Is it possible that once one experiences that place of peace and clarity, one becomes so addicted to it, that then, when that place gets lost in the day to day issues, in the average state of mind, one finds it harder to pull him / herself back up, knowing that the amazing place of peace and clarity exists, because it is so good, way better than one would ever expect.
Too deep and meaningful?
Let me try to explain...
I have recently been through a very rough patch. I was physically very unwell. Probably most unwell I have ever been in my life. It was hard. And I found it extremely hard to deal with. Physically and mentally.
All sorts of thoughts have been going through my head... Being on heavy medications didn't help. Starting to experience some familiar but 'new' symptoms in my chin didn't help either. My thoughts were going quite wild. Negative. Not my usual self, I got spiraled into almost a depressive mood... Many questions were raised in my head. I felt uncertain, for a long time. And since I haven't yet had a scan of my head, I still do feel a bit uncertain. I want answers. And I want solutions.
Anyhow, I do feel better, physically and mentally. But I think I have lost the measurement of wellness somewhere on the way...
In my head, the only way is up! And I was quite high up feeling-wise for a while there. I was absolutely certain I am doing the right thing and that I will feel better and better each day. At least physically. I was expecting to be off steroids and on reduced other medication by the time I finish chemotherapy. I expected all my lumps (visible subcutaneous tumors that are pretty much all over my body) will be much smaller and I will overall feel much better, more energetic...
Well, it turned out very different.
Not only my tumors are still there, some of them got bigger. Steroids and other medication are all the same dose as they were before chemo. And the worst part is, there's new symptom - tingling and numbing sensation in my chin, combined with a pressure headache which indicate that I have an active tumor somewhere in my head...
Not good. Not good at all.
Now, because I've experienced the place of peace & contentment for quite a few months and I can vividly remember how amazing it feels, does that make my current feeling of uncertainty worse? Worse in a way that my standard to feel good is now much higher than it was 2 years ago, before I knew that place of complete acceptance, peace of mind and clarity existed? Is that possible?
I hope so. Because that would mean it's not that bad now after all. And to get out of this unpleasant feeling, yes, it is easier, because I know how and I have the tools.
The bad news is that no matter what happens, what results I get next week, this is my life now and I truly need to (lovingly) accept all, whatever comes my way...
The good news is that I am on the up. On the up in a way of feeling better, day by day, physically and mentally. It's a slow recovery, but it is a recovery. An extremely slow climbing and a very long way up, since my barometer has changed, but I am on the way up.
What I really don't need is any news that there are new or extra tumors in my brain. I believe I am done with it. I believe those tumors were treated a year ago and my mind and my mental state has changed enough to not grow any new ones...
I would love some good news. It would make my existence much easier. And it would make my 'way up' much faster.
I am still tired....
Please, oh please, mighty universe, deliver some good news this time! Surely I more than deserve them!
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
My Only Wish
As I'm lying down, resting, healing (have been for the past couple weeks since my last radio therapy), I can not help but feeling sorry for myself...
I am unwell. Truly, physically unwell. I have not been this unwell ever before in my life.
I am weak, extremely fragile, finding it very hard to walk, sit, stand for longer than 5 minutes at the time... I hardly leave the house these days. Dropping off my daughter to school is an enormous task. Even just visiting the Doctor sometimes too hard ... I can't go down the beach, since I can't walk for more than couple hundred meters. I don't go out to cafes at the moment, since I can't sit properly for more than 5 minutes and it requires way too much of an effort to dress up in the first place...
My favorite place is home, in my recliner. Just lying down, snuggled in a blankie, cups of tea, a nice romantic comedy, my iPhone and 3 comfort meals a day. My only desired company is my beautiful daughter and my loving man...
My emotions are all over the place too.
I mostly feel sad. And frustrated for being so useless. Angry, when I wish to do something and I realise I can't. I also feel scared of losing the vision ...
The vision of being well again.
The numbness in my leg, particularly in my foot, is much easier to handle than the pain, but yet it's hard to deal with when trying to move around. Or even just putting clothes on. It requires much too much effort.
The tingling sensation in my chin is scary. Scary because it's been there before, about a year ago. And soon after that, there came cancer diagnosis in my chin, scull and tumors in my brain. The tingling went away after radio treatment, but came back recently ... Does that mean cancer in my chin is back?
We were meant to be in Thailand at the moment. A three weeks long warm sunny tropical family holiday. Creating lovely memories. Well, we are not there, because I'm too unwell. The trip has been postponed till mid September. Something to look forward to. But I want to be well! I want to be healthy. I want to be pain free, numbness free, feeling well, energetic, and full of life. Possibly on a very low dose of medication, no steroids. Will I?
Another challenge is my hair. It's been over 6 weeks since my chemotherapy. My body hair is slowly coming back, but my hair is staying so very thin... It's just horrible. I cut it short the other day to get rid of that horrid 'zombie' hair look. But didn't do it any justice. Now all my bright red subcutaneous tumors (which are placed all over my scull) are obvious and are visibly popping out... Not a good look. Scary, really.
I look unwell. I feel unwell.
And I had enough! I am exhausted. Exhausted of needing to make important decisions on my future treatments, exhausted of feeling old, fragile, unhealthy, weak, unstable, uncertain.... And sick of seeing someone else in a reflection when I look in the mirror.
My only wish is to feel well.
I am unwell. Truly, physically unwell. I have not been this unwell ever before in my life.
I am weak, extremely fragile, finding it very hard to walk, sit, stand for longer than 5 minutes at the time... I hardly leave the house these days. Dropping off my daughter to school is an enormous task. Even just visiting the Doctor sometimes too hard ... I can't go down the beach, since I can't walk for more than couple hundred meters. I don't go out to cafes at the moment, since I can't sit properly for more than 5 minutes and it requires way too much of an effort to dress up in the first place...
My favorite place is home, in my recliner. Just lying down, snuggled in a blankie, cups of tea, a nice romantic comedy, my iPhone and 3 comfort meals a day. My only desired company is my beautiful daughter and my loving man...
My emotions are all over the place too.
I mostly feel sad. And frustrated for being so useless. Angry, when I wish to do something and I realise I can't. I also feel scared of losing the vision ...
The vision of being well again.
The numbness in my leg, particularly in my foot, is much easier to handle than the pain, but yet it's hard to deal with when trying to move around. Or even just putting clothes on. It requires much too much effort.
The tingling sensation in my chin is scary. Scary because it's been there before, about a year ago. And soon after that, there came cancer diagnosis in my chin, scull and tumors in my brain. The tingling went away after radio treatment, but came back recently ... Does that mean cancer in my chin is back?
We were meant to be in Thailand at the moment. A three weeks long warm sunny tropical family holiday. Creating lovely memories. Well, we are not there, because I'm too unwell. The trip has been postponed till mid September. Something to look forward to. But I want to be well! I want to be healthy. I want to be pain free, numbness free, feeling well, energetic, and full of life. Possibly on a very low dose of medication, no steroids. Will I?
Another challenge is my hair. It's been over 6 weeks since my chemotherapy. My body hair is slowly coming back, but my hair is staying so very thin... It's just horrible. I cut it short the other day to get rid of that horrid 'zombie' hair look. But didn't do it any justice. Now all my bright red subcutaneous tumors (which are placed all over my scull) are obvious and are visibly popping out... Not a good look. Scary, really.
I look unwell. I feel unwell.
And I had enough! I am exhausted. Exhausted of needing to make important decisions on my future treatments, exhausted of feeling old, fragile, unhealthy, weak, unstable, uncertain.... And sick of seeing someone else in a reflection when I look in the mirror.
My only wish is to feel well.
Saturday, June 16, 2012
Just Another Hiccup? Perhaps.
I've lived through few weeks filled with horrid pain, yet again. And last week there was a little bit of history repeating...
Honestly, I wish it wasn't.
All I want is to be well. My greatest wish of all is to wake up one morning, open my eyes and while assessing my well being while still in bed, realizing my body has no aches, no pains, feeling well and strong and healthy. Get out of bed with no physical effort, light footed, and walk out of the bedroom well balanced, light and full of life.
Just, simply, to wake up feeling well.
I used to see myself being physically well all the time, even over the past year since living with cancer. But my vision is getting a bit blurry at the moment. And I must confess that my strong attitude has been weakened after the last, yet another unpleasant incident of waking up in agony and almost being unable to move. Yet again I had to call palliative care unit while still in bed, my GP and my radio oncologist. And yet again I was adviced to get an ambulance to take me to emergency ...
Honestly, it absolutely sucks.
All I want is to be well. Is that too much to ask?
It's been about 18 months on this journey now. And wow, what a journey!
I am mostly pleased with my life, I must say. I don't really have regrets. I appreciate all the lifestyle changes I have made. And all the changes in me that have taken place. I appreciate them all and I wouldn't change it for anything.
I definitely am a much better person, with way more peace and contentment, clarity, empathy, ...
But I am getting tired. So tired. Tired of being physically unwell. Tired of feeling the way I used to imagine to be feeling when I'm in my 80s and not at my age. Tired of bouncing moods caused by all the drugs I'm on... They just don't fit into my new found 'organic' lifestyle.
I know many things I'm going through emotionally at the moment are caused purely by drugs, but that doesn't really matter. What matters is the way I feel. And I don't feel right at the moment. I am in this moment, yes, and there are many things I greatly appreciate, but I can not ignore the ones I greatly dislike. There are just a few too many.
I often think of my beautiful daughter. She is only 5 years old. So young, but yet so in tune with what is going on. Every time she puts on her 5 year old behavior and if I am unwell or I let her know I'm in pain, she changes her act straight away. Instead, she runs to me, gives me a huge, honest hug, cuddles me and kisses me and says: mummy I love you. Or: oh mummy, I wish you were well already...
She is so precious, and she is the main reason and my main motivation to keep going and to pull out the whatever strength there is left somewhere inside of me, even when there's a moment when I am running on empty.
How about you? Who is your main motivation?
Honestly, I wish it wasn't.
All I want is to be well. My greatest wish of all is to wake up one morning, open my eyes and while assessing my well being while still in bed, realizing my body has no aches, no pains, feeling well and strong and healthy. Get out of bed with no physical effort, light footed, and walk out of the bedroom well balanced, light and full of life.
Just, simply, to wake up feeling well.
I used to see myself being physically well all the time, even over the past year since living with cancer. But my vision is getting a bit blurry at the moment. And I must confess that my strong attitude has been weakened after the last, yet another unpleasant incident of waking up in agony and almost being unable to move. Yet again I had to call palliative care unit while still in bed, my GP and my radio oncologist. And yet again I was adviced to get an ambulance to take me to emergency ...
Honestly, it absolutely sucks.
All I want is to be well. Is that too much to ask?
It's been about 18 months on this journey now. And wow, what a journey!
I am mostly pleased with my life, I must say. I don't really have regrets. I appreciate all the lifestyle changes I have made. And all the changes in me that have taken place. I appreciate them all and I wouldn't change it for anything.
I definitely am a much better person, with way more peace and contentment, clarity, empathy, ...
But I am getting tired. So tired. Tired of being physically unwell. Tired of feeling the way I used to imagine to be feeling when I'm in my 80s and not at my age. Tired of bouncing moods caused by all the drugs I'm on... They just don't fit into my new found 'organic' lifestyle.
I know many things I'm going through emotionally at the moment are caused purely by drugs, but that doesn't really matter. What matters is the way I feel. And I don't feel right at the moment. I am in this moment, yes, and there are many things I greatly appreciate, but I can not ignore the ones I greatly dislike. There are just a few too many.
I often think of my beautiful daughter. She is only 5 years old. So young, but yet so in tune with what is going on. Every time she puts on her 5 year old behavior and if I am unwell or I let her know I'm in pain, she changes her act straight away. Instead, she runs to me, gives me a huge, honest hug, cuddles me and kisses me and says: mummy I love you. Or: oh mummy, I wish you were well already...
She is so precious, and she is the main reason and my main motivation to keep going and to pull out the whatever strength there is left somewhere inside of me, even when there's a moment when I am running on empty.
How about you? Who is your main motivation?
Saturday, June 9, 2012
Like A Yo-Yo
Coming off steroids isn't fun. I feel annoyed, shaky inside, weak on the outside. Still moon faced, horribly bloated and being very thin haired doesn't help.
The good part is, I am reducing the steroids. Hopefully I can go down to zero. That's the goal. At the moment I'm down to 3mg, from original 4mg.
The above was written about 4 weeks ago now...
Since than, all has changed. Again.
As I reduced the steroids down to 2.5mg, the pain returned with the vengeance. So I quickly increased the dose back up. And up. And up, to the old 4mg....
There goes my excitement of getting rid of the drug.
The worst part is, once the pain comes back (with the vengeance), it likes to take a very long time to settle. And by saying very long time, I mean weeks! It's happened previously and it's the third time now. I hope to have learned the lesson.
Back to the pain... Yet again! That horrid pain that keeps me up at night, makes me pop extra pills like lollies. The pain that makes me cry out loud for hours, makes me angry, frustrated, uncentered, irritated... It makes me not being able to concentrate and makes me tired, sleepy, cranky, upset, unsettled, sad, sometimes doubtful, unable to meditate .... The kind of pain that pretty much takes over my existence.
