Writing With A Purpose

 Unbelievably, my first post on this blog was dated January 5, 2008. My last printed post blog post was dated Friday, October 13, 2017. Today, encouraged by my son, Torrie, I changed the title of this blog from “Eighteen Years of Pink” to “Twenty three Years of Pink”. I am in awe just writing that! I asked my son’s girlfriend, Chloe, (a voracious reader and writer) to go back to the beginning of my blog and read it and provide me with any feedback that she might have, because for years, I have believed that I have a story worth telling, writing and sharing with others, but have hit a wall as to how to format my story. I have never gone back and read my blog posts after publishing them to the internet. I have always feared that by going back and reading the posts, that I might stir up a hornet’s nest of anxiety and/or depression that I might not be able to remove myself from. However, after this past holiday season, I felt a very strong pull to do exactly that…to go back and read my posts and work through the feelings that may arise from doing so. While reading some of the posts, I actually experienced the opposite of anxiety or depression, I found myself in a place of peace, calm, and mostly, gratitude. Some of the posts seemed to me like they were written by another person. I found myself reading them like I was a complete stranger to my situation, and found myself cheering on this woman! For the first time, I actually had a vision as to how to format the memoir that I have felt compelled to write. I shared my feelings with some friends and family members and was enveloped in love and support to take on this project that has been tugging at my heart and soul. 

 I wonder where all the time has gone in the past few years. In the past, I begged God to slow down the passing time so that I could savor each moment. But then a very remarkable thing happened - I allowed myself to become a ‘normal’ person. A person that became caught up in life… caught up in things that consumed time and energy. Caught up in things that didn’t revolve around doctors and hospitals. Caught up in life with its ups and downs, peaks and valleys; but things that  didn’t revolve around me and my health, but that revolved around normal occurrences that happen to a family of four. ‘Normal’ day to day life, with all of its’ joys and heartbreaks, all of its’ rewards and punishments, all of its’ celebrations and all of its’ misery…. For the past few yeas, even though I have been living with Stg.4 Metastatic Breast Cancer, I have lived life like most of my friends - ‘normal’.

Of course, many things have happened to me over the past few years and a lot does have to do with my health. Fortunately, my cancer has been held at bay, but there has been a lot of deterioration of my overall health, due to having had been on continuous chemotherapy for so many years.  My emotional and psychological health has taken the worst beating; I am so thankful that I found the remarkably healing gift of Mindfulness Meditation several years ago. 

In the next several posts, I look forward to working backwards… looking back at the past few years and journaling about them. By writing about the experiences I have faced over these past few years, the process allows me to reflect and continue to construct the framework of my memoir. I welcome any and all feedback, comments, questions, etc. I do hope that you will enjoy being an instrumental part of this journey with me.

Happy New Year, again, thank goodness!

Hold My hand, Please.

As I write this, it is so early in the morning that my pups don't even want to get up yet and are still upstairs sleeping in their bed. It is dark and quiet, no lights are on at any of my neighbor's homes yet.

Today is 'PET Scan Day' and no, it does not have anything to do with my pups. Today is all about cancer; my cancer, and whether or not it has spread again. If I have it or if I don't.

I have undergone so many of these scans over the past 19 years, yet the anxiety beforehand remains so high. I have had many 'good' scans, but those I hardly remember. It is the two scans that were 'not good' that remain embedded in my memory.

'Kim, the cancer has spread." "Kim, the cancer has spread again.'

Today, however, I am not up so early because of a sleepless night, thank goodness. Being a veteran PET scannee, I have figured out exactly the time I need to wake to sneak in a cup of coffee before the dreaded 'nothing to eat or drink' rule comes into effect. I love coffee.

But more importantly, being up this early affords me the luxury of a quiet and still time to meditate and pray. I am able to settle my anxiousness by asking God to extend His right hand and walk with me this morning. He already knows the outcome of my test and its results, so it is up to me to release my fears and walk in faith no matter what the results are.

It is becoming lighter outside as morning begins to break and my heart feels lighter, too.

 Today, I feel well and strong and that is a miracle in itself. I feel strong enough to march myself confidently into the PET scan room...

As long as I can hold onto God's hand.

Guilt: The Worst Symptom Of A Chronic Illness

The envelopes have begun to arrive.

Thick, white envelopes addressed to Kimberly Green - the name I use only for official business like my driver's license, tax returns, and... my health insurance card. I have been dreading their arrival, as I have always dreaded their arrival over the past 19 years. They are summaries of my hospital stay and totals of how much has been submitted to my insurance company for their payment and the total as to which the insurance company has agreed to pay.

Other envelopes arrive as well. Statements and bills from radiologists, anesthesiologists, pharmacies, other specialists that took care of me during my surgery and recovery at the hospital. They have become their own small pile on the corner of my kitchen table. I am reluctant to open them, reluctant to feel the familiar shock from the totals of my care, trying to stay in my denial a bit longer. But they must be opened.

I am both blessed and lucky to have health insurance. We own my policy, meaning that I am not a part of a company plan of any type. We had to buy a policy when the owner of the small business that Ken worked for, for several years, could not afford to provide to us. He was generous though and as a part of Ken's compensation plan paid half of our premium. My insurance premium (I say 'my' because Ken now enjoys Medicare and Tessa has her insurance through her company. So the premium is for just Torrie and me) is astronomical -  more than some college tuitions.  My deductible is also five figures.

But thank God I have health insurance. I pray those people in Washington come up with the right plan if any.

Being flat on my back the past 10 weeks, I have watched television - a lot of television. I have become a news junkie and have immersed myself in the healthcare battle. I feel like I need to be as informed as I can be because if any new plan is put into place that would allow my insurance company to raise my rates anymore due to having cancer, etc. we would no longer be able to afford it. I might not be able to get any other insurance due to pre-existing conditions. I am truly afraid.

And I feel guilty. So much guilt, all of the time.

I must open the envelopes...

And for a 10 day, operating room and 2 days in ICU, my bill is almost $500,000, of which we will be responsible for a significant portion. I don't know how (yet!) we will do this.

I have been blessed with two extremely intelligent children. They have both worked since they were 15 and were recipients of many grants and scholarships by the wonderful Catholic Universities they have and are attending. Both have worked while in school, too. Having them both be able to attend college has been Ken's and my only goal. We have two years left...

I have been blessed with a wonderful, loving community that has helped us in so many generous ways. My wish is to be able to reciprocate in some way. I want to get back to my little studio. I need to get back to my little studio or I fear I will not be able to afford to keep it. I have not made a dime off of it yet, but while I've been there leading meditation and running the boutique it has been wonderful. I feel that it has so much potential. There's the guilt again; not being able to help Ken support our family.

Ken.

My sweet, loving husband that has never left me during all of this. Who right now is out driving for Uber, still in pain from his broken collarbone. Because he must. Because we need the income. And yet he still kisses me goodbye and tells me that he doesn't love me, he's 'in love' with me. Still.

In 2015, I spent more than 40 days in Yale Hospital with MRSA that I contracted in surgery. He drove the 1-1/2 hour trip each day and never left my side. He worked from my bedside. I recovered and came home and his reward was being laid off. Was it because of me and being with me while I was so sick? Was it because his boss didn't want to pay half of our ever-increasing premium? More guilt.

To pay the astronomical bills from that hospital stay, he sold our beloved home in Newport. Our family spent countless hours on the beach there, the kids grew up with wonderful summers. Ken proposed to me there and we were married there. It was our escape. Ken had owned the house for several years before we married, he loved that house so much. He never once told me it was my fault because of all of our bills. I told myself it was my fault enough for the both of us.

In 2016, I found myself feeling very good and decided to open my little studio Mindfulness and Matters. I grand opened on September 7 and then on September 15 was hospitalized with a terrible infection that had unknowingly been brewing. I was in the hospital a couple of weeks. The infection left me with a drain in my abdomen that had to be checked and moved weekly (under anesthesia) for months. I was finally able to return to work in late November. So in early 2017, we did the only thing we could do to get on top of the bills... we sold our home of 20 years. Much more guilt.

This recovery has not only been brutal (my surgeon explained it will be upwards of 10 months for me to feel halfway normal) physically, but it has been especially brutal emotionally. I have suffered from anxiety/depression for years and it kicked into high gear when I came home from the hospital the second time. I wanted to be alone, I ignored phone calls and text messages, I didn't want visitors. (If I have not apologized yet to you, I'll get to you!) Fear gripped me and still hasn't let go. How will we pay for all of this? What about our future?

I have let my mind run amok - meditation hasn't even been able to calm it. All of this money that has been spent on me and me not able to contribute weighs on me like a ton of bricks. Bankruptcy? The money that we pay towards these enormous bills is a drop in the bucket and its money we NEED for rent, insurance, tuition, etc. Blah, blah, blah.

