Traditions and Transitions

It's a beautiful morning on this 7th day of December; the sun is bright and it will be unseasonably warm again today, in the high 50's. Just like all of the 1st weeks of December in the past, all of the Christmas decorations are up, outside of the house and inside.  The Christmas tree is gorgeous and fills the living room with it's sweet scent. My favorite time of the day, first thing in the morning before anyone (including the pups!) is awake, is spent by the tree enjoying my coffee and prayers.

Unlike years of past, the preparations leading up to this beautiful morning sitting quietly by our tree were different...

I love Christmastime.

I mean I REALLY LOVE Christmastime.

Reflecting back to when I was a young girl, I can remember a few presents that Santa brought: my Victoria doll, Barbies, even my first bottle of perfume in my stocking. Of course, I still have that stocking! But, I remember even more, the 'magicness' of Christmas. Memories of my dad hanging lights outdoors with a staple gun, my mother making my favorite bread (which I have never been able to find a recipe for), decorating our tree - dad would string the lights, mom and my sisters and me would hang the ornaments, then we would all add the tinsel. Miraculously, the big clumps of tinsel that my sisters and I would place, would somehow rearrange to be beautiful and shimmery. The grandparents would come into town with trunks loaded with goodies, pretty dresses for church on Christmas Eve, hanging our stockings before bed, and the impossible: trying to sleep so that Santa could come.

What I cannot remember is how all of that 'magicness' really happened. I don't remember Black Friday or endless grocery shopping. I don't remember stressing about lists and backaches or not enough sleep or not enough time...

My mother and father created Magic.

I cling to these memories because there were not very many Christmases like that. My mother passed away from cancer when she was oh so young in her thirties; I was just 12 and I was the oldest. I don't know if my few memories are from a few Christmases or just one. But they were and are so powerful to me, that they became the cornerstone for my family Christmas traditions. I vaguely remember going to a tree lot to pick out our tree (you can't cut your own tree down in the south!), but we have our funny 'tradition' of going to Home Depot to get our less than $50 tree, and it is always stunning.
Because I suffer from Christmastime Obsessive /Compulsive Disease, I do all of the lights myself, inside and out. Come to think about it, Ken has never complained about that!

In the past few years for our family, one morning there would be no decorations up and then, magic!, that night our house would be aglow. The same phenomena would happen with decorations inside the house, presents being wrapped and just 'appearing' under the tree and cookies would just happen to be on the counter after school.

I, too, created Magic.

But this year, things are different.

As soon as I was told, 'no lifting, pushing, pulling, no ANYTHING over the weight of a gallon of milk', I knew that this would have a major impact on how I prepared for the holidays. (Plural, because I go all out for all of them) The number one struggle that I have both physically and emotionally now, is having to ask for, and wait for, help. I have prayed continuously for patience and to be compassionate with myself, but it is soooo difficult.

With these new limitations and a wound that has not even healed yet in my abdomen, decorating this year would be different. Thank goodness I have been practicing Mindfulness Meditation intensely all these months, to help me become more accepting of change and limitations.

Since Tessa has been away to college, it has become tradition for our family to make our pilgrimage to Home Depot the day before Thanksgiving to get our tree and set it in water until Friday, so that Tessa could help decorate it before going back to school. This year, on the day before Thanksgiving, Ken and Torrie were given tickets to the Ohio State vs. Michigan game for that weekend, so even our new tradition would be altered. I was thrilled for Torrie and Ken (Ohio State won, yay!!) to have the opportunity to go, and my 'Christmas Magic Maker in the making', Tessa, was eager to spend the weekend alone with me (Thank you, God) decorating.

Home Depot Tree 2015!

She carried the buckets of Christmas ornaments up from the basement and together on Friday night, we decorated the tree; I still did the lights though. Saturday, she carried up the buckets of house decorations and we set about our duty. What used to be a solitary job for me, was now being shared. Tessa and I talked about the decorations, piece by piece. Where did it come from? Who gave that to us? Do you remember where that goes?, etc. The thing that I had prayed so hard for, acceptance, was coming to fruition right in front of me. I delighted in being centered, in being present in the moment with Tessa, in being mindful. A beautiful experience was capped off by a wonderful dinner, just the two of us, in a small booth, in a crowded restaurant; enjoying each other.

My new, wonderful Christmas memory.

Magic.

Tessa 2015

Three Gifts That I Would Never Return

I have a pain in my side.

Both literally and figuratively.

The pain in the middle of my abdomen from my surgeries and from the MRSA wound is getting much better. Much, much better. However, in my lower right side, there is still a dull nagging pain that just will not subside. It is really just like a thorn in my side. It is there because there was a remaining piece of the old, infected mesh, that the surgeons were unable to remove. It is something I will just have to live with. But it is there, and I notice it a lot.

Recently, I did some reading about St. Paul. Before having the scales fall from his eyes and experiencing the wonderful revelation about Jesus, Paul (or Saul in his earlier days) was not a very nice guy. In fact, he was horrible. He mercilessly persecuted Christians for many years, until his own personal revelation. Paul became a changed man after his encounter with God.

However, even after receiving God's forgiveness and becoming a Christian, Paul suffered. A lot.
He was imprisoned, beaten, threatened, stoned, shipwrecked, robbed, and chased throughout his entire ministry. On top of all of this, he had a persistent, unrelenting "thorn" oppressing his body. (2 Corinthians 12:7-8). Three times he called upon God and begged for relief. You'd think that God would keep His best servants in perfect condition and optimal health! But rather than receiving a grand, sweeping cure, Paul was given a deeper answer: "My grace is sufficient for you'.

I'm sure that's not the answer old Paul was looking for!

Since I have been able to get out and about lately, many people have asked me about my health and my crazy past few months, and more than not, they seem to question how I can remain faithful. Questions like "How could God allow this to happen to you?" or the one that really bothers me "Why did God do this to you?" My answer is and always has been that God did not do this to me, but instead is giving me the means to come to Him first when circumstances go sour to get through these trials. I can see in the faces of some, that they are just not getting what I am saying.

I think that many of my fellow believers believe that after placing their faith in God, that hardships will just disappear or avert them completely.  I am a perfect living case that indeed, that is not the truth. I get the feeling that seeing me unsettles or makes some people question their own faith. "If she's such a believer, why does $#%& keep happening to her?!"

My struggles only make sense to me if I continually try to see my difficulties through God's eyes; as an opportunity for growth. An untested faith is weak and ineffective. Just like our muscles, our faith must be tested against resistance. Sure, I get upset about cancer, pain, limitations, etc. I've done more than my fair share of cussing and pouting, but God knows me, and he knows I believe in Him.

He has given me the gift of Wisdom.

There is a wisdom that can be learned from experience and attained intellectually. It is a form of spiritual guidance. When the gift of wisdom is operating for me, I learn how to handle a certain issue in an exceptionally wise way (even though I am not necessarily a wise person!), one that is beyond my natural learning or experience that lines up with God's purpose for me.

I try (keyword = try) to not let circumstances intimidate me to much. I am able to do this because I can reflect back on so many situations and God's hand on me during them. I know that God gives me just the amount of strength I need to get through each day because:
1. I ask for it.
2. He knows what I need, long before I do.

That, my friends, is the gift of Faith.

When this gift is in operation for me, I am able to comfortably believe in God for something that others would see as impossible. I have total faith for something that others may be daunted by or even terrified of. It is a sense of boldness that I do not normally possess. Sometimes, the more challenging my day it seems, the more God showers me with this gift.

So that brings me back to Paul and his thorn...

Learning about Paul has given me a fresh outlook on my "thorn". Perhaps instead of praying for my quick fix or cure, I'll begin to ask God what He wants me to accomplish through this weakness. Perhaps my "thorn' just may be the vessel which God can display his unlimited power to my friends and acquaintances.

That, my friends, is the gift of Acceptance.

In Faith,
Kim

Progress... Not Perfection

I am starting to make some real progress in my recovery. Three months ago today, I was having my PIC line inserted before the surgery that I was scheduled for the next day. It seems like light years ago. I am beginning to settle (keyword = beginning) into my 'new normal' routine. I am even making peace with my can vs. can't do list. I am forward strides and it feels so good!

