Cancer Taught Me Not to Sweat the Small Stuff

It's been a tough couple of weeks for me. I was hit with some rather unsavory cyber stalking. My FB account's been repeatedly manipulated by some creep with too much time on his hands and no conscience to speak of. Some strange woman has decided to launch a very nasty Internet rally of her like-minded friends because I don't recognize her telepathic powers. (She's decided I'm some kind of menace to humanity and she's going to wage an epic battle to save the planet....) I've got bills to pay and things to do, but someone's always stepping into my path as I try to get there. And today, I received news that my beloved cousin passed away. No more sweet letters. No more cards with that familiar handwriting. No "one last time" to say I love you. Life is so fragile at times, so unexpectedly fraught with ugly surprises and uncertainty.

Last night I started the preparations for Thanksgiving dinner, even as I tried to meet a publishing deadline for a holiday novella. I'm so far behind in my housekeeping, the Dust Bunnies have their own zip code. I decided that rather than try to squeeze all my work into one day, I would multi-task and do what I could in the time frame I had. I got my turkey ready (I know it sounds odd, but I'm not really expecting a huge crowd and I have a little trick I like to do with the bird, the stuffing, and some gravy). I cooked my carrots, made the glaze, and then got busy with the broccoli with cheddar sauce. I even prepared my potatoes. And I did it even though the microwave conked out on me. That's right. My carousel popped a wheel. It's the harried cook's equivalent of a flat tire.

There was a time I probably would have thrown up my hands and walked away from the kitchen. I certainly did consider having a pity party for myself. After all, preparing the Thanksgiving meal is a lot of work for me and I have so many other things that need doing. But then my father mentioned my late mother and how she used to do Thanksgiving. His favorite thing? Helping her lift the big turkey out of the fridge, onto the counter, and then into the oven. We forget sometimes that it's the little things that matter most, those tiny moments when we have a place in the world.

That's part of why I cooked the turkey yesterday. I want my dad to be able to slice it with his carving set, to feel like he's a part of the effort. He misses my mother, no more so than at the holidays. The idea of rushing him, of being tense and crazy as I try to put dinner on the table, made me want to shuck that nonsense and concentrate on what really matters.

My life as a cancer caregiver taught me to multitask in ways I never thought possible, to focus on what has to get done and forget about what isn't really viable or necessary. I am, after all, just one person. I don't leap tall buildings in a single bound. I can't heal the sick with a wave of my hand. I wish I could, because I would use those powers to help the people who really make a difference in this world.

With all of my frustrations over the past few weeks, it's easy to get wrapped up in my own drama, to feel frustrated. But I sit here now on Thanksgiving knowing that my mother's cancer experience changed me as a human being. On this day, I do give thanks for the many blessings. For all the strange people who feel compelled to trip me on life's highway, there are so many more who have offered me a hand up, who have shared a kind word or thought, who have impressed me with their grace under fire. I have met many cancer survivors who have done incredible things with their lives as the result of their experiences with the disease. Would they have tried so hard or dug so deep without that cancer? Maybe not. Sometimes it's the hardships in life that define us as human beings.

I'm so glad that I didn't walk away from the cancer community after my mother died. I certainly could have. But those people who share with me are my teachers. They constantly remind me that tomorrow is promised to no one and we must take advantage of today. When I think of the young mother trying to boost her immune system so she can survive to see her kids grow up, when I think of the cancer survivor who shopped for a fancy pair of shoes for a cancer gala with such delight, when I think of each and every cancer widow and widower,and the children left behind, struggling to find the joy in the holiday without a beloved spouse or parent, I am reminded that I am blessed with more than I realize.

Cancer is a cruel disease. It can wreak havoc and ravage the beautiful landscape of the human body. But in those moments of choice, when we men, women and children stand on the precipice, looking down on what is right there in front of us, across at what is out of reach, and above at what we aspire to overcome, perspective is everything. Sometimes it's not what we expect to do that makes us amazing human beings. Many of us don't set out to be heroes. But every time we reach out to other human beings and push back at that darkness, we do more than just gain some ground in the fight against cancer. We come back stronger, wiser.