I now know it's temporarily, but that doesn't make it any easier. Easier to handle emotionally perhaps, but not physically. It is just plain hard.
In one of those moments of pain, this insight came by:
'We are never given what we are not able to handle'
Blah, blah, blah... I thought at the time, since I was in agony and I didn't feel like I was handling it at all.
But, here I am. Yes, I am strong, positive, determined and I love life, no matter. I love life so much, that no matter how bad my pain, I am willing to handle it. Handle it in any way I possibly can. I am doing whatever it takes to get well again.
Like a Yo-Yo, that's my life at the moment. And the moment seems to last forever ...
But that's it, I suppose. No matter how bad it is, there are million things around me every day, reminding me how precious and beautiful my life is.
The nature with its crisp ocean breeze, my family with the warmth of hugs and kisses, or lovely self-initiated 'I love you's by my daughter, the deliciousness of fresh, nutritious food, the fun times filled with laughter, surrounded by my dear friends, ....
All different things, great and small. In every moment of our life. Things considered good and the ones considered bad. All together, woven into this amazing journey called life.
And I decide to accept it all. Including pain.
I decide to stay right here, right now, being present in this very moment. Accepting every bit of it, as much as I possibly can. After all, Yo-Yos are meant to be fun, aren't they?
The good part is, I am reducing the steroids. Hopefully I can go down to zero. That's the goal. At the moment I'm down to 3mg, from original 4mg.
The above was written about 4 weeks ago now...
Since than, all has changed. Again.
As I reduced the steroids down to 2.5mg, the pain returned with the vengeance. So I quickly increased the dose back up. And up. And up, to the old 4mg....
There goes my excitement of getting rid of the drug.
The worst part is, once the pain comes back (with the vengeance), it likes to take a very long time to settle. And by saying very long time, I mean weeks! It's happened previously and it's the third time now. I hope to have learned the lesson.
Back to the pain... Yet again! That horrid pain that keeps me up at night, makes me pop extra pills like lollies. The pain that makes me cry out loud for hours, makes me angry, frustrated, uncentered, irritated... It makes me not being able to concentrate and makes me tired, sleepy, cranky, upset, unsettled, sad, sometimes doubtful, unable to meditate .... The kind of pain that pretty much takes over my existence.
I now know it's temporarily, but that doesn't make it any easier. Easier to handle emotionally perhaps, but not physically. It is just plain hard.
In one of those moments of pain, this insight came by:
'We are never given what we are not able to handle'
Blah, blah, blah... I thought at the time, since I was in agony and I didn't feel like I was handling it at all.
But, here I am. Yes, I am strong, positive, determined and I love life, no matter. I love life so much, that no matter how bad my pain, I am willing to handle it. Handle it in any way I possibly can. I am doing whatever it takes to get well again.
Like a Yo-Yo, that's my life at the moment. And the moment seems to last forever ...
But that's it, I suppose. No matter how bad it is, there are million things around me every day, reminding me how precious and beautiful my life is.
The nature with its crisp ocean breeze, my family with the warmth of hugs and kisses, or lovely self-initiated 'I love you's by my daughter, the deliciousness of fresh, nutritious food, the fun times filled with laughter, surrounded by my dear friends, ....
All different things, great and small. In every moment of our life. Things considered good and the ones considered bad. All together, woven into this amazing journey called life.
And I decide to accept it all. Including pain.
I decide to stay right here, right now, being present in this very moment. Accepting every bit of it, as much as I possibly can. After all, Yo-Yos are meant to be fun, aren't they?
Tuesday, May 29, 2012
Are You Driven By Fear or Driven By Love
I have recently read a book called Dying To Be Me by Anita Moorjani. I have read quite a few books over the past year, while being on my healing journey. I am not a very keen reader, however there is an occasional book I come across that really grabs me straight away and makes me contemplate. The book Dying To Be Me was one of them. The book itself talks about the near death experience and the importance of love. The 'love' part really made me contemplate.
What is love? How do I define love? Is there such thing as the definition of love, or is love greater than that? How do love and life interconnect?
I get the 'in love' part, when you meet someone and you fall in love... And I get the parent - child immeasurable, unconditional love, too. It's just there, it came to me somewhat naturally. But that greater love that this particular book is talking about, just as many other books on spiritual growth, that pure love within, love that blends into the universe, the infinite power of love that we supposed to all have within.... Well, that part I found extremely complicated and confusing.
So, as I do, I opened myself yet again to the universe to deliver the answer.
And then, during the meditation this morning, something happened. Two words came to me. Love & Fear. And I feel I am now beginning to understand.
I realised I have been driven by fear most of my life. From a very superficial decision making in the past such as what to wear to work (so that I am presentable and so that others think well of me) to more recent and very important decision making such as having chemotherapy or not. There are other examples such as what to eat at meal times, attending social events (that I might not necessary feel like attending), visiting in-laws, going to the office when I felt like I am exhausted and all I wanted and needed was a rest, cleaning the house (although all would wait and nothing would have significantly changed if I didn't) and so on....
Most, if not all of the above decisions were definitely driven by fear. Fear of what other people might think of me, fear of losing my job, not being able to pay mortgage or fear of disappointing friends, in-laws, myself etc or in my case later on - the fear of cancer coming back and more recently, the fear of cancer spreading...
I now know that every single thing I have ever thought of as 'I have to do' or 'I have no choice' or the 'just in case' was (and still is) driven by fear.
And that means that even though I have dealt with the fear of dying or the fear of cancer returning or living with cancer, I still have million superficial fears I need to learn to deal with.
So I openly and extremely happily embrace this morning's revelation that love is in fact replacing the actions driven by fear with the actions that are driven by love and only by love.
I am not sure if any of the above makes sense to you, but to me, it is an enormous and a very significant insight. I feel like I have reached a very important milestone on my healing journey and I couldn't wait to sit down to be able to write it down and have it recorded to remind myself over and over again...
I now know what love is. I finally get it.
Love is huge. Love is so big that we can't possibly define it in a sentence. Love is all and everything. Therefore all I do from now on will be questioned:
Is this action of mine driven by love or is it driven by fear?
My bone pain (caused by cancer) has returned recently, after I started to reduce my painkillers, so I did experience another set back. But this time it was different. Not in a way of intensity of the pain. The pain was just as bad as it was previously when around. I was in absolute agony. And I still am in pain, but it is getting better again, since I have learned to manage it well. The difference this time was my reaction to it. I reacted differently. I let go much easier and much faster than in the past. I also asked for help much faster and I found a possible solution, another bout of radiotherapy.
So today, on my way to my radio-oncologist I asked myself:
'Is this treatment to get rid of pain driven by fear or is it driven by love?'
How can a radiotherapy treatment be driven by love you may think? Well, it actually can. In my case, right now, it is. I love life. I love being active. I love being able to go for a walk on the beach, cycle with my daughter, go on a road trip with my family, a flight to exotic holiday destination.... I love cooking, sitting down, lounging around, doing arts and crafts.... These are only a few things that I absolutely love. And all of these things are compromised when in pain. Radiotherapy will fix my pain as it has in the past. So yes, here I come, driven by love! The love to life I absolutely love living and only the life I love, nothing else.
And so my life will head in the direction filled with love, from now on, always and forever.
How about yours?
What is love? How do I define love? Is there such thing as the definition of love, or is love greater than that? How do love and life interconnect?
I get the 'in love' part, when you meet someone and you fall in love... And I get the parent - child immeasurable, unconditional love, too. It's just there, it came to me somewhat naturally. But that greater love that this particular book is talking about, just as many other books on spiritual growth, that pure love within, love that blends into the universe, the infinite power of love that we supposed to all have within.... Well, that part I found extremely complicated and confusing.
So, as I do, I opened myself yet again to the universe to deliver the answer.
And then, during the meditation this morning, something happened. Two words came to me. Love & Fear. And I feel I am now beginning to understand.
I realised I have been driven by fear most of my life. From a very superficial decision making in the past such as what to wear to work (so that I am presentable and so that others think well of me) to more recent and very important decision making such as having chemotherapy or not. There are other examples such as what to eat at meal times, attending social events (that I might not necessary feel like attending), visiting in-laws, going to the office when I felt like I am exhausted and all I wanted and needed was a rest, cleaning the house (although all would wait and nothing would have significantly changed if I didn't) and so on....
Most, if not all of the above decisions were definitely driven by fear. Fear of what other people might think of me, fear of losing my job, not being able to pay mortgage or fear of disappointing friends, in-laws, myself etc or in my case later on - the fear of cancer coming back and more recently, the fear of cancer spreading...
I now know that every single thing I have ever thought of as 'I have to do' or 'I have no choice' or the 'just in case' was (and still is) driven by fear.
And that means that even though I have dealt with the fear of dying or the fear of cancer returning or living with cancer, I still have million superficial fears I need to learn to deal with.
So I openly and extremely happily embrace this morning's revelation that love is in fact replacing the actions driven by fear with the actions that are driven by love and only by love.
I am not sure if any of the above makes sense to you, but to me, it is an enormous and a very significant insight. I feel like I have reached a very important milestone on my healing journey and I couldn't wait to sit down to be able to write it down and have it recorded to remind myself over and over again...
I now know what love is. I finally get it.
Love is huge. Love is so big that we can't possibly define it in a sentence. Love is all and everything. Therefore all I do from now on will be questioned:
Is this action of mine driven by love or is it driven by fear?
My bone pain (caused by cancer) has returned recently, after I started to reduce my painkillers, so I did experience another set back. But this time it was different. Not in a way of intensity of the pain. The pain was just as bad as it was previously when around. I was in absolute agony. And I still am in pain, but it is getting better again, since I have learned to manage it well. The difference this time was my reaction to it. I reacted differently. I let go much easier and much faster than in the past. I also asked for help much faster and I found a possible solution, another bout of radiotherapy.
So today, on my way to my radio-oncologist I asked myself:
'Is this treatment to get rid of pain driven by fear or is it driven by love?'
How can a radiotherapy treatment be driven by love you may think? Well, it actually can. In my case, right now, it is. I love life. I love being active. I love being able to go for a walk on the beach, cycle with my daughter, go on a road trip with my family, a flight to exotic holiday destination.... I love cooking, sitting down, lounging around, doing arts and crafts.... These are only a few things that I absolutely love. And all of these things are compromised when in pain. Radiotherapy will fix my pain as it has in the past. So yes, here I come, driven by love! The love to life I absolutely love living and only the life I love, nothing else.
And so my life will head in the direction filled with love, from now on, always and forever.
How about yours?
Sunday, May 27, 2012
Midnight Monologue (With The Pain)
Why are you here?
What is it that you are telling me?
What am I supposed to do?
How am I supposed to treat you?
How can I possibly just 'be with it' when it hurts so bad?
Is it the leftover pain from within that needs to be let go off? Perhaps acknowledged properly first?
Let go off pain - how? With tears? That seems to help, but only if in a combination of painkiller top ups, monologues like this one and the number of mixed emotions (from deep sadness and helplessness to indescribable frustration and anger) ....
I am acknowledging how blessed I am with my life in the now. I am so blessed to have most loving & caring man & most amazing daughter, my perfect family. Beautiful friends. In the now.
But it wasn't always like that. My past life was unpleasant. My childhood was filled with domestic violence and abuse on all levels. It was almost a complete opposite to my current life. I believe I dealt with all that a long time ago. I believe I have moved on.
Practicing mindfulness, should I keep going back to try and explore all my past wounds further? Randomly or intentionally? Only if the feelings arise or regardless - even when all seems perfect in the now?
I seriously feel I have moved on. Definitely don't feel stuck.
But perhaps I am, on a subconscious level, without realizing?
Perhaps that's what the pain is all about? The leftover of deeply seeded hurt, guilt, fear and anger from my childhood years.
Although I don't feel the guilt, nor fear or anger at present anymore, it could as well be still there, cemented somewhere deep down, and coming out as a horrid & unbearable pain. Is that possible?
Perhaps the right answer truly is: let it be ... and then: let it go
I'm here in Melbourne for a weekend meditation workshop as I'm writing this post. And it's not just any kind of meditation workshop. It's The Mind That Changes Everything, run by Ian Gawler, one of the key inspirations and teachers on my healing journey. I feel so blessed to be able to attend this workshop. And it might as well be perfect timing for my pain to have returned and possibly given me the opportunity to explore it into details, acknowledge it & accept it, (dare I say it) embrace it and finally possibly let it go .... This time for good?
Or perhaps I need to learn to live with it in a loving manner.
Learning to love the pain, well , that's a huge challenge I would love to conquer! So I now open myself to the universe to send me the message once again, to lighten the right path so I can keep heading into the right direction.
Affirmation:
I now lovingly accept every single bit of myself, from my appearance, to my thoughts, feelings and emotions, including aches and pains.
All is me & I am all. Only because of it ALL, I've been moulded into the magnificent person I am today.
What is it that you are telling me?
What am I supposed to do?
How am I supposed to treat you?
How can I possibly just 'be with it' when it hurts so bad?
Is it the leftover pain from within that needs to be let go off? Perhaps acknowledged properly first?
