Reflection

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Up & down the scale

November 14, 2008 in Reflection by admin | Comments

A few weeks ago, at the end of my sixth round, my neuropathy (sensitivity to cold) mysteriously lifted for three days. Naturally, I ate everything frozen within a five mile radius of my deprived mouth – ice cream, milk shakes, and 2 ½ satisfyingly rich Dove bars. Mmm. My stomach was in a state of bliss.

So then I see the oncologist the next day, at the beginning of my seventh round. He studies my chart and says, “Mmm, you’ve gained five pounds. I’m going to put a diuretic in your IV today.” 

I knew that water weight had nothing to do with it. It was those Dove bars and all the other cold, ice-creamery concoctions I had cheerily consumed within the past three days. It’s amazing how fast my body can say, “Yum, pack it on, baby. We’re not going to see this kind for food for a while!”

Well, I’m losing the weight again (the neuropathy is back, unfortunately) and am still about five pounds under the weight I began with before my lung surgery, so not to worry. In fact, my attitude is “Forget the diuretic. Step away from the IV, doc, and let me eat!”

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Sanctuary

October 28, 2008 in Reflection by admin | Comments

I have some places around the house I love to be. They are my sanctuaries.

One place is upstairs off our master bedroom. I’ve set up a simple meditation table. I sit on the little couch in front of it and light a candle.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

Another sanctuary is the patio that my husband and I built in 2005. Well, he did the engineering and brick-setting, and I helped lift 1000 square feet of concrete bricks. It was grueling work. But now this is a lovely spot, especially in the summer when I plant flowers around the perimeter and the fountain is trickling. This is where I worked through the shock of this stage IV cancer diagnosis.

 

A third place I love is on the couch where I curl up sometimes to rest under a cozy blanket. The dog hops up and settles in behind me, and sometimes the cat joins me too. Here they’re both piled on.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I also gravitate to my daughter’s old room, which is now my art studio. This is where I let my creativity flow and see what happens. It’s a room of mystery and discovery.

And . . . my most important sanctuary, of course, is the one within. We all have this resource, this internal oasis. Wherever we are, we can settle into a sanctuary of peace and healing love.

This inner sanctuary is my steady communion with the source of life. Sinking into this inner sanctuary, for me, is settling into a beloved space and dwelling in acceptance, wonderment, and gratitude. Any emotion that comes up — or no emotion at all — is okay. Speaking is okay; so is chanting, singing, and silence (my preferred state, being a contemplative). A pet jumping into my lap and curling up for a nap is okay. It’s all okay.

Sanctuary is a safe place, a haven in the midst of the tumult that cancer often brings.

The creative pull

October 3, 2008 in Reflection by admin | Comments

I’ve always loved art but have been overly conscious of producing bad art. My mother was an accomplished artist. My daughter is an accomplished artist and art teacher. I am just a dabbler, especially skilled at producing unmemorable pieces.

But things have changed. No, my art hasn’t improved. But I am faced with a serious diagnosis.

And I no longer care if I produce insipid art or stupid art or never-let-this-picture-see-the-light-of-day art.

I just want to paint.

So I have taken over my daughter’s old bedroom, set up an easel and some tables, and used a birthday check to buy some saturated, lovely acrylic paint.

With my annoying inner art critic silenced at last, I am having the time of my life. And the creative energy is carrying over a bit into the rest of my days, helping combat chemo fatigue.

I have discovered this little outlet of pure joy, and it is feeding my soul.

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Grief (late June 2008)

July 30, 2008 in Reflection, Update by admin | Comments

What do you do when you can’t find hope?  I knew the grim statistics for stage IV colon cancer survival.

I did not want to leave my husband. I didn’t want my children, both in their twenties, to see me die. I did not want to leave this beautiful earth.

I was a former chaplain, and I had helped many others find hope. But I could not find it for myself.

I went into the valley, all the while yearning for some sign of comfort or presence. It was a lonely time. Even with a loving and supportive family, facing my own mortality was a journey I had to make on my own.

I was truly bereft. I had experienced lonely spiritual times before, but this was particularly dreadful because it was going to affect other people – people I loved dearly.

In the dark nights of the soul, we really have no choice but to wait – just to be with ourselves in that place and experience the turmoil and the stillness, and maybe develop some more patience along the way. Dark nights of the soul can last a short time or a lot, lot longer (generally longer for me).

But they don’t last forever.

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Contemplating . . .

July 25, 2008 in Reflection by admin | Comments

“The spiritual path begins right there, when you want to get out. We are used to running . . . we have a habit of putting up the barriers, closing down, shutting off . . . running, running away.” 

 —Pema Chödrön, This Moment is the Perfect Teacher

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