Cancer doesn't just affect the human body, it shapes the spirit. Fate hands us the circumstances of our lives, but destiny forces us to choose the path, even when we don't know the outcome. When we take charge of our own selves and how the world affects us, we are no longer victims -- we are survivors of the Great Lemon Wars, servers of the world's best lemonades, sweetened with our compassion and commitment to do right by those we love.

We forget that cancer survivors are sometimes the greatest givers of love. Even when a cancer patient can't do all the things he or she wants to do, the hand can reach out and touch another human being in need. For many cancer survivors, time becomes a tool for a purpose-driven life; they are thrust into the realization that "it's now or never!" Until that final breath, there is time for one more moment of joy.

When a disease like cancer robs people of options to achieve their dreams, it's easy to believe that there is nothing left to work for, to strive for, to hunger for; and yet, wise teachers that some cancer survivors are, there are those who show us that dreams can and do evolve when the spirit is determined to make the best of a bad situation. For every frustration, every failure, every fluke of nature, we can and should look for hope, for help, and most of all, for happiness.

To all of you cancer families out there, I wish you a bountiful Thanksgiving. Eat at the table, but don't forget to feed your soul. Believe in something bigger than this senseless disease. We have much to be thankful for on this day. It's not about a boatload of people who stumbled onto the shores of Plymouth Rock and sat down to share a meal with the Native Americans they met. It's about life and the people we treasure. Without them, our world is a lonelier, colder, darker place. Long after they are gone from this earth, they still remain with us, We will treasure this day and what we make of it, so go have some fun today. Don't sweat the small stuff. Hug and be hugged. Laugh. Share. Even if it means shifting your path for just a moment, make one person happier today. Life is for the living, but it's also for the loving. We have this moment in time, so savor it. God bless you.

Would Real-Life Cancer Survivor Michelle Make a Great Character in a Novel?

I first met Michelle Hastings at the Cancer Treatment Centers of America facility in Goodyear, Arizona almost a year ago. I was sitting at a table in the conference room when in blew this vision in wildly colored, spiked hair, looking like a rock star. A generation younger, with a very positive energy, she bustled around with the confident air of a regular visitor to the hospital. That's because she is.

Back in 2008, Michelle found out she had colon cancer, but she was determined to beat it. She wrote about her journey in her blog; once known as Michelle Will Win, it has transitioned to Mission: Remission. (It's a great resource for anyone facing a tough cancer battle of any kind. Her spirit, her energy is uplifting and inspiring. Check it out.)

When you look at Michelle's definition of herself, you'll see this: wife, mother, daughter, sister, friend. She doesn't talk about her career as an astronaut on the last space shuttle or her amazing stint as a famous movie star in Hollywood. She never mentions anything about winning the Miss Fabulous beauty contest or how she learned to conquer her fear of octopuses by scuba diving to 1000 meters without a spear gun. Oh, no. That's because Michelle is a people person. It's all about connections. It's all about love, life, and loving life.

If you stuck her in an isolation tank, you would break her heart, not to mention the hearts of all those people who love her. That's because Michelle embodies the very essence of humanity -- the ability to connect with other people in a way that leaves you feeling like the world is a better place because she's in it.

As a mystery writer, over the last few months, I've toyed with the idea of creating a new series, wondering if I could ever invent a character with her joie de vivre, her tenacity, and her single-mindedness to overcome adversity. Is it even possible? What kind of storyline would I write? And what would that character be like?

I can tell you this much. It would be a "cozy mystery", without gruesome, bloodsucking beasts or insidious villains who practice unspeakable cruelty. It would be the perfect story to read while curled up in front of the fireplace on a rainy night with a cup of hot cocoa, because that's the kind of person she is. Michelle was so happy the other day when the Christmas lights went up and she could revel in their twinkling glory. She even remarked that most people would think it was too soon to start decorating, but she didn't care. She was going for it. This young woman knows too well that you must seize the moment when it presents itself. She does not procrastinate when it comes to embracing fun. She grabs it with both hands and holds on tight.