Let go off pain - how? With tears? That seems to help, but only if in a combination of painkiller top ups, monologues like this one and the number of mixed emotions (from deep sadness and helplessness to indescribable frustration and anger) ....
I am acknowledging how blessed I am with my life in the now. I am so blessed to have most loving & caring man & most amazing daughter, my perfect family. Beautiful friends. In the now.
But it wasn't always like that. My past life was unpleasant. My childhood was filled with domestic violence and abuse on all levels. It was almost a complete opposite to my current life. I believe I dealt with all that a long time ago. I believe I have moved on.
Practicing mindfulness, should I keep going back to try and explore all my past wounds further? Randomly or intentionally? Only if the feelings arise or regardless - even when all seems perfect in the now?
I seriously feel I have moved on. Definitely don't feel stuck.
But perhaps I am, on a subconscious level, without realizing?
Perhaps that's what the pain is all about? The leftover of deeply seeded hurt, guilt, fear and anger from my childhood years.
Although I don't feel the guilt, nor fear or anger at present anymore, it could as well be still there, cemented somewhere deep down, and coming out as a horrid & unbearable pain. Is that possible?
Perhaps the right answer truly is: let it be ... and then: let it go
I'm here in Melbourne for a weekend meditation workshop as I'm writing this post. And it's not just any kind of meditation workshop. It's The Mind That Changes Everything, run by Ian Gawler, one of the key inspirations and teachers on my healing journey. I feel so blessed to be able to attend this workshop. And it might as well be perfect timing for my pain to have returned and possibly given me the opportunity to explore it into details, acknowledge it & accept it, (dare I say it) embrace it and finally possibly let it go .... This time for good?
Or perhaps I need to learn to live with it in a loving manner.
Learning to love the pain, well , that's a huge challenge I would love to conquer! So I now open myself to the universe to send me the message once again, to lighten the right path so I can keep heading into the right direction.
Affirmation:
I now lovingly accept every single bit of myself, from my appearance, to my thoughts, feelings and emotions, including aches and pains.
All is me & I am all. Only because of it ALL, I've been moulded into the magnificent person I am today.
Friday, May 18, 2012
"If You Think You Can Or If You Think You Can Not, You Are Right!"
Very wise quote by Henry Ford. It made me think, many times... And every time I agreed to it, strongly.
I had a full body bone scan yesterday. Results reviewed by my Doctor today. The results were 'kind of' neutral. I say neutral, because they weren't really much worse than a year ago, which in the 'advanced cancer terms' means good.
Well, bad news is, that even after chemo, there still are 30+ tumors showing in the bones pretty much all over my body: scull, neck, one of the shoulders, all over ribs, lower spine, mid spine, upper spine, both hips, pelvis, down both legs.... yes, all over.
However, they are not new. They have been there for well over a year, they haven't grown and many of them are possibly shrinking.
The above news can easily be taken with a huge disappointment and negativity. I could easily make myself feel sad, angry, scared, doubtful, full of 'what ifs' etc. And possibly make myself spiral into the darkness and depression.
But I choose not to.
I take the news as positive. Very much so.
There is no talk about my organs being affected, which is great. No talk about being worse, or that chemotherapy is not working, or that there are no more treatments left etc.
My pain level is much better than a month ago, which is fantastic. I am reducing the painkillers again, yay! I feel quite well, energetic. Physically much better than 6 months ago, much stronger, too. Mentally, I am filled with clarity on what to do next. Spiritually, I am content and with deeply seeded trust and belief that all is unfolding perfectly.
It is all in the mind, isn't it? We make choices every single moment of our life. We are blessed with being absolutely free to decide on pretty much everything: what we eat, what we wear, what we say, what we think, how we feel... Every moment of every single day. It is completely up to us. And it is all in our head (or wherever the mind might be hidden...). Our mind is such an amazingly powerful tool.
A negative outlook vs a positive outlook. Both extremely powerful. So different, complete opposites, but yet both 100% right. Can you see that?
How about you? Which outlook do you decide to follow?
I had a full body bone scan yesterday. Results reviewed by my Doctor today. The results were 'kind of' neutral. I say neutral, because they weren't really much worse than a year ago, which in the 'advanced cancer terms' means good.
Well, bad news is, that even after chemo, there still are 30+ tumors showing in the bones pretty much all over my body: scull, neck, one of the shoulders, all over ribs, lower spine, mid spine, upper spine, both hips, pelvis, down both legs.... yes, all over.
However, they are not new. They have been there for well over a year, they haven't grown and many of them are possibly shrinking.
The above news can easily be taken with a huge disappointment and negativity. I could easily make myself feel sad, angry, scared, doubtful, full of 'what ifs' etc. And possibly make myself spiral into the darkness and depression.
But I choose not to.
I take the news as positive. Very much so.
There is no talk about my organs being affected, which is great. No talk about being worse, or that chemotherapy is not working, or that there are no more treatments left etc.
My pain level is much better than a month ago, which is fantastic. I am reducing the painkillers again, yay! I feel quite well, energetic. Physically much better than 6 months ago, much stronger, too. Mentally, I am filled with clarity on what to do next. Spiritually, I am content and with deeply seeded trust and belief that all is unfolding perfectly.
It is all in the mind, isn't it? We make choices every single moment of our life. We are blessed with being absolutely free to decide on pretty much everything: what we eat, what we wear, what we say, what we think, how we feel... Every moment of every single day. It is completely up to us. And it is all in our head (or wherever the mind might be hidden...). Our mind is such an amazingly powerful tool.
A negative outlook vs a positive outlook. Both extremely powerful. So different, complete opposites, but yet both 100% right. Can you see that?
How about you? Which outlook do you decide to follow?
Friday, May 11, 2012
Swimming In The Pond Of Doubts
Just as every night, I was on Twitter last night. @TinaVis is my Twitter ID.
I came across this article from the blog of Karen Pendy, a beautiful, positive and happy young woman, who recently passed away at the age of 37, from advanced breast cancer which had spread to her brain...
To some of you, who may have read my previous posts, the story of tumors that had spread into brain sounds familiar. Yes. I also was faced with that very same diagnosis. Interestingly, very similar age, too!
Needless to say, reading about her passing only 5 months after the diagnosis, left me slightly overwhelmed. It made me feel sad, a bit disappointed, a bit scared and definitely doubtful.
On the other hand, it did reinforce my positivity, since my scan last November showed my brain as all clear and I am still here on planet Earth, feeling well and getting better each and every day.
I know my prognosis is not bright, but I am filled with hope. And I know I am not the average person who falls into statistics.
Not only that... I strongly believe in the power of mind and my mind is telling me I am a long term survivor. Long term is considered 10+ years in the cancer world and I am convinced I can (and I will) achieve that.
But my hope is telling me I will be around for much longer, to see my beautiful (now 5 year old) daughter grow up and live fulfilling adult life, to grow old together with my beautiful man, to travel the world, to inspire people, to accomplish many things I have set myself to accomplish...
A month ago, or even a week ago, I would have said, there is no doubt about it... However, after reading the post last night, the doubt crept up on me. I woke up my man, started the 'midnight' conversation and cried out the fears. But the doubts stayed. Same old, same old...
What if I'm fooling myself?
What if my mind is tricking me?
What if my brain tumors come back?
What if my Doctors say: 'there's nothing else we can do' ?
Has anyone ever survived for more than 5 years after brain mets were diagnosed? Anyone???
Am I lucky enough to be that one of the very rare few (if there are any at all)?
Am I disillusioned?
And the list goes on...
I am swimming in the pond of doubts.
All I need now from myself is clarity and all I want from others is the belief and encouragement.
I will gain the clarity, I know how, but I am asking you all to send some belief and encouragement my way.
And I will be forever grateful.
Love to you all x
I came across this article from the blog of Karen Pendy, a beautiful, positive and happy young woman, who recently passed away at the age of 37, from advanced breast cancer which had spread to her brain...
To some of you, who may have read my previous posts, the story of tumors that had spread into brain sounds familiar. Yes. I also was faced with that very same diagnosis. Interestingly, very similar age, too!
Needless to say, reading about her passing only 5 months after the diagnosis, left me slightly overwhelmed. It made me feel sad, a bit disappointed, a bit scared and definitely doubtful.
On the other hand, it did reinforce my positivity, since my scan last November showed my brain as all clear and I am still here on planet Earth, feeling well and getting better each and every day.
I know my prognosis is not bright, but I am filled with hope. And I know I am not the average person who falls into statistics.
Not only that... I strongly believe in the power of mind and my mind is telling me I am a long term survivor. Long term is considered 10+ years in the cancer world and I am convinced I can (and I will) achieve that.
But my hope is telling me I will be around for much longer, to see my beautiful (now 5 year old) daughter grow up and live fulfilling adult life, to grow old together with my beautiful man, to travel the world, to inspire people, to accomplish many things I have set myself to accomplish...
A month ago, or even a week ago, I would have said, there is no doubt about it... However, after reading the post last night, the doubt crept up on me. I woke up my man, started the 'midnight' conversation and cried out the fears. But the doubts stayed. Same old, same old...
What if I'm fooling myself?
What if my mind is tricking me?
What if my brain tumors come back?
What if my Doctors say: 'there's nothing else we can do' ?
Has anyone ever survived for more than 5 years after brain mets were diagnosed? Anyone???
Am I lucky enough to be that one of the very rare few (if there are any at all)?
Am I disillusioned?
And the list goes on...
I am swimming in the pond of doubts.
All I need now from myself is clarity and all I want from others is the belief and encouragement.
I will gain the clarity, I know how, but I am asking you all to send some belief and encouragement my way.
And I will be forever grateful.
Love to you all x
Tuesday, May 1, 2012
Chemotherapy - oh how I dislike you!
I had the second round of the fifth cycle of chemotherapy today. Initially, I was going to have four cycles. Then to be re-assessed and prescribed another two to five rounds if needed. However, I had a couple of lengthy four weeks breaks in between (instead of just one week), that I decided to take myself, so I tailored my treatment by myself, without Doctor's consent. Gutsy, hey?!?
Since I've already had two lots of chemotherapy four years ago, I knew taking breaks doesn't make a difference to the whole treatment regime. Chemotherapy is such powerful and poisonous thing, it stays in your system for years.
Since diagnosed for the second time in December 2010, chemotherapy was the one and only most threatening thing for me next to the possibility of dying. The fear of death first, chemotherapy the close second. It was the thing I decided not to ever experience again. It is indescribably horrid. And unless you have experienced having chemotherapy yourself, you would not have a clue how horrid it is. Everything. From the actual place where you sit to get your chemotherapy drugs administered, the process of it, the all sickly looking people around you (no offence, but mostly older by at least 20 years in my case!), the lights, the smell, the outfits that chemotherapy nurses wear (which look like they are dealing with the nuclear weapon), the actual process of waiting for the poisonous liquid to flow through the veins, all the pills for possible side effects... It is all just plain horrid and it feels wrong. On so many levels.
I was postponing my chemotherapy until even after I had 5 tumors removed from my brain in July 2011, all the way to November 2011, when my vertebrae collapsed the second time in a year and pretty much every single Doctor (the total of five!) told me to have a go or else I could end up in a wheelchair...
So I listened and I opened myself to it.
Needless to say, on the night before the first round of the first cycle of chemotherapy, I felt extremely nervous, irritated and stressed. I pretty much couldn't do anything. To try and practice mindfulness seemed impossible. However I did think of an excellent exercise called 'Inner Peace' I read about in the book called The Mind That Changes Everything. It is a visualisation meditation which can help you find the inner peace under most irritating circumstances.
And the most amazing thing happened.
As I was led into the exercise (by my loving man), an amazing bright light shone all over me. It was strong, warm and extremely powerful. It felt totally safe to be surrounded by it. And as it shone, it started shrinking, closing in on me, closer and closer, until it went inside of me and all over my body, shrinking and shrinking, ending up inside my heart, a powerful, warm light shining... Inside me. I felt calm, safe and 100% certain all is as it is supposed to be. I am doing the right thing.
My trip to the chemotherapy session the next day was accompanied by peace and all was feeling right, smooth and healing. Even my lumps have visibly started shrinking in the two weeks afterwards. And when my hair started falling out, it only thinned and not fell out completely...
But then, after the second cycle , I had a meltdown and hit the wall. The lumps stopped shrinking, I started finding it very hard to be 'embracing' chemotherapy and the feeling of it being horrid came back...
That horrible hostile feeling hasn't left since. If anything, it intensified.
Today, as I was sitting in the waiting room for way too long, my thoughts started playing up. I wanted it to be all finished. I hated being there. I couldn't stand sitting there, getting that horrid poison into my veins, possibly for the second last time ever, but still...
My check up (including the full body bone scan to assess the progress of the treatment) is approaching and I started questioning everything.
What if all these didn't work?
I still have the same amount of visible lumps. They aren't any bigger, but I am not so sure if they've gotten any smaller. I am back on the same dose of pain medication I was at the beginning of chemotherapy, while it should have been reduced by now... I am mentally not at that peaceful place I was at before I started chemotherapy and my physical body has yet again been poisoned, completely, by some horribly heavy drugs, which are having numerous side effects (and possibly no benefits) and my body has even changed visibly in the shape. Some extremely serious things are happening!