Several weeks ago, the stir crazies set in. I found myself feeling like I was literally going to come out of my skin, I was that antsy. It was hard to admit to myself, and even more so to other people, that the wonderful feeling of getting out of the hospital and coming home to my house, was beginning to wear off. With Tessa and Torrie in school and Ken finally back to work and traveling, I suddenly found myself quite alone. Even with the outpouring of offers from friends to be with me, take me places, etc., I struggled with not feeling well enough to go out and at one point, starting to feel the need to 'entertain' when people came over. Me and my stir crazy brain were really starting to fall apart. I wanted to be with people but I very much also wanted to be left alone. My internal voice turned on me with statements like "You're not being very grateful", 'What are you whining about?", blah, blah, blah. Alone...in my own head, not so good.

So I talked to my doctor. This is not uncommon, she told me. Many patients, after long term hospitalization, feel this way. Even though I came to despise the constant invasion of my space and body by the medical staff, it was contact and dialogue. At home, with everyone gone and not being able to do much but rest, I was feeling true helplessness and frustration. With no one else around to take it out on (thank goodness), I turned on myself. I felt myself isolating and couldn't figure out why. She told me it was a classic case of PTSD and fortunately, with professional care, I passed through the crisis time.

My body beginning to heal has helped my emotions tremendously. Being able to kiss the hospital bed goodbye, move up and down stairs easier, being able to stroll around the yard, was the real medicine for me. The past couple of weeks have been especially positive for me. I tackled a big project that I left uncompleted before surgery. Knowing I would not be able to do this after surgery, I removed the carpeting in the entry way and stairway to expose the wood floors underneath. Sanding and painting the backs of the stairs is what was left to be done. So VERY slowly, I sat on each step, and probably much more meticulously than I would have done if my belly wasn't such a mess, did a pretty darn good job of bringing our staircase to its shiny new self. I am most proud of the fact that I was able to take my time (three days, to be truthful), and not freak out that I had to leave things at a standstill. - the old Type A, OCD, Perfectionist me that would have started in the morning and worked through meals, sleep, whatever, to have the project done in one shot.- Boy, have I learned a lot from my practice of Mindfulness Meditation!! Once the stairs were done, of course the railing and banister need to be sanded and re stained... much more meditation practice needed...

Ta da!!

A huge leap was being able to drive again! I really didn't have many places that I needed to go, but just knowing that I could if I wanted to gave me a tremendous lift. The pain has become much more tolerable, so less pain medicine is needed. On the days I know I will be driving, I bite the bullet. My wound is still a real mess, though. Originally, the size of Ken's stretched opened hand and about an inch deep, it is now about the size of my hand, and not too deep. Very slow progress. Even though I can shower, wear normal clothes, put on makeup and fluff the hair, it is so hard to feel pretty with the bandage and packing right below the surface, constantly on my mind. I am still trusting my doctor that the open wound will completely come together, but from my point of view, it too will be a miracle. Each day, I pack the wound with gauze that has been saturated with Dakin's solution. This stuff is basically watered down bleach. It smells just like bleach and it has stained my two best pair of leggings just like bleach. I am so self conscious that people I stand close to will smell it. I guess that is much better than having an odor of infection though, ugh.


This week was the best so far, though. I finally made it back to the gym! Mind you, I am only walking at a snail's pace on the treadmill, but I am there. Actually, the hardest part of my workout is bending over to lace up my shoes. The old me wants to tackle the eliptical and do planks and squats...the new me is going to have to learn to be content with walking. I am sure as I heal more and get stronger, I will be able to incorporate more. For now, I am grateful that I can finally recline fully back so that I can get my hair done next week!

Progress...next week, I go back to see my Oncologist. I had my final treatment in July to let my immune system strengthen, but now it's time to make plans to go back on the chemo. This really shows that I am getting stronger, because I am about to engage again in the fight that never stops.

Namaste.
Kim

The Night The Red "C" Turned "Pink for the Greens"

It's Friday folks! In our house, that means Friday Night Lights, Football Fever, Go Conard Chieftains!! Pulling out everything I have that is red, from shirt, coat, mittens, scarf, blanket, bleacher seat... heck, even the dogs wear red on Fridays!

But last Friday, I was in pink, because Conard went "Pink For The Greens"!

I had received a call from Coach C. (don't you love it?!), the week before stating that he and the team wanted to do something for our family to show their support and to help us out a bit. He wanted to do a fundraiser of some sort. He had talked to Torrie and I agreed. I thought there might be a poster or some pink ribbon stickers for sale; boy was I wrong.

From the moment we pulled up to the stadium, all you could see were pink and green balloons lining the way into the stadium and across the top row of seats. At the gate, you had your choice of a pink or green rally towel to wave. The cheerleaders, all 40+ of them, were in pink. People I knew, and people I didn't know, were decked out in pink. Unbeknownst to me, an email had been circulating through the Conard directory, describing the night and how to participate. Torrie, himself, had gone to school looking so great in his pink button down, khakis, and green tie. And finally, the Team themselves, were all wearing pink wristbands and carrying a green towel in their back pocket.

Amazing, Awesome, humbling.

We were playing Southington...State Champs...hadn't lost a game in 25 games...we were pumped, loud and excited! They were first to snap the ball and we held them to minimal yards. Our ball. Short run, followed by a quick, short pass. Another first down. And then the snap, the quarterback is looking left for Torrie and Torrie is in the endzone, a high pass, a big jump for Torrie amid two defenders, misses the ball, comes down awkwardly, SNAP...Broken Arm. Just like that. Senior season over.

Are you kidding me???!!
This is "Go Pink For the Greens" Night, not take Torrie to the E.R night!!
We haven't even been on the field five minutes!!
Rewind...do over...please!!

I can tell by the way he walks while assisted to the sideline, that he is hurt bad. In fact, the Dr. on the sideline told him it was more than likely broken, but Torrie insisted on staying until the end of the game.For two and 1/2 hours longer, in freezing weather, my hero stood on the sideline in pain, supporting his team. God, I want to be just like him when I grow up. So as I was trying to figure out which hospital to go to (one that we didn't owe money to because of me!), people were flooding us with offers to help juggle cars, take me home, etc. This great community, my community of angels.

So Torrie's onfield season is over, but he is excited to be helping the team on the sidelines. Our special "Go Pink for The Greens" night, just reinforced to us, at one of our families lowest moments, just how much Torrie is loved by his team, and how much we are loved by our friends and community. We are so blessed.

So we will dig out our red today and gear up for another Friday Night Lights. Tessa came home for the weekend so even she will be going to the game! Three of us in the stands, cheering for Conard, and loving our tough guy on the sidelines.

I still have so much to learn from him.

Peace,
Kim

Lessons Revealed at 3:30 a.m.

I think one of the hardest things about getting well, is admitting that you are not.

I came home in a pink cloud. I was heady over the miraculous accomplishments I had made in just a few days to go from NG tube, TPN nutrition and IV's, to protein shakes made at home. Friends and family welcomed me and even more enormous hurdles were overcome so quickly. Bit by bit, I started reclaiming my position as mom, wife, friend and confidant. An encouraging round of followup appointments fueled my desire to get out of the house and step back into life. So I did. I wanted to be as 'normal' as possible again.

I am paying the price. I was flat on my back in the hospital hooked to more tubes that I could count just 25 (!!) days ago. This weekend I was walking the aisles of Costco like I didn't have a care in the world.
Key word: Like

Impeccable honesty.
I had discovered in the hospital, that one of my character defects is often trying to be something that I am not, to fit in, be loved, not to be noticed, whatever the reason may be. I said "yes" because I was afraid to say "no". I said 'I'm sorry' if someone did something to ME. I often had strong ideas or opinions but didn't share them, lest be nonconforming or 'pushy'. I wanted to live a truly authentic life. An open book; so that I could overcome my writer's block and write my book. How easy it is to fall back into old habits and patterns... In the past few weeks, I've said yes to many things that I should have said no to, out of those same reasons I just listed. I don't want to hurt feelings, etc, etc. In my home, with my family, outside my home, it doesn't matter, I have such a difficult time with this.

You know you shower up, style your hair, slap on some makeup and for most outward purposes, you look "fine". Even better than 'fine', is 'great' or 'beautiful' or the best 'you don't look like you've even been sick". Tell that to the nightmares and flashbacks that I have of being in the hospital that has me writing this at 4:00 a.m. In our society, how you look completely overshadows how you feel. And of course, this is human nature. It is painful to see someone we love suffering or not feeling their best. Our words are to encourage and support. My family and friends want to see me looking better each day, doing more each day, putting this behind me.  I, so want to, also. But it's only been 25 days... I have my lifetime ahead of me.

