s time. But it is still red and the vertical suture marks are quite visible.

I explained, “It doesn’t hurt any more. But yes, it was a big surgery and it hurt a lot at the time. That’s why it was hard to get around and why was home for seven weeks.”

She listened relatively attentively and then went on with what she was doing. This was the longest conversation we have ever had about one of my surgeries. She didn’t run from the room. She didn’t say, “Mom! I don’t want to talk about it!”

When I first had my TRAM surgery, I could not stand upright and I was instructed not to do so for some time to avoid damaging any of the internal or external stitches. I couldn’t laugh for awhile. I could feel my strain of my tissue against the edges of my sutures, which were basically holding me together. It burned like Hell. The same thing happened if I sneezed or coughed.

Currently, I have no evidence of disease. The searing and burning fear of cancer have faded for now along with the physical discomforts and pain. There were times, early on, when my daughter was so anxious about my cancer that she paced like a caged animal.

My daughter is a teen and her life is complicated. Most teens have a lot of emotional tumult in their lives. It is the norm and it is part of the re-organization that takes place that allows them to grow and become independent. I know my daughter’s emotional plate is full without having to worry about her mother. And I hate that. I hate that she has to deal with her mother having had a life threatening illness and that she has to deal with the possibility of recurrence. It’s a loss of innocence; I don’t know if she really appreciates that.

I’ve never been an emotionally perfect mother. I work to be as healthy as I can be. And I can’t expect myself to be a physically perfect mom, either.

The love I have for her, though not perfect, is infinite. I am so happy to be a mother and I am beyond blessed to be the mother of my remarkable girl.

“How long have you been cured?”

Her question caught me by surprise. We were riding on a school bus from a beauty salon to the venue for the breast cancer charity event in which we  were both modeling. I knew that she was diagnosed less than a year ago. She was self-employed and had benefitted from the charity first hand.

I answered, ‘I was diagnosed almost two years ago.’

I could have corrected her but I didn’t. She had also invited everyone to a potluck at her house. I could tell that she was having a powerful experience of belonging, being surrounded by 29 other women who had been diagnosed with breast cancer as recently as 9 months ago and as long as 19 years ago. I could also see the fear in her eyes, that she had transitioned from the shock and adrenaline rush of the active treatment stage to  “Now what?” I figured that I needed to respect her grief process and trust that she would progress in her understanding of her disease.

Her question reminded me of past experiences. I grew up in a politically and socially liberal Roman Catholic church. We didn’t talk about Hell or who was going there. We didn’t talk about “being saved”.

So the first time I was asked, “How long have you been saved?” I was similarly taken by surprise. It just wasn’t the way I was used to thinking about myself because my religious upbringing was different.

I talked to one of my colleagues and friends about this a few years ago. He is a thoughtful man, raised Lutheran who is now a practicing Unitarian. He was shocked that I had been raised without the reassurance of going to Heaven. He’d found this belief quite comforting while growing up.

Being cured and being saved are absolute positives. They can mark an end of struggle and an end to gray.

I don’t wish to disparage anyone’s beliefs as long as they don’t hurt others. My personal belief is that God is beyond my complete understanding but that I experience God is in the love people show each other, how we take care of our world, and the beauty of nature.

I don’t know if I am cured. I don’t know if I am saved.

I know that I am here.

As I mentioned last week, I am dealing with anger. I am pretty sure that it is about my stupid cancer. Getting sick for my New Orleans trip was really disappointing. I had seen it as an opportunity for a romantic “second honeymoon”. Adding to the frustration, the trip almost didn’t happen and was also quite expensive.

We still had fun but I’ve got to tell you, sitting on the plane on the way over was pretty uncomfortable. I was coughing a lot, I mean A LOT. I believe that I was the least popular person on the flight. The man sitting next to me had his body turned as far away from me as he could. A kind woman behind me handed me a cough drop. I already had one in my mouth not to mention the fact that I was fully loaded up with cough and cold medicine. And then I started having abdominal muscle spasms, which made me cough even more. That was a new one for me. I wonder if it has something to do with the abdominal muscle that was re-purposed for my TRAM reconstruction. I think that by the end of the flight, the man next to me was wishing that he’d sat next to a screaming toddler instead of next to me while I spewed my plague all over the coach section of the plane.