I had another mini meltdown.
I took off, sat in the car and cried out loud. I felt sorry for myself. I questioned the universe yet again: why me???
But the mini meltdown finished fast. I went in, had my chemo and I'm coming back next Tuesday for (what I decided to be) the last one (possibly ever!), regardless of the results of my scan.
I know there are many other options out there for me to explore, pursue and embrace if I have to.
Since I've already had two lots of chemotherapy four years ago, I knew taking breaks doesn't make a difference to the whole treatment regime. Chemotherapy is such powerful and poisonous thing, it stays in your system for years.
Since diagnosed for the second time in December 2010, chemotherapy was the one and only most threatening thing for me next to the possibility of dying. The fear of death first, chemotherapy the close second. It was the thing I decided not to ever experience again. It is indescribably horrid. And unless you have experienced having chemotherapy yourself, you would not have a clue how horrid it is. Everything. From the actual place where you sit to get your chemotherapy drugs administered, the process of it, the all sickly looking people around you (no offence, but mostly older by at least 20 years in my case!), the lights, the smell, the outfits that chemotherapy nurses wear (which look like they are dealing with the nuclear weapon), the actual process of waiting for the poisonous liquid to flow through the veins, all the pills for possible side effects... It is all just plain horrid and it feels wrong. On so many levels.
I was postponing my chemotherapy until even after I had 5 tumors removed from my brain in July 2011, all the way to November 2011, when my vertebrae collapsed the second time in a year and pretty much every single Doctor (the total of five!) told me to have a go or else I could end up in a wheelchair...
So I listened and I opened myself to it.
Needless to say, on the night before the first round of the first cycle of chemotherapy, I felt extremely nervous, irritated and stressed. I pretty much couldn't do anything. To try and practice mindfulness seemed impossible. However I did think of an excellent exercise called 'Inner Peace' I read about in the book called The Mind That Changes Everything. It is a visualisation meditation which can help you find the inner peace under most irritating circumstances.
And the most amazing thing happened.
As I was led into the exercise (by my loving man), an amazing bright light shone all over me. It was strong, warm and extremely powerful. It felt totally safe to be surrounded by it. And as it shone, it started shrinking, closing in on me, closer and closer, until it went inside of me and all over my body, shrinking and shrinking, ending up inside my heart, a powerful, warm light shining... Inside me. I felt calm, safe and 100% certain all is as it is supposed to be. I am doing the right thing.
My trip to the chemotherapy session the next day was accompanied by peace and all was feeling right, smooth and healing. Even my lumps have visibly started shrinking in the two weeks afterwards. And when my hair started falling out, it only thinned and not fell out completely...
But then, after the second cycle , I had a meltdown and hit the wall. The lumps stopped shrinking, I started finding it very hard to be 'embracing' chemotherapy and the feeling of it being horrid came back...
That horrible hostile feeling hasn't left since. If anything, it intensified.
Today, as I was sitting in the waiting room for way too long, my thoughts started playing up. I wanted it to be all finished. I hated being there. I couldn't stand sitting there, getting that horrid poison into my veins, possibly for the second last time ever, but still...
My check up (including the full body bone scan to assess the progress of the treatment) is approaching and I started questioning everything.
What if all these didn't work?
I still have the same amount of visible lumps. They aren't any bigger, but I am not so sure if they've gotten any smaller. I am back on the same dose of pain medication I was at the beginning of chemotherapy, while it should have been reduced by now... I am mentally not at that peaceful place I was at before I started chemotherapy and my physical body has yet again been poisoned, completely, by some horribly heavy drugs, which are having numerous side effects (and possibly no benefits) and my body has even changed visibly in the shape. Some extremely serious things are happening!
I had another mini meltdown.
I took off, sat in the car and cried out loud. I felt sorry for myself. I questioned the universe yet again: why me???
But the mini meltdown finished fast. I went in, had my chemo and I'm coming back next Tuesday for (what I decided to be) the last one (possibly ever!), regardless of the results of my scan.
I know there are many other options out there for me to explore, pursue and embrace if I have to.
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Hope
The definition of HOPE: " A feeling of expectation and desire for a certain thing to happen."
When you are faced with the diagnosis of advanced cancer (the cancer that has spread through different parts of the body), or any other seriously life threatening disease, hope is the one and only most important starting point. There is absolutely nothing without hope. No hope, no future.
When I heard my GP voicing the words: "I'm afraid the Xray results show the cancer has come back... " all went completely and absolutely blank. All. Everything disappeared and I was in a deep, empty, dark, black hole, nothing and no one with me, next to me, nor around me. I was in a total state of shock.
The one and only thing I remember to feel was an enormous fear. The fear of death. And an instant question arised: "how long before I die?"
I felt completely powerless, helpless, scared and utterly mortal.
Although always considering myself as a strong person with a solution to any problem thrown at me, at that very moment of the diagnosis, I was completely blank. Totally blinded by it. There was no answer, no solution, no potential plan, absolutely no hope...
All I could think of, when the initial shock settled slightly, was something to help me get through a week of pre-christmas celebrations we had lined up. So I asked my GP for sedatives.
Then, after few days of hazily and hopelessly wandering around under the influence of Valium, I decided to make a trip to the bookshop.
As I browsed through the shelves, a book called You Can Conquer Cancer jumped right out to my attention, and I decided to buy it.
The very next day we travelled to the beautiful Castaway Island in Fiji for our christmas holiday. I stopped taking Valium and started reading the book. It only took a page to fill me up with hope.
And there we are - HOPE!
Hope to me right then and there presented the shift of my feelings from being completely powerless, helpless, scared and utterly mortal, to:
Hope made me get rid of fear and uncertainty about the future, and instead makes me dream, plan, start doing and keep focusing on the joys of living. It makes me see the future bright and clear, no matter what obstacles (and there are many on my journey) I encounter. With hope within me, I feel safe and certain that no matter what comes my way in the future, all will be well, always.
When you are faced with the diagnosis of advanced cancer (the cancer that has spread through different parts of the body), or any other seriously life threatening disease, hope is the one and only most important starting point. There is absolutely nothing without hope. No hope, no future.
When I heard my GP voicing the words: "I'm afraid the Xray results show the cancer has come back... " all went completely and absolutely blank. All. Everything disappeared and I was in a deep, empty, dark, black hole, nothing and no one with me, next to me, nor around me. I was in a total state of shock.
The one and only thing I remember to feel was an enormous fear. The fear of death. And an instant question arised: "how long before I die?"
I felt completely powerless, helpless, scared and utterly mortal.
Although always considering myself as a strong person with a solution to any problem thrown at me, at that very moment of the diagnosis, I was completely blank. Totally blinded by it. There was no answer, no solution, no potential plan, absolutely no hope...
All I could think of, when the initial shock settled slightly, was something to help me get through a week of pre-christmas celebrations we had lined up. So I asked my GP for sedatives.
Then, after few days of hazily and hopelessly wandering around under the influence of Valium, I decided to make a trip to the bookshop.
As I browsed through the shelves, a book called You Can Conquer Cancer jumped right out to my attention, and I decided to buy it.
The very next day we travelled to the beautiful Castaway Island in Fiji for our christmas holiday. I stopped taking Valium and started reading the book. It only took a page to fill me up with hope.
And there we are - HOPE!
Hope to me right then and there presented the shift of my feelings from being completely powerless, helpless, scared and utterly mortal, to:
- start seeing the little sparkle of possibility of survival
- getting answers to million questions
- seeing the path to possible solutions
- opening the options of numerous treatments available
- opportunity for an enormous lifestyle change
- finding the positives to lean on
- million reasons to keep believing in positives
- finding the strength to not give in to the prognosis
- determination to stick to my new healthy life-style change
- love to life, myself and to people around me
- and the list goes on
Hope made me get rid of fear and uncertainty about the future, and instead makes me dream, plan, start doing and keep focusing on the joys of living. It makes me see the future bright and clear, no matter what obstacles (and there are many on my journey) I encounter. With hope within me, I feel safe and certain that no matter what comes my way in the future, all will be well, always.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
I have enough! I want my physical body back!
As I am sitting here on the couch, feeling mentally quite peaceful, but tired and not particularly centred, I can't help but notice my bloated belly popping out of my Tshirt...
And in this very moment, I feel I have enough.
This is just not me.
I am a petite, fit, toned and healthy looking 30 something, with thick sandy coloured wavy hair, lush eyelashes, well shaped eyebrows, big round eyes and an oval shaped face...
Not at the moment.
As I am approaching the end of a course of chemotherapy, my body hair has thinned drastically. My hair is 2/3 gone, so are my eyelashes and eyebrows...
Since I have been diagnosed with advanced breast cancer in the bone (spine, ribs & hips), which involves being in constant pain, I have lost all my muscle tone.
I used to love jogging and practicing yoga. I would jog at least 3 times a week and practiced yoga at least twice. I walked a lot. I was out and about, engaged in some sort of physical activity with my daughter almost every day.
In my mid to late thirties, I was physically the fittest and healthiest I have ever been before.
I felt good within myself - physically. I used to like what I saw in the mirror.
Then, last year, as my pain was getting worse, there were many pills added to my daily diet.
Needless to say, they all have side effects. Especially steroids.
And here I am now, with the combination of 18 months of zero physical exercise, about 10 pills of different medications a day, 12 rounds of chemotherapy...
Yes, here I am, with a horribly bloated tummy, looking and feeling like I was 6 months pregnant, with the hair of a balding 50 year old man, ghostly look on my totally rounded moon - face and a very fragile scrawny body...
But yet I look OK, to strangers - or so 'they' say.
Oh, so looking forward to the day, when chemotherapy is finished, painkillers reduced to minimum or gone altogether, my hair back thick and growing, my eyelashes needing to be looked after on daily basis, my body waxed...
And more so, when I get out of bed, put on those brand new looking snickers (I bought about 2 years ago and only used briefly training for 8 km Mothers Day Classic Fundraising Run) and go for a morning jog around this beautiful beach suburb I live in.
And to the day, when I dress up in my yoga gear and join the local yoga group again for weekly sessions...
The down is - I can't book in the next 'fun run' event just yet nor the date to start training or practicing yoga. I have no idea when exactly that time will come.
However, I know it is going to happen! I know, I can feel it and I do not have a doubt! In my mind, it's never gone away, it's just my physical body that needs to catch up somehow, somewhere in the (hopefully very) near future.
Meanwhile, I just have to stay here, within myself, focus on my other bodies, maintain those in the state of contentment, strength, clarity and determination and practice patience, patience, patience and possibly more patience...
How about you? Where are you at? Is your goal hard to be achieved on a mental or physical level? Would love to hear.
And in this very moment, I feel I have enough.
This is just not me.
I am a petite, fit, toned and healthy looking 30 something, with thick sandy coloured wavy hair, lush eyelashes, well shaped eyebrows, big round eyes and an oval shaped face...
Not at the moment.
As I am approaching the end of a course of chemotherapy, my body hair has thinned drastically. My hair is 2/3 gone, so are my eyelashes and eyebrows...
Since I have been diagnosed with advanced breast cancer in the bone (spine, ribs & hips), which involves being in constant pain, I have lost all my muscle tone.
I used to love jogging and practicing yoga. I would jog at least 3 times a week and practiced yoga at least twice. I walked a lot. I was out and about, engaged in some sort of physical activity with my daughter almost every day.
In my mid to late thirties, I was physically the fittest and healthiest I have ever been before.
I felt good within myself - physically. I used to like what I saw in the mirror.
Then, last year, as my pain was getting worse, there were many pills added to my daily diet.
Needless to say, they all have side effects. Especially steroids.
And here I am now, with the combination of 18 months of zero physical exercise, about 10 pills of different medications a day, 12 rounds of chemotherapy...
Yes, here I am, with a horribly bloated tummy, looking and feeling like I was 6 months pregnant, with the hair of a balding 50 year old man, ghostly look on my totally rounded moon - face and a very fragile scrawny body...
But yet I look OK, to strangers - or so 'they' say.
Oh, so looking forward to the day, when chemotherapy is finished, painkillers reduced to minimum or gone altogether, my hair back thick and growing, my eyelashes needing to be looked after on daily basis, my body waxed...
And more so, when I get out of bed, put on those brand new looking snickers (I bought about 2 years ago and only used briefly training for 8 km Mothers Day Classic Fundraising Run) and go for a morning jog around this beautiful beach suburb I live in.
And to the day, when I dress up in my yoga gear and join the local yoga group again for weekly sessions...
The down is - I can't book in the next 'fun run' event just yet nor the date to start training or practicing yoga. I have no idea when exactly that time will come.
However, I know it is going to happen! I know, I can feel it and I do not have a doubt! In my mind, it's never gone away, it's just my physical body that needs to catch up somehow, somewhere in the (hopefully very) near future.
Meanwhile, I just have to stay here, within myself, focus on my other bodies, maintain those in the state of contentment, strength, clarity and determination and practice patience, patience, patience and possibly more patience...
How about you? Where are you at? Is your goal hard to be achieved on a mental or physical level? Would love to hear.