Where is my faith? All of the miracles that God has given me, why would I doubt that he would not provide now? In the direst times, He has always given us just what we needed and I know He will again. I read a few days ago that God wants us to feel safe to rant to Him and perhaps that is what this post is all about. I'm ranting and pouting like a child, but I know He understands.

And right now, God is probably shaking His head and smiling at me saying "oh Kim of little faith, wait for it. Don't give up before the miracle. I am always with you".

And I know in my heart He is.

Namaste,
Kim

Perspective

I know when true healing is beginning to happen in my body when I have 100 things on my mind that I would like to do, but my body says "Nope, ain't happening." Before true healing has begun, I am perfectly content to lie in the bed to the point that days blur together and my sleep cycle is mangled. Of course,  that is partly the medication's job, to make you rest and heal. But then you stop needing much medication and you want to jump up and join back in life.

It has been 7 weeks since the original surgery and 30 days since the second surgery for the abscess and insertion of the drain. During that time, Tessa moved to NYC for her new job,  Ken was involved in a car accident and Torrie left for his sophomore year at Providence College. I was so disappointed to not be able to go with the kids and help like I have in the past, and I am barely any help to Ken as well. I can't believe how much time has passed because I feel like surgery was about a week ago on the pain meter. And the icing on the cake is this despised drain that is identical to the one I dragged around for 4 months almost precisely a year ago.

My surgeon explained to Ken, my friend Gay and myself the extent of what he found during the 7-1/2 hour surgery. My intestines were so entangled that it took over 2 hours just to untangle and straighten them. He said it is truly a miracle that I never had an obstruction...or worse. There were fragments of old mesh, tacks, and staples left in from previous surgeries. My bladder and intestines had adhered to old mesh that had been left behind. He told us that he'd never seen anything like my mess and with palpable sincerity offered his sympathy for the pain I have been living with.

The kicker though was the fact that my recovery time will be about 10 months. What?! I will be able to drive and get back to the studio in September, but my body was really beaten up and it's going to take time.

As I was lying in the hospital bed that takes up a good portion of our living room this morning, I started thinking (I hadn't moved yet, so no pain). It's so beautiful out, I'd like to go for a walk. I made it through Big Y yesterday, relatively unscathed so I fantasized about a long walk through my neighborhood. I also wanted to get some mums for my deck, etc. Then I moved. Hello, pain. Poof, went most of my plans. I did take the dogs out. They do not understand their new routine of going out one at a time. I can't have them pull on the leash, Ken is the one armed bandit.

So I made a cup of coffee and turned on the morning news. Houston is underwater with so much more rain to come.

Dear God, please forgive me.
Forgive me for pouting about things I cannot do, like take a long walk on this gorgeous day, or plant flowers, or drive a car or clean my house.

Dear God, please be with the people of Houston and the surrounding towns. Many whose not only sidewalks to walk on are submerged, but also their whole homes and cars are too. They have lost everything. Their pain is too great to measure and will last so much longer than 10 months.

I am so blessed and I must continually remind myself of that.
Thank you, God, for all of the blessings you bestow on me each day, so many that I take for granted. Please hold those families in the Houston area in the palm of your hand.

Namaste.
Kim

Mother's Day 2017

Happy Mother's Day!

As I sit here this morning with my four-legged kids and a cup of coffee, I realized how different this Mother's Day is in comparison to those of past. Mainly, Tessa is not here. We will be joining her in a few days to celebrate her graduation from Villanova. I am beyond thrilled! but this is the first Mother's Day morning that I have woken up to and not had my entire family with me. Deep down, I know that as the kids continue to grow, succeed, and carve out lives of their own, there will be fewer and fewer Mother's Days that I wake up to having my children here for breakfast. On one hand, that makes me quite misty, but on the other hand, I am so grateful for the miracle of having been able to celebrate 22 Mother's Days.

I addition to being so grateful, I am really proud, too. Because isn't that the main goal of being a mother? To raise our kids to be strong, determined people that embrace leaving the nest and flying on their own? I love the people my kids have grown up to be. They are brilliant 'old souls'. I call them that because they have experienced so much in their lives already, and those experiences have grounded them and taught them lessons that many people my age haven't even learned yet. I so want to be like them when I grow up!

Our family has been through a lot these past few years. My continuing health battles, a loss of a longtime job and most recently, moving. Through it all, Tessa balanced a busy college life, with coming home and of being an incredible support to me. Torrie kept beautiful grades, excelled at sports and got into the college of his choice. They are amazing people that are able to handle so much. I have no doubt of their successes in the future.

I still have every handmade card the kids gave me. I still have every store bought one, too! I look at them and think of the time and effort that was put into them whether they were crafting them themselves, or picking out the perfect one at the store. They all have handwritten words that I will always cherish. One of my most favorite memories of Mother's Day in the past is that of the wooden pins that say 'Mom' on them that each of them made in kindergarten. One is a watering can, the other a lady bug. Each year, I would alternate which one I would wear to church, and the kids never let me forget which one I had worn the year before. I continued to do this, all the way to high school. the kids rolled their eyes, but deep down I think they really liked it. My pins are still in my jewelry chest. I'm toying with the idea of wearing Tessa's to graduation next weekend.

So I am filled with happy thoughts and memories today, as I hope that all of my friends that are mothers are, too. My heart is sad for mothers I know, that have lost a child and I pray for them for peace and comfort today.

Above all, I thank God for the miracles that He has given me that have allowed me to live this long and to raise my children to be wonderful adults.

Namaste,

Kim

Role Reversal

Since the beginning of the new year, I have incorporated a new book into my morning routine of prayer, meditation, and affirmations. It is a daily workbook that assists a person to see obstacles in their life that may be holding them back from being the person that they, and God, have intended them to be. Needless to say, I have had many obstacles on my road of life and I am more than willing to name them and change them!

Today's exercise was actually a reflection back on the prior week, to acknowledge progress and identify hurdles. I have been keeping a journal with this book and looking back on what I wrote last Sunday, I laughed out loud, at the innocence of what I wanted to happen and the reality that I have no control of what happens.

Tessa had returned to school on the Friday prior, and Ken was set to drive Torrie back to college on Monday - Martin Luther King Day. I wrote that as much as my heart was heavy that the kids would be out of the house, I was ready to get back to a 'normal schedule' of work, etc.  A "normal schedule"... why haven't I yet learned that those 2 words used together to describe my life, will NEVER be words to describe my life?

Leading up to last week, I had not been sleeping well. I had contracted the plague - bronchitis - over the holiday break. The coughing was horrible, especially at 2:30 am. Several nights I scurried downstairs as to not wake up the house during one of these coughing fits, which left me wide awake and thinking... worrying and praying.
About our future...

Ken and I have decided that this is the time to sell our home. For me, not being able to push, pull, lift, shove or twist anything over a gallon of milk means that I can no longer attend to the garden and yard. Ken is so busy trying to make up lost ground from losing his job last year, that he cannot be burdened by yard or snow either. It is time to downsize after twenty years. It is change, and it is so hard. But it must be done and for financial reasons, soon.

So Monday, after Ken returned Torrie to college, we sat crunching numbers for a  conference call with our mortgage broker for the next day. Ken also had to have a second phase of oral surgery for a dental implant that day. Tuesday morning we were both up and out, ready to meet back in the afternoon after his surgery, for the conference call.

Ken arrived home at 12:30 after stopping at CVS for prescriptions related to his oral surgery. Keep in mind, my husband has never had a cup of coffee, can leave a 6-pack of beer untouched in the refrigerator for months or years, and balks at taking a Tylenol. However, looking to the swollen cheek, I highly suggested that he take the dose of medicine he was prescribed for pain before the local anesthetic wore off. He took one pill with Cheerios and a banana at 12:45 and then another dose at 5:45 with a big bowl of mac and cheese. (I always think of the line in the movie Christmas Vacation with Chevy Chase "I need to eat, so I can take my back pill!"). At 8:00 pm we were watching TV and he was reading a magazine and was completely fine. I took the pups and went to bed at 9:00 pm, like normal... there's that word again...

I was in that hazy stage of almost being asleep, but still aware of sounds, etc., when I heard a tremendous thump that I thought came from downstairs (Ken loves to snore so I sleep with ear plugs, so the sound and where it came from was distorted). I thought perhaps the cats (yes, we have 2 cats, also) had knocked something over, but the dogs were barking frantically, so I jumped up and ran out of our bedroom to see what had happened.
I opened our bedroom door and saw my worst nightmare...

Ken was laying splayed out on the landing outside of our bedroom. I screamed and ran to him. He was unconscious and totally unresponsive. I shook him and tried to find a pulse. I grabbed the house phone and called 911. The dogs were jumping on him, licking him, trying to get him to wake up... While crying and screaming for him to wake up and listening to the operator, I remembered CPR and began it. I couldn't get him to respond, I was screaming at him and at the operator and I felt the whole world coming down around me... this can't be happening to me... not again... I remembered trying to have my father come back to life after his suicide... caskets... funerals...NO!!!!!