We arrived to New Orleans at about 3pm on Saturday. I took a short walk to the French Quarter with John. We walked down Bourbon Street until I finally said, “Yuck, I’ve gotten enough of an anthropological experience.”We walked over one block and had a delightful change of scenery to art galleries and such instead of Hustler clubs with horrible names like, “Barely Legal” with young and not so young scantily clad women standing in the doorways.

Sunday was our only full day without any band performances to attend. In the morning, I felt like I’d been run over so after John brought me some breakfast, I went back to sleep and didn’t get up until 4pm. I know I felt a lot better, showered, and got dressed for dinner. I have no recollection of where we went or what we ate though I know we walked there from the hotel, at my insistence and John’s objection. (I was still going to get in my 3 miles of walking in each day.)

On Monday, we went to a band performance, which went well. Then we took the street car to the Garden District to soak up the ambiance and to tour one of the cemeteries. We did a lot of walking that day. There were definitely some positives but I must admit that I was in a foul mood and complained a lot. Then John complained about my complaining and I said lamely, “But I’m sick! On our vacation. Waaaaaaaaaah!” (Okay, I didn’t really say, “waaaaaaaah!”) His suggestion was, “So you’re sick. Can’t you just make the best of it?” “But I am!!!!!!! I am out of bed!!!!! Also, your wife is sick and cranky. YOU make the best of that.”

So at this point of reading this post, you may feel sorry for my husband. And if you do not, you probably should because although I snapped out of my disappointed child routine for the couple of days following, once we’d gotten to the day after the fashion show, I was exhausted and mad again.

I was annoyed about every little thing. I have not been in a nasty mood like this in quite some time. And I don’t remember the last time it lasted an extended period of time like this. And John got the brunt of my perpetual dissatisfaction. I actually felt a lot better after I wrote my post complaining about how John often doesn’t answer me when I talk to him. Writing has a way of doing that for me. But by last night I was exhausted and fuming again. “Why is this house such a mess? Why do I have to live like this? This isn’t the way I want to live!”

Truth be told, although my husband is not the best at housework, he is a really hard worker. He is really bogged down with work and helping our daughter keep on top of her schoolwork. She missed nearly an entire week of school for that band trip and she takes a very difficult schedule. John spent many hours with her over the weekend sorting through what she missed, what she has to turn in, and what assignments needed to be done over the weekend. She is not easy to help, either, and is prone to getting frustrated and losing her reasoning skills. “What do you mean I have to answer in paragraphs? What does that mean? This is so stupid!”

He was so patient with her all weekend and here she and I were providing grumpiness in stereo. By the end of the night, I was feeling pretty remorseful. Today, my first thought was, “Put a cork in it, Elizabeth.” I know that my anger is very understandable and that I need to process it. Managing anger is tricky, though. There are ways of dealing with it that make it worse, for example, constantly complaining to one’s husband.

Maybe writing this post will help. Maybe I need to keep reminding myself that my anger, just like sadness and fear, do not last forever.

Even though all feelings are right. Anger FEELS wrong and I find myself looking ways in which I feel that I have been wronged in order to justify its expression. And then once I realize this is what I am doing, I feel wrong again.

 

As you know, I participated in charity fashion show last week. I had mixed feelings about the fashion show part but strong positive feelings about the charity itself. The day started in the afternoon. We met at the venue for the show, practiced walking as well as entering and leaving the stage as a group.

There were about 30 female models and all of us were breast cancer survivors. Many of the women were pretty young. Some were middle aged women who had been diagnosed in their 20’s. Some women were recently diagnosed. One woman was obviously still going through chemotherapy. They were all friendly and appeared to have a good time. I enjoyed the camaraderie and the chance to meet some new people, a number of whom live in my neighborhood.

I am a bit of a ham socially, if I tell the absolute truth. I also enjoy public speaking and miss making research presentations at conferences. I am not the smoothest orator. As an “out loud thinker” I tend to revise what I am saying on the fly, sometimes mid word. And sometimes I repeat myself. This is also the way I converse. Somehow I nonetheless manage to communicate well. And even when I get nervous when public speaking, I usually get over it easily by saying something funny. Once I get an audience to laugh, it is much much easier to present because the presentation is so much more like an interpersonal exchange when people are paying attention.