Tuesday, April 10, 2012
Living With Cancer vs Dying From Cancer
It was last Friday (Good Friday) that Australian Current Affairs (ACA) aired Cancer Cure Claim, featuring Dr. Ian Gawler (http://www.gawlerblog.com/).
It was with excitement I awaited to see an amazing man such as Dr Ian Gawler on mainstream television. Advanced cancer survivor of 30+ years, with then seriously poor prognosis of maximum 6 months to live in mid 70s... And here he is now, in 2012, still going strong, healthy and well and helping others living with cancer and numerous general people who aspire to live a healthy, well balanced life. His foundation and him personally cover many aspects of mind - body medicine and encourage people to take control of their well - being in an integrative way.
He is the main inspiration on my own cancer journey and I feel absolutely nothing but pure respect towards him.
If you watched the segment on ACA, you would have soon realised that the story didn't unfold the way I expected. In fact, it was completely opposite, condemning the amazing work Ian has been advocating over the past 25+ years. I was left extremely sad and disappointed.
I stayed at The Gawler Foundation (http://www.gawler.org/) twice last year.
First time it was soon after my diagnosis of advanced breast cancer. I attended a 10 day residential program and after an amazing and very empowering experience of abundant learning about the path of the journey of living with cancer, I decided to return to attend a 5 day follow up 'cancer retreat' later in the year, together with my partner. Needless to say, it was the best thing I have ever done for myself in my whole entire life.
I can briefly list just a few things I have learned at The Gawler Foundation:
So, watching the segment on ACA last Friday, condemning the amazing work they do at The Gawler Foundation, was nothing less but heartbreaking for me. And the comment by Tracy Grimshaw to finish with: "Desperate people do desperate things" was completely improper and out of place.
I am not anywhere near close to being a desperate person, nor is anyone I have crossed paths while at The Gawler Foundation.
Living life with cancer is very challenging. It is a very fine line between living with cancer and dying from it. I am a strong believer in the power of mind. Yes, of course there are million types of different cancers, and even though advanced and many seem the same, yet they are all different. Just as people are different, cancers behave differently. How come some people with the 'same' type of cancer fall into statistics and die exactly in due time, while others live many years and can have good quality of life regardless of diagnosis?!?
I don't know about you, but my common sense tells me to look for clues and answers in people that are long term survivors. Especially those rare few who are considered 'spontaneous remissions'. And when you do start reading and researching into those cases, you find there are many more than your average Oncologist (like Dr. Lowenthal who appeared on ACA) tells you.
Unfortunately our conventional medicine can only afford researches into prevention and treatment drugs, sponsored by huge pharmaceutical companies, which are not interested in long term survivors, but rather in people who have cancer and need those heavy drugs to somehow extend their life or ease them into death. It is a huge industry. I, as a cancer patient, undergoing numerous treatments, am worth tens of thousands of dollars a year, if not hundreds... Once I'm in a remission (a survivor!), treatments and medications stop and I am no longer of any value to them. That, sadly, is reality.
So no wonder there are no funds to support research in long term survivors... Quite cruel, isn't it?
I do apologise for the lengthy post and I am extremely grateful if you are still reading it. But I have to get this off my chest, as I find it quite frustrating and extremely unfair.
All I tried to explain is the difference between LIVING WITH CANCER and DYING FROM CANCER. I am living with it. And I am living well. In fact, my quality of life is way higher now then has ever been before.
It is both, good and bad, when I either see someone I haven't seen in ages or meet someone new and they say: 'so sorry about your cancer, wow, but you look so good, I would have never thought...'
It's good because it's true. Although I look different (from side effects of numerous different drugs I am on) I still look healthy and well. Probably healthier than most of the general population, as I am looking after myself with extremely healthy diet and lifestyle.
And it's bad, because general person expects me (diagnosed with advanced / secondary / a very serious stage 4 cancer) to look like I'm dying.
And that, I suppose is the main difference.
The perception of the world today still is that having cancer means one will die way before their time, while in fact, one actually can live an extremely fulfilling abundant life managing cancer just as any other chronic illness.
Or even better, just as the likes of Dr.Ian Gawler or another amazing Australian - Petrea King (the founder of Quest For Life), one can achieve the state of complete remission.
Hopefully, sometime in the very near future every single newly diagnosed cancer patient will aim for the above.
And I sincerely hope that our conventional Doctors, Oncologists and media, start encouraging the awakenings of survivors within us all and support us all to take path towards this amazing and already achievable goal, with all their respect, optimism and positivity or just keep nice and quite, and learn to practice some compassion if there's nothing hopeful to be said...
It was with excitement I awaited to see an amazing man such as Dr Ian Gawler on mainstream television. Advanced cancer survivor of 30+ years, with then seriously poor prognosis of maximum 6 months to live in mid 70s... And here he is now, in 2012, still going strong, healthy and well and helping others living with cancer and numerous general people who aspire to live a healthy, well balanced life. His foundation and him personally cover many aspects of mind - body medicine and encourage people to take control of their well - being in an integrative way.
He is the main inspiration on my own cancer journey and I feel absolutely nothing but pure respect towards him.
If you watched the segment on ACA, you would have soon realised that the story didn't unfold the way I expected. In fact, it was completely opposite, condemning the amazing work Ian has been advocating over the past 25+ years. I was left extremely sad and disappointed.
I stayed at The Gawler Foundation (http://www.gawler.org/) twice last year.
First time it was soon after my diagnosis of advanced breast cancer. I attended a 10 day residential program and after an amazing and very empowering experience of abundant learning about the path of the journey of living with cancer, I decided to return to attend a 5 day follow up 'cancer retreat' later in the year, together with my partner. Needless to say, it was the best thing I have ever done for myself in my whole entire life.
I can briefly list just a few things I have learned at The Gawler Foundation:
- how to take control of my 'cancer journey' (to make decisions of my treatments - conventional such as chemotherapy, radiotherapy, surgery and complementary such as acupuncture, holistic GP, massage... with clarity and determination)
- how to accept my diagnosis and achieve peace of mind (tools and techniques)
- how to eliminate my past emotional barriers (counselling and some helpful self-techniques and practices, useful resources - books, CDs, podcasts...)
- how to look after myself physically (with proper nutrition, diet, exercise...)
- the importance of balanced life (mind body soul)
- and many many more
So, watching the segment on ACA last Friday, condemning the amazing work they do at The Gawler Foundation, was nothing less but heartbreaking for me. And the comment by Tracy Grimshaw to finish with: "Desperate people do desperate things" was completely improper and out of place.
I am not anywhere near close to being a desperate person, nor is anyone I have crossed paths while at The Gawler Foundation.
Living life with cancer is very challenging. It is a very fine line between living with cancer and dying from it. I am a strong believer in the power of mind. Yes, of course there are million types of different cancers, and even though advanced and many seem the same, yet they are all different. Just as people are different, cancers behave differently. How come some people with the 'same' type of cancer fall into statistics and die exactly in due time, while others live many years and can have good quality of life regardless of diagnosis?!?
I don't know about you, but my common sense tells me to look for clues and answers in people that are long term survivors. Especially those rare few who are considered 'spontaneous remissions'. And when you do start reading and researching into those cases, you find there are many more than your average Oncologist (like Dr. Lowenthal who appeared on ACA) tells you.
Unfortunately our conventional medicine can only afford researches into prevention and treatment drugs, sponsored by huge pharmaceutical companies, which are not interested in long term survivors, but rather in people who have cancer and need those heavy drugs to somehow extend their life or ease them into death. It is a huge industry. I, as a cancer patient, undergoing numerous treatments, am worth tens of thousands of dollars a year, if not hundreds... Once I'm in a remission (a survivor!), treatments and medications stop and I am no longer of any value to them. That, sadly, is reality.
So no wonder there are no funds to support research in long term survivors... Quite cruel, isn't it?
I do apologise for the lengthy post and I am extremely grateful if you are still reading it. But I have to get this off my chest, as I find it quite frustrating and extremely unfair.
All I tried to explain is the difference between LIVING WITH CANCER and DYING FROM CANCER. I am living with it. And I am living well. In fact, my quality of life is way higher now then has ever been before.
It is both, good and bad, when I either see someone I haven't seen in ages or meet someone new and they say: 'so sorry about your cancer, wow, but you look so good, I would have never thought...'
It's good because it's true. Although I look different (from side effects of numerous different drugs I am on) I still look healthy and well. Probably healthier than most of the general population, as I am looking after myself with extremely healthy diet and lifestyle.
And it's bad, because general person expects me (diagnosed with advanced / secondary / a very serious stage 4 cancer) to look like I'm dying.
And that, I suppose is the main difference.
The perception of the world today still is that having cancer means one will die way before their time, while in fact, one actually can live an extremely fulfilling abundant life managing cancer just as any other chronic illness.
Or even better, just as the likes of Dr.Ian Gawler or another amazing Australian - Petrea King (the founder of Quest For Life), one can achieve the state of complete remission.
Hopefully, sometime in the very near future every single newly diagnosed cancer patient will aim for the above.
And I sincerely hope that our conventional Doctors, Oncologists and media, start encouraging the awakenings of survivors within us all and support us all to take path towards this amazing and already achievable goal, with all their respect, optimism and positivity or just keep nice and quite, and learn to practice some compassion if there's nothing hopeful to be said...
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
The Monstrosity Of Pain
There are two things that have been present in the past few weeks of my life. One of them is pain, the other is crankiness.
I believe they are both here with me to teach me a huge lesson but I have decided to write only about the pain today...
Pain is the one that I dislike the most. It's a feeling that I don't wish upon anyone. Or, is it a feeling at all? What is pain, actually?
It is horrible, it is annoying and irritating. It hurts, stings and burns on a physical level and it overtakes me, totally consumes me, on a mental level. It is most unwelcome thing coming to me with the diagnosis of cancer spreading to the bone. The more I think of it, the more I know it's the actual pain that bothers me, not the cancer...
It's the pain that makes me take painkillers - strong opiates, steroids and occasionally additional medicine for so called 'breakthrough' pain. And they all come with some sort of side effects. From having constant food cravings, mood swings, bloating or constipation (what a choice, hey?!), to the change in my physical appearance (I am now moon-faced!).
I had a good session discussing pain with my mentor and came to the conclusion of trying to just being with it. So I tried. And I still am trying. Through the meditation or just sitting and resting with it. It is hard.
Right now, when I am ok, with my pain level down to 2 out of 10, seems easy and light. However, when one wakes up at 3am with unbearable burning pain up and down the whole leg, from hips to toes, level 11 out of 10, there is no way of just 'being' with it. There is absolutely nothing to do... You top up the painkillers to the max, but it takes at least 1/2h for them to kick in. Meanwhile, you are there, in the middle of the night, in absolute agony, with nothing to do... Nothing but react. Mindfulness, patience, niceness, politeness, everything I aspire to be and practice through the day and every nice piece of me just blows away in the dark. That's when the anger and sadness and bitterness kick in.... And I cry... And I sob... And I wish that, just for few minutes, someone I know would feel the way I feel right then, just so they understand me that little bit better. That tiny little bit. I want to feel empathy in the true form.
Why? Perhaps it is because I don't want people around me to always see me and think of me as being strong. I don't want everyone to always tell me how well I am or how well I handle everything that I'm going through... No! I sometimes need people around me to feel sorry for me, because the truth is, it is hard, sometimes harder than anyone can imagine. And I am not handling it the way I want to. I am not strong. I do suffer. And I suffer a lot. There is nothing easy about living with pain of any sort and there is absolutely nothing easy about living with cancer.
I feel the love of my beautiful man. I feel his frustrations at 3am, trying to help. But there's nothing he can do apart from handing me the 'breakthrough' pills, a heat pack, perhaps holding my hand and listen to me, angrily and desperately sobbing in absolute agony... It must be so hard for him. And yet there I am, wishing I could pass on my pain to him, even if just for few minutes. Does that make me a horrible person? Perhaps. But I don't care. Not at 3am. All I care about is me and all I wish is the pain to go away.
Yes, it's not cancer that I truly want to get rid off, it's the pain.
Luckily, it's not always that way. There are days when all is well and there are most nights that I sleep soundly. But I did hurt my tumors in the hip area on the recent travel for a weekend away, carrying the luggage (stupid me, not having a 'wheelie' suitcase!) and the last few weeks of pain were the price I had to pay.
My pain has now somehow settled. Still there, but not over 5 out of 10, much easier managed. And I am back to being optimistic, seeing the day in the future without painkillers. I know it is achievable and I know it will happen!
Meanwhile, I am learning the hard lesson of living with pain, caused by cancer and yes, I am mindfully working on 'being with it'. But please, oh, please don't mention anything about that particular learning process if I ever wake up at 3am!
I believe they are both here with me to teach me a huge lesson but I have decided to write only about the pain today...
Pain is the one that I dislike the most. It's a feeling that I don't wish upon anyone. Or, is it a feeling at all? What is pain, actually?
It is horrible, it is annoying and irritating. It hurts, stings and burns on a physical level and it overtakes me, totally consumes me, on a mental level. It is most unwelcome thing coming to me with the diagnosis of cancer spreading to the bone. The more I think of it, the more I know it's the actual pain that bothers me, not the cancer...