The police arrived within a few minutes and Ken was coughing and mumbling when they got to him. Suddenly, there were so many people in my house, coming in every door. IV's, heart monitor, stretchers. Watching him be lifted down the stairs and out the front door, the Christmas decorations being yanked down and trampled on as they took him to the hospital.

I had to change (my pink Ho Ho Ho pj's needed to be replaced by leggings and a sweatshirt), secure the farm, grab my purse and out I went. Unbelievably, I beat the ambulance to the hospital as they were trying to stabilize Ken. I then had to wait until they brought him in from the ambulance bay and got him transferred and stabilized in the ER. My dear friend, Polly, met me and stayed by my side.

When I was finally able to go into him, he was breathing on his own, but had no idea who I was, could not follow simple commands, and could not speak. He was taken for a CT Scan of the brain and my prayers began, nonstop. Had he had a seizure, a stroke, what? He babbled like he was speaking a different language. Polly ran back to my house to get the phone number of the oral surgeon, and at 12:30 in the morning we spoke. Normal procedure, etc.
What had happened??

As the night progressed, he was being admitted. He could not remember our kid's names, dog's names, etc. He would try to speak but could only get a few words out before babbling again. Tests started to come back and they were coming back with good results. Blood enzymes showed no heart attack. CT scan came back normal. We started to look hard at the pain medicine and possible allergic reaction. He was stable and safe, so at 4:30 am, I left for an hour.

I got back to the house and it was like it had been preserved in time. The TV he had been watching in the den was still on blasting ESPN. The lights were on all over the house. The poor pups didn't know what was going on and why we weren't back snuggling under the comforter.
 It was so eerie.
I didn't like it.
 I sobbed.

My husband, who has had to come home countless times after leaving me in the hospital, was now in the hospital. Did he feel the same way when he used to come home? I was so tired, but I wanted to be right back to see the Drs when they made rounds. So many questions to have answered, I just wanted to close my eyes, so many phone calls to make.

My husband has endured this role for over 18 years. I was the patient, he was always the one wanting answers, wanting me to be better. It's easier to be the patient. Yes, more painful, but easier. The uncertainty that my husband has shouldered all of these years, the worry and stress he has carried alone is mind boggling. He never wavered.
He is my hero.
I can only hope to be more like him.

Unofficially, he suffered a severe reaction to the medications. He will still undergo a complete out- patient cardio and neuro work up. Officially, God, one more time, has provided us another miracle. Ken and I have been able to see each other and our experiences through each other's eyes. He has been able to see my view from the hospital and tests, pricks, prods, etc. I have been able to feel his stress and anxiety loving someone and wanting to take away their suffering.

As we move forward, having to sell our beautiful home, God has injected us with compassion for each other, that we may be able to help each other emotionally and physically through the next months. We each have a perspective and we have been given the unique ability to see them from each other's eyes. People shake their heads and ask me why do these things happen to you and your family? I no longer ask why, but accept things that happen, because God is at the steering wheel of our lives. Any of you that know Ken and me, know that having to downsize (i.e throw away, donate, sell, etc a lot of stuff) will be very difficult for us. We adore this home, leaving it will be heartbreaking.

So maybe the God that has given us miracle after miracle, has given us one more...showing us to be kind, loving and compassionate and look through each other's eyes going forward, and more importantly, through His eyes: The eyes of Love.

And most importantly, we have found that by turning our daily life over to the care and love of God, we can do anything.

Namaste,
Kim

Being Knocked Down and Getting Up - My 2016 Theme

I am really happy to see a fresh, new 2017 ahead of me.
Actually, I wrote similar words to that effect on January 1, 2016, about 2015.

2015 was a cakewalk (except nearly dying from MRSA in October 2015!) compared to this past year. Lots of potholes in the road and with the loss of Ken's job in March, I felt as if a sinkhole was threatening to devour us. Ups and downs, ups and downs... I really wanted off of the roller coaster. And at times, I was off.

Many great things happened in 2016, too. I started a business, made many new friends and contacts, and saw my youngest off to college. Then illness struck again out of the blue.

I opened Mindfulness and Matters on September 8, 2016 and on September 15 was in the hospital with an infection that is still stubbornly hanging on. I am much, much better; off of all IV meds and the horrible drain is gone, but I will be on oral antibiotics for an entire year. As I write this I am shaking my head because, in spite of being on almost every antibiotic available, I spent New Year's Eve home while Ken went solo to a party because of a wicked cold.

There's that roller coaster again.

Resilience is defined as the process of effectively coping with adversity, or in "Kim's Terms", getting up again and again after being punched in the teeth.

This morning while I was looking back over my journal from last year, I realized that a few things kept coming up that I feel helped me to nurture resilience in my life, so I thought I should jot them down for future reference for myself!

1. Sometimes, in spite of everything you are trying to do good for yourself, bad things just happen. It is no one's fault, they just happen. ACCEPTANCE that change (for good or bad) is a part of life and daily living is critical. Learn to go with the flow.

2. I always try to find the meaning in difficult situations. It has often taken me weeks or even months, to learn some of these lessons, but they were always there. Without fail.

3. I try to surround myself with positive people and relationships. Enough said.

4. Be optimistic. I usually give myself a 24-hour pity party if circumstances call for it. Whining, crying, etc. After that, it's kinda ridiculous to keep it up because that behavior is not going to change the circumstances and then I risk being one of those people that no longer fall into the category ' positive people and relationships'.

5. Make decisions. By making decisions, it gives you back a bit of power that you feel you have lost. For example, after going through a once a week procedure for several weeks that was brutally painful, I made the decision to insist on a PIC line and being fully anesthetized going forward each week. It was a pain in the butt for the Radiology Dept., but that was not my problem. Controlling my pain was my problem. Decision made, big girl panties pulled on!

6. Walk in Faith, not Fear. As I have written countless times before, the journey I am on is not about Why is this happening to me?, but rather, How is God going to help me through this? Fear is paralyzing and because it is an emotion most people want to avoid at all costs, we may internalize it as anger or sadness, which also will eventually take us out of the category of 'positive people and relationships'.

I have seen that through my own meditation practice, I was able to nurture these principles. This fall, when not able to be at the studio, my practice suffered and so did my ability to deal with some of my challenges. My creativity plummeted, even writing eluded me.
So I went right back to my basics:
Spending time alone with God first thing in the morning before looking at a phone, an email, etc.
Offering my day and myself up to whatever might be in my destiny that day.
Seek out a friend to talk to or be the friend someone needed to talk to.
Choose to be happy.

Make plans.

And have faith that all will be ok.
And it is.

Happy New Year!
Namaste,
Kim

How to be Normal??

I saved an old draft (very old. Oct. 2) ... the title was 'I Just Want To Feel Normal.'
Actually, that is a correction; it was titled "I Just Want To Be Normal".
Well, duh, that ain't happening sweetie.
You aren't.

Feel vs. Be... Where is the line drawn?

My last post from the hospital, feeling strong, invigorated, ready to tackle the world, was inspired from once again, not succumbing to infection. Sometimes, even in the worst case scenarios, we find the positives and feel invigorated to take on the world.
A little bit of MRSA, no problem!

I came home on a Friday just 3 weeks ago and couldn't wait to get back to my studio that I had left hanging in a lull after my 'soft opening'. By word of mouth and by local press (thank you, Ronni Newton!), my little studio and boutique were off to an amazing start! My sessions (or Sits, as I like to refer to) were filling up. I left the hospital and was so excited about the Grand Opening Celebration I had planned with another store in my building. It was only a few days away and there was a lot of work to be done.

Food, beverages and a beautiful night brought out so many people!
Everything looked wonderful...from the outside...
But me...
I was sooo tired.
Just smile... welcome all of my wonderful friends, just stand upright... don't wobble...

It was a huge success!
Friends that have been supporting me all of this time came out and the warmth and love I felt from them was the best medicine in the world. I was energized by the love and support and ready to take on the rest of the week. Except... I am still sick. Maybe if I don't talk about it...
Just keep going, hide the drain, forget the PIC line.. try to be 'normal'

I have this nasty drain attached to me.  I am supposed to feel great (thank God you're not in the hospital, blah blah blah) "You look beautiful"! etc.. "You hide it so well"
I feel nasty.
A brownish,  horrible color is draining into my drain and into other places that have ruined my incredible 'Marshall's Clearance Tops' that will make me look like whatever in my mind I am supposed to look like as an owner of a meditation studio.  Nasty stuff is draining from me from my wound and is certainly not safe to have around others.
 I feel despicable and dirty.
My wound has opened up again today while I was at the studio.
I am in tears on the way home having put yet another sign on my studio window indicating that I will not be there for the evening sessions.
Maybe no one will notice me scream at the top of my lungs in my car "WHY??" as I drive home with kleenex holding my belly together...