But walking in front of people and trying to look pretty? That’s a bit intimidating. I love beautiful clothes. But I like what I am wearing to be a garnish rather than the main entree. I thought about my wedding and how incredibly self-conscious I felt to have all eyes on me.

I have done a lot of work to feel more comfortable with my own body, imperfections and all. And the challenge of this fashion show was not lost on me. This chance to challenge myself was one of the reasons I agreed to do it. Not the main reason, but a small reason. I knew I could do it if I adopted the right frame of mind and did my job.

I am pretty good at doing an assigned job even if I don’t like it or would never do it under other circumstances. I remember the first time I went fishing and actually caught something. I was 12 years-old and my family had gone to the trout farm a couple of miles away. This is where I learned that there is a fish food called, “Purina Trout Chow”. It’s pretty easy to catch a fish at a trout farm, especially using trout chow as bait. I am a sensitive person by nature. When I caught a fish and needed to kill it? I started crying, not a little but a lot. I was upset. My mom said, “But Jesus was a fisherman.” My reply? “Then Jesus was mean!”

Eight years later I was working at a daycare. We took the kids on a field trip to the very same trout farm! But I was an adult who was supposed to be a good role model for children. So I helped them bait their hooks, take their fish off of the line, touch the fish guts, etc. I just did my job.

For the fashion show I told myself that I was playing a role of myself minus my unproductive self-consciousness. It was easy to smile because I am a generally happy person with a nice smile. People respond well to it. I planned a couple of “moves” including a goddess-like arm raise to accompany the dress I wore that had a bit of a toga feel to it. The arm raise was inspired by Rupaul so to me, it was funny because Rupaul cracks me up.

I was happy with how I modeled. I smiled, I walked comfortably in heels, I showed off the clothes, and I used a little hip action and a few Vanna White moves, when appropriate. My hair and make up was done professionally and I was wearing pretty clothes that I liked. I felt happy and pretty. The experience also led to some deep reflection about my cancer, my life, and the preciousness of my life.

So all in all, it was a varied and satisfactory experience. Yesterday, I looked at the video my husband took on the night of the fashion show. I didn’t recognize myself. I was shocked by my appearance.

And that was the point at which I forgot my job as a mother. I blurted out, “I look fat!” I said it right in front of my 15 year-old daughter. To my recollection, I had never before made a negative comment about my body in front of my daughter. Reminding me that she really is my daughter, she took me to task for being a bad model of positive body image but she did it in a nice way.  I am really proud of her. In contrast, I was disappointed in myself for not treating myself fairly or with kindness.

I have been putting on weight lately and I went back on Weight Watchers right before I left for New Orleans. And I know that I am back on track. Honestly, I am only about 5-7 pounds overweight. It’s really not a lot. But it’s about 15 pounds more than I was prior to the winter holidays. That’s over a full dress size, well kind of. I usually wear dresses. And over the years, I have become a master at choosing dress styles that accommodate my historically variable weight. When I’m not wearing dresses, I wear spandex work out clothes and spandex is stretchy. It takes me awhile to notice that I’ve gained weight. Oh yeah, I had also stopped weighing myself. And even though I’ve continued to exercise regularly, I was eating more and more.

Realistically, I looked pretty. That was that stupid negative tape in my head that was shocked into a reappearance. But I didn’t look the way I thought I did. And for someone who has a hard time keeping my weight down and further, is supposed to keep my weight down for health reasons, I scared myself a little.

I had mixed feelings prior to the fashion show and I leave it with mixed feelings. As Rupaul says, “You better WORK.” I still have a lot of that to do as I continue to work toward self acceptance.

FYI: This is the goddess pose I copied from Rupaul.

FYI: This is the goddess pose I copied from Rupaul.

I used to work in my garden a lot. Along with reading and cooking, it was one of my favorite hobbies. A garden is not so hard to maintain if I work on it a little bit at a time on a frequent basis. The garden was my space. I appreciated being outdoors, having my hands in the ground, and watching the birds, the bees, and the butterflies along with the changes of the seasons. And people appreciated the garden. I designed it organically. I started with a few plantings and then worked my way around them. I chose plants that were interesting and pretty. I chose plants that attract beneficial insects and birds.