It's the pain that makes me take painkillers - strong opiates, steroids and occasionally additional medicine for so called 'breakthrough' pain. And they all come with some sort of side effects. From having constant food cravings, mood swings, bloating or constipation (what a choice, hey?!), to the change in my physical appearance (I am now moon-faced!).
I had a good session discussing pain with my mentor and came to the conclusion of trying to just being with it. So I tried. And I still am trying. Through the meditation or just sitting and resting with it. It is hard.
Right now, when I am ok, with my pain level down to 2 out of 10, seems easy and light. However, when one wakes up at 3am with unbearable burning pain up and down the whole leg, from hips to toes, level 11 out of 10, there is no way of just 'being' with it. There is absolutely nothing to do... You top up the painkillers to the max, but it takes at least 1/2h for them to kick in. Meanwhile, you are there, in the middle of the night, in absolute agony, with nothing to do... Nothing but react. Mindfulness, patience, niceness, politeness, everything I aspire to be and practice through the day and every nice piece of me just blows away in the dark. That's when the anger and sadness and bitterness kick in.... And I cry... And I sob... And I wish that, just for few minutes, someone I know would feel the way I feel right then, just so they understand me that little bit better. That tiny little bit. I want to feel empathy in the true form.
Why? Perhaps it is because I don't want people around me to always see me and think of me as being strong. I don't want everyone to always tell me how well I am or how well I handle everything that I'm going through... No! I sometimes need people around me to feel sorry for me, because the truth is, it is hard, sometimes harder than anyone can imagine. And I am not handling it the way I want to. I am not strong. I do suffer. And I suffer a lot. There is nothing easy about living with pain of any sort and there is absolutely nothing easy about living with cancer.
I feel the love of my beautiful man. I feel his frustrations at 3am, trying to help. But there's nothing he can do apart from handing me the 'breakthrough' pills, a heat pack, perhaps holding my hand and listen to me, angrily and desperately sobbing in absolute agony... It must be so hard for him. And yet there I am, wishing I could pass on my pain to him, even if just for few minutes. Does that make me a horrible person? Perhaps. But I don't care. Not at 3am. All I care about is me and all I wish is the pain to go away.
Yes, it's not cancer that I truly want to get rid off, it's the pain.
Luckily, it's not always that way. There are days when all is well and there are most nights that I sleep soundly. But I did hurt my tumors in the hip area on the recent travel for a weekend away, carrying the luggage (stupid me, not having a 'wheelie' suitcase!) and the last few weeks of pain were the price I had to pay.
My pain has now somehow settled. Still there, but not over 5 out of 10, much easier managed. And I am back to being optimistic, seeing the day in the future without painkillers. I know it is achievable and I know it will happen!
Meanwhile, I am learning the hard lesson of living with pain, caused by cancer and yes, I am mindfully working on 'being with it'. But please, oh, please don't mention anything about that particular learning process if I ever wake up at 3am!
Monday, March 5, 2012
"That which does not kill us makes us stronger"
We are all familiar with the above quote by Friedrich Nietzsche.
Yes, we all kind of believe that, don't we? Well, at least I do. The quote itself makes me feel pretty good about myself. Thinking through the words, makes me feel more at ease travelling through challenges of life. And the word 'stronger' makes me feel powerful...
But yet on occasion, I think to myself: 'What the...?'
How strong do some of us have to be? How strong will I be by the end of my life? What if I'm now content as I am, strong enough, that's it, finished, all done and dusted... ?!?! I need no more!
Unfortunately life doesn't work that way. There is no remote control to press 'pause', not even for a moment. Or perhaps there is, and that 'pause' button is actually the 'mindfulness meditation'? The time we take to just sit still for half an hour or so and do absolutely nothing. Pause. In the present moment. Completely in the now. Nowhere else.
At some points over the past year, I have found myself in that present, peaceful state quite often. It feels so amazing it's addictive.
But yet, more often than not, I find myself stuck in my busy state of mind, caught up in thoughts and with the new learned belief of 'embracing' it all, find myself slightly stressed out when something unpleasant happens and I can't really embrace it. It might make me stronger, yes, but it doesn't mean I have to embrace it.
Today, while talking to my counsellor (I should really call her my mentor instead), I realised I have been putting too much pressure on myself for trying to embrace every single moment of my life. 'Embracing' is a very powerful word and although positive, it can easily turn into negative if you find it difficult to embrace a particular situation that happens. It can cause quite a bit of stress when you are not honest with your emotions towards the circumstance. At least in my case.
I realised earlier today, I don't want to embrace unpleasant things anymore. I am accepting them though. In fact, I've learned to accept everything that came my way so far.
From now on, rather than embracing, I will just BE with it. Be, with whatever comes my way, good, bad, nice, sad, happy, exciting, horrible, annoying, irritating, or whatever else there is...
So back to the quote by Friedrich Nietzsche. Yes, great, I am strong, because I am still alive after numerous challenges of my life that could have killed me. But, how strong do I really need to become? Or better, how strong do I want to be? What if I feel I am now strong enough? Can I ask life to stop throwing the 'life threatenning' challenges at me? Please?!?!
How about you? How strong are you?
Yes, we all kind of believe that, don't we? Well, at least I do. The quote itself makes me feel pretty good about myself. Thinking through the words, makes me feel more at ease travelling through challenges of life. And the word 'stronger' makes me feel powerful...
But yet on occasion, I think to myself: 'What the...?'
How strong do some of us have to be? How strong will I be by the end of my life? What if I'm now content as I am, strong enough, that's it, finished, all done and dusted... ?!?! I need no more!
Unfortunately life doesn't work that way. There is no remote control to press 'pause', not even for a moment. Or perhaps there is, and that 'pause' button is actually the 'mindfulness meditation'? The time we take to just sit still for half an hour or so and do absolutely nothing. Pause. In the present moment. Completely in the now. Nowhere else.
At some points over the past year, I have found myself in that present, peaceful state quite often. It feels so amazing it's addictive.
But yet, more often than not, I find myself stuck in my busy state of mind, caught up in thoughts and with the new learned belief of 'embracing' it all, find myself slightly stressed out when something unpleasant happens and I can't really embrace it. It might make me stronger, yes, but it doesn't mean I have to embrace it.
Today, while talking to my counsellor (I should really call her my mentor instead), I realised I have been putting too much pressure on myself for trying to embrace every single moment of my life. 'Embracing' is a very powerful word and although positive, it can easily turn into negative if you find it difficult to embrace a particular situation that happens. It can cause quite a bit of stress when you are not honest with your emotions towards the circumstance. At least in my case.
I realised earlier today, I don't want to embrace unpleasant things anymore. I am accepting them though. In fact, I've learned to accept everything that came my way so far.
From now on, rather than embracing, I will just BE with it. Be, with whatever comes my way, good, bad, nice, sad, happy, exciting, horrible, annoying, irritating, or whatever else there is...
So back to the quote by Friedrich Nietzsche. Yes, great, I am strong, because I am still alive after numerous challenges of my life that could have killed me. But, how strong do I really need to become? Or better, how strong do I want to be? What if I feel I am now strong enough? Can I ask life to stop throwing the 'life threatenning' challenges at me? Please?!?!
How about you? How strong are you?
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
The Meltdown
I had a lovely weekend and felt good on a nice summery Monday morning. After dropping off my daughter at school, I needed to do a blood test, which is necessary a day prior my next round of chemotherapy. I had a 'chemo break' last week and was about to start the new (fourth) cycle. Each cycle consists of 3 rounds and 1 week break and I am to have 6 in total. So I am now midway. Great, the countdown begins.
Having chemo is not by any means a good thing. No matter how smooth or well tolerated chemo is, it is an extremely unpleasant experience. My chemo is an IV form and even though it only takes about 45 min to administer, it is not nice to say the least. You sit in a neon lit room of the clinic with many other cancer patients and do nothing but wait until it all flows through your veins. You also get some 'extras', either pills or shots for side effects. You are basically filled up with a variety of legal synthetic drugs.
4 years ago, all of the drugs made me extremely sick for the first 24 hours. In fact so sick, I couldn't share the room with anyone, not even with my daughter or any family member. I couldn't talk, eat, drink or do anything but curl up in bed, in the dark and try to sleep it off. Or else I would have been extremely nauseous.
This time around is much better. Different, newer drugs and much lighter immediate side effects. I feel tired, slightly light headed, looking pale, but still able to do all normal chores like picking up my girl from school and taking her to ballet class, having dinner etc. All good from that part.
But yet, it doesn't feel nowhere near pleasant. I would have never add chemo to my 'to do list'. Honestly, it absolutely sucks (excuse my language) and just the thought of it irritates me.
Anyhow, a day prior each chemo, I need a blood test for Doctor to see my blood and my organs (like kidneys) are well enough to handle the chemicals...
So off I went.
I started really disliking blood tests and needles generally. I've been having way too many over the past couple months. And I think my veins can tell. They seem to go on strike every time I enter the Pathology room, or the Vitamin C room, where I'm getting my weekly high doses of Vitamin C through IV. The nurses are having serious troubles finding my veins.
Yesterday morning, all bright and early, happened again. The nurse missed the vein twice. And it was painful. But more so, it was annoying me. All of a sudden I started feeling physically sick, I thought I was going to faint. I got very hot and covered in sweat. Almost shaky. All I wanted is to get out of there.
I had two nurses giving me attention, wanting to try again... But all I could do was walk out and skip the blood test. I had two band aids on both arms, caused by unsuccessful trials.
I felt physically sick and thought I would faint.
Mentally, I could feel the whole lot of unpleasant emotions arising... Stronger and stronger all the stuff started to come out of somewhere deep inside, right out through my body, to my mind and out of my eyes and through my mouth....
Just as I reached the car, the total meltdown began.
I phoned my man. Out came swear words galore, out came the tears pouring, out came 'why me's, 'not fair's, and more and more F words (*I am not the person who swears, ever, no F words nor similar are in my vocabulary).... They all just came out flooding. Out of, what seemed nowhere... But yet it all came from somewhere deep inside of me. It was a moment of unpleasant emotions and it came pouring out.
When we practice mindfulness, unpleasant emotions like anger, become just another emotion to respond to, not to live in. We learn to observe, not to react.
But yet I reacted. I reacted wholeheartedly, crying, yelling, swearing, almost abusing my innocent man on the phone.
And this is what I've learned:
Practice of mindfulness is a lengthy process and no matter how long you manage to stay in 'the good place', it is (unfortunately) not the destination, but a life long journey, which requires one step at a time. Many steps are easy, and get even easier with practice, as you get 'fitter'. You are walking straight line, flat, relaxed pace. Until all of a sudden, you reach an extremely steep hill, or a huge rock to climb, a fence to jump over, or a slippery wet part, or an icy cold patch, a dangerous curve or perhaps just a little sharp stone...
Each step you take is important.
It's not about trying to control the actual journey, but keeping the determination to stay on the path no matter what comes your way, keeping the pace comfortable, safe, accepting whatever comes your way, no matter how unpleasant the circumstances and emotions associated with experience are.
So I had a meltdown. A complete meltdown I have not expected to have. It all came out, which obviously had to, as it was there, somewhere. I felt much lighter afterwards.
And I didn't let the meltdown consume my whole existence. I didn't drag it on and on. It came all of a sudden, I let it all out, I was a bit surprised, shed few extra tears during the day and wondered where did it all come from? But I also sat down for half an hour, in peace and quite, practicing mindfulness meditation to calm my mind and gain some clarity, mostly on where and why did it all happen.
I didn't get the answer, but did calm down greatly. And I didn't continue trying to analyse it or catastrophise it or making up stories around and about it.
Although I am a complete beginner in the vastness of the mindfulness practice, I did notice a difference in dealing with the meltdown, comparing to my past, pre-cancer life. The best part is, I now feel much lighter and calmer. And yet again, I am at peace.
How about you? How do you deal with the meltdowns? How do you cross the obstacles? Would love to hear!
Having chemo is not by any means a good thing. No matter how smooth or well tolerated chemo is, it is an extremely unpleasant experience. My chemo is an IV form and even though it only takes about 45 min to administer, it is not nice to say the least. You sit in a neon lit room of the clinic with many other cancer patients and do nothing but wait until it all flows through your veins. You also get some 'extras', either pills or shots for side effects. You are basically filled up with a variety of legal synthetic drugs.
4 years ago, all of the drugs made me extremely sick for the first 24 hours. In fact so sick, I couldn't share the room with anyone, not even with my daughter or any family member. I couldn't talk, eat, drink or do anything but curl up in bed, in the dark and try to sleep it off. Or else I would have been extremely nauseous.
This time around is much better. Different, newer drugs and much lighter immediate side effects. I feel tired, slightly light headed, looking pale, but still able to do all normal chores like picking up my girl from school and taking her to ballet class, having dinner etc. All good from that part.
But yet, it doesn't feel nowhere near pleasant. I would have never add chemo to my 'to do list'. Honestly, it absolutely sucks (excuse my language) and just the thought of it irritates me.
Anyhow, a day prior each chemo, I need a blood test for Doctor to see my blood and my organs (like kidneys) are well enough to handle the chemicals...
