Brave

            Yesterday, my brother sent me his medal that he received during Operation Desert Storm—a Bronze Star with Valor. He carefully painted the star and the V for valor pink, stuck it in an envelope, and wrote the following. 

Pam—

I figured with all you have been through, you deserve this more than I. They pinned this on me post Desert Storm (less the pink of course).

Love ya

Little Bro

          

I thought at first that all Bronze Stars come in pink—part of the “don’t ask don’t tell” program—then erased the thought. I wondered what the medal could be for as I had done nothing remarkable in an awfully long time. Finally, I made the assumption that it was for the long five year battle to keep my husband alive. Still the medal was over the top of my deeds but I was thrilled to have my brother’s honor symbolically in my hand. After a search of the places to display the gift, I hung it in my office next to the computer and then called Steve.

            “So do all Bronze Medals come in nipple pink?”

            “No, you knucklehead. I painted it pink.”

            “I thought of wearing it to work but it might be a bit much don’t you think?”

            “Wear it on the right breast.”

            “What?”

            “The one that had cancer.”

            “Oh, pink for breast cancer.”

            “You are a little slow.”

            “Then I should hang it off of the left breast.”

            “Right.”

            “Left.”

            “Correct…knucklehead.”

            Now I felt more unworthy. I don’t consider self preservation brave—not in an adult anyway. A child going through a battle with cancer is courageous as they do not understand what is in front of them or the possible outcomes.

I did. I had two real choices: 1. Move forward with the treatments or 2. Die. Before I told a soul about my diagnosis, I did think about it for a couple weeks before I made the decision. Once done, the pain and misery of the treatments were accepted for what they were—means to an end. My brother thought my cancer worthy of an award. Bless him for thinking me brave and not pragmatic.

Bravery to me is the sacrifice of one’s life and liberty for the betterment or safety of someone else. My brother saved his platoon. The roadway in front of his patrol was covered with landmines. Flat discs decorated the sandy path. It was certain death for all if their vehicle drove over the devices. My insane brother hopped out of the truck, ran in front of the vehicle and picked up the landmine. He then tossed the thing like a Frisbee away from his men and watched it explode a safe distance away. Steve ran to the next while under enemy fire and continued tossing bombs until the road was clear and his people were safe. That was an act of courageousness.

Those who dedicate themselves as a caretaker to improve the quality of life for another can also be an act of bravery. I know because it takes a conscious decision every day to put aside your own wants and needs then dedicate that time to another person. It’s a slow march instead of a mad run to save another.

Statistically, the caretakers have a high probability of their own bodies deteriorating under the stress. Most caretakers do these things with no compensation and often little emotional support. The majority fall ill after the loss of their charge.

Neither cancer or caretaking manifest the same bravery as the Frisbee flinging Green Bret, Steve G. Pimental. Honored by his gift, I thanked my brother for saving others, loving me, and painting the Bronze Star pink. To quote a great philosopher of the Twentieth Century, “I am not worthy. I am not worthy.”

Thanks Little Bro 

The C-word

Someone I care about has been diagnosed with breast cancer…again. I sent her a note a couple days ago hoping it would help. She indicated it did, a bit. It is hard for anyone to address the C-word with someone they love.

At times friends have asked me what to say in that situation. The answer is not forthcoming because everyone reacts differently to life-threatening illnesses. Having said that, this is some of what I wrote to my friend:

The scary part is not the mastectomy surgery but the not knowing what the results could be. Good news the doctors don't know either. That means it is where it always has been...in God's hands. 

You are suffering from the past stress you endured.  But it can get better. Your cancer center will have a nutritionist that has read and understands the principles in "The China Study" and "The Cure" and other books that will help you with good food and rest.

 Having been through just a bit of your tribulations, might I suggest a few possible ways to make it better.

1. Avoid talking about the C-word unless you are talking to your husband, doctors, or God. When you talk about cancer, people will tell you the most horrible stories about this friend dying or a surgery gone wrong. For every bad news story, there are five or more good news stories. Unfortunately we Americans have been trained by the media to speak the negative. You should only listen to the positive from well meaning friends and family. Walk away from the rest.

2. Get joke books, comedy tapes, videos of puppies, and fun movies--laugh as often as you can.  Laughter is the best medicine.

3. Hug the stuffing out of grand-kids, kids, hubby, and friends. Hugs fix blood pressure and stress better than any pills.

4. Knowing that if you are satisfied with your life—blessed with those you love—each day will get better no matter what the clinical statements may be.

5. MOST IMPORTANT It is okay to be mad, angry, depressed, weepy, grumpy, difficult, or unresponsive. This is your body and your reaction. So yell, scream, cry, beat your pillow, and pout if you want. But remember your smile will melt those around you—even strangers—into loving support every time.

God bless you and everyone in your world. I pray for the best possible life for you and your family.

Last Weekend

Spectacular weekend. No I didn't do anything special. I did however get my list of weekend chores completed. Things like—filling the bird feeder, polishing shoes, sealing the tile in the shower—that kind of stuff.  I finished grocery shopping, went to church, had dinner with Mom, watch a recorded show, and found time to write.

  Sounds ordinary. It was. Ordinary is new for me. Not since chemotherapy started, over a year ago, have I had the kind of weekend described above. Two weeks before, I went to Apple Hill on Saturday and then became too sick on Sunday to go anywhere. In September, I scheduled twenty minute naps throughout the day just to function. Six months prior, I did not function. I worked and slept, occasionally eating.

Today, I am almost, but not completely, normal. Well normal for me. The result is a small feeling of—dare I say—happiness. To me I have had a profound revelation that my happiness is tied into how many active hours of life that I can squeeze into a day. So many years I have believed that the feeling of blessedness related to my attitude, other people, events, things, and the weather.

It is no surprise to anyone that knows me that I am a miserable and obnoxious sick person.  Those of you that can rise above a devastating illness and wear a smile, I salute you. I expect more out of breathing in and out. I expect a strong healthy body. When I lost my strength, my health, and cognitive capabilities, I nearly did not fight the good fight.

I am thankful I am finding me again.

Today's Menu

Of course I’m on a diet. I’m an American woman. After a long spell of comfort food to offset the trauma of chemotherapy and to humor my collection of cancer specific medical providers, I am trying to get back to my raw vegan diet. This diet is also recommended by the post-cancer nutritionist. My cancer, though stress created, finds its roots in our SAD Standard America Diet—full of animal proteins—the link to breast cancer in the USA. 

I’m not having much luck sticking with the diet as I no longer have my husband as my reason, inspiration, or life coach. The chance of not getting cancer again by sticking with the diet, does not seem to motive me. It should but doesn't.  I am sporadic at best, trending toward fits of chocolate and French fries. Not really off the diet but not getting the weight off.

So here is today’s transgressions:

Breakfast: Coffee with Agave nectar and almond milk.

Church Social: Prunes, 3 Ritz crackers, Decaf with milk

Lunch: Jack-in-the-Box Southwest Chicken Salad—NO Croutons and the chicken went to Dex my dog.

Snack: Figs I picked up off the ground at Church, a tomato, a plum

Dinner: Homemade sprouted bean soup, soy bean crackers, an apple

            Actually that doesn't look so bad. I did eat 3 cups of bean soup when one would have done.  Notice the milk and coffee are still sneaking into the diet. Both have got to go. 

Oh I just remembered the French fries with ketchup.  Here I was feeling pretty proud of myself.