And as far as the action part of my tale, it would have to be a good match for Michelle's vibrant persona to be believable. I'd give my heroine a warm, supportive family for her crime-solving activities, a fun cast of characters, and more than one wacky sidekick. Maybe I would send her off to Disneyland, and have her discover a lost child in the crowd. Michelle is the kind of woman who would recognize that "deer in the headlights" look from a frightened youngster in a crowd. She is, after all, a mother. I could have her search for the missing adult, letting the story take a thrilling, twisting trajectory, but with a happy ending, because that is what Michelle constantly seeks in life.

Or maybe I would send her fictional alter ego on a vacation to a dude ranch, and while on a trail ride, let her stumble upon an abandoned horse in the middle of nowhere. She could track down and rescue the rider. Michelle could certainly hold her own out in the Wild West. After all, she's been battling cancer all these years. Why, I bet she could scare the rattle off a sidewinder with just a look and some of her fierce determination.

Then again, with her work as a cancer advocate, maybe I could create a mystery in a hospital, with a patient who is too overwhelmed to reconnect with family. Michelle's character could reach out to all her social media contacts and help a patient reunite with a lost family member, someone who slipped away decades before, and they could come together when it matters most. It would have to be a heartwarming tale, because that's the epitome of the real Michelle, overcoming adversity with gumption and guts. Perspective is half the battle when it comes to conquering cancer. You might not beat the disease, but you can beat the hold its terror has on you, and when you do that, another door opens, or another window, and you're off on your next adventure in Cancer Land, finding those hidden moments of beauty, those tender minutes when the universe seems to stop spinning out of control and life, in that brief few seconds, all makes sense. We are here to love, to laugh, to share with one another, and nothing else really matters except what passes between united hearts.

As you can see, an inspirational character can drive a storyline in all kinds of wonderful directions for an author. A wise writer lets the heroine go her own way, in her own style. In Michelle's case, her fictional counterpart would have all of her amazing qualities to lead her down the path to adventure, and she would take her ever-widening circle of family and friends, her "peeps", along with her. They are so much a part of her that I can see them having a hand in solving the "cozy mystery".

Oddly enough, in my vision for this mystery series, I wouldn't want to bump off lots of victims, leaving a trail of dead bodies strewn across Arizona, California, Colorado, or anywhere else I sent her. I'd pack the stories with lots of frights, and maybe a few bang-ups, chills, and spills, but my fictional heroine would be about saving lives, not taking them. Michelle is, after all, a healer. She's not here to destroy the world; she's here to save it. The fictional Michelle would want to do the same.

But there's only one problem with the idea of creating a heroine based on a real woman for a new mystery series. How can my character ever hope to compete with the real thing? She would be forever a poor substitute for Michelle Hastings. That's because I never really know what I will find when I see she's added a post on her Facebook page. It could be just about anything. One day, it might be that things are going great for her. Another day, it might be that her blood work is absolutely dismal. Michelle is a very real cancer survivor, struggling with managing the disease. She's allowed people like me a glimpse into her visit to Cancer Park, where she sometimes gets to ride the Ferris Wheel and take in the pretty vista, and other times, goes into the House of Horrors, where the floor slips out from under her as she tries to navigate the dark and scary maze that is cancer. The hardest thing to watch is when she climbs into a car on the roller coaster and it leaves the platform. I never really know if she's coming back in one piece. But as scary as it is for someone like me, that's nothing compared to the whirlwind emotions that Michelle and those with her on that ride must experience.

