Should I Stay or Should I Go?

My favorite part of the drive to Maryland is crossing the bridge over the Susquehanna River. It's a flat bridge, no cables or trusses to block the view and whether you look left or right, all you see is water, trees, and hills. When the sun is out, the water just sparkles like diamonds and I end up smiling inwardly at the beauty of this planet.

My least favorite part is being in Taryn's dorm room after we've carried in all her belongings and realizing that she is ready to transition from daughter to college student. I stand awkwardly, a lump in my throat, trying to figure out ways to stay longer ("Do you want me to help you put your things away?"), offering up hug after hug, wanting to give her her space but also wanting to hold on as long as I can. Finally, achingly, I go.

Having metastatic breast cancer is like waiting for the other shoe to drop. The first shoe dropped when I had the initial recurrence 4 1/2 years ago - coming to the realization that what I have is chronic and incurable. The other shoe? The inevitable terminal diagnosis. I confess, there are times when I wish it would happen already, so I can stop having these imaginary conversations in my head over how I will react when the doctor gives me the bad news. So I can stop worrying about the future and how much of it I will have. So I can remove this...annoyance from all of your lives. So I can stop feeling so damn tired of thinking about my cancer, treating my cancer, following up on my cancer, wondering if that pain in my hip is cancer, and educating my daughter about my cancer so that it doesn't become her cancer. Gone too soon? Sometimes, I think I have not gone soon enough.

And then I see the images on television and on the Internet, the injured and crying and despondent Haitian people whose hearts are as broken as their homes and I remember that as long as I AM alive I am needed to help (even if it's only in a small way, with a check or a text) to alleviate the supreme sadness of loss. I remember that this precious gift of life from God has an unknown expiration date - for all of us - and it is better to put aside the internal debate of whether it is better to be here or not. Because it's better to be here. Hands down.

Love and a healing hug to Linda, Tim, Victoria and Timmy mourning the loss of their family member. Prayers for my wonderful angel Caralyn and the whole Stein family as they wait for "Grandpa Charlie" to come back. And a special shout out to Trish, who celebrated her 40th birthday Saturday - she is an amazing mother, wife, cousin, friend, aunt, teacher and sister. She is nothing short of fabulous!

Blessings and Love to All!

All She Wants To Do Is Dance

So every time I go to the oncologist, they say the same thing about my tumor markers being "slightly out of normal range" and not to worry about it if it's fluctuating up and down, there is only something to worry about if it goes up and up and up (which, as we know, it has 3 different times). I have been hearing this for 15 years. Then why, with a clean PET scan, a clean mammogram, no physical symptoms, and positive doctor visits do crazy fears of another recurrence consume my mind? Because living in the present is never as easy as I would like it to be...and because deep down I know it is not a question of "if" it's a question of "when" and "where" (oh, please let it be in some bone I don't really need this time - maybe that extra fibula I have in the right leg. Or the middle finger on my right hand - I really should stop using that anyhow).

Missing left fibula notwithstanding, I am back shaking my 50-year-old (somewhat) arthritic hips in Zumba dance class again. I'm a bit uncoordinated still, and fact is I've never been much of a dancer anyhow (well, except when I have a few cosmopolitans in me - then I'm a GREAT dancer!), but I am loving the chance to move my body again. I am clearly out of shape - my only dancing over the past year has consisted of a lively group dance at our block party during our "Mickey" tribute and solo dancing around the house with my iPod on (new favorite: "Pata Pata" by Miriam Makeba, a song from the 60's that is featured on a TV commercial). Dancing makes me feel strong, and alive, and joyful, and invincible. (Oh yeah, and awkward too, but it's like my singing - put the music on loud enough and it drowns out and obscures my poor performances!). The biggest challenge in dance class (and spinning too, which I have started up again as well)? The excessive dry mouth (a side effect of the surgery and radiation) that comes with vigorous activity, resulting in a need to drink water more frequently during exercise. A small price to pay though for the chance to whirl and chacha and swivel and salsa.

Updates on: THE HAIR (oh never mind, it's just a mess for now anyhow); taste (about 90% back and the last 10% is really a matter of degree on certain foods); appearance (the left side of my face, once way puffier than the right side after the surgery, is now thinner than the right side as the effects of the radiation continue. Not terribly noticeable to anyone but me. Improvement is in very small increments and I continue to imagine that I look worse than I do); weight (it has been a HUGE amount of fun re-gaining the 12 pounds I lost during radiation and I fit into all my old clothes now - it's like I have a whole new wardrobe without spending any money!). Believe it or not, I really feel...healthy.

Some folks needing our prayers: the Stein family, the Hughes family, the Ryan family, and the many people of Haiti struggling to overcome this most horrible of disasters. May God watch over them as he did Jessica, who flew out of Haiti just 2 hours before the earthquake struck. I thank Him for sparing her mother (my friend Joanne) the profound heartbreak of losing a daughter whose smile inspires love in all who are lucky enough to receive its gift and who will get to dance another day.

Blessings and Love to All.