Today is May 17
Living gratefully today, I appreciate rain gear, indoor plumbing, and good take-out food.
Some random gratitudes there. A random post here.
A couple weeks ago, utility workers marked some flags in our yard and painted this on the street right by our house as they prepare for some upcoming work. That number 17 showing up again, as it has in many ways regarding my cancer story. So I looked back on a couple recent posts from May 17.
This is a portion of my post from one year ago:
Doing the Best We Can, May 17. 2019
Some random gratitudes there. A random post here.
A couple weeks ago, utility workers marked some flags in our yard and painted this on the street right by our house as they prepare for some upcoming work. That number 17 showing up again, as it has in many ways regarding my cancer story. So I looked back on a couple recent posts from May 17.
This is a portion of my post from one year ago:
Doing the Best We Can, May 17. 2019
For whatever reason, dates stick and click in my mind. I realized that it was 10 years ago today, May 17, 2009, that I ran my first half marathon post-cancer diagnosis. It was five months to the day since my mastectomies. My body, mind, heart, and soul did the best they could and we were damn proud of ourselves. I ran unfettered. I ran healthy. I ran into the new normal I was creating as my hair grew back and my scars healed.
My sister Mary Jo has done the best she could with each of her three cancer diagnoses. There is so much dignity in the human condition. Let's honor one another with that dignity.
We all do the best we can as the flawed humans we are. Love and forgiveness go a long way. I need to love and forgive myself as a starting point, and then I have love and forgiveness to offer to others. It's the best I can do today.
And from "Chemo Sisters" on 5/17/2017 (A day after our mom moved to the nursing home.)
Later this morning my sister Leonice begins chemotherapy to treat the endometrial cancer she has been diagnosed with. She becomes the fourth sister in my family to undergo chemo.
Growing up the youngest of the eight sisters in our family of 13 children, there were certainly ways I wanted to be like my older sisters. But none of us wanted to share this cancer sh**!
Zita had chemotherapy in 2004 for breast cancer, I had it in 2008 for breast cancer, and Mary Jo underwent chemo in 2010 for lung cancer. Enough already. This club doesn't need more members.
I have been in Leonice's shoes. The night before chemo starts and so many unknowns in this new territory of cancer land. Many of those unknowns and questions will be faced today and in the coming weeks. Chemo hits everyone a little differently, but hit it does.
When Leonice and I spoke last evening across the miles--her in Oregon, me in Minnesota--I shared one of the thoughts I had when I started chemo and one that I continued to apply as each treatment got started.
That thought was addressed to the chemo drugs and went something like: "If there are any random cancer cells roaming around my body, go get 'em!" Or as we used to say on the farm "sic 'em!"
Sending you strength and positive vibes today Leonice.
To any roaming cancer cells: "You're going down!"
To the chemo drugs: "Go get 'em! Sic 'em!"
Mary Jo died on June 16, 2019. In late March, just as the pandemic was getting real interesting, our sister Aileen was diagnosed with lymphoma. She has now become the fifth chemo sister. I say to her drugs--"Go get 'em! Sic "em!"
And I say to my range of emotions about cancer, our mom's decline, the pandemic, online school as a counselor, recovery connections significantly altered, Sam's completion of high school and his graduation, and plenty more: "Welcome. I didn't ask for you, but I need you to make yourselves known and help me through this. Welcome difficult ones. Welcome deeply meaningful and heartfelt ones. Welcome all."
And from "Chemo Sisters" on 5/17/2017 (A day after our mom moved to the nursing home.)
Later this morning my sister Leonice begins chemotherapy to treat the endometrial cancer she has been diagnosed with. She becomes the fourth sister in my family to undergo chemo.
Growing up the youngest of the eight sisters in our family of 13 children, there were certainly ways I wanted to be like my older sisters. But none of us wanted to share this cancer sh**!
Zita had chemotherapy in 2004 for breast cancer, I had it in 2008 for breast cancer, and Mary Jo underwent chemo in 2010 for lung cancer. Enough already. This club doesn't need more members.
I have been in Leonice's shoes. The night before chemo starts and so many unknowns in this new territory of cancer land. Many of those unknowns and questions will be faced today and in the coming weeks. Chemo hits everyone a little differently, but hit it does.
When Leonice and I spoke last evening across the miles--her in Oregon, me in Minnesota--I shared one of the thoughts I had when I started chemo and one that I continued to apply as each treatment got started.
That thought was addressed to the chemo drugs and went something like: "If there are any random cancer cells roaming around my body, go get 'em!" Or as we used to say on the farm "sic 'em!"
Sending you strength and positive vibes today Leonice.
To any roaming cancer cells: "You're going down!"
To the chemo drugs: "Go get 'em! Sic 'em!"
Mary Jo died on June 16, 2019. In late March, just as the pandemic was getting real interesting, our sister Aileen was diagnosed with lymphoma. She has now become the fifth chemo sister. I say to her drugs--"Go get 'em! Sic "em!"
And I say to my range of emotions about cancer, our mom's decline, the pandemic, online school as a counselor, recovery connections significantly altered, Sam's completion of high school and his graduation, and plenty more: "Welcome. I didn't ask for you, but I need you to make yourselves known and help me through this. Welcome difficult ones. Welcome deeply meaningful and heartfelt ones. Welcome all."
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