The absolute hardest time of recovery is when you begin to feel better, but there is still so far to go. The wound is still so big from the MRSA. honestly, I don't know how it's ever going to close up, but I am assured that it will. And now there is a new normal, that I seem to be having some childlike temper tantrum about accepting. My emotions are all over the place. I am so happy to be home, but then feel like I am coming out of my skin because I am confined. I feel capable of doing something, but "oh no, you can't do that...ever!" So grateful, then beating myself up because I feel ungrateful. I am told it will take time, you have to adjust to your new normal, just relax... I want to smack them. I want to go dead head my plants, I want to put the fitted sheet on the bed, I want to move the plant from the living room to the dining room, I want to vacuum, I want to hold both of my dogs at the same time, I want , I want , I want...wah, wah, wah...

And then I read this, this morning, when I could not sleep due to restlessness at 3:30 a.m.:  "The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. Blessed be the name of the Lord." Remember that all good things - your possessions, your family, your friends, your health and abilities, your time - are gifts from Me. Instead of feeling entitled to all of the blessings, respond to them with gratitude. Be prepared to let go of anything I take from you, but never let go of My hand!

Well that shut me up real quick! Jeez...

God has given me the ability to breathe on my own, be upright and walking and in the process of making a full recovery to my new self. I must shed the past and embrace the day God has given to me. The restlessness I feel is mainly because I do not feel as if I am doing for someone else. I am the receiver of untold generosity and I feel as if my scale is tipping too far; I want to give back. And God says, "soon".

So I will continue to write and plan for November when I will begin leading mindfulness Meditation again. I will also slow down. I am still very sick. I pushed way too hard this weekend and I am feeling it. At one point, I thought we needed to check in with the docs; not too smart on my behalf.

I do have to come to grips with the fact that I cannot lift, push, pull, shove, kick, scoot (believe me, I've thought of them all) anything over 5 pounds. Ever. Really. Staircases are a challenge, as are hills. In the not so distant future, we will probably have to move; too much house for me alone while Ken travels and the kids are away.

But not today.

Today, I will get Torrie off to school and then get showered. That will then require a rest. Catch up on things at my desk and some phone calls. Lunch then nap. Outside with dogs, rest. That is sort of how it goes... But look how fortunate I am to be able to do all of those things in just 25 days!

If I could get out of my own head and out of my own way, I could really be amazing. That is my prayer for today:

Thy will, not mine, be done.

Peace.
Kim

I Live Among Angels

There is a quote that I love but have difficulty remembering the exact wording... but it so resonates deeply in my soul right now:

           "Friends are angles who lift our feet when our wings are unable to fly...".

I don't know who wrote it, or remember even the first place I read it, but it has become a statement of truth for me as of late.  

With the assistance of social media, it seems that almost everyone I have known my entire life, and people that I have yet to meet, know that I have been really sick for a very long time. The title of my blog kind of gives it away! I have been fighting cancer for the past 17 years. During that time, I have had over 30 cancer-related operations, including open heart surgery. I have had blood clots, transfusions and hundreds (really) of Xrays, Ct scans, MRI's, bone scans PET scans. I have been in the hospital for over a years' worth of time. I have been unable to walk, had to use a walker and/or cane, and was strapped to portable oxygen for several months. Cancer has prevented me from having a career of my own. And most of all, cancer is VERY expensive. Every three weeks, for the rest of my life, I will have a treatment of some type. Currently, each time I walk in for my treatment, our insurance company is billed five figures. Anyone who does the simple math can imagine the financial stress this has placed on our family.

This past month long, unplanned hospitalization, finally brought me and my husband to our knees. As if on cue, my angel friends flew in and surrounded us. I had one very brief, heartfelt conversation with a friend and literally hours later my families' miracle started to happen.

In the  metastatic cancer community, there is a phenomena known as Survivor's Guilt. There sometimes comes a point in the survivor's life where we actually start to put a financial value to our lives. The summer before Tessa went off to college, this happened to me. Fighting this battle, of course, Ken and I have depleted our savings. Lord, our insurance premium alone is more than most household's mortgages, car payments and utilities...combined! But somehow, with God's grace, we have someway remained afloat. It was such a dark time for me that it was hard to justify in my mind, that enormous burden on Ken, as college expenses were coming up. His answer was to just work harder, and harder, and harder. 

"Would they be better off without me?", 'Would it be easier for everybody if I just passed?","Had the kids become old enough that they didn't need me anymore?", "Should I keep up this endless day in and out pink battle?"...

At my darkest time is when I also was informed of what all of this chemo was doing to my body. I was being poisoned to fight the cancer, but now I was living long enough to fall victim to the long term side effects. My body was beginning to show the havoc that long term chemo reaps.  With the support and love of my family, I was able to get through that very dark time, and I made a decision:

FIGHT.

The promise of this surgery in August, was to build a new core abdomen for the one that was falling apart inside of me. Seven large hernias are present due to fascia that was breaking down. Move muscle from here to there, physical therapy, etc. Only my insides were much worse than expected, the surgery was not a success. And then, HA-MRSA. Hospital acquired MRSA. And the fight of my life...

Back to my angel friends. Everyday meals were delivered. Mass cards, funny cards, serious cards, arrived daily to cheer and support me. Flowers and pink pumpkins, and mums left silently and anonymously outside our door. And at our bleakest hour, our family became the recipients of the most incredible generosity; donations were made to us to help carry us through the next few months. My angel friends set up a GoFundMe page and within days, I saw a mortgage payment paid, Hospital bed rental paid, an insurance premium kept in effect. Ken and I breathed... 

My angel friends are from my school days, my single days and our married days. Friends and clients of Ken's, friends of Tessa and Torrie and friends who wish to remain anonymous. 

Angels.

I live among angels.

This outpouring of love has brought a bright light to my family. We are filling our love tanks from you so that we may go back out and fill others' tanks. We have learned that true friendship knows no boundaries of time or distance. So many people have come into our light. It's funny, I am now dreaming so much about people from my years; I've always believed our angels speak to us in our dreams!

There is no conceivable way for Ken and I to express how deep our gratitude is or how profoundly moved and blessed we feel. 

But we will spend the remainder of our lives trying to do just that.

God Bless each and every one of you.

I love you.

Kim

Ken.

Today is the first time in the two weeks that I have been home from the hospital, that I am up before my husband, Ken. To me, it is a sure sign of healing, that I am waking on my own after a good nights' rest. I have always been an early bird; I love getting up before everyone (including Brutus and Bella), greeting the day and doing my morning prayers. It has been a routine that I have kept for years. Since I have been home though, Ken has been the early bird.

Actually, Ken has been the early bird for the past couple of months. He is up with Torrie, packing their lunches, and sending Torrie off with a fist bump that carries the meaning 'I love you, I'll miss you, Have a great day, See you tonight' all without saying anything. They are both men of few words first thing in the morning, unlike me!

Bella and Brutus are next. They sleep burrowed in covers in a crate next to our bed. They patiently doze until it is their time to get up. Ken opens the door and they

race to the top of the steps. We don't allow the dogs to go up and down the stairs because of risk of injury to their backs. Normally, I would just scoop them up and head down the stairs. Ken has a much different method and I almost ruptured another hernia laughing watching him one morning. He sits on the top of the staircase and calls the pups. Each dog runs to either side of him under his arm, and he scoops them up like little footballs! They go outside and then he prepares their breakfast. Once they are settled and watching chipmunks through the glass door, he takes care of our two cats; feeding, cleaning litter, etc. We have quite the farm!

I have done these jobs everyday for the past 20 years, other than when I have been in the hospital. Ken has willingly and without comment stepped right into the job. And he has allowed me to sleep...and heal.

As many couples do, after twenty years of marriage, raising kids, activities, pets, traveling, illness, etc., Ken and I had fallen into a pattern, or rut as I would rather call it. Limited conversation about things that needed to be taken care of, mindless small talk "how was your trip" 'It was good" "Great", blah blah blah. Sometimes hardly noticing each other as we passed through our days and nights. A couple of times, I caught myself thinking, "What happens when Torrie leaves next year? What will we talk about ?" Often my prayers centered around those fears while I laid in bed at night alone while Ken traveled.

Be careful what you pray for...it just might happen.

When I went in for surgery on August 5, Ken was at my side. As he should be of course, but there were many surgeries in the past, that I faced alone because Ken was with our young children. It was always at my insistence, "be with the kids, I can handle this". But our kids are so much older now, that allowed Ken to be with me. I awoke to his face. He had gotten my room prepared with my lamp and diffuser filled with essential oils. He took a hospitality suite and spent the night. He left reluctantly in the evenings and was there most mornings by 9:30 a.m. even with an hour commute.