And yet, I am still tempted to create a series with such a heroine. The truth is the world needs people like Michelle -- to teach us what really matters about life, about living. We need to know that our circumstances aren't always very fair, but that shouldn't stop us from pushing back, from striving to be more tomorrow than what we are today. Could I create a cancer character that would move readers to embrace the good in life? I probably could, if I stick to the heart of what makes the real Michelle tick. She's been a great teacher to many, a winner several times over, even through her toughest battles. That's because she's Michelle, one-of-a-kind and unique. I'm glad I had the chance to meet her in Arizona, all those months ago, but I'm delighted that I had the great wisdom and curiosity to listen to this voice of courage.

What Do Cancer Patients Need for a Happy Thanksgiving?

Oh, I'll bet you're expecting me to tell you all about how to teach your loved one with cancer to appreciate being alive at Thanksgiving, how to embrace the mood, the moment, the celebration. After all, we gather to give thanks for what we have, as extended families bring green bean casseroles and pumpkin pies in Pyrex and Tupperware. What could be a bigger downer than having a loved one with cancer at Thanksgiving? I'll tell you. It's having a loved one who is disrespected at Thanksgiving.

That's right. Disrespected. Flat out disrespected.

How can I even suggest that, when everyone is trying so hard to be inclusive of someone who's struggling with survival? I'll tell you how. That's because I've witnessed it more than once. (I've also heard it from a number of cancer survivors, how the family dynamics change.) The loved one with cancer becomes overwhelmed, physically and emotionally, trying to keep up with the party, and suddenly it's an up-in-your-face reminder that you're dining with the Big C.

The trouble is that healthy folks, who may not have any insights into how cancer takes its toll, are still in B. C. mode (that's "before cancer" for those of you who are new to the game.) They often like to eat themselves silly with all of the classic Thanksgiving Day staples, like cheddar broccoli and stuffing with sausage. They can't wait to get their hands on the drumsticks, the dinner rolls, and especially the desserts. Nothing is going to stop them from partaking in all the food and fun. They're on a mission, a Thanksgiving Day mission.

Meanwhile, your loved one may be struggling with some very real physical and emotional issues that need addressing. Now that cancer has rocked your loved one's world, it's time to adapt to the reality of those changes.

Does that sound complicated? Do yourself a favor and don't over-think it. Concentrate on two things. Food and rest. It's really that simple.

For a cancer patient, especially one still undergoing chemotherapy, the holidays can be exhausting in many ways you have probably never experienced. Here are some important questions to answer:

1. What time of day does your loved one have the most energy?
2. What time of day does your loved one have the least energy?
3. What time of day is your loved one best able to enjoy a meal?
4. Will your loved one's chemo fatigue kick in, and will he/she need to take a break?

Bottom line? It's just possible that your loved one just doesn't have the stamina to endure the Thanksgiving Day celebration. Are you hosting or are you visiting? If you're hosting, it's fairly easy for your loved one to slip away and lie down when he/she is tired. But if you're visiting, you'll need to speak to the hosts ahead of your arrival. Ask if there is a quiet room where your loved one can rest, should the need arise. Sometimes just lying down for an hour or so can keep a loved one at the party.

Some cancer patients make special arrangements for chemo treatment to accommodate the holiday, so that they don't "crash and burn" on Thanksgiving. They talk to their oncology team early and discuss strategies to cope with this issue. Encourage your loved one to do this and sit in on the discussion, so you understand what's going on in chemo treatment.

Remember to err on the side of caution if your loved one's immune system is conked out. Better safe than sorry, especially during flu season. Hand washing by guests is critical. Avoid kissing and hugging. If the risk of infection is too high, consider staying home and having a video chat with those near and dear.

If you and your loved one have a long drive to make, be sure to bring along a pillow and a lap blanket, so your loved one can get comfortable. Consider the drive to be "rest time" and make it relaxing for him/her.

When it comes to the Thanksgiving meal, know what your loved one is able to tolerate. Many cancer patients can't eat certain foods. If you're hosting or you have a good relationship with the hosts, work on a menu that will please the turkey traditionalists, but will also provide foods your loved one can and will eat.