So off I went.
I started really disliking blood tests and needles generally. I've been having way too many over the past couple months. And I think my veins can tell. They seem to go on strike every time I enter the Pathology room, or the Vitamin C room, where I'm getting my weekly high doses of Vitamin C through IV. The nurses are having serious troubles finding my veins.
Yesterday morning, all bright and early, happened again. The nurse missed the vein twice. And it was painful. But more so, it was annoying me. All of a sudden I started feeling physically sick, I thought I was going to faint. I got very hot and covered in sweat. Almost shaky. All I wanted is to get out of there.
I had two nurses giving me attention, wanting to try again... But all I could do was walk out and skip the blood test. I had two band aids on both arms, caused by unsuccessful trials.
I felt physically sick and thought I would faint.
Mentally, I could feel the whole lot of unpleasant emotions arising... Stronger and stronger all the stuff started to come out of somewhere deep inside, right out through my body, to my mind and out of my eyes and through my mouth....
Just as I reached the car, the total meltdown began.
I phoned my man. Out came swear words galore, out came the tears pouring, out came 'why me's, 'not fair's, and more and more F words (*I am not the person who swears, ever, no F words nor similar are in my vocabulary).... They all just came out flooding. Out of, what seemed nowhere... But yet it all came from somewhere deep inside of me. It was a moment of unpleasant emotions and it came pouring out.
When we practice mindfulness, unpleasant emotions like anger, become just another emotion to respond to, not to live in. We learn to observe, not to react.
But yet I reacted. I reacted wholeheartedly, crying, yelling, swearing, almost abusing my innocent man on the phone.
And this is what I've learned:
Practice of mindfulness is a lengthy process and no matter how long you manage to stay in 'the good place', it is (unfortunately) not the destination, but a life long journey, which requires one step at a time. Many steps are easy, and get even easier with practice, as you get 'fitter'. You are walking straight line, flat, relaxed pace. Until all of a sudden, you reach an extremely steep hill, or a huge rock to climb, a fence to jump over, or a slippery wet part, or an icy cold patch, a dangerous curve or perhaps just a little sharp stone...
Each step you take is important.
It's not about trying to control the actual journey, but keeping the determination to stay on the path no matter what comes your way, keeping the pace comfortable, safe, accepting whatever comes your way, no matter how unpleasant the circumstances and emotions associated with experience are.
So I had a meltdown. A complete meltdown I have not expected to have. It all came out, which obviously had to, as it was there, somewhere. I felt much lighter afterwards.
And I didn't let the meltdown consume my whole existence. I didn't drag it on and on. It came all of a sudden, I let it all out, I was a bit surprised, shed few extra tears during the day and wondered where did it all come from? But I also sat down for half an hour, in peace and quite, practicing mindfulness meditation to calm my mind and gain some clarity, mostly on where and why did it all happen.
I didn't get the answer, but did calm down greatly. And I didn't continue trying to analyse it or catastrophise it or making up stories around and about it.
Although I am a complete beginner in the vastness of the mindfulness practice, I did notice a difference in dealing with the meltdown, comparing to my past, pre-cancer life. The best part is, I now feel much lighter and calmer. And yet again, I am at peace.
How about you? How do you deal with the meltdowns? How do you cross the obstacles? Would love to hear!
Thursday, February 23, 2012
Happy Birthday To Me
It was my birthday yesterday.
Celebrations have changed a lot since I've been living with cancer. Not only that my lifestyle and diet have changed (mostly vegan, sugar free, alcohol free... meaning no birthday cake nor birthday drinks), my mindset is different, too.
Looking few years back, I was quite devastated turning 30. I felt old, or perhaps, mature, an adult... I felt like I have hit the stage of life where there's no more excuses to be young and silly, but needing to get all serious about life, needing to know what I want, plan it all out - married, career, house by 34, kids by 36 etc
Little did I know....
After my first diagnosis and by the end of treatments, just a single thought of being 'trapped' in a mortgage almost made me sick. My motto has changed to 'I work to live' (definitely not live to work!). Life (to me) represented one holiday after another. Having one child seemed sufficient. I felt blessed not needing to plan bigger family and relieved not needing to feel 'guilty' to only have one child, since I had 'a good excuse'...
It's only now, 4 years later, that I catch myself thinking about why do I feel like I need an excuse? Or to explain myself to people I meet about:
What is my problem? Why do I let myself be influenced by the 'silent rules of society', when, on the other hand, I claim not to care what other people think about me...
Yes, although I feel like I am in a good place, I feel obliged needing to explain to people, somehow justify my life, my actions and my decisions...Why?
Even after spending most of the past year soul searching, focusing on my mental and emotional healing and spiritual growth, there are still so many parts of me that need to be looked into. No matter how good, content and confident I feel, there are still many complex, slightly unpleasant feelings arising, that I am willing to explore.
There is so much more to learn about who I am, what is my place? What is it, truly, that makes me and keeps me in that 'good place'? In a place, where the superficial norms of society loose their meaning and have no attachments, where I confidently meet and communicate to everyone around me without feeling any pressures whatsoever. Move ligthly, think and make decisions with absolute clarity and act completely and only from the depth of my heart and soul, regardless of my health condition or any superficial barriers I may carry in my mind.
As I turned 39, I honestly don't feel the age nor do I care about it. In fact, in many ways, I feel exactly the same I felt when I was in my 20s. But yet things are very much different. I am different.
Have I achieved what I was meaning to by this age? No.
Have I ever thought I would have had cancer twice in my thirties? Of course not.
Have I ever thought I wasn't going to eat meat, or drink alcohol or not have a piece of cake, not even on my birthday? Absolutely not.
Do I have any regrets? Not a single one!
So, there we are. The unpredictability of the fragile life... The changes we, humans, can make. The actions we take are enormous. The strength we carry inside is unimaginable. Getting older, wiser, to mature and to be willing to change, is extremely empowering.
And as I felt devastated turning 30, I now feel totally blessed to be here to be able to turn 39 and looking forward to 40 and 50 and 60... and 70 and ... oh my oh my, there will be the biggest party on the planet earth when I turn 80 in 2053!
No middle age crisis here, no botox, no collagen injections planned, nor face lifts or plastic surgery... I am embracing every single moment of getting older, just because I am well enough to be able to!
How about you?
Celebrations have changed a lot since I've been living with cancer. Not only that my lifestyle and diet have changed (mostly vegan, sugar free, alcohol free... meaning no birthday cake nor birthday drinks), my mindset is different, too.
Looking few years back, I was quite devastated turning 30. I felt old, or perhaps, mature, an adult... I felt like I have hit the stage of life where there's no more excuses to be young and silly, but needing to get all serious about life, needing to know what I want, plan it all out - married, career, house by 34, kids by 36 etc
Little did I know....
It's only now, 4 years later, that I catch myself thinking about why do I feel like I need an excuse? Or to explain myself to people I meet about:
- having only one child
- not owning a house
- not drinking
- not eating meat, dairy or sugar
- having thin hair...
What is my problem? Why do I let myself be influenced by the 'silent rules of society', when, on the other hand, I claim not to care what other people think about me...
Yes, although I feel like I am in a good place, I feel obliged needing to explain to people, somehow justify my life, my actions and my decisions...Why?
Even after spending most of the past year soul searching, focusing on my mental and emotional healing and spiritual growth, there are still so many parts of me that need to be looked into. No matter how good, content and confident I feel, there are still many complex, slightly unpleasant feelings arising, that I am willing to explore.
There is so much more to learn about who I am, what is my place? What is it, truly, that makes me and keeps me in that 'good place'? In a place, where the superficial norms of society loose their meaning and have no attachments, where I confidently meet and communicate to everyone around me without feeling any pressures whatsoever. Move ligthly, think and make decisions with absolute clarity and act completely and only from the depth of my heart and soul, regardless of my health condition or any superficial barriers I may carry in my mind.
Have I achieved what I was meaning to by this age? No.
Have I ever thought I would have had cancer twice in my thirties? Of course not.
Have I ever thought I wasn't going to eat meat, or drink alcohol or not have a piece of cake, not even on my birthday? Absolutely not.
Do I have any regrets? Not a single one!
So, there we are. The unpredictability of the fragile life... The changes we, humans, can make. The actions we take are enormous. The strength we carry inside is unimaginable. Getting older, wiser, to mature and to be willing to change, is extremely empowering.
No middle age crisis here, no botox, no collagen injections planned, nor face lifts or plastic surgery... I am embracing every single moment of getting older, just because I am well enough to be able to!
Monday, February 20, 2012
Mummy, what is cancer?
When I was first diagnosed with early breast cancer back in February 2008, my daughter wasn't even 1 year old. Obviously, she couldn't talk and I didn't feel the need to explain to her what was going on. The odds of survival were extremely high too. And my mum stayed with us for pretty much the whole treatment, so my little daughter did by no means feel left out on getting attention. She did, however, look at me strangely for few seconds, when I walked into her room with shaved head after my chemotherapy treatment side effects kicked in....
Almost 3 years on, in December 2010, when I was diagnosed again, all was different.
This time, it was secondary diagnosis. That, comparing to primary or early, is in itself much more serious. The secondary cancer means advanced, the one that has already spread (or metastasised) to other parts of the body. The odds for survival are much lower... In many cases so low, that people get prognosis of only few weeks to live. In my case is an average of 2-3 years. Well, luckily I am not the average person. I know I am extraordinary, as all the happenings over the past year have shown and confirmed and the way I feel right now (which according to statistics would make me either 1/2 or 1/3 dead), is nowhere near ... If anything, I feel at least 1/2 better than a year ago. On all levels, that is. And for me, the only way is up!
Anyhow, my daughter was nearly 4 years old at time of the secondary diagnosis, and by that age, kids know what's going on. They, in fact, know much more than we give them credits for.
So, how do we tell a child about cancer?
How do we explain what cancer is? Or, that there is a chance we may die way earlier than expected? Or, that we may get really sick before we get better and also that there is a chance we might not get better? And, we hear stories of people dying of cancer every day...
It was horrifying. For me, just the single thought of the possibility of me not being there for Olivia growing up was unimaginable. I can let go of absolutely anything in my life but her. She represents completely everything I've ever aspired to achieve. She is my very own masterpiece. A perfection. The biggest teacher I've known or had. Pretty much indescribable.
So how do I tell her what is going on?
I just couldn't, really. It took me few months, a few books, a 10 day cancer retreat and quite a few sessions with my counsellor to be able to talk to her about it.
And this is almost exact conversation we had:
"Olivia, I have to tell you something"
"Yes Mummy?"
"I am very very sick.... Even though I don't look like I am... but you know this back pain I've had for a long time, the one that makes me unable to lift you, and carry you and run around with you... It's a very serious illness. Many people die from it. But I am doing everything I can to get better. I am not going to die, not just yet, but if I do, I promise to tell you. You will be the first to know"
"So, Mummy, when I grow up, I won't need you anymore"
"Yes baby, do you want me to die then?"
"No, when you're old." She said with a smile on her face.
End of conversation.
Although I didn't mention the word cancer, I felt good to openly discuss the death. But I also felt overwhelmed by her response. She was not even 4 years old, but yet she's already created an image of parents being old before dying.
It did feel good to let it out though.
After that initial conversation, we had a few more through the year.
We spoke about death, but only if she started. She pretty much sensed the connection between old and dying and usually started talking about death when she watched a movie with someone dying or saw an old person.
She also often started the conversation with:
"So, my grandparents are old..." and I explained that sometimes people stay old for a very long time, being old doesn't necessary mean dying straight away. Sometimes young people die, too. Sometimes even babies.
One day in the car, when an old person was crossing the road, she again highlighted how that person may die soon. And again we went through the explanation, ended up with: the animals die, everybody dies, sometimes even kids or babies... And she said:
"Mummy, what if I die?"
"That would break my heart, baby. It would make me very sad"
"And if Daddy dies, I would be very sad." she responded.
"Of course you would be, darling. But you would be OK."
"If you die, that would make me very sad"
"Yes, baby, it would be sad, but you would still have Daddy to love you and look after you and many other people. Even if both, me and Daddy die, you have your 'Godparents' to look after you, be a part of new family, together with the two new sisters (*her nominated legal Guardians have two daughters, her best friends). You would be sad, of course, but you would be looked after, loved and taken care of"
"Yes, but I would miss you so much" she replied and I could see her thinking away a few moments still.
"Of course you would, darling..."
End of conversation.
On another occasion, quite a few months further down the track, she asked me:
"So, Mummy, how is this thing that you have called?"
"Oh, you mean this, what makes me sick?"
"Yes"
"It's cancer"
"Ah, cancer..."
"Why are you asking that? Did you hear anyone talking about it?"
"Yes"
"Who?"
"I'm not going to tell you"
End of conversation.
And so the 'cancer' word was out.
And my husband told me they had a conversation about my cancer while going for a walk. Olivia explained to him exactly what she understood my illness was. When they returned, we had a brief family conversation about it, all present, so Olivia knows there are no secrets. We are open to share and discuss with each other. No stigma attached.
On one occasion, after I was hospitalised a couple of times (after my brain surgery and after my collapsed vertebrae incident), she surprised me with the question:
"When are you not going to be sick anymore?"