He did this for nine days. Finally, I came home after the initial surgery. I now had a visiting nurse and he could breathe a little. Not for long though, within 48 hours I was back in the hospital beginning my horrible fight with HA-MRSA. For the next two months, Ken was at my side every single day, except for the one day that he visited Tessa at Villanova. Countless hours in the car, parking garage fees to break the bank, on top of everything he was doing at home (he has not missed one of Torrie's games, plus helping with college Common App, school searches, etc.), and unfortunately, missing work and big opportunities to be on the road.

He chose me. Again. How amazing is that?

At a time, when we were often living a life of glorified roommates, the GIFT of being hospitalized and seeing the true love and devotion this man has for me, was worth every moment of being sick.
The talks that we had, the hopes that we shared, the love that was palpable to nurses and doctors, all reignited the flame inside us that never went out. I saw in Ken traits of strength, selflessness, drive, motivation and hope that I had not seen before. We rediscovered each other, in room 236 at Yale.

And so my amazing husband sleeps in on this gorgeous Sunday morning. I am doing what I love, writing and having coffee in the quiet. Today brings some chores around the house that I would normally do alone, but today we will do together.

How wonderful...thank you, God.

Peace.
Kim

Home.

I have been home from Yale Hospital for one week. Ahhh....

I have been wanting to write this past week about the wonderful feelings of being home, but honestly, I was afraid that I would somehow jinx myself or awaken from this wonderful dream to find myself back in the nightmare of being in the hospital. I finally feel well enough and strong enough to believe that will not happen (I"ll pray not again anyway, just to be on the safe side). I truly think I have a touch of PTSD or something similar because I have not really allowed myself to go back and think about my experience in much detail. In fact, it took me until yesterday, just to book my return visits to all of my doctors because I just can't bear the thought of making the drive and walking back into that hospital. It was truly a hellish experience interspersed with incredible moments of being the recipient of true miracles. There were times of complete darkness and times of overwhelming love and light. Over the next days and posts, I hope to share my experience so that some sense of all of this can come to me. But right now... I am home!

Two weeks ago, this morning my doctors were at the foot of my bed informing me that because my condition had not changed over the past several days, surgery would need to be performed on Monday or Tuesday. That day marked the 22nd day with an NG tube and no food or drink. The prior CT scans had shown a large bowel obstruction of inflamed intestine, infection and scar tissue. The plan had been to let my body heal itself, by completely shutting down the bowel activities. After three weeks, and no bowel sounds or activity, it was time for medical intervention. They had waited this long because my body was so fragile after the two earlier surgeries and the enormous wound that had been caused by the MRSA (the size of my whole hand, plus about 1" deep, completely open wound). I had terrible counts to ward off infection even though I had been on IV antibiotics for almost 7 weeks. I would be walking in, unprotected, to an infection battlefield. It would also tack on at least another three weeks of being hospitalized, attached to the TPN feedings and NG tube. It was so overwhelmingly terrible to even think about, yet plan on doing within 48 hours.

Plus, I was alone. My constant companion, Ken, was at Villanova for Parent's Weekend with Tessa. Torrie was at home for football practice and to take care of my furbabies. I missed my children desperately and was heartbroken that I was missing the opportunity to see Tessa, to hear her sing, and to just hold onto to her. I felt so dark and empty inside. I wasn't able to meditate to relax, nothing seemed to calm my insides. Even God felt very far away from me...

To make matters worse, a huge mistake involving my pain medication was about to happen. At that point, I was receiving pain medication every two hours. By the two hour mark, the pain was so high, that it that it never became controlled. The nurses put in for a pump that I could administer by own dose and not get too far behind the pain. It all seemed well and good except the doses that I was receiving were three times the strength that I was supposed to have had. This was on Sunday afternoon, so by the time Ken got there Sunday night on his return from Villanova, I was already at the beginning stages of being overmedicated. By the time he arrived back on Monday morning, even though I had not pressed the pump at all during the night, I was barely conscious. I remember horrible nightmares caused by the hallucinations of the medication, plus trying to communicate to Ken and not being able to. At one point, I told Ken that I thought I was dying. Somehow (this is one of the miracles) I was able to tell Ken "it's too much medicine". He called the nurses and the mistake was caught. While this was happening to me, plans for surgery were still happening. I was to go down for a final CTscan, to help the doctors navigate when they began the procedure of looking at every piece of intestine and cutting away blockages. They tried to force me to drink the huge amount of contrast; I begged them not to, as I knew it would all be thrown up. From that delirious drug-induced state, I felt like I was in a wide awake nightmare. Ken had to leave in early evening to go home and get ready to stay with me overnight after surgery the next day. It was the darkest moment for me and I prayed to God for His will to be done... I surrendered. The Ct scan finally happened at 9:00 that night, I remember nothing until I was awoken by my Dr. at 5:30 the next morning.

In her words, "I can't believe it." The blockages were gone. Completely. No surgery. Miracle (another).

That was Tuesday morning, the same day as the surgery was planned for. Ken arrived and I shared the incredible news. Later that day, I was allowed to have ice chips to start the bowels up again. By Tuesday night, I was having sips of water in addition to the IV nutrition. Everything stayed down, but still no bowel sounds. Wednesday morning I was given jello and clear liquids, by Wednesday night I was on a soft diet and bowel sounds were now audible. Thursday morning brought the long awaited full diet status and the bowels began to kick into gear. I thought I heard the words "discharge to home care imminent'... And Saturday afternoon, I was home.

Thank you everyone, for my miracles, as a result of your prayers!

God Bless You,

Kim

Update

I am on day 23 since being admitted to Yale Hospital for a third time. I am dealing with the ravages of HA-MRSA, after my original surgery on August 5.

Presently, I have a NG tube in place and am receiving 24 hour nutrition through my veins via TPN. I have not had food or water in over two weeks as we let my abdomen slowly heal. Due to the pain meds, etc. it is very difficult to write.

I look forward to writing again soon when I am better.

Peace to all of you.
Kim

I Don't feel Good Today

This is not the blog I had wanted to write today.
I am getting sicker.
We made the 45 minute trip to Yale to meet my surgeon first thing this morning. I have a real bad case of HA-MRSA and the antibiotics are struggling to fight it. Add my compromised immune system due to continuous chemo for so long and you have the potential for a disaster. Potential is quite scary.

When I was rushed to the ER less than two weeks ago with raging fever and terrible pain in my belly, a CT scan showed a build up of fluid under the original incision. I very small slit was made to let all of the fluid drain out. Three days of IV antibiotics and packing of the small wound with medicated material, allowed me to go home  on Aug. 18. on oral antibiotics, visiting nurse and twice a day dressing change.
A good plan.
That has not worked.

The MRSA is winning right now. The wound has opened up the complete length of the 7 inch incision and is deep. It is still growing and draining. Today, the big guns, Infectious Disease Docs, were added to my team. My case is so complicated due to my challenging medical history of past infections and blood clots. We are all in agreement that we want me to stay at home as long as possible because the hospital is WHERE I GOT THE INFECTION. (I have a little bit of resentment). Today, we are still awaiting the results from a culture that was done on Monday, to make sure that we are only dealing with the MRSA.

The packing material has been changed to a different brand and we are going to try to hold the course, day by day. Right now, the infection is growing and spreading. We are praying for the antibiotics to get the upper hand and start winning this match instead of just holding its' own.  In our arsenal, we have several plans that can be implemented at a moments notice, unfortunately the majority involve hospitalization in an isolation ward.

Ken and I held hands most of the drive home while each of our minds were swirling with different thoughts.  He has been so strong. Today broke him though. Tears flowed and they needed to flow. We are on a very slippery slope right now; we cannot allow the MRSA to get into my bloodstream. He feels so helpless, yet he has done so much for me and makes me feel so well taken care of. We prayed together and our conviction to getting through this became even stronger.

We are literally going hour by hour right now. I am trying my best to rest, stay positive, stay hydrated and get the vitamins in. I have absolutely no appetite, but I do have a large protein, veggie, fruit smoothie every day. Greek yogurt and cottage cheese are a daily must, too.

All of your kind, supportive words, notes and cards have meant the world to me. I know a lot of people have strong opinions about what or what not I should be doing right now, but I have 100 percent confidence in my team at Yale.