So the visiting nurse has come and I need to be at Yale first thing in the morning. I will be put under sedation so the likely hope of leading meditation tomorrow night is nil. And one more day, I will not live out my dream of helping others to learn to deal with adversity. But I know, I will learn more in the next 24 hours hours.

Because I trust and I belive.

Namaste.
Kim

Thoughts on Going Home

"Can you add a single moment your life by worrying?" Matthew 7:27

Anxiety is a thief.
The combination of fear and uncertainty robs us of drive, desire, compassion, and most importantly, peace.

What do we have to fear when we put our trust in Him?Believing in God doesb't mean we will never experience uncertainty. We will always incur situations that cause us fear, pain and worry. The key to our faith is to consciously Let Go (visualize) of our anxiety and fears instead, completely trust (it's scary at first!)God to provide forum needs in His time and in His way.

When we dob't give away our anxieties (or don't COMPLETELY giv them away) fear and doubt become entrenched in our thinking and develop into a stronghold. Then negative forces will dig in and use every resource to build up our apprehension. This is what anxiety looks like - a sense of fear that overwhelms our faith.

Someone who has not totally surrendered their anxieties to God sounds like this: "I know God is capable of dealing with the problems in my life, but I'm just not sure He will". Then they take back their anxiety by trying to fix their problems themselves.

God sees the beginning and the end of every situation that we face. He knows the root of our anxiety, the best way to calm our heart, and how to turn sadness into joy. "Cast all your worries upon him because He cares for you", 1Peter 5:7

He will do all of this for us without leaving our side, because He loves us deeply and wants to bless us with peace and calm. We have only to reach out our hearts to Him and trust.

Living by faith guarantees hardship when a person decides to totally surrender to God and try to listen to and obey at all times. This was a hard pill for me to swallow. For some reason, when I decided to trust God completely and stop worrying, I thought things would be easy, breezy. Not. Sometimes, we are made to make painful sacrifices. Often we have to go forward by faith in spite of challenges. It can be very hard to trust so completely...like we are helpless children once again.

We are assured by Scripture that adversity produces a deeper intimacy with God. "The God of all grace who called you to his eternal glory through Christ will Himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you after you have suffered a little", 1Peter 5:10. Obviously, God and I have a different definition for the words 'a little', but I have never been so sure of anything in my life. Every single health challenge, or any other adversity, not only have I come out of virtually unscathed, but also I have learned so many lessons and become even closer to God each time. He has a plan for my life, I am along for the ride.

Hardships are inevitable. We could try everything in our power to avoid them, but they will still occur.  However, these hardships are not for us to question 'Why, God?', but rather to state "I have only to remain still and God will fight for me", Exodus 14:14. We must meet the challenge head on and go forward in our faith.

"I have only to remain still"... remain still...sit for a while in quiet...be still.

On many mornings I felt wobbly because while in the hospital, I was looking at difficult times looming ahead. How can I work with this drain? How can I pull off this party on October 1 for everyone to see the studio? How would I manage the pain? Blah, blah,  blah... I was looking at the future through my eyes and mind and only with my strength. It looked impossible. Also, I was worrying about future issues and not focusing on just today. But finally, when I took the time each morning to close my eyes, breathe, and center myself in the present moment, that's where I found God, waiting for me. Since He is my strength, He can empower me to handle each task as it comes. He has the power to make this beat up body of mine perform near miraculous tasks for myself.

I must keep bringing my mind to the present moment.
Breathe. Find my anchor.
It is an amazing fact that only humans can anticipate a myriad of future events and possible worrisome scenarios. This ability is a blessing, but easily can become a curse. If we use our minds to worry about tomorrow, we are actually practicing unbelief - we haven't truly turned our will over to God. But each time we sit quietly and return our minds to the present moment, we allow God to take care of us  and the future. This is the core of mindfulness meditation. Stop planning, controlling, worrying.

A week ago, I was doubled over with infection in my belly and everything looked bleak as I anticipated what would happen to me.  But hour by hour, I began to see God's hand in mine and the miracles, once again, began happening to me.

Today, I am going home. Once again, I have emerged from a very bad situation, basically unscathed. I do have an annoying drain hanging from me until the infection is completely gone, but I look at it as some kind of touchstone, a constant reminder of how exceptional my recovery has been. For the fourth time in less than two years, I have fought MRSA and won. My last wonderful, 'really good' PET scan showed no cancer in my body, giving me the opportunity to stop treatment. And that allowed me to pursue my dream of opening a meditation studio to teach people the most important thing I've learned in my life: to remain still, to just Be, and allow God to fight for me.

I live for today, right now, right here. Infection could come back, or not; cancer could come back, or not. But I'm not going to add one more moment to my life worrying about it. I am in awe of all of the miracles God has blessed me with, especially my studio.

Miracles?
Or just maybe, God's Will for me.

Namaste.
Kim

Down in the Valley - Again.

I am writing from my bed, in the hospital, unbelievably, again. I have a massive infection in my belly, again. I am in a lot of pain and very scared and frustrated, again. And God will lead me out of this mess, again.

In spiritual terms, I am in the midst of a 'Valley Experience'. An experience where the hardship is so deep, that we find it almost impossible to stand and that the event can threaten to overwhelm us. Actually, it is almost impossible for me to stand because the drain that has been placed in my belly to drain the pus and gunk out, hurts like crazy when I move around.

Valley Experiences are not because of God, but rather give us the ability to draw closer to God as He leads us back up to the mountain top. I truly believe and have written about this before, that the closer and deeper that we walk along God's path (or Will) for us, the harder the devil tries to undermine our progress by throwing road blocks in our way. He certainly threw a big log at me last week.

I was almost giddy with pleasure at the success Mindfuless and Matters was experiencing during the soft opening that began September 7. People were coming to the meditation sessions and the boutique was selling lots of beautiful creations and gifts. I was going home each night happy and excited for the next day. I loved talking about the studio and was looking forward to going to a special ladies night out two Friday's ago to network and talk more. While I was getting ready to go out, I noticed a bump in my dress that  looked like an 'outsy' belly button. This was completely out of the ordinary because after last year's MRSA nightmare, I no longer have a belly button. It was at the very top of the large scar that is on my belly. I was rushed so I put it out of my mind and continued to get ready.

Over the weekend, my new belly button got a bit bigger and was a bit painful. I thought that perhaps I  had irritated an adhesion or it was new scar tissue. I felt great otherwise but called my Dr. on
Monday.  Of course with my luck, he was out of town. I made an appointment for the past first day he was back. I was not able to make it to the appointment  - I was already hospitalized.

I got home from the studio on Wednesday evening around 8:00 pm. I was ready for a long, hot shower, and then putting on my Deep Blue lotion. My lower back had started aching earlier in the
afternoon, I attributed it to a busy, long day. I woke up early Thursday to get showered and ready for 8:30 meditation. My back and groin were really aching and I was feeling kinda blah. I noticed a wet spot on my top and thought that's crazy, I know I dried completely off.

I lifted my top to look...
The room started spinning.

Pus and gunk were oozing rapidly out of  the top of my incision. I couldn't believe it. I grabbed a
towel and pressed it to the hole in my belly and called for Ken. I found some gauze pads and secured them with my old abdominal brace. I called my surgeon's answering service and waited for instructions. Do I go to the ER here or drive to Yale? I called my primary Doctor, she told me not to
wait and get down to Yale ER.


Because I have never been to the ER and NOT been admitted, I packed a bag. I now also knew something was very wrong. The pain in my lower back, the ache in my groin, the blah feeling, all were adding up to 'what the hell is going on'? How can his be? This is a bad dream, right?! And then the hardest part, calling Beth at Little Something Bakery and having her write a note to put on my door to the studio saying that it would be closed. Are you freaking kidding me?! And then fear walked back into my life.

It is the most unsettling feeling ever to be cruising along, feeling greater than great, happy, excited, etc., then realize something potentially deadly has been brewing undetected for weeks, possibly



months in my body. My most recent surgery was 4 months ago, almost exactly the amount of time it  took for my body to become infected from my original hernia repair two years ago. And one year ago to the day, I was on another floor of the hospital fighting for my life against MRSA. And now here I go again; down into the valley.

The doctor in the ER took one look at me and said I would be immediately admitted. He ordered a CT scan and broad spectrum antibiotics until cultures showed exactly what type of bacteria was infecting me. (Cultures take 3-5 days to grow out). It took 4 nurses and five sticks aided by ultrasound to get the IV in. The doctor lanced the area and so much stuff came out of my belly, I think I dropped a pant size.

Almost eight hours later, I was taken to my room. The pain was gaining momentum and I was starting to feel lousy. I was told that I would be going to Interventional Radioolgy to have a tube guided down to the infected area and a drain would then be sutured in place. As I waited, I began to get sicker and sicker. I was vomiting nonstop and sweat was pouring from me so much that my hair was soaked. By the time I reached radiology I was delirious and incoherent. Sepsis was setting in.

