Dogs, Cancer, and Caregiving

 

It was just happenstance. I set out to put together a bibliography for readers of cozy mysteries (think Agatha Christie) that feature dogs. I did my research over two days' time, searching various sources to come up with a respectable list of canine characters in fiction. Once I had all my information in order, I posted it to my cozy mystery library site. And that's when it happened. Someone threw me a curve ball.

It came in the form of a request from an author of dog mysteries. She wanted me to include Susan J. Kroupa's Doodlebugged Mysteries on my bibliography. It sounded great until I checked out the books and saw they were listed as kiddie lit. I was doing an adult bibliography. How could I diplomatically navigate this conundrum without offending anyone? I decided my best bet was to do some research. Maybe I could start a "junior cozy mystery" list. Or I could come up with a respectful reason why I couldn't include it. I had to try to find a reasonable solution.

The funny thing was that I found a lot of adults loved the series and thought the books were well-written and amusing, with enough adult elements to make them work as cozies. They also thought the books were fun to share with kids and grandkids. But what does this have to do with cancer?

My research wasn't done yet. In addition to providing a list of books, I also like to help readers connect to authors whose books they may enjoy reading. That meant I had to find Susan's website. I flipped through a couple of her pages, looking at her books and bio. We had some things in common. We were both librarians at one point in our lives. We're writers, nature lovers, and dog fanatics. Then I clicked on her blog. And that's when I found it:

What Love Looks Like -- Susan J. Kroupa

I saw that photograph of her daughter, Sarah, holding a baby. Sweet-faced. Mother of five. Colon cancer stole her away just before Christmas.

My heart sank because it's a story I know too well. I still remember Michelle and her extraordinary battle to defeat the monster that is colon cancer. I still remember my amazing cancer friend's effort to pour as much living into her last year of life as was humanly possible. There were so many trips, so many photographs, so many things Michelle did with her family to remind them of her unending love before she left them. Here was another young mother with another amazing family.

But when Susan wrote about her daughter's battle with cancer and eventual death, she didn't write about the sorrow. She wrote about the love that their community shared with the whole family. She wrote about how people came together to support them in ways that I wish every cancer family could have. It's a wonderful testament to what we can and should do for those in our circles who are in need.

So I am sharing Susan's link with you now, not because she wrote extensively about what to do and how to do it, but because she managed, in a very short piece, to capture the spirit of generosity that really is the face of love. This is real giving at the heart level. People got it right at the right time. They stepped up to the plate. If we could bottle this and sell it, it would be a tonic that could soothe the most discomforted soul. It will never take away the pain of losing a daughter so young, but it obviously made a difficult and challenging time less so. This is inspiration for every cancer family. Don't give up, reach out. Ask for the right kind of help for your family, for yourself. Know what you can and can't do realistically and don't be afraid to say you need more help. Susan can tell you what happens when you recognize that need and people respond.

You never really know what lies beneath the cover of a book until you open it and read. Everyone has a story. I'm glad I was curious enough to learn more about an author and I'm glad to share this with you. Maybe someone else's life will be made better by the story of Susan's daughter because readers like you will see the possibilities and act. Don't be afraid to be the love.

How I Spent World Cancer Day

I admit it. I was doing other things than posting about World Cancer Day on February 4, 2016. I know I probably should have gotten out there and generated a lot of publicity for the event, but the truth is I was busy doing other things.

It's not that I didn't think about cancer. Cancer is never far from my mind, not with all the people I adore who are in various stages of treatment and disease management. To them, it's an everyday thing. Cancer is never far from their thoughts.

No, I spent World Cancer Day out of the loop. For me, it was much more important to find out how a friend's sibling was doing after a stem cell transplant. What had changed for him in the months since he underwent the grueling process? Was he finally getting back to doing what he wanted to do, live his life? Had there been drawbacks to the treatment? Had there been benefits? I listened to my friend talk about what was still difficult and what was now easier. The one thing that really stood out was the growing closeness between siblings as they bonded during the caregiving process.

But I also spent time thinking about another friend, a long-time cancer survivor who has spent years reaching out to everyone, using yoga to do it. In the years since we first met, she seems to have grown a heart as big as Cleveland, embracing people in arms that seem to stretch across the miles, welcoming the shy, the reluctant, the hesitant into her circle. That's a beautiful thing to see.

And I was glad to see another cancer friend, who has spent the last year in a fierce struggle to find the right treatment that would not only prolong her time on this earth, but also give her the quality of life she so rightly craves, engage in normal pursuits. No longer do all her FB posts now involve her disease. She is getting back to her passions, making beautiful music again and teaching students who will go out into the world and make it better.

But it's not necessarily the same for another friend, one whose breast cancer has spread. Instead of having the time and energy to reach out to all those other breast cancer survivors who count on her sage advice, she is spending her days at the cancer center and her nights recovering.

I also thought about the friend of a friend, a woman I know only from her very sweet, compassionate posts in a cancer circle. She's been so quiet lately. It's hard not to worry about her. Only last year, she was enthusiastically planning a flower garden.

And I thought about a recent loss, about someone I loved who was hit smack dab in the face with a diagnosis of pancreatic cancer. We thought we might have a few months with her. I had already begun to think of ways I might help her, what I could do to support her. Before I even had the chance to start, she was gone. We call that "dying from complications", but any way you look at it, it's cruel. We don't really get to say goodbye the way we wanted to, planned to, expected to, all because life was snatched away in the blink of an eye.

And that is always followed by the aftermath, the grieving period. On the one hand, you tell yourself, she could have spent months suffering. On the other hand, it was quick, merciful. We wish we had more time. We wish we could just rewind our lives for some extra moments to remember.

So, my apologies to all the entities who reached out to me to promote World Cancer Day. The truth is cancer was never out of my thoughts. I am grateful for the progress in cancer treatment that has helped some of my friends and relatives get back to the business of living. They are still here, still amazing me. But I wish that there was greater progress for all cancer patients. The current expectation that one out of three people will get cancer at some point in their lives is a frightening one. It means we all know someone with the disease. But there are also more than a hundred different types of cancer. We should always remember that not all cancer is the same. Some types are curable, some are well managed over time, and some come like thieves in the night and steal the lights that illuminate our lives, leaving us in darkness and sorrow.

But above all, when we think of cancer, we should never forget that people are not their disease. The next time you look at someone with cancer, remember to see beyond the ravages of the illness. Look into those eyes and see the soul. Get lost in that wonderful smile. Let the music of laughter set your heart on fire. Some people will survive their cancer, some will not. But as long as they are with us, there is life. Live it in spite of the cancer. Don't hold back. Don't be shy. Don't hesitate. Tomorrow is promised to no one. There are no guarantees. Be here now and recognize the good in every moment, but do it with a circle of like-minded people who know how precious life really is. Never take it for granted. Never assume there will be other opportunities to get around to saying the things that are in your heart, in your head. You never know when things might turn bad.

Then again, sometimes things turn good and because you lived in the moment and spoke the truth about what matters most to you, you are that much closer to being the person you want to be -- not defeated by cancer, not destroyed by cancer, but made whole by the wonderful people you have had the chance to meet on the road. And they are so much more than their disease. Cancer will never take that away from them, even if it takes them away from us.