Very often, families aren't aware that cancer patients find eating to be an exhausting process. Chewing will actually tire them out. The nutrition team at your loved one's cancer center can help you plan a banquet that includes foods that will provide the necessary calories and be easily digested. They often have all kinds of tricks for adapting foods to make them even better. Not every cancer patient is going to have the same diet. Different chemo drugs and different types of cancer create different dietary needs. If your loved one is experiencing diarrhea, for example, greasy foods may exacerbate that situation and cause distress. That's why it's important to sit down with a cancer nutrition expert and understand how best to meet your loved one's specific dietary issues. Consider it part of the medical treatment plan.

Got a good recipe for butternut squash soup that you know your loved one enjoys eating? Serve it as part of the family meal, so your loved one won't feel singled out for special treatment. Will there be appetizers before dinner? Cancer patients sometimes do better when they nibble than when they sit down for a huge meal. In this case, he/she won't "ruin" his/her appetite. Don't draw a lot of attention to your loved one's eating. With healthy, digestible food choices present, your loved one can eat as he/she sees fit.

Understand that chemotherapy can change how foods are digested. It can also change how they taste to your loved one, and that can and will affect appetite. This is usually a temporary thing. Some cancer patients who love dairy develop lactose intolerance, much to their dismay. Some patients can't digest raw vegetables, so cooking them can make a difference. Some fruits go down easier than others. Very often, the recommendation from nutritionists is to puree foods, to make them easier for cancer patients to eat. Smoothies don't require chewing and they're usually quite soothing to sip. (Have I convinced you yet to talk to the cancer center's nutrition team yet? I hope so. They're more than willing to help you feed your loved one.)

Remember to leave the food police at the door when guests arrive for the Thanksgiving celebration. No one should be commenting on your loved one's food intake, insisting he/she eat this or skip that. Sometimes a spoonful of sugar, in the form of human compassion, is the best medicine to go down. If you and your loved one know ahead of time what foods will work and what will not, there's no need to explain or defend yourselves. Just smile and say, "Thank you for your concern, but we're following doctor's orders."

With all this talk about food and fatigue for cancer patients, I don't want to neglect a very delicate subject. Holidays can bring out the worst in some people. Tensions run high with elevated expectations of "instant happiness". Some families bicker. Some families think there are only certain ways of doing things. A cancer patient's needs can and should come first. Work around them. Adjust the celebration to accommodate your loved one at that moment in time. If that means you eat an hour or two earlier or later, so be it.

What do you say if a family member balks? You say this: "I know we normally do things that way, but this year, we're going to do it this way. And I'm sure when our loved one is back on his/her feet, we'll go right back to doing it the way we've always done it." Treat any changes in holiday traditions as temporary, because they usually are. When families know that you're not throwing out the time-honored traditions permanently, you'll often find greater cooperation and willingness to sacrifice.

Most of all, when you all sit down and look across the table at each other, focus on why it's so good to be there. Appreciate the family for the people in it. Take the time to laugh, to share stories, to toast another year of life for all of you. You have this time, this moment to share. Make memories.

A Mother Faces Her Grief

I was out to dinner last weekend, enjoying myself thoroughly. As is my usual custom, I did a little people-watching. The restaurant was busy, especially after a flood of patrons arrived for a party in one of the private dining rooms. There were chattering children and cheeerful adults...lots of smiling faces. Was it a birthday party, or perhaps an anniversary celebration? I couldn't guess, but it was obvious from all the hugging that these people were close.

After finishing my coffee, I excused myself to use the ladies room. A long line of women and children greeted me at the door. They quickly rushed me in because they were only conversing there. Once inside, I found an empty stall, and that's when the conversation began. A voice on the other side of the stall made a comment. I answered back. As someone who loves parties, I mentioned they seemed to be having fun. "Do you know why we're all here?" asked an unseen woman. "My son died September 30th."

My heart sunk as I heard those words. In a million years, I never would have thought that the people enjoying their gathering in the private dining room were in mourning. "I'm so sorry," I quickly said. "That's so hard."