The rest of Friday is a blur to me. Somehow, Tessa arrived in my room. IV bags and tubes were
everywhere. My belly and my head were on fire. How had I gotten in such bad shape so quickly? I began praying....hard.

Friday night came and went, but I barely remember it . Nurses were constantly adding more IV bags and watching vital signs. I knew the night had passed when the nurses changed over their shifts. The fog I was in began clearing somewhat and I began to get some clarity and focus. I had dodged a bullet or even a bomb. Thank God I had an outward symptom of the infection. Had there not been, I would have become septic and that would have been disastrous. Once again, God had protected me.

The doctors explained their plan to Ken,Tessa and me. They absolutely did not want to perform surgery, because by doing so, it would only stir up and spread the infection all over the place. Instead,
they would irrigate my abscess cavity every few hours by flushing with an antibiotic mixture and let it drain out. In addition, three whoopass antibiotics would be rotated until the cultures grow out and more specific antibiotics would be brought in. After several days, and feeling confident that the infection is wiped out, I will go home with the drain and hopefully oral meds.
If not, a PIC line will be inserted and  I'll have IV treatments at home.

Or at the studio - because this will not deter me.

I truly believe God's promises that He will use every 'valley' I walk through to benefit me in someway. As much as I dislike the pain, fear and uncertainties and as much as I want to (and have done!) cry, yell, question and worry, I know God has this.  My valleys do not drive a wedge between me and God, in fact, they bring me closer to Him as I seek comfort, strength and peace from Him.

When I shut out my world and close my eyes and focus on God's presence, I can enjoy sitting with God in a heavenly realm. As I concentrate on God, His Spirit fills my mind with calm and peace. I refuse to worry. This wasteful practice weighs me down and blocks my awareness of God's presence.

I have studied the practice of mindfulness mediation with such a passion and look where it has brought me. I am able to use my practice in true times of fear and pain to invite God into my life to so that he can take my hand and lead me out of this valley and emerge even stronger in my relationship with Him and even more determined to make my business a success.

The devil isn't going to deter me this time, either.

Thank you everyone for your prayers and kind words.Thy mean so much to me.

Namaste.
Kim

When Dreams Really Do Come True!

A good PET Scan, a REALLY good PET Scan. That's what I boldly asked God for and that's exactly what I got!

Last month, I asked 'Dare I dream?'.
And now I am not only daring to dream, I am stepping into my dream. Against everything that I have been told and researched about Stage IV Metastatic Breast Cancer, I am the exception to the rule, the statistic breaker.

I am a Miracle.
And I know it.

I have been told countless times from people that also share my faith in God, that He must have a purpose for me, a reason for still winning the fight. A reason for being here after my initial diagnosis and two metastasis. A reason to still be alive after a near fatal infection of my heart due to my port that resulted in emergency open heart surgery. A reason to still plant both feet on the floor every day after almost losing the battle to hospital acquired MRSA.  A reason to be breathing in the sweet air after nearly 60 operations in 18 years and countless doses of different chemotherapies; having to stop many when they became toxic to me. Add to it the immeasurable radiation from hundreds of CT scans, MRI's, PET scans, X-rays, etc. There must be A REASON...

To me, it is very simple.

The reason is... to love.

To love waking each morning regardless of whatever I may be experiencing that day. To love the sound of my children and husband's voices, whether they are near or far. To love the relentless kisses from my pooches. To love my home, my friends, my garden, my coffee mug and my Bible. To love cooking and cleaning and working and playing. To love music and books, sports and theatre. To love the quiet and the not so quiet.

To love myself.
Finally.
Just as I am. Peace.

At this time, three years ago, I was in rough shape.
I was drowning in my own personal battle with depression and anxiety that few people outside of my family even knew about. I had become isolated and barely able to function. I was afraid all of the time. All of the time, every day, and it continued to get worse. July 7, 2013, was the darkest day of my life. I couldn't go on one more day waiting to die. It was just too hard. I hated myself for that. Total blackness. Total hopelessness. I couldn't even find God.

Thankfully, He never took His eyes off of me.

 I desperately needed help. An ambulance was called. I had to be away for a few days. I haven't shared that with very many people, either. But now I can. Now I should. Because it is part of my purpose, I believe. Because at one horribly dark point of my life, it wasn't cancer that was the biggest threat to my life. It was my mind. It was depression and anxiety. Things people don't like to talk about so much. So we don't. We hide our secret until it threatens to consume us. As it almost consumed me.
As it did consume my father.
And his grandmother.

My wonderful doctor, not my oncologist, but a psychiatrist that specializes in treating terminal cancer patients, provided me with some incredible insights about myself and helped me to understand my depression and resulting anxiety. All I ever wanted to be was a 'normal' person. But how can you be that when you have been faced with so many abnormal life situations? From the initial trauma of losing my mom at the fragile age of 12 to cancer, my father's subsequent suicide, and then the shocking blow of my initial cancer diagnosis at 34 while pregnant with Torrie, each of those events changed me dramatically. The physical ravages of cancer that took away every female organ that I had, to the endless scars that were left in their place. The repeated baldness, the sickness, the relentless fatigue and pain, the never ending ache of missing my parents. No Kim, you were not normal. And me trying to outwardly appear that I was 'just fine' all of the time, was the single most damaging thing I did to myself. I was not 'just fine'. I was a tortured soul, physically and emotionally, trying to hold it all together for a family that I cherished more than anything else. At some point, it had to give. And it did.

But God carried me. He put exactly the right doctor in my life, and most importantly, touched my heart one more time and reignited my fire to LIVE. For a person like myself, in the midst of an acute depressive stage, medication was needed to 'quiet down my brain'. To stop the endless chatter and noise that seemed to overtake me. The results were immediate. And lifesaving.

And then I found meditation...

I discovered a tool. A tool to use anytime I felt the familiar waves of anxiety or the heaviness of depression. It was a tool that required a lot of skill to use, it was not easy at first. But I began to have moments of true mindfulness, of just being, with no chatter or noise or anything for that matter. Peacefulness.

And, fast forward, here I am. Recipient of a REALLY GOOD PET Scan. Six months, no chemo. Six months, another PET Scan. Maybe another six months of no chemo?

I have had a dream for the past two years. I watched it almost fade from view last summer when I was fighting for my life. I have a dream to share with others, the tool I have found to help me understand myself, find more peace, and above all, accept myself; just the way I am. No more pretending. The real deal, flaws and all. What a relief, what a gift!

I was busy today... I applied for my CT Business License. I retweaked my business plan some more. And.... I got my key to my very own meditation studio that now officially has the name of:

                   Mindfulness and Matters
                  ~ Meditation and much more!

My dream is coming true. Dare to dream, it will happen for you, too!

Namaste,
Kim

A Change Of Plans That Changes Me

Every once in a while, as a cancer patient, you have a really not so good experience at the cancer center you are being treated at. Unfortunately, today was mine.

Typically, a person in treatment for cancer is seen by an oncologist that they have chosen for their care and after discussion of options a plan is set forth for their care. For me, that involves seeing my oncologist once for every three treatments I receive, which comes out to about every three months. On regular treatment days (not being seen by my oncologist), I arrive, have vitals taken by my nurse (she is lovely, her name is Ebony) and then have my infusion. When it is time for me to see my oncologist, I usually have my calendar, my notes and a list of questions that I may have with me. Today was no exception because I was meeting my new oncologist for the first time, as my doctor took a new position in Pennsylvania. Changing oncologists for any reason can be extremely unsettling to cancer patients as they form a unique relationship with their patients because we are together so often. I am one of those who become unsettled.

In eighteen years, I have only had three oncologists. One retired, one I chose to leave and my present is being relocated. Today was my meeting with number four, who my present oncologist hand picked for me. I trusted her judgment with my life, so I trust her judgment in handing over my care. So with only a name of my new doctor in my hand, I ventured off to Smilow this morning to meet her.

I have mentally been preparing for this meeting for the past three weeks since my surgery. I had an agenda. As I have mentioned in my recent blogs since surgery, a wonderful feeling of peace has enveloped me since the operation and keeping that in mind, I wanted to discuss a possible radical option for my care. I have had such tremendous positive results from the changes I have made in my diet, the techniques of meditation I have been practicing, and the combinations of essential oils I have been using, that I really didn't want to alter in any way, the routine I have been following - even for treatment. I want a break. I want peace. I want to stay away from Smilow for a while.

Or a summer.

Metastatic cancer is tricky and deadly. There is no cure. Period. There are only ways to lessen the progression of the disease, hence, my three-week treatments. I have been really lucky that each time my cancer presented itself, it was in a tumor form, a lump. But there is no promise that the next time it wants to present itself that it wouldn't be like a large firework, spreading pieces of cancer everywhere through the bloodstream. Again, that's why I go every third week, the fear of just that.