That was hard.
How can I explain? So I explained (as I was just about to start chemotherapy) I might get even sicker before I get better, but set a hopeful goal of possibly feeling much better by the end of summer, after her Birthday.
It made me think. I wish I could set a date. I wish life with cancer had a defined positive deadline.
Another, to me, big issue was the hair loss. How is my daughter (whose hair is beautiful, lush, long and wavy and who idolises princesses and Barbie, and all story - book characters with super long hair), how is she going to handle her Mummy having no hair?
She took it simply. And as my hair is thinning and I complain about my 'bad hair days', she looks at me and tells me I look pretty anyway... Oh how I love her.
Even though she told me she didn't like the short wig and her obvious preference would be a lush long, princess-like one, when the 'no hair' stage occurs, I know she will accept me and show her love just the same.
I believe it is the most important to be 100% open, honest and discuss all of the awkward and unpleasant options that may occur in the future, regardless of having cancer. I want my daughter to know I am honest with her, no matter what. I want her to know she is loved and she will be loved, no matter what.
I understand that cancer has a horrible association with death attached to it and I know that she will (if she hasn't already) hear from kids at school things like: 'your Mummy has cancer, she will die'...
And when that happens, I want her to know what is really and truly going on, to be educated about the disease, about the progression and to know how to reply with confidence, to let her feelings and thoughts out clearly and to talk about it openly with myself and people around her.
Although there are moments I feel my now almost 5 year old daughter has had to grow up too fast because of my cancer, my advise to anyone talking to kids about any significant events of life wouldn't change: be open, be honest. Talk to kids, but only if or when they are open to a conversation. And be open to continue the conversation whenever they start it, because they do start it, even though it can happen at the most inconvenient place or time.
Kids are way too precious not to be 100% open to and honest with, and they are so incredibly intuitive, even if we think they don't know what's going on, believe me, they do! They know much more than we could ever possibly imagine....
Almost 3 years on, in December 2010, when I was diagnosed again, all was different.
This time, it was secondary diagnosis. That, comparing to primary or early, is in itself much more serious. The secondary cancer means advanced, the one that has already spread (or metastasised) to other parts of the body. The odds for survival are much lower... In many cases so low, that people get prognosis of only few weeks to live. In my case is an average of 2-3 years. Well, luckily I am not the average person. I know I am extraordinary, as all the happenings over the past year have shown and confirmed and the way I feel right now (which according to statistics would make me either 1/2 or 1/3 dead), is nowhere near ... If anything, I feel at least 1/2 better than a year ago. On all levels, that is. And for me, the only way is up!
Anyhow, my daughter was nearly 4 years old at time of the secondary diagnosis, and by that age, kids know what's going on. They, in fact, know much more than we give them credits for.
So, how do we tell a child about cancer?
How do we explain what cancer is? Or, that there is a chance we may die way earlier than expected? Or, that we may get really sick before we get better and also that there is a chance we might not get better? And, we hear stories of people dying of cancer every day...
It was horrifying. For me, just the single thought of the possibility of me not being there for Olivia growing up was unimaginable. I can let go of absolutely anything in my life but her. She represents completely everything I've ever aspired to achieve. She is my very own masterpiece. A perfection. The biggest teacher I've known or had. Pretty much indescribable.
So how do I tell her what is going on?
I just couldn't, really. It took me few months, a few books, a 10 day cancer retreat and quite a few sessions with my counsellor to be able to talk to her about it.
And this is almost exact conversation we had:
"Olivia, I have to tell you something"
"Yes Mummy?"
"I am very very sick.... Even though I don't look like I am... but you know this back pain I've had for a long time, the one that makes me unable to lift you, and carry you and run around with you... It's a very serious illness. Many people die from it. But I am doing everything I can to get better. I am not going to die, not just yet, but if I do, I promise to tell you. You will be the first to know"
"So, Mummy, when I grow up, I won't need you anymore"
"Yes baby, do you want me to die then?"
"No, when you're old." She said with a smile on her face.
End of conversation.
Although I didn't mention the word cancer, I felt good to openly discuss the death. But I also felt overwhelmed by her response. She was not even 4 years old, but yet she's already created an image of parents being old before dying.
It did feel good to let it out though.
After that initial conversation, we had a few more through the year.
We spoke about death, but only if she started. She pretty much sensed the connection between old and dying and usually started talking about death when she watched a movie with someone dying or saw an old person.
She also often started the conversation with:
"So, my grandparents are old..." and I explained that sometimes people stay old for a very long time, being old doesn't necessary mean dying straight away. Sometimes young people die, too. Sometimes even babies.
One day in the car, when an old person was crossing the road, she again highlighted how that person may die soon. And again we went through the explanation, ended up with: the animals die, everybody dies, sometimes even kids or babies... And she said:
"Mummy, what if I die?"
"That would break my heart, baby. It would make me very sad"
"And if Daddy dies, I would be very sad." she responded.
"Of course you would be, darling. But you would be OK."
"If you die, that would make me very sad"
"Yes, baby, it would be sad, but you would still have Daddy to love you and look after you and many other people. Even if both, me and Daddy die, you have your 'Godparents' to look after you, be a part of new family, together with the two new sisters (*her nominated legal Guardians have two daughters, her best friends). You would be sad, of course, but you would be looked after, loved and taken care of"
"Yes, but I would miss you so much" she replied and I could see her thinking away a few moments still.
"Of course you would, darling..."
End of conversation.
On another occasion, quite a few months further down the track, she asked me:
"So, Mummy, how is this thing that you have called?"
"Oh, you mean this, what makes me sick?"
"Yes"
"It's cancer"
"Ah, cancer..."
"Why are you asking that? Did you hear anyone talking about it?"
"Yes"
"Who?"
"I'm not going to tell you"
End of conversation.
And so the 'cancer' word was out.
And my husband told me they had a conversation about my cancer while going for a walk. Olivia explained to him exactly what she understood my illness was. When they returned, we had a brief family conversation about it, all present, so Olivia knows there are no secrets. We are open to share and discuss with each other. No stigma attached.
On one occasion, after I was hospitalised a couple of times (after my brain surgery and after my collapsed vertebrae incident), she surprised me with the question:
"When are you not going to be sick anymore?"
That was hard.
How can I explain? So I explained (as I was just about to start chemotherapy) I might get even sicker before I get better, but set a hopeful goal of possibly feeling much better by the end of summer, after her Birthday.
It made me think. I wish I could set a date. I wish life with cancer had a defined positive deadline.
Another, to me, big issue was the hair loss. How is my daughter (whose hair is beautiful, lush, long and wavy and who idolises princesses and Barbie, and all story - book characters with super long hair), how is she going to handle her Mummy having no hair?
She took it simply. And as my hair is thinning and I complain about my 'bad hair days', she looks at me and tells me I look pretty anyway... Oh how I love her.
Even though she told me she didn't like the short wig and her obvious preference would be a lush long, princess-like one, when the 'no hair' stage occurs, I know she will accept me and show her love just the same.
I believe it is the most important to be 100% open, honest and discuss all of the awkward and unpleasant options that may occur in the future, regardless of having cancer. I want my daughter to know I am honest with her, no matter what. I want her to know she is loved and she will be loved, no matter what.
I understand that cancer has a horrible association with death attached to it and I know that she will (if she hasn't already) hear from kids at school things like: 'your Mummy has cancer, she will die'...
And when that happens, I want her to know what is really and truly going on, to be educated about the disease, about the progression and to know how to reply with confidence, to let her feelings and thoughts out clearly and to talk about it openly with myself and people around her.
Although there are moments I feel my now almost 5 year old daughter has had to grow up too fast because of my cancer, my advise to anyone talking to kids about any significant events of life wouldn't change: be open, be honest. Talk to kids, but only if or when they are open to a conversation. And be open to continue the conversation whenever they start it, because they do start it, even though it can happen at the most inconvenient place or time.
Kids are way too precious not to be 100% open to and honest with, and they are so incredibly intuitive, even if we think they don't know what's going on, believe me, they do! They know much more than we could ever possibly imagine....
Tuesday, February 7, 2012
Dear 16 year old me!
As you are all curled up in bed, completely lost in the darkness of it all, feeling totally alone, small and fragile, full of nothingness, but yet overfilled by such powerful unpleasant and confused emotions of rage and angst and totally consumed by hatred... hatred to the world around you and to yourself...
I wish I could've been there with you! I would have been holding you tight, comfort you and tell you that
- the world is so much bigger than your small 'home'
- you will go out there and explore the world and yes, you will find a place you love, a place where you feel safe and where you feel at home
- your life is so precious, this is just a stage, although a 10 years long stage, but it will pass, eventually
- the first love is nothing but a stepping stone towards the real love, which, yes, you will find in your early thirties
- the 'family' is not there to stay and haunt you through your life...
- you will be an independent adult before you know & you will leave your broken home and cut the circle of abuse and violence
- you are not alone in this world... there are many people who love you and will support you through whatever happens
- you will experience most amazing things, see & visit most amazing places, and meet many amazing people
- you will find happiness, love and contentment
- you will stop hating and learn to forgive
- you will feel loved, fulfilled, joyous, carefree and sometimes even exceptional
No matter how hard it seems, no matter how dark it seems, it is not that way. You are only 16 years old, baby, you have been unwanted, abandoned, unloved and abused...
It is extremely hard to see it, but believe me, Tina, there is a very bright light at the end of the tunnel and no matter how difficult it all seems, as time passes, it does get easier. It really is just a stage, a stage that has been going on for a very long time and started way before you were able to act on it. You were only a child then, Tina! A young, innocent child, who, by no means could have known how to defend herself.
But the great news is, you are learning the lesson, which is going to help you enormously in your future.
Life is not all rosy, as you know, and it continuously throws many challenges at you. One of them will come in the peak of your newly found happiness, when you are a new mother of most amazing little girl. You will get cancer.
And yet again you will get filled with anger and fear, resentment and guilt.
Until, at 37, the cancer returns and the most miraculous thing happens.
This time, as you face the death, something changes. You make a conscious decision to choose life. It's you, Tina, with your strength you have gathered through those many past years of suffering. It all did happen for a reason.
As you are now facing, for many people, the biggest challenge ever, it doesn't seem that way to you. It is just another challenge.
But this time, you are an adult. You are strong and you feel strong. You love and you feel loved. You are focused, determined and at ease with it. You love who you've become and therefore you love yourself. You have an enormous reason to live, you are a mother... You feel loved, safe and secure. There is no room for anger nor fear left in you....
Life is oh so precious. And you know it and therefore you live it. You truly live it, and you are at peace.
The good news is, you are only turning 39 at present and you've got many years ahead.
Keep practicing mindfulness, day in, day out, and all will be well.
Love x
Tina
I wish I could've been there with you! I would have been holding you tight, comfort you and tell you that
- the world is so much bigger than your small 'home'
- you will go out there and explore the world and yes, you will find a place you love, a place where you feel safe and where you feel at home
- your life is so precious, this is just a stage, although a 10 years long stage, but it will pass, eventually
- the first love is nothing but a stepping stone towards the real love, which, yes, you will find in your early thirties
- the 'family' is not there to stay and haunt you through your life...
- you will be an independent adult before you know & you will leave your broken home and cut the circle of abuse and violence
- you are not alone in this world... there are many people who love you and will support you through whatever happens
- you will experience most amazing things, see & visit most amazing places, and meet many amazing people
- you will find happiness, love and contentment
- you will stop hating and learn to forgive
- you will feel loved, fulfilled, joyous, carefree and sometimes even exceptional
No matter how hard it seems, no matter how dark it seems, it is not that way. You are only 16 years old, baby, you have been unwanted, abandoned, unloved and abused...
It is extremely hard to see it, but believe me, Tina, there is a very bright light at the end of the tunnel and no matter how difficult it all seems, as time passes, it does get easier. It really is just a stage, a stage that has been going on for a very long time and started way before you were able to act on it. You were only a child then, Tina! A young, innocent child, who, by no means could have known how to defend herself.
But the great news is, you are learning the lesson, which is going to help you enormously in your future.
Life is not all rosy, as you know, and it continuously throws many challenges at you. One of them will come in the peak of your newly found happiness, when you are a new mother of most amazing little girl. You will get cancer.
And yet again you will get filled with anger and fear, resentment and guilt.
Until, at 37, the cancer returns and the most miraculous thing happens.
This time, as you face the death, something changes. You make a conscious decision to choose life. It's you, Tina, with your strength you have gathered through those many past years of suffering. It all did happen for a reason.
As you are now facing, for many people, the biggest challenge ever, it doesn't seem that way to you. It is just another challenge.
But this time, you are an adult. You are strong and you feel strong. You love and you feel loved. You are focused, determined and at ease with it. You love who you've become and therefore you love yourself. You have an enormous reason to live, you are a mother... You feel loved, safe and secure. There is no room for anger nor fear left in you....
Life is oh so precious. And you know it and therefore you live it. You truly live it, and you are at peace.
The good news is, you are only turning 39 at present and you've got many years ahead.
Keep practicing mindfulness, day in, day out, and all will be well.
Love x
Tina
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)