** 2016 We still have interest in this blog, and have moved it to a new server.  The images are mostly there – but the quality is poor so we will be working on that.  Also  many of the links are expired or removed… we’ll keep working !

I entered my last post on 2/14/2011; 1 and 1/2 years after starting this blog. We have decided to leave it on line in the hope that someone may benefit from some of the things we learned on our journey from breast cancer diagnosis through the end of treatment. It starts here with the last entry. If you would like to read it from the beginning, you will have to navigate back to August of 2009. If you see the calendar on the right side, the dates in red are the posts. Thank you for your interest. If you would like to comment, please do, we will graciously receive it in our email.
With appreciation,
P

There is no better way to sum this up than by honoring all of you.

I thought you might want some music to read by. (from one of A‘s favorite movies)

• You listened and cried when I spoke about my diagnosis for the very first time.
• You paid attention to our kids with extra encouragement and love.
• You worked as a team to keep our household going.
• You reacted with profanity when you first heard about my diagnosis.
• You took me to get my first pair of cowboy boots.
• From as far away as Minnesota, California, Pennsylvania, Oregon, Florida, Arizona, New York, Colorado, Alaska…England and Singapore, and as close as the room next door, you prayed and thought about me and us.
• You encouraged me to take drugs when I could not make the decision to do so myself.  AND you supported my decision NOT to take drugs the majority of the time.
• You sent cards, cards and more cards.
• You gave me angels.
• You sent $ in a card and encouraged us to get a take out pizza for a quiet night at home.
• You coordinated a community of food providers…for weeks and weeks and weeks and months.
• You made me a snowman.
• You made great food and delivered it to our door, putting it in our refrigerator when we were not even home.  Whole meals in a basket, treats by themselves. “Meals on Mondays”… food ordered out at places our kids LOVED, every Monday night after scouts.
• You showed up at our door from afar with a pot of chili and a really cozy life is good sweatshirt.
• You agreed to come over for a spontaneous head shaving.
• Every visit you’d end by asking “What else?”  You gave so generously of your time.
• You left fresh flowers in a mason jar at the bottom of our driveway.
• You offered my partner support of his very own.
• You gave me candles and lit some of your own.
• You found a tree for our katz to play, climb, sleep and scratch upon.
• You crafted and donated the above mentioned kat playground.
• You had flowers delivered specifically for our children.
• You hardly even knew me and you presented me with really warm slippers because your friend’s feet were cold after chemotherapy.
• You left Calvin and Hobbs comics in our mailbox for us each week.
• You gave me T-shirts with really meaningful images on them.
• You found ginger chews that I could actually STAND to eat which helped me when I was nauseous.
• You invited our children to get the heck out of Dodge for the afternoon, evening or weekend…skiing, meals, movies, sledding…
• You transported me and sat with me at chemotherapy treatments.
• You played your harp for me.
• You did Reiki when you felt I could use the energy exchange.
• You gave simple gifts representing hope and messages about how strong love makes us.
• Right before I went under anesthesia, you told me you’d take care of me, I can’t tell you how relieved I felt.
• You made the biggest lasagne we have ever seen.
• At every infusion you took such tender loving care of me.
• You took our car to the mechanic for us when it needed work and we couldn’t figure out how to get it there.
• You put entries in and you read the blog, so faithfully, and you offered comments full of love, encouragement and thought provoking questions.
• You worried that you were not doing enough.
• You were not afraid to call when the urge struck you.
• As my skin broke down from radiation you offered sincere compassion and, thankfully, a prescription for silvadeen.
• You visited me with your nursing expertise after surgery to make sure things were looking ok, watching me empty the drains, and helping us read the pathology reports.
• You shared jokes and laughter, hikes and slumber parties, massages and hugs.
• You sent a house cleaner to us every other week.
• You sat in silence with me.
• You supplied us with a whole bunch of natural cleaning products.
• As a woman-in-the-know and as a survivor of other cancers, you offered words of encouragement and advice, sharing experience, hope and strength.
• You helped me put the garden to bed in the fall when I had no energy.
• You sent us steak and yummy soup mixes in the mail.
• You gave me really nice lip balm and moisturizers.
• You offered to take a chemotherapy treatment for me .
• You snuck over to stack our wood until the whole pile was gone.
• You offered thoughts, love, prayers (I know I’ve said this already, but you were always there…)
• You made drawings and paintings for me.