But since my third occurrence in 2005, my cancer has been very quiet, thank God and Mary, because that was also the year that I went to Lourdes, France looking for my miracle. Could it be I received one, in the form of actually living a LONG life with the disease? I have been thinking so much about this lately. But I wanted to talk to my new doctor about all of this...

So me and my cute pink bag of tools headed out for New Haven this morning for a 10:00 a.m appointment. I was already a bit out of sorts because Ken is always with me when I go down. He carries my cute pink bag and my water bottle in one hand and holds my hand with the other. He lets me focus on the task in front of me and I am extremely grateful for that. But today he was on a mission with Torrie, our new high school graduate (!), to head to Cleveland to stand outside the arena with 15,000 other people to cheer on the Cleveland Cavaliers. My lovable duo of sports fanatics!

I arrived with 10 minutes to spare, checked in and made myself comfortable in the lobby. The minutes passed and then many more minutes passed. Finally, at nearly the hour mark my sweet nurse Ebony signaled me to come back. She apologized profusely for the delay, citing that the departure of my oncologist and rearrangement of a few nurses had really disrupted things at the center for the past few weeks. I said no problem and that I was looking forward to meeting my new doctor. Ebony said that the two doctors had very different styles of practice and one of the differences included me having to have bloodwork before seeing my new doctor. (In the past, it was always drawn at the time of my infusion). I instantly felt a pit in my stomach, because drawing blood on me is no easy task. I can only have blood drawn from my right arm as I had lymph node removal done from my left armpit with my initial cancer, so that arm is off limits to any needle sticks among many things, to help prevent lymphedema. The veins in my right arm are completely ruined from all of the chemo and meds I have had since having emergency open heart surgery due to an infection in my port. Of course, today was no exception. Two phlebotomists, five sticks and thirty minutes later, I arrived back from the lab for my appointment. That was not to be.

My poor arm was wrapped in pink and black tape from all of the pricks. It hurt and I wasn't so happy. Ebony then proceeds to tell me that my new doctor wants to reschedule my appointment. Excuse me? I have now been there well over two hours, I am bleeding through the stupid tape and now I am being told I need to go home and we will do the whole thing over next week. Don't think so. Why? A scheduling error. I was mistakenly booked for a 15-minute appointment rather than a one-hour consultation. A mistake was made. Deep breath. Ebony wants me to have a seat in an office because she feels so bad and wants the nurse manager to speak to me. I am seated in a small room that looks out a wall. I feel isolated (I am isolated!), frustrated and vulnerable. I am thinking that I don't like the way this has transpired, a really bad start to hopefully a long relationship. I actually am on the brink of tears as I think of how much this appointment has been on my mind and how long I had already invested in the day, and I was just being brushed off...or out. I took a couple of deep breaths and regrouped.

I mentally made the effort to change my perspective.

I am the Patient...I am the Customer. My outrageous insurance premium keeps the lights on in this place. Every time I sit down for an infusion, my insurance company is billed over $12,000. I am the boss, you work for me. I started to feel better.

The nurse manager and the nurse that works directly for my new doctor came in offering their apologies for the error. I said that I understood. A mistake was made; mistakes happen. However, I was not going to come back next week. In fact, I had a plan and a message to relay to doc. I wanted them to book my PET scan for mid - July, my six-month mark from my last PET. After results were available, I wanted a one-hour appointment booked with doctor to review and discuss the results and my treatments going forward. I would not be having my treatment today. They looked at each other and understood that I was not going to have it any differently. One of them scurried off to get my appointments set up. I opened the door to leave and walked directly into my doctor.

She looked nothing like I expected. She was not the coiffed, perfectly dressed young doctor I previously had. She dressed very 'free spirited' almost like an ad for organic, all natural, home brewed medicine. Large round glasses and dark black hair (I imagined blonde for some reason). She was stern and serious as she explained how regretful over the whole situation she was. She stated that she knew I was still in recovery from major surgery and that I should have had a totally different experience. Giving me anything less than an hour of her attention would be out right rude of her, she stated. The nurse told her my plan and she completely agreed. Go home, heal, we will talk soon she said as she clasped both of my hands and looked me directly in the eyes. she was very sincere. Something felt right...

So in a few weeks, I will have a PET scan. God willing, there will be no new growth or change. And then I will tell my new doc, Dr. S., that I want my break. Until the end of December. Six whole months.

What happened today was really quite simple: a mistake was made and I was the recipient of it. But it was so much more. Today, I took charge of my disease and of the care that I was going to receive.
 I took back my control of an enemy that has been controlling me for over one-third of my life. Even if it's just for a few weeks.

Hopefully, for six months.

Dare I dream longer?

Namaste.
Kim

Races and Recollections

On this rainy Sunday, with yesterday's Race For The Cure fresh in my mind, I spent a good chunk of the afternoon going through a thick file in the bottom of my filing cabinet that I never bothered to label. There was never a need to make a name for it; how do you come up with one word to describe the paper trail of the highlights and lowlights of almost one-third of one's life? It's memories of my earliest days of having cancer and then the reoccurrences. It's always just been a nameless file... until now.

As I covered my kitchen table with bib numbers from races run, rough drafts of speeches given, torn out journal entries and pictures, my file transformed into something else for me. It has become my visual outline for my book. I have been stuck with my writing. Trying to decide which route to go, how deep to delve, which angle to pursue. But finally (emphasis on finally), going through the file and seeing, touching and remembering, I started to see the path I need to take.

I haven't been back through this file in a long time. It's made it's way from first in line in the top shelf of my file cabinet, all the way to the back of the second drawer, occupying a good half of it. It has slowly been pushed back by additions of my most current life; high school and college info, certifications, pet stuff, you name it. When anyone needs something I always point to the top drawer. If we ever had to get out due to fire or something, the whole drawer comes out first.

But today, as I quietly celebrate 18 years of life since my original diagnosis on June 5, 1998, I am somewhat compelled to get the file out and go through it. In the past, I have had to be in just the right mood to go through it. There is so much there. The raw emotions in my original handwriting of speeches that I have given to different groups. Some right after the first diagnosis, ripe with hope and courage. Some after the first metastasis tinged with disbelief and vulnerability. And then very few after the second metastasis; I didn't need notes anymore, it had become my life. And then there is a part of me that no longer exists because of my disease...the athlete.

I describe myself as being athletic when I was young. I always loved to play kickball and softball with the neighborhood kids. I loved field day and was quite competitive, always taking it very seriously. To this day, I love watching sports of all kind, especially my kid's. When we moved to West Hartford, I was hijacked by my friend Audrey to play women's soccer. I adored the camaraderie but was definitely not an "A" player. I had to stop playing when my port was put in. My teammates were so wonderful, that they had pink ribbons embroidered onto their jerseys; a gesture that still can make me misty eyed. But, due to cancer, I developed a new passion and that was running.

When I was newly diagnosed and was in the waiting room at St. Francis Cancer Center, I picked up a book by Nancy Brinker about her sister Susie Komen and her life-ending battle with breast cancer. It described the promise that Nancy made to Susie to try to find a cure, thus beginning the Susan G. Komen Race For the Cure. I asked my nurse about the race and she said that there was one in Connecticut each year and that I should so that I could meet other young survivors. A few months later, I went to the Race with carrying Torrie in a frontpack. I was amazed at all of the festivities, the runners, the walkers and, especially, all of the survivors. I made myself a promise that I would come back the following year and participate in the walk. At that time, I never even entertained the idea of running a 5k race. I was NOT a runner.

Going back through my file today, I found journal notes from April 5, 2000 "I decided early this morning to walk. Must quit waiting for cancer to come back (my 1st premonition?) and get back to real life - and FIT. Had Ken drop Torrie and I off at school For Young Children with jog stroller. Walked home. 4 miles; beautiful morning. Felt great. Took an hour". April 25, 2000 "2.5-mile run/walk. Am now running more than walking! Need to buy running shoes." And finally, Wednesday, April 26, 2000 "Have planned all along to walk the Race For the Cure. While doing my 2-mile run/walk (Albany to Main to Asylum) - decided to RUN the Race For the Cure! I'm so excited! I have 17 days until the Race. Just want to complete it. Got new shoes." The running bug had bitten me.