Thank you so much for your prayers.
Peace.
Kim

I'm Following Your Lead, God.

I am home. In a bed, not my bed, but a real-deal hospital bed that is smack in the middle of my living room. I have actually grown quite fond of it, as have both Brutus, Bella and the two cats. My family helped me by surrounding me with books and journals and many other comforts, and I am peaceful. And healing...hopefully.

Reading back over my last post before my operation, I could almost feel a sense of excitement and challenge about the upcoming surgery and the eventual relief from the pain I have endured over the past year. I trained as I trained years ago for the Marathon that I ran. I knew it would be hard, challenging, tortuous, but the finish line would hold so much promise. I was prepared as any patient could be. Everything that I could do physically, emotionally and spiritually had been done. My army of supporters and volunteers had been amassed and I was ready. Just do it.

I felt so confident and peaceful as I was prepped for surgery. I had a terrific discussion with the anesthesiologist about pain relief and management and then spoke with both surgeons about all of the details of the surgery, signed the consent forms and then kissed my sweet Ken, good night.

And then I woke up. All of the feelings I had prior to anesthesia were now replaced with vulnerability and a terrible feeling of actually loosing control of myself. There was disorientation, fear, desperation and pain, all rolled up together into one of the worst sensations I have ever felt. I have felt that way two other times: after emergency open heart surgery several years ago, and after the ginormous hernia surgery fiasco last year. I hope to never feel it again.

As I became more stable and responsive, I was able to begin to gather my thoughts and start using my breathing techniques to help calm and reorient myself to being conscious. But then, PAIN. Can't describe it, don't even want to think about it, but lots of it. And a critical oversight. They did not hook me to a Dilaudid pump for pain management as we had discussed. It took hours to correct that and even longer to try to get on top of the pain, rather than having it drag me down.

Both surgeons were amazed with how much destruction, scarring and stranding of infection was present in my abdomen from the defective mesh. It is truly a miracle that over the past year, that I did not succumb to a massive infection. Go green juicing!! It was cetainly the Pandora's Box we had all been waiting to open, but the contents were much worse than what was expected. I was told that the breaking down of the fascia in my belly was a chronic, incurable immunio ailment. If I do not change my lifetyle completely, the hernias will keep on coming. Right now there are nine.

Unless the hernias become enstrangulated, twisted or something else that I don't even want to think about, they will be left as is. The decision to try to repair them with fascia from my hips and thights is completely off the table; we just want to protect what is there now.

So my visions of enduring whatever I had to, to bring myself to a version of as close to the old, athletic me, forget athletic..just my old self... have been swept away. The only thing I can do now is ACCEPT and change my life and even the lives of Ken and the kids in a very dramatic way.

Accept: Thy will, not mine, be done. I say this so many times a day that I lose count. I am now to treat my body as though there were layers of bubblewrap wrapped around me to protect my belly. This will be so hard for me. I love my independence and have been so blessed to still have it after all of the years of fighting cancer. I love to do things like rearrange furniture to suit my moods, haul stuff up and down stair cases at the time I may need them, or even go to the grocery, fill a cart, bag it up, bring it home and unload it - by myself, on my schedule. No more. Nope. Notta. Finito. Basically, not lifting, pulling or pushing anything that weighs more than little Bella. Forever. Whether I think I can or not, never again.

Of course, with all of this we will have to make some really big decisions about the house very soon. Can I manage when Ken is out of town? Torrie will be leaving this time next year for college, too. Too overwhelming when looked at all at one time, so I let the Scarlett in me come out and "I'll think about that tomorrow."

I came home from surgery on August 14 and was directly admitted again less than 36 hours later with a temp of 103.8 and a new raging infection in my belly. I was reopened, cleaned out and big guns of antibiotics were administered. There is now a large, deep wound which must heal from the inside out. Insurance pays for a nurse to come once a day to to come and unpack, clean out and repack the wound. It is nasty and excruciating. It needs to be done twice a so I have counted on a few volunteers to help me until I can do this myself. This will take a long time. It turned out that this was an aggressive hospital borne staph infection, but fortunately rthe antibiotics are fighting it... and I am home.

Thank you to all of you for your notes of ecouragement and love, they sustain me.

I know I have something big to do; my meditation, my writing, something. I can feel it pulling me and I am ready to move forward. I trust God implicitly and I know He will carry the load for me that I no longer can. And I will share His miracles that He has blessed me with, to anyone that will listen.

Thy will, not mine, be done.

Blue Moon and out of the blue!

Last night there was an incredible, full Blue Moon. The whole night had an amazing blue hue to it. And now, it's a beautiful Saturday morning... the kind that invigorates and causes energy to rise within you to do something out of the ordinary. Or maybe it is even something ordinary, but the task becomes lighter and more enjoyable because the morning is just sparkling. I love these kind of days...

I haven't written a new post to my blog in a couple of weeks. My life has been "overflowingly" busy these past several days, but in a wonderful way. I have been doing lots to get ready for surgery on Wednesday. It has been so amazing to me the people and things that God has put in front of me to help get ready for what is to come - out of the blue.

At the beginning of July, I was looking around to find places to meditate so that I could keep practicing all that I had learned in my 8 week Mindfulness course. Out of the blue, I had a very strong feeling that said to me - I can do this! So very quickly I secured a location and created an event: Meditation with Kim. At first, I thought to myself that maybe I could convince one or two of my friends to join me. To my delight at the first session, there were twelve willingly minds. By the second week, I was feeling much more confident and the group continued to grow by word of mouth. Amazingly, for the last session this past Thursday, there were 32 people. All of us together meditating for the happiness and peace for others and for ourselves. I was more than humbled that in some small way, I was able to bring some quiet reflection time into the lives of people in my community. I have such a motivation to heal quickly, so that I may return in the fall to this wonderful group of people and our practice. I am also so blessed to have found this practice to carry me through surgery and all of the stresses that come along with it before and after.

In addition to meditation, I have completely revamped my diet in the past several weeks to get as nutritionally fit as possible for strength and healing. I underwent a 10 day sugar detox, eliminating all sugar from my diet. It is unbelievable in how many unsuspecting places you find sugar! The first two days, I was irritable and head achy, but with lots of water and lemon added, I began to feel so good. My daily diet now is almost completely refined sugar free; I still use fruits in my diet, but in limited amounts.

After I completed the sugar detox, out of the blue, the benefits of green smoothies was presented to me. THIS has changed my life. Every day, in my good ole blender, I make a green smoothie, out of kale, spinach and other greens. Fruit is also added. I have done this as a meal replacement and cannot begin to tell you all of the differences I feel. (Please get in touch with me through Facebook - Kim Green Community Page, if you want to hear more!). My hair, nails and skin have changed dramatically, which means healthy new cell growth, which means for me Healing! Not to mention, all of the other antioxidant benefits.

I have also found the wonderful healing and relaxation benefits of essential oils applied directly to the skin and into the air through a diffuser. This has helped me tremendously with tension, sleep and pain.

My suitcase for my hospital stay at Yale looks quite different than in the past. I am bringing my diffuser and oils, my blender (I am keeping my fruits and veggies in the frig on the hospital floor), my own lamp instead of those awful overhead lights, my tapes, CD's and headphones. My living room will be transformed into my bedroom while I am away, with a hospital bed being delivered. My goal is to leave the hospital as quickly as possible (about a week or so) to begin my healing at home with my family, friends, Brutus and Bella.

I will be posting a lot on Facebook - Kim Green Community Page, as a way to journal for the book I am working on.

Thank you so much for all of your prayers.

I will see you all on the flipside of this surgery.
Namaste.
Kim

And the Countdown Begins...

Sunday night and it is the end of an idyllic weekend. I have spent the weekend immersed in the beautiful teachings of Buddhism at Hartford Karma Thegsum Choling with Lama Kathy Wesley.
From early evening Friday night until late this afternoon, I sat on my little zafu and was gently led through wonderful meditation practices focused upon love, kindness and compassion. A door to a beautiful world of peace and calm was opened for me and I most willingly walked through it. A weekend I will never forget...

Spending my weekend this way was not how I originally envisioned it. You see, I only have three weekends left before my surgery. This weekend was to be filled with painting (I decided to expose the wood under the carpet on our staircase this week) the backs of the staircase, heavy baseboard cleaning and mulching. Yes, we still have mulch! I am beginning to think the pile is growing rather than shrinking!