• You made incredible bread for us.
• You spoke with your haircutter about wigs before I lost my hair.
• You told me you didn’t want me to die and shared a story of someone at your elementary school who died of cancer.
• You presented me with beautiful mugs and soothing teas.
• You held on tight.
• You reminded me to keep my eye on the ball.
• You called and checked in on us on Sundays while you were having your morning Joe.
• You were honest with me about reactions to surgery, and about how you didn’t know how to relate to my body.
• You helped me find a balance where cancer wasn’t the only thing we talked about.
• After my visit to the “fitta” you said: “I have to check you out now girlfriend, stand back so I can take a look at you.  I want to make sure you picked the right one!”
• You actually wanted to look at my incision and scar, and asked questions.
• You gave me scarves and beautiful hats, I thought of you whenever I wore them.
• You rubbed my head and my hair as it grew in…and still do.
• You had tea with me.
• I’m not even your mom and you sent me texts of love and support.
• At home you tolerated me, even when it may have been hard for you to see me in whatever condition.
• You snuggled with me and purred me to sleep with your paws on my arm.
• You responded in amazing ways to our Walk4Hope team, walking by my side, making donations with encouragement, rowdiness and whacky love.
• You designed our “SAVE SECOND BASE” t shirts.
• You made me a pair of beautiful earrings.
• You were not afraid to touch my scar.
• Before you died, you told me that you had no doubt that I would be ok.
• You took me for a walk in the woods, on the golf course, on your property, on the beach.
• You admitted that you stuck your head in the sand (good thing you kept your pants on or you’d have sun burn you-know-where).
• You shared your daughter’s homemade soup on your porch as we looked at visiting cranes in your field.
• You took me on a kayak excursion until I was too pooped to paddle.
• You raced down the ski hill with me as fast as we could go.
• You gave us a weekend in your beautiful ocean side cottage.
• You looked at my drawings and talked with me about them.  You shared your drawings with me.
• You gave me cool socks.
• You carried my load at work and completely supported whatever I needed to do.
• You dropped in.
• You found special talismans to help me center myself.
• You gave me reduced rates for my alternative treatments when it was a challenge to pay for everything.
• You made homemade pillows (tie dyed, even!) for my neck during chemotherapy and to put under my arms after surgery.
• You gave me a prayer shawl to keep me warm during infusions.
• You did not charge me for haircuts before or after chemotherapy.
• You made me a drawing of an angel.
• You rubbed my back until I fell asleep.
• You spoke to me about ‘getting things back’ after losing so much to treatments.
• You walked and walked and walked with me.
• You told me I had a nice skull when I was feeling particularly unattractive.
• You told me your reactions and encouraged me to talk about the rough times.
• You kept the cowgirl theme going.
• At the top of the mountain, you rubbed my stubby head with your mittens.
• You kept me warm when I could not make my own heat.
• You sat with me while I cried and laughed with me until we cried.
• You gave A and E your open heart and safe places to talk (or text) when they needed to…at school…at your house… with your parents…at the game…anywhere.
• You made a wish for me.
• You put one hand on the top of my head and an arm around me when I could not soothe myself.
• You understood that my body has emotional memory even where it has lost sensation.
• You kept your vows.
• You cut your beautiful hair off when I had none and I did not feel so alone.
• While I was going to sleep at night you’d snuggle up and take my hat off and put your hands on my head.  You told me that it was hard to see me without hair.
• You showed undying, tenacious, hard core unconditional love.
• You climbed upon your horses and rode by my side, a stampede, taking my reins when I could not wield them…corralling as much G.O. energy as the universe could stand.

Supporting someone or a family who is going through a significant event does not have to be complicated or costly.  The simple acts of kindness, the pure selflessness and the resulting experiences of humility, grace and connection generate amazing depth and profundity of thoughts and feelings.  The experience of receiving such kindness is the thing that we will all take from this.  Our children, especially, will never forget you.

My horse and I are well acquainted.  Sometimes I wonder if I was actually on a new horse at all?  Perhaps it was a new way of riding or a very different trail than I ever anticipated for myself or my family.  All I know is I’m here, 19 months after a breast cancer diagnosis.  Challenged to make my body less friendly to an invader, motivated to move forward, living every day to the best of my ability, in full awareness of the gifts that surround me.  Feeling so brightly blessed to have the connections that I do in my life.  Ever grateful for your love.   P