More daily entries with further distances. I love reading back and feeling the excitement build to Race Day. It was finally here - May 13, 2000 "RACE DAY!! Woke up at 5:15 a.m to thunder and pouring rain, ugh. On my way to Survivor's Breakfast radio actually mentioned race may be canceled. Got to park and rivers were flowing down the sidewalk. I was prepared enough to bring my flip flops so I could preserve my shoes and socks. My feet were freezing, though! Had to pee and missed survivors photo. Also missed hearing my name be called to represent CT in Washington at the National Race! Was so excited when I found out that I started to cry! Ken finally showed up with kids - he was so excited for me. Went to starting line area (rain finally stopped, skies cleared up) made my way to front 1/3. Got very emotional - I can't believe I'm running this race! Ken and kids gave me a thumbs up, the horn blew and we were off! It was tight going at first through the park, had to find a space and my pace. Was proud of myself for not getting too caught up with the people around me and their pace. The park was packed with people clapping and cheering. There weren't many pink shirts around me so I got a lot of cheering. Saw Ken and the kids at around 1 mile and felt great. I ran out of the park and continued to feel super. Started passing people at 2 miles! Came upon the BIG HILL. A group around me started talking it up 'heads down, arms pumping, don't walk.'! I made it! Yahoo! Breezed into the park to people clapping and yelling. Had energy left and started to sprint. The announcer yelled 'here comes a pink shirt' and I started clapping and waving. I sprinted the small last hill and saw Ken and the clock all at one. I saw I was going to break 30:00 and I was ecstatic! Time: 29:25! It was an incredible moment. I am a RUNNER!" What a great memory for me.

That race inspired me to keep running. I ran many more 5k's, a 10-mile race, a 20k race, a 1/2 marathon and, unbelievably, seven months after completing my first race, I completed the Walt Disney World Marathon. I had become an ATHLETE. But just a few months later, my cancer returned and running came to a halt.

As my disease progressed, accompanied by all of it's surgeries, complications, and treatments; running turned into walking. And now, as I gratefully sit here 18 years later, I have come to another realization: I am still an athlete. You must be one to endure and live with this disease.

I am still running the Race and the name of my blog is changing; it is now "Eighteen Years Of Pink".

Namaste.
Kim

 

The Beginning of My Summer And The Rest Of My Life

Memorial Day, 2016.

The 3rd Memorial Day Holiday in a row that I have been in bandages from surgery. The 3rd holiday in a row, that I feel optimism for a healthy, healing summer. But this time; I feel different. I feel like some type of corner has been rounded or an obstacle has been removed. I feel lighter, happier and hopeful. Very hopeful.

This surgery has been different from the last two in many ways, mainly, because I am a lot different than I was last year and the year before. Over the past three years, I have undergone major shifts in my thinking and approach to situations. I have focused so hard on learning to try to take things not so seriously, even when faced with very serious challenges. I began the gut wrenching process of going back through my life and working through a lot of unfinished emotional business. I have slowly begun to repair the damage that has been caused to me and by me. I have fought to grasp hold of the one thing that eluded me all of my life: peace.

Driving to Yale for this last surgery, I was very afraid. Even more afraid than when I faced emergency open heart surgery and had Fr. Leary anointing me before going to the O.R. The fear of this surgery stirring up the MRSA that almost killed me last fall, was paralyzing. In the room preparing to go to the operating table, I began just holding and touching my rosary until I was placed on the table and the mask was put over my face to put me to sleep. I was calm.

And that's how I woke up.
Calm.
Normally, when I am awakened from anesthesia, I am confused and afraid and agitated. This time, I still I woke up to pain, but I was peaceful and rather relaxed. There was no chaos, nothing unforeseen had come up, and the surgery went better than planned. I slept well through that first night. Tessa and Ken were at my bedside early the next morning and had everything set up for me. I had wonderful meditation music playing softly by my bedside, lavender, and other healing oils were being diffused in my room. The light was soft from a lamp brought from home. That wonderful atmosphere was created and maintained for the next several days. Of course, the nurses and doctors had to come in and out, but I had a sign placed on my door for no other interruptions. I asked for visitors to wait until I got home and my phone was used only to communicate with my family.  I just didn't want to disturb the peace that had I had been blessed with.

I came home from the hospital early (!), and was able to be present for Torrie's Senior Prom pictures and to help Tessa with her move back to Villanova for work. Today, I can say that I am in less pain that I have been in since more than three years ago. Amazing. Just waiting out some time to make sure that infection doesn't rear its' head... I'm almost there.

Before surgery, my oncologist informed me that she had been offered an opportunity at the University of Pennsylvania and that my care was being transferred to a new doctor. I will be meeting her in a couple of weeks. I want to have a discussion with her before I start my treatments back up. My cancer status has not changed in a few years. There has been no new growth, even when I was off the chemo for six months last fall. Is it possible for a break? Could I actually step away from Yale and treatments and injections and scans and tests, etc. for the summer? Could I have a 'normal' summer? Next month, my blog title will change to Eighteen Years of Pink. That is a LONG time to be running this race...I want to rest a while.

Tessa has moved to PA to work for the summer before her senior year of college; Torrie graduates from high school in just a few days. I never, ever, expected to live this long.
Ever.
And here I sit, feeling better than I have in a very long time, entertaining the idea of a respite from cancer and it's treatments.

I also sit here with ideas dancing around in my head about starting my Mindfulness and Matters studio, actually allowing myself to dream and plan for the future.
I dream of growing old...
maybe it's not just a dream.

Namaste,
Kim

Pre-Op Notes For Kim

I set the alarm for 5:15 a.m this morning.. I'll have to go upstairs and shut it off in a couple of hours. been up since 2:00 a.m.. wide-eyed and ready to go. I don't even care that I only got 2 1/2 hours of sleep last night; I've got a really long nap coming up in just a few hours.

There is nothing left to do. No pre-planning, no pre-surgery tests; it's time.

From the time I found the hernia, in February, I have been on a mission to get as healthy as possible; immune system wise, that is. Protein shakes with spinach, banana and almond milk. Three weeks ago, I was the grateful recipient of Healing Meals Project. I was delivered meals on Sunday to last through the week,for several weeks, especially prepared for me. This project is so cool; they use the Pasta Company restaurant in Avon on Saturday nights after it closes, to preare meals for those with a compromised immune system due to chemo etc. In my case, they wanted to fire up my almost non-existent immune system for surgery to ward off the MRSA that is laying in wait in my body. But the neatest part about this project is that the meals are all prepared by middle and high school students with the supervision of a chef and other adults. The meals are all organic, local organic vegetables, gluten free and protein rich. Lots of fresh fish, chicken, roasted vegetables, quinoa, soups, and their infamous Immune Boasting Broth. And it was free. Absolutely amazing and a gift that will be put to the test over the next several weeks. I'll tell you, my hair, fingernails and skin have never looked better, so it must be doing an amazing job on the insides, too!

A wonderful friend provided me with two months worth of ASEA Redox Supplement. It enhances cellular functions and strengthens the body's natural efforts to maintain optimal health from the inside out. I drink two ounces first thing in the a.m and two more in the p.m. This is tough; it tastes exactly like pool water. But I did it; probably helped with the skin, nails, too.

I've had my diffuser basically strapped to me, also. I have been using doTerra essential oils diffused, topically and internally for over a year. I love them so much, that I began selling them a few months ago. I make my own cleaners, dryer sheets, blends for acne and blends for Torrie's seasonal asthma. I am probably half way through the process of eliminating household products that contain so many toxic chemicals and replacing them with certified therapuetic grade oils. They also help my anxiety sooo much. I love using them during meditation, too.

I have them packed to go to the hospital, just like I did last week, but this time, I'm bringing order forms! The Dr.'s and nurses love coming into my room and smelling the wonderful pure aromas of lavender, frankincense, and others.

I also began oil pulling. I read something about it, then did some research and thought what the heck, I'll give it a try. Basically, you take 1 large teaspoon of organic, non-fractionated, refined Coconut Oil (Whole Foods, Trader Joes) and I add a drop of doTerra lemon or peppermint oil, and you place it in the side of your cheek until it starts to melt. Then you just swoosh it around your mouth (like gargling), but for 15 - 20 minutes. It's tough at the beginning, but then becomes habit; I do it while I'm in the shower or putting on my makeup. Easy, peasy.

Coconut Oil is rich in essential nutrients, medium-chain fatty acids, and immune-boosting lauric acid, a nutrient rich substance which supports immune function and helps fight infection. So while you're wooshing, your soaking up these great immune system boosters, plus you're killing any bacteria that is lingering in your mouth; ready to make it's way into your bloodstream.

Water. Tons of water. I must go through 10 - 12 refills of my REUSABLE water bottle a day. I use a lemon a day also, squeezed into the water throughout the day. It's fabulously refreshing.

I eliminated caffeine. I love coffee, but I love drinking a large, iced lemon water even more.

Sugar has been the toughest because it is everywhere!. I didn't go crazy with this one, I just made a conscious effort to kill my sweet tooth by other means. I usually have a craving for sugar around 4:30, which is also when I have a nap attack. A large glass of water and a piece of fruit usually does it. I'm way past candy bars, etc. which I feel is an accomplishment, but still a long way to go.

So I'm ready. I have my Rosary that was blessed by the Pope that wonderful friends gave me. My pic line was placed yesterday, so no more digging around for veins. Now it's just the emotional part.