I have a very organized list of all of the big tasks that I need to complete before surgery on Aug. 5. Tasks that I will not be able to do in the months immediately after surgery; tasks that I may not be able to do again, period.

But God has a way of rearranging my schedules and lists. Through a new and dear friend, I was informed of this unique opportunity, and very much unlike my usual self, I dropped everything and went. It is so cool that on Saturday morning, one of my readings was about hearing God's Word in unconventional manners and through others. Once again, I felt the assurance that God has me in his palm and is giving me every tool possible to reamin calm and peaceful through the journey that I am getting ready to embark on.

In 23 days, I'll check into Yale and have my PIC line inserted. At the crack of dawn, the next morning, the surgeons will make the first of many large incisions to remove the infected mesh and all of the surrounding tissue and muscle. They will then repair each of the five hernias in my abdomen using tissue from another source. Finally, a new abdominal wall will be basically rebuilt from fascia and muscle from my thighs. An enormous surgery, with way too many opportunities for complications. So, the countdown has begun...

I am so grateful that God has rearranged my to do list. "Let's put finding ways to relieve pain and stress and promote healing and love, ahead of mulch."

 Thank Goodness one of us is thinking straight!!

The Sport of Gardening

One of my most favorite things to do is to putz around my yard and garden. I use the term putz around, because I have yet to really claim the title of gardener. To me,  the word 'gardener' means someone who actually knows (and can remember) the name of flowers and various plants. They know cool things like the acidity of soil and the benefits of different fertilizers and pest controls. They have books about gardening on their coffee tables and always have a cute hat and pretty gardening gloves close by. They wear adorable loose fitting clothes that just scream "I am relaxed, I am a gardener", and somehow never seem to get dirty after a morning of toiling.
That is most definitely not me, not whatsoever. My gardening attire consists of one of my husband's or son's beat up t-shirts and a ball cap. I can never find a PAIR of gardening gloves, and if by some miracle I do, they are hard like cement, because of the caked mud. And I get dirty. Really dirty and most times, just outright filthy. Even if I just stop to pull a few weeds, I somehow find myself in need of a shower afterwards. My flowers and plants have learned to grow in spite of me, not because of me.

Even though the actual term 'gardener', might not suit me in the definition I have created, the love that I have for the practice is exactly the same. I find such relaxation when I am in my yard, especially in the early morning. I love the sounds of the birds and the way the early morning sun lights up my backyard. I find it both calming to be outside and yet it also fills me with a sense of purpose and motivation. So when I was told that I was going to have to be operated on and the complexity of the surgery, one of the first things that I was concerned about was my garden. Mainly, what I would be capable of doing in my garden. Would I be able to bend over (and hopefully get back up!) to snip a flower or prune a bush? Heck, would I even be able to walk around my yard?

I have such fond memories of times that I spent playing outside, while my mom "putzed" around our yard. She loved to swap cuttings of plants with neighbors and especially with my grandmother who lived in Florida. There were many trips in the car to visit Grandma that on the return trip would include a trunk full of plants and cuttings that she would then place lovingly in our yard. My son, Torrie remarked to me not so long ago, how much he used to enjoy walking around our yard with me in the early spring when he was young, looking at all of our plants that were pushing their little heads up through the soil. He once pointed out to me that the hosta looked just like asparagus, as it was starting to come up.

It has taken me a long time and a lot of muscle to nurture my yard to the shape it is in now. When we first moved into our house many years ago, the yard was very neglected. It included overgrown, nasty bushes (don't know what kind), scrub trees and out of control ground cover and poison ivy. There was once a compost area that smelled to high heaven and even a homemade fountain that was actually an old sunken tub. Really nasty. All of those things and hundreds more were removed, cleaned out, hauled away and cleared up... by me.  I have learned how to relocate plants, bushes and trees, the way someone rearranges furniture. My garden now contains and consists of mainly plants that I have split or was given clippings of. I actually have not invested very much money at all into my yard.. just muscle and love.

Unfortunately, last spring and early summer I was not able to work in my garden.  The abdominal surgery that  I had in May and the resulting infection prevented any hopes of gardening. Plants weren't trimmed, weeds weren't pulled and mulch was not put down. It is unbelievable how quickly things get can out of control if not regularly checked. Now that's profound, huh?! Understandably, I was full of ideas at the end of last year, to implement into my yard and garden this year. I even kept a small notebook with ideas and tips so that I would not forget them over the long winter.

Spring finally came this year after the winter that would never end, but unfortunately, I was looking at another surgery and I was in a boatload of pain. But I was determined to be out there. I have had to completely rethink and remodel the way I approach working in my yard. Many things are completely off limits and a big no no, such as digging with a shovel, raking, pushing a wheelbarrow, bending and pulling, etc. For a while, it looked as though there was really nothing that I could do. (That's the whiny "oh woe is me' voice in my head). But actually, I found that there is still so much that I am able to do.

I am now the "putzer and picker". I slowly walk the circumference and look and pluck and occasionally pull...shush. I am followed by the "clean up crew" - Ken. He quietly comes behind me and rakes, gathers and bundles. He basically cleans up my mess, and I love it. Himself...not so much I'm sure, but thankfully he doesn't say it. I point out to him what I would like moved or cut back and for the most part, we are in agreement. Basically, my solitary event has become a team sport, and that's just fine with me.

As my surgery date of August 5 approaches, I am in a manic like state of getting everything done in the next five weeks, that which would normally take all summer. So my big event this week is to relocate the three cubic yards of mulch which now occupies half of my driveway, to the backyard. I will show Ken which weeds need to be dug out and where I want the mulch.

Hopefully, he will not 'accidentally' knock my sweet self out with the shovel!

Things My Father Taught Me

I just came across one of the most profound sentences a few moments ago:

     "The way we initially think about God has much to do with how we were parented - especially by our Father...".

How have I missed that all of these years?

Is that why I kept searching for that 'something' that everyone seemed to have besides me, in regards to their relationship with God?

I'll tell you what... I have just had a true epiphany.

After my mom died, my father's dance with alcohol became a full blown fight. Meeting for 'Happy Hour' was not a special event, but a daily necessity. Happy hour often began around 3 in the afternoon and last until closing. My sisters and I were not something to come home for, but to come home to - reluctantly.

I became afraid of my father. I would fear his rages after coming home from drinking and finding the house not in perfect order, or heaven forbid, us watching television or in our rooms. Lazy, of no help, ungrateful on and on... we were 13, 11 and 8.

I saw my friend's fathers and I took keen notice as the way they were with their kids. Rides home from school and events, family cookouts and dinners, a car parked in the driveway after work - for the entire night. Countless nights that I laid in my bed well into the late hours on a school night, waiting for my father to come home safely after hours in a bar. I knew that he loved me...
I knew he was supposed to love me...
does he love me...?
what can I do to make you love me?...daddy where are you? Don't leave me dad!

And then he was dead.
I saw him on his bedroom floor.
He left me. Love was not enough.

Is this why I have dug so furiously to find God?
I knew that His love was supposed to be there. Did I have to earn it? Did I have to be perfect? Was I worthy? If I wasn't good enough would He leave me, too?

I can now see how and why I have been so desperate and so confused. It makes 'perfect' sense.

As I continue with ACA, I am learning that my father did the best he could with what he knew. He, too, was raised by dysfunctional parents. Don't most of us come from some sort of dysfunction? It doesn't even have to involve alcohol.

I have learned that my father was a very sick and suffering man. I have learned that the alcohol took hold of him in ways that it would never take hold of another because he was an alcoholic. I have learned that my father's pride and dysfunctional upbringing prevented him from asking for the help that would have surely saved his life. I have learned a lot about my father. I have forgiven my father. I feel great sadness for my father. I hope that I am finally making him proud.

I am learning to let go of the grip that my past has had on me for so long. I am learning to embrace that frightened child inside of me and praise her strength and courage. I am learning to forgive myself for choices I have made.

And most importantly, I now know that I have a loving, nurturing wonderful relationship with God... the Father.

www.adultchildren.org

Daytona Beach, Florida

Orlando, Florida

I Know What I Know Because I Know...I think.

In the past 24 hours, in three different settings, I have come across the topic of one's belief in God and voicing that belief to others. I noticed it in a conversation I had with a friend, in a meeting I attended and then again in something I read. I have come to learn, when I notice things more than once or twice to stop, pause and think.