 

Then I had all of those stupid surgeries. I got behind on every imaginable household task. And I got really tired. My yard got overwhelming. I’ve got tired of the jungle of weeds. I am not a super tidy person but I have more of a love of order than do my family members. Consequently, my house is typically about 50 times messier than I would like it to be. I spend a lot of time picking up after other people and I do a pretty bad job of it because there’s so much picking up, putting away, and cleaning to do. My home office is in need of a clutter coach. Who am I kidding? My whole house is in need of a clutter coach.

A few weeks ago, I made a bold move. It was also expensive. I hired landscapers to weed my front yard. They weeded, pruned, deadheaded, and mulched. And it was like I could breathe again. Weeds started to pop up again in the last week. I was able to go out and take care of them because it wasn’t an overwhelming task. I spent a couple of hours in the garden today, including time chatting with neighbors, which is also an invaluable part of the gardening experience. It was an amazingly beautiful day and I had a wonderful time. This was the first time I’ve worked like this in my yard in nearly a year. It was like a resuscitation.

I hope that I will be able to continue working in the yard on a regular basis because it has been such a great love of mine. I can see how I feel tomorrow, and the next day, and the next. In the mean time, I hope you enjoy my spring garden!

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I am good at seeing patterns in my behavior, better than I was in the past when my cancer experience was new. I think I am leaning into an anxiety and grief spiral. I have been very stressed about situations that are mostly out of my control. My pattern is (1) define a current or anticipated problem, (2) develop a plan, (3) put the plan in place, (4) fall into a pit of varying depth and circumference, and (5) cope like crazy until I regain my footing.

Right now I feel myself transitioning from step 3 to step 4. But meanwhile, I am dealing with another problem. Time I spent taking care of the highest priority problem meant that I got behind in my work. Now I am shuffling around to put a plan in place for that.

Additionally, I agreed to participate in a breast cancer charity function. The proceeds go to patient assistance fund at Swedish Cancer Institute, which provides very practical assistance like emergency rent money, meals, and transportation to and from medical appointments to breast cancer patients. This is a very worthwhile cause that makes a real difference in patients’ lives, not to mention the fact that I am very grateful for the treatment I have received at the institute. Last year, this event raised $120,000.

I do have mixed feelings about the event itself, which is a fashion show. You know how I love wearing pretty clothes but also have major misgivings about the fashion industry. I also suspect that I’m going to have to wear at least a little something pink at some time but based on last year’s video, I see that pink is present but not omnipresent. The models are all normal looking people. The women are all breast cancer patients. The men are friends and family. Everyone looked like they were having silly fun. And the fun was balanced out by speakers talking about the real negative impact of cancer on patients and their families.

The rational part of me thinks, “Why throw out the pink baby with the bathwater?”  The good outweighs the bad of participation. I have wanted to get involved in a small cancer related charity and this is a chance for me to see if this is an organization with which I would like to continue to develop a relationship. There are lots of things they do and a variety of events that are put on over the year.

Did I say, I was starting to spin? I spun at least a full revolution on my walk in the woods this morning. I’ve started having abandonment fears. I have been stressed and relying on my friends to give ear to my distress. This morning I was worried about being a burden and losing my friends because the sum of the negative parts of my life are really scary. I know this is irrational but I also know that my behavior can still be motivated by irrational fear even when I am aware of it. This is when I start flailing and apologizing to my friends. I try to solicit their support in an overly sparing manner.

And the fashion show? I was worried about that, too. I was afraid that I would lose some of you out there because you would believe that I was “pimping myself out” or that I have been pink washed. Then I thought, “I just won’t say anything about it.” I wouldn’t be able to get the word out about the event so that the charity would make more money and more patients would get real, every day assistance. How silly and counterproductive. In my efforts to reduce the attention to the aspect of participation that I don’t like or am unsure about, I would contribute less to the part to which I feel clearly committed. And the biggest flaw in my “avoid it” plan was the fact that the only person I need to convince about whether this is right for me or not is myself.

When I was a little girl, I used to spin in circles until I got dizzy and fell to the kitchen floor. I would get up and do it over again and again. I remember how the pattern on our linoleum floor used to bind together into a blur. It was mesmerizing and fun.

I don’t spin for fun any more. But I still know how to get up after I’m done.

Lindbergh High School Reunion '82, '83, '84, '85

Join us this summer for our reunion in Renton, WA!

George Lakoff

George Lakoff has retired as Distinguished Professor of Cognitive Science and Linguistics at the University of California at Berkeley. His newest book "The Neural Mind" is now available.

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