I'm terrified. Panic attack terrified. And I've never been like this before the countless surgeries I've had in the past. Thoughts in my mind like, you've done a lot this year and Torrie is going off to college, Tessa is almost done with college;  those were benchmarks I always strived for. Coincidentally, it's the 40th anniversary of my mom's death to breast cancer on the 21st. In the dark places of the back of my mind, I'm wondering if this past year has been my last hurrah.

I'm not the least bit afraid to die. I just don't want to, anytime soon - like today, because I have so much that I want to do! I'm not ready.

In the fall, I want to open my own meditation place "Mindfulness and Matters" and I want to teach as many people as I can, what I have learned. Location, location! I want to see marriages and grandbabies, I want to grow old. Something I never thought would happen to me.

So please, if you will, lift up a prayer for me while I'm on that table today, that God will take care of me, heal me, and let me stick around here a bit longer.

I love you all so much and thank you for all of the kind words and support.

Namaste,
Kim

A Little Meeting with Father Bob

Last Monday morning, I went to my church (St. Peter Claver), as I had made an appointment to speak with Father Bob. He was already made aware that I had been awarded a private meeting with the Archbishop of Hartford on Wednesday, and I wanted to share with Father what I had planned to speak about with Archbishop Blair. My goal of my meeting was to recruit and receive a blessing from the Archbishop to begin implementing the Unbottled Water Campaign in the parishes and with the youth groups across the archdiocese, in response to the MDC/Niagara Bottling debacle.  Of course, I wanted him to bless me, too, for my surgery that would take place one week later.

Father Bob was very receptive to the ideas and then we began to talk personally. He is the first priest that I have been able to talk to as a friend, rather than as an authority figure that I automatically shut down to. That makes me so happy. We discovered we read the same devotional each morning and reflected on that morning's reading. Then we began to discuss the parish itself, and how was he settling in, etc. He remarked how happy he was to be there, yet still missed the parishioners from his former church, too. Overall, he was adjusting nicely. I have seen Father Bob many times on Thursday evenings as I prepare for Mindfulness Meditation. I have met with him one other time, and I have seen him at Mass; a few times. Ouch. I felt a nerve tingle.

He stated how the attendance in the Catholic Church as a whole has declined due to scandals, etc. He said that even our attendance was down, yet he could be recognized at Stop & Shop and have a lovely conversation with a parishioner, but not see them at church that weekend. (He's talking about me, I know he's talking about me!!) Ouch, there's that nerve again.

Over the years, I lived at my church. I taught CCD, was a daily communicant, a Eucharistic Minister, Catholic Biblical College, a Lay Minister, and most importantly, becoming certified as a Pastoral Counselor. I did everything I could do in my church, constantly trying to fill an emptiness inside me. I wanted what all of the other parishioners had: I wanted peace and joy. I wanted Jesus' love. I just felt empty, not worthy...something. I felt I had to earn His love, just like I had to earn my dad's when I was young.

Our church underwent many changes at the same time I was feeling this way, plus I was very sick with cancer. I began trying out other parishes, churches, etc. I began a daily private practice of worship, that I still do. I was missing my church, yet I still couldn't fill that hole.

I decided to try just working on my relationship with God. I studied the Bible so hard and read the Gospels over and over, waiting for my heart to be broken wide open. I learned to just sit and be QUIET, to listen and to give God the opportunity to whisper to me. This was actually the beginnings of my meditation practice that I lead today. And slowly, very slowly, I started to feel peace. I started to hear God's voice in the Bible passages I was reading. I keep a journal, so that I can go back and look how present God had been during so many times of my life.

And finally, I got down on my knees and completely turned my will over to God. I turned over the cancer, the financial difficulties, the strains of relationships, everything. I couldn't handle things one more day, so I turned it over. Thy will, not mine, be done. And then the miracles started to happen.

People look at my life and ask, "How can you take this, how do you manage?". I don't, God does.
It's actually very simple; I talk to God every morning with gratitude for a new day. I let him know what's on my heart and I sit still and listen. And then I ask God to take control of my day, so that my will is actually His. It works beautifully for me.

What are the miracles? I still have cancer, that's true. But I am alive after 18 years and 11 of them being Stage 4. I am strong enough for another surgery on Wednesday.  I have prayed for Ken and his work for 10 years, God is getting ready to give Ken his miracle, too.

And then I talked with Father Bob.

So that nerve that tingled when Father was talking about open spaces in the pews; well that was a miracle. I admitted (confessed, really) that I had been really slacking. I guess that I thought all of the things I was doing on my own was enough. Father pointed out the most obvious thing: God wants us to worship Him. With other Catholics. Every week. Father is so right.

Shortly after our meeting concluded, I ran errands and began not to feel so well. By 8:00 p.m that night I had been admitted to Yale/Smilow Hospital for extreme pain in my belly. I was going to have to be kept in the hospital for several days. But what about the Archbishop?! I would have to postpone.

On Thursday morning in the hospital, my phone rang and it was Father Bob. His kind voice assured me everything would be alright. Before we hung up, I told him I would see him Saturday afternoon for Mass.

I walked into the church just as the service was starting and caught his eye expecting a nod or wave. Instead, he came over and offered a gentle hug. After service,he told me he would be praying for me and my surgery; and I believed him.

I finally have what I've always wanted, a church that I can call home, and a Priest that is a new friend
 and will help me deepen my relationship with Jesus.

I am at peace.

And that's a miracle, too.

Blessings,
Kim

When Everything Is Hurting, Go Fly A Kite

We've had to sell our house in Newport. Ken has owned the house almost 28 years. It seems longer because in my mind there was Newport before Ken met me, and the was Newport after Ken met me. I don't like to imagine our house (and we always just called it Newport; no fancy names like some of the mansions and homes that line the streets of town. Just Newport.) and the parties, etc. that took place before me. It's a girl thing. But I grew to love that house and the wonderful times we had in it, as if it had always been just ours.

We started talking about the inevitable selling of Newport last fall when my week long hospital stay, extended into months, and our resources had long been tapped with my astronomical insurance costs, college tuitions we were never able to set apart because of my health. Last year, our out of pocket expenses after insurance were over $31,000; a college tuition itself. But my angel friends set up an account and by the Grace of God, we were able to remain afloat. We had not one extra penny to spend, but we were afloat.

But then in March, totally without warning, the person that Ken has worked side by side with for over 12 years, let Ken go. Sales had been down, it's a cyclical business, but I firmly believe it was because of the huge expense of our insurance. We own our policy, but the company was paying half. Ken was told 'I can't fire myself, so I have to let you go". Just like that. The unthinkable had happened. We knew we had been walking a tightrope for several years, just praying that Ken would remain healthy and that one Big Deal, would get us on top again, as it always had. But I continued to get sick. The cancer has remained stable, but my body was now suffering the fallout of drinking drano all of those years. The fascia in my belly keeps deteriorating, and my immune system is completely shot, so I get a massive infection if someone looks at me wrong.

Ken will be 65 this year. Wrong age to be jumping into the employment pool. He has opportunities to work in the same business as an independent contractor, which he will probably do, but the payments come whether you are able to pay them or not. We filed for unemployment, I filed for food assistance. It's a frightening and humiliating feeling, but I thank God for the bit that we receive. And I thank Thank God for Newport. Our sanctuary, our investment; the investment we never had any intention of liquidating.

So Ken and a friend, Glen, went up early Saturday with a truck to start bringing home things that we did not sell with the house. One was a scooter that has worked perfectly for 27 years. We now have three scooters in the garage. No cars can fit in there, just scooters.

Before they got to the house, they decided to go down Lower Thames for breakfast at a  great old diner. After bellies were full, Glen suggested they take a ride out to Brenton Point to see if there were any early kite fliers. One of my family's most favorite things to do after a day at the beach, was to shower, pack up a basket of munchies and drinks, grab the pups, blankets and chairs, and go fly kites at Brenton Point. I have pictures of the kids in strollers, we have done this for so long. We would stay til the sun went down then home for dinner.

There were a few kite flyers there and as Ken was looking out over the water, Glen reached behind the seat of his truck, and pulled out...a kite.

Glen is known for his spontaneity and making sure everyone has a good time, but to Ken, Glen is probably the best friend he's ever had, and Saturday was a perfect example of why. He didn't just arrive with his truck, ready for a day of schlepping etc. He knew this was going to be terribly difficult for Ken and he anticipated that. He knew the feelings that Ken has been tormented by. Unemployed, age, fear, worry over my surgery this week. Glen knew that and did what he had to do. He brought a kite.

There is no other person I would rather have been with Ken, than Glen.

And now we wait, the agonizingly long wait for the closing. Ken has a hard time separating the memory from the item. I know he will never forget this past Saturday and our whole family has enjoyed being a witness to a pure act of kindness.