Over the past several months, I have noticed that when I am introduced to a person, or when someone asks what do I do, when I respond that I am a Pastoral Counselor, that person gives a hesitant nod sometimes accompanied by an "ahh", that would imply understanding.  But in fact, they have no idea what I am talking about and often have a slight look of fear about them, as though I might be contagious. I came across this phenomena consistently while I was at a conference last week. More than once, I felt like I stated that I was a door to door salesman that was going to hammer them with religion or something. (By the way, as a Pastoral Counselor, I enjoy working with women helping them to heal after some type of trauma or unhappiness, with a faith based or spiritual approach - just to clear things up.) So it is very interesting to me today, that this topic of voicing aloud one's belief in God, has presented itself to me again.

I have become very comfortable about stating my belief in a loving God because of the abundance of 'there's no explanation other than' experiences in my life. That's all, just concrete evidence, to me, at least. I didn't always fell that way, though. When I was first diagnosed with cancer back in 1998, I was in the habit of attending Mass, albeit sporadically. I always felt like I was an outsider, kind of looking in, when it came to my religion. I sat through the services, but I really didn't connect with them. When we moved to West Hartford in 2000, I made a concerted effort to really immerse myself in our new parish and hopefully begin to feel more comfortable in the pews.

I bought books with titles like "Catholicism for Dummies". I joined the Mother's group for some fellowship. I attended Mass regularly and began teaching the little ones CCD. I joined several committees, including Parish Council. But I still had that 'feeling'. The feeling that everyone else had a deep relationship with God, something that I did not have. I attended bible studies and seminars. I attended Catholic Biblical College. I became an Eucharistic Minister and a Lay Minister. And, for a couple of years, I attended Mass almost daily. During that time of course, my 'knowledge' of God increased tremendously and I had great comfort in that. The mounting eveidence of His love for me and my family was very apparent as I battled my way with cancer. I actually had guilt though, as though I was being untruthful, because I could talk and even teach about God - I just felt so empty inside and I didn't know how to fix that.

But thankfully, several years ago, that changed for me.

The challenge of fighting cancer, after my second metastisis, was beginning to take an emotional toll on me. I began to suffer from bouts of depression and severe anxiety. Acts of going to the cancer center for a blood draw or treatment became nearly impossible for me to do sometimes. Often, I found it difficult to leave the house, and I began to isolate myself. I was getting tired - tired of the fight. I wanted it to stop. All of it. No more pokes and prods and sticks. No more tests and scans and procedures. No more treatments, no more pain.

I was done... I was giving up the fight.

I remember crying out to God to please hear me, to help me, "just let me FEEL you"! And then a thought came to me... "The Lord himself will fight for you; you have only to keep still".
It was a bible passage. Actually, it was Exodus 14:14. This was a miracle to me. You see, I cannot remember bible passages, at all. I have never been able to and it is something that frustrates me to no end. But there it was, clear as day to me. Finally, God had spoken to me, and I had heard.

I think it was my sheer desperation. My total surrender to trying to run my life. I gave it away... to God. And God has carried me since.

It was not easy then, and it still challenges me to this day, but I now totally understand my part in having a relationship with God and having a meaningful, deep spiritual life. It is very much like any loving relationship, you have to give your heart away and walk in the faith of that love. So back to the original question that I came across a few times this week:  Am I willing to say any place, to anyone, that I believe in God and and that I am willing to put His world first? You betcha! Am I going to go knocking on doors to do so? Um, no.

I am a firm believer in the idea of 'attraction not promotion'. All of the time people ask me, how do you keep fighting?

My answer:

"I don't, I have only to remain still. He's fighting for me."

Silence IS Golden

As my fabulous MBSR course begins to wind down, all of the participants were expected to take part in a day-long retreat today at Copper Beech Institute. This day was highly anticipated by me, as I was ready to top off a long week of study in Massachusetts, preceded by the highly stressful week of being in the hospital with infection. Finally a day of rest, relaxation and getting to know my fellow MBSRers over Chi tea and a light dinner. Not. 

Somehow, I lost in translation somewhere, that this was to be a SILENT retreat...oops.

I was a bit off-kilter even leading up to the retreat today. I made the mistake of opening up my calendar for next week while having coffee this morning and quickly watched the empty spaces of each day get filled in with different colors representing different obligations. "Maybe I should just stay home and get caught up on things" and similar thoughts started floating around in my head. "I'll go for a while and leave at dinner" was the idea I was going with as Ken dropped me off.

Up until this time, I still didn't realize it was a silent retreat. To be fair to myself, I was unable to attend the class leading up to the retreat due to being out of town, where I am sure it was discussed in detail. So I was chatting away to (not with, now I get it!) the person next to me while everyone filed in and sat quietly awaiting our instructor, Kate. Needless to say, I was quite surprised when Kate reminded the group that there would be no talking. At all. All day. Even dinner!

During our initial sitting meditation my mind was all over the place. My mind usually is all over the place during sitting meditation, but today even more so. I kept thinking to myself that I basically just came off of a five day silent retreat while I was away at my conference. For the first two days, I barely spoke to anyone except for common courtesies. I had my own dorm room, sat alone at meals, walked to and from classes alone, until I thought I would pop! I finally chummed up with a gal from my floor and at least had meals with someone. So today, I really wasn't too excited about being quiet again...so I thought.

While still in the seated meditation, I tried to concentrate on my breathing and clearing my mind. After several minutes, I was still mentally bouncing around so I took another route - I prayed.

I prayed for acceptance of where I was at that moment. I prayed that I would be able to accept this gift of self-love for myself that the day afforded. Most of all, I prayed for God to help keep my mouth shut for the next 7.5 hours, so as not to mess up the other participant's silence! As they always do, my prayers worked.

I finally began to relax and my breathing settled into a steady in and out. My mind quieted so that I could finally hear what I had been apprehensive about: silence. Just quiet... and peace.

My day was filled with seated meditation and lying down meditation. We silently perused the campus during our walking meditation. We scurried like little mice into the dining room and ate in silence, then quietly scattered around the grounds for personal meditation. At one point, we filed out of the building and down the wooded path to the Labyrinth. We were so quiet that I think that we actually startled some of the wildlife by sneaking up on them. Around the labyrinth we silently stepped, ever mindful of our feet on the earth. I noticed someone watching our group and then writing in his notebook. We must have looked like zombies from the movies, as we slowly made our way through the maze.

As our day began coming to a close, Kate informed us that we would be gently breaking our silence by breaking up into pairs for quite reflection. She shared that often people that are engaged in a silent retreat don't want to break their silence quite yet. She asked that if that applied to any of us to raise our hand and we could remain silent. Unbelievably, my hand went up!

Somehow, during the course of the day, my imposed silence became my desired silence. The wired up chatter that was in my head at the beginning of the day, had been replaced with a calm inner voice that I actually began to like hearing. I was calm, I was confident and I had achieved a big dose of inner peace.

I am home at my computer and the dogs are barking, the Cavs are playing on TV, and my phone is ringing.  All the normal sounds of home which now seem just a tad too loud. A five day silent retreat for me? I'm not sure...but I think for now I'll just sneak upstairs and seek out my quiet space.

Front Row Seat

As continuing education of my Pastoral Counseling certification, I am attending a conference at the New England Institute of Addiction Studies.....

I love to do new things. Whether it be a new book, or a new project, or a new class, or job, or hobby, or cause, or friendship, or house or.. see the pattern? I just love the feeling that the beginning of something new gives you. The feeling of freshness, excitement, unlimited potential and of strength and passion. The beginning of something new is like having a fresh page in life, beautifully blemish free and just waiting for me to write upon it. I have enthusiasm for doing things, but it often comes with a cost.

My enthusiasm for doing things and doing things well, has served me nicely in life. In the past, I have been told that I have a 'great work ethic' or that I have natural ability to succeed. In some cases, with what was perceived as very little effort, I have become a top achiever, or most efficient, or fastest, tallest, strongest - whatever 'est' applied to that particular endeavor. The problem lies within the statement 'with what was perceived as very little effort', because this perception was not my reality.

For as long as I can remember, I have had very little self-confidence. Yet, deep down inside, I always knew I could or would complete my objective. I have never lacked in determination. In school, I always sat in the very front (still do to this day), not because I thought of myself as a smarty pants or teacher's pet, but the complete opposite; I sat there so that perhaps the teacher might call on a student that was seemingly not paying as close as attention as I was. Sometimes, it worked. Even though I was always more than prepared for my lessons, I always had a nagging doubt that I was not as prepared as everyone else, or as smart as everyone else. My records showed that I was an exceptional student, I just never felt like I was one.