"My son was an artist," the proud mother told me. "But he never really made any money at it." I assured her I know all about that, since I'm an artist, too. We emerged from our respective stalls and continued our conversation as we stood at the sinks. Her son had lung cancer. So did my mother. "Small cell," she confided to me. I knew what she was talking about. "That's tough. My mom had non-small cell," I replied.

I looked down at this tiny sprite of a lady -- she barely came up to my shoulders, but in her I saw a tower of strength. She had endured the pain, the grief, by reaching out. And in that moment, we were connected as part of the extended cancer family. She needed to tell me about her son, and I wanted to listen.

Stephen's struggle was over in less than a year. There wasn't much that doctors could do for him. She wished it had been an easier journey. I understood exactly what she was saying. We never seem to have enough of the right medicine for someone whose cancer has advanced beyond repair. There is no magic left to conjure up. How hard it must have been for this mother to watch her son fade away -- this child she gave birth to, nurtured, and even relied upon. Stephen was only 53.

Was there comfort in the sharing? I'd like to think so. As I learned the details of what made Stephen who he was as a man, I found we had much in common. And as I learned the details of what he endured, I connected the dots to my mother's cancer care. One of the first things she wanted to know about my mother's lung cancer was this. "Did she smoke?" I gave the answer that I came to appreciate more and more over time, with every asking by doctors, nurses, and others who "needed to know". Yes, but lung cancer runs in my mother's family, I told her. Not everyone who got it was a smoker. "Yes!" she cried.

In that one emotion-filled word, I understood her sense of relief. Not every smoker gets lung cancer. And not every lung cancer patient ever smoked. We are sometimes too quick to assume that patients cause their own cancers and judge them as they slide towards death. Clearly there had been much passing of the "guilty" verdict in her son's case. He must have brought it all upon himself. What other explanation is there?

I was saddened by this thought. No mother should have to feel she must defend her dying son when there is already no hope for a cure. This is here. This is now. Leave the past behind. Let go of the need to be a medical historian. Cancer is what it is, and at the end of life, do we really need reminding of cause-and-effect, or do we need to embrace life, even in its last few breaths?

That's why I wanted to hear more of Stephen's life, of the positive things he did, of what he liked to do, of the people who cared about him. His mother began to list all of the unexpected visitors at his funeral. She was stunned that the secretary of the oncology department came, but I thought that spoke volumes about her son as a man. "He clearly touched a lot of people," I told her. She nodded. As I stood there, taking in all the details, I thought about so many things. Stephen must have had a lot of his mother in him. Her generous and kind spirit guided him, encouraged him, wanted the best for him.

I thought about the months to come, as the holidays approach, when we most miss those who have left us. It's so critical to remember the positive, to embrace the good times of the past, and to forgive the human frailties that make us stumble and fall. None of us is ever perfect. We can only do the best we can with what we've got. We can only get up each morning and start fresh.

As we left the ladies room, we paused a moment, and I felt her hand slip around my waist in a hug. She could go back to the party again, be with family, and know that Stephen was still with her in spirit. A perfect stranger understood what mattered most to her about her son. She slipped his mass card into my hand, that one final gesture of sharing. I took it and tucked it into my purse. I didn't want to lose it. I am already connected to Stephen because he was a talented artist, loved the frog statues on the bridge that spans the Willimantic River in "Thread City", and had lung cancer. But now I am also connected to his mother, the woman who misses him dearly and just wants the world to focus on what was good and decent about her son.

I share this story on her behalf. The next time you meet someone from the extended cancer family, don't turn away. Cancer has brought us together to remind us we are all here too briefly. Though the light may seem to dim now and again, and the memories begin to hide away in the darker recesses of our minds as we try to cope with our loss, it only takes a moment to bring it all back. Who was that glorious shining soul who was so well loved by family and friends, that source of joyful laughter and random acts of kindness? He was here and he left his footprints behind as he left this world. He will not be forgotten.