This feeling of just not quite measuring up to everyone else has plagued me my entire life. Because of this feeling, I have put tremendous pressure on myself to plan for, prepare for and be the best that I could be at just about everything I have applied myself to. This is probably an acceptable formula for success in certain careers in life such as a professional athlete or something; just not for the typical stay at home mom!

I have done a lot of self-examination to discover the true roots of my wanting to people please, of being a 'yes' person and one who cringes at the thought of hurting someone's else feelings. I have wondered so many times why do I take on more responsibilities than I need to, why do I always push to the front of the pack instead of finding peace just cruising in the middle? Who are these 'invisible judges' that I am always trying to satisfy?

Of course, the answers lie deep in my childhood, the environment that I was raised in. I am living the life of a breast cancer survivor now, and I lived the life of a survivor then. After my mother passed away of cancer when I was just 12, my younger sisters and I were raised by an absentee, alcoholic father. He tried the best he could with what he knew how to do. The result for me was that I was mature beyond my years and learned to fake it until I made it. I did not learn how to do things, I was forced to do things. My skills in life came from life itself.

In the past two years, through a terrific Women's Adult Children of Alcoholics Group, I have learned the answers to why I have responded to situations the way I do and think the way that I think.
Due to being raised in a dysfunctional household I have an overdeveloped sense of responsibility and I often have guilt feelings when I stand up for myself instead of giving into others. I judge myself often quite harshly and I tend to be an approval seeker and try to keep peace in situations that are sometimes out of my control. Are these particularly bad traits to have? Not always... I tend to think that they help me to also be a kind person, willing to help another, and  person that you can count on. One thing I do know for sure... things (quirks) about myself sure make a lot more sense to me now!

So why am I sharing this now?

 Because I am sitting in the front row of a classroom, waiting for class to begin (I am early, of course) and some of those nagging feelings of inferiority are beginning to rise. Fortunately, I now have the tools to reroute my thinking. It is ironic that the topic of this course is "Effects of Parental Alcoholism on Adolescents". Despite not having many letters after my last name representing various degrees, I will probably be at the top of my class!


For more information go to www.adultchildren.org

Roadblocks, Potholes and Detours

Komen Race For the Cure 2015

I was honored to speak at the Race For The Cure in Bushnell Park on Saturday!


Hi Everyone and welcome to the 2015 Komen CT Race For the Cure! What an amazing, beautiful day that we have for this incredible event. Each year I am so amazed at the selfless time and energy all of you give of yourselves to help find a cure for breast cancer.. I personally thank you!

Yesterday, I celebrated 17 years of being a present cancer survivor! For 15 of those 17 years, I have been fighting Stg. 4 metastatic cancer. It is truly a miracle and I am so blessed and grateful to be here today.

When Anne Morris of Komen asked me to speak at this years' Race, I was thrilled! But believe it or not, I was almost not able to be here today. I just got out of the hospital a few days ago; I had been there for five days. I had an infection in my abdomen related to my treatments and I was really, really sick. It was a big roadblock that almost prevented me from being here today.

Looking back on the unpredictability of this past week, I began to think about all of the roadblocks and detours that I have come up against while fighting cancer. The biggest roadblock came with the words "Kimberly, you have breast cancer." Life, as I knew it, stopped right there. It didn't matter that I was 34 and had a husband and a newborn and a toddler. The path that my life had been following, and that I thought I had a lot of control over, hit a major roadblock and I now had to take a different direction. And what a direction it has been!

It has been a road filled with over 40 surgeries, or, my 'potholes' as I like to call them. My road has had major detours such as open heart surgery and repeated life threatening infections. And my husband and I have certainly paid the tolls at the toll booths on my cancer journey - enormous amouts of money for my healthcare. I used to believe that my breast cancer was a roadblock to living a full and happy life. Not anymore!

Instead, having cancer has made me the recipient of an untold number of blessings. Breast cancer has led me on an exciting journey to develop a spiritual life that has tremendous depth and meaning to me. Having breast cancer has also taught me the valuable lessons of courage, perseverance, compassion, grace and peace. And the road named cancer has led me to countless new acquaintances and deep friendships.

What type of person would I have turned out to be if I wasn't diagnosed with cancer 17 years ago? I'm not sure... But after spending so much time with my friends in pink, I have come to realize that there is 'something'... 'something' very special about these courage women, that I now have, too. I know that I am a better person because of cancer.

My breast cancer journey has taken me on a new and exciting career path, too! It led me back to school and earlier this year, I completed my certification as a Pastoral Counselor. I am now living my passion by being able to help other women overcome their challenges in life, by implementing the lessons that I have learned. Hopefully, I can make their journey down the highway of life, a little less bumpy!

So that roadblock that jumped in my path earlier this week?... well I blew right though it!

And now all of our seperate roads have led us here, to the Race For the Cure! Have a great day today and make sure that when you run or walk later, that you do it in the "pink fast lane"!!

Seventeen and Counting!

I had to change the title of my blog today. Had to change it from Sixteen Years Of Pink to Seventeen Years of Pink. Any guess how come? You betcha, one more pink ribbon has been added to my Survivor cap! 

Seventeen years... that's crazy, right? I have been fighting breast cancer for one third of my life.
Wowza!

Coincidentally, I am giving a speech tomorrow at the opening ceremonies for the Komen CT Race For the Cure. The Race is always held the first weekend in June, so I have enjoyed being in the company of thousands of people celebrating breast cancer survivors and raising money to help find a cure, on the anniversary of my survivorshop. A big, pink party just for me! Well, not really..

I remember my first Race for the Cure. At that time, it was held in another town and in May. At the Race, each survivor receives a pink hat and a pink ribbon is placed on the brim of the cap to represent how many years of survivorship she has.  I received just a cap; no pink ribbons for me...yet.

I remember looking around the park and taking a mental inventory of the number of pink ribbons on the caps. Lots of brand new survivors, with one or two ribbons and large numbers of women with three to ten ribbons. It then began to get a bit harder to find the women with lots of ribbons, the women with fifteen and greater years of survival. But they were there, just not as many as I would have liked to have seen. Occassionally, I would see the remarkable woman whose brim was overflowing with ribbons and my heart would swell. "Oh God, please let me be one of those women"!

That first race for me, in 1999, I was just an observer of the 5k race. In January, 2000, after all of my chemo had been completed, I underwent a bilateral mastectomy. In March of that same year, I decided that I wanted to run in the Race For the Cure instead of just watching. One small thing stood in the way of me crossing the finish line: I wasn't a runner.

I grabbed my sneakers (used for gardening) and began running. Very slow. I ran while Tessa was at preschool, pushing a jog stroller that I borrowed from a friend, with Torrie bucled in. There was no magic formula with my running, I basically just ran farther than I did the day before. I found out what the actual course layout was and would haul Torrie, the jog stroller and myself out to the streets and run. Very slow. Two days prior to the Race, I still had not run 3.1 miles. I was praying that adrenaline would kick in on race day and help me cross the finish line. Unbelieveably, my strategy worked. And more unbelievably, I finished in less than 30 minutes; a lofty goal for someone post surgery that had only been running for 8 weeks!

I was just tickled pink with myself - tee hee! But what happened next was really going to shake up my life. At the Survivor Breakfast, there were several gifts that were to be given away via raffle.
Among them, was an all-expense paid, 4 day trip to Washington, DC to participate in the National Race For the Cure, and attend a party at Vice President Gore's home. Bet you can't guess who won?!
Um hmm. So what turned out to be a one-time running event, became two. The next month, I was running down the Mall.. and my time was 26:30.

So with three months of running under my belt, I made big decision: I was going to run a Marathon. The Walt Disney Marathon. In January. Six and a half months away. Stop laughing.

So I kept my fool proof training formula the same, just run farther and farther. Seriously, I did do some research and came up with a good plan to achieve a solid base, and alternate short and long run days. I had a blast training. I had such a sense of accomplishment each week, because I was getting stronger, running faster and running farther. In January, 2001, I completed my first marathon.
And my last.

Since that first Race For The Cure in 2000, I have always

been involved with Komen. I chaired the Survivor breakfast in 2004 and chaired the entire Race in 2005. I also participated in the Komen 3Day, 60 mile walk in D.C. with my two younger sisters.

In short, I have had a ball being a breast cancer survivor and being associated with Komen.

And tomorrow morning...

the brim of my cap will be filled pink ribbons!