And God said "GET UP!"

I bet none of my friends knew I died.  It happened about two years ago and this imposter has been keeping up appearances – mowing my yard and posting on my blog sporatically to make people think I was doing well.

Well, I wasn’t.  I was a total fraud, only pretending to be alive.  I’d been diagnosed with stage 4 cancer several years ago and had  just been sitting around waiting on my ride to a better place.  In truth I had already died and was stinking up the place.

How would you feel if you’d been run over by a two ton truck of guilt, shame and a bad case of PP (people pleasing)? It was all to the detriment of what I really wanted to be doing with my pitiful life.  And time was running out. Frankly, all that anxiety and chronic regurgitation of old failures and disappointments was probably what made me sick in the first place.

Someone (one of the few I still talk to) woke me up this morning with a bucket of ice water;  Or maybe I wet the bed, I’m  not sure.   But there floating up on the ceiling amongst the collecting dust and cobwebs was God.  And listen, He was steamed.  He told me to snap out of it because He doesn’t want me up there poisoning His heaven with my turgid attitude and pernicious lifestyle.

He was right. I had just up and quit living and didn’t even like my own company.  I buried my cell phone in the bottom of my laundry basket each morning and checked it once a day, rarely returning calls. I moved my favorite chair into a space at the back of my house where no human ever goes and didn’t answer the door while watching season after season of Netflix.  May I also say that Netflix is a poor excuse for living?

Margaret Ann called me once a day and yelled “Where are You? I’m worried about you.”  I couldn’t rustle up the energy to dial her back.

Then I got this message which mysteriously appeared in an email.  It was addressed to the woman “who was the first to  get naked, howl at the moon and jump into the sea.” (Something I have never done but always wanted to.) 

Wait. There was more. lots more.

This is for the woman who seeks relentless joy; knows how to laugh with her whole soul; the woman who speaks to strangers because she has no fear in her heart.  For the woman who drinks coffee at midnight and wine in the morning. and dares you to question it… who doesn’t waste time following society’s pressures to exist behind a white picket fence.  The woman who creates wildly, unbalanced blog posts surrounded by a ferocious fog most of the time. This – is for you.” 

I must tell you the above was loosely translated from a poem by Janne Robinson.  How it got to me I’ll never know, but I think I saw God give me a little wink.  I can’t be sure.  I challenge anyone facing health problems to stand tall and begin to do all those things you love to do and were too afraid to do because of your conventional narrow minded attitudes.

After writing the above in my journal, it was still dark enough outside to go out and howl at the moon. I went out on the porch wearing only a towel and squeeked out a wee little breathy howl.  It wasn’t much but it was a start.

—A guest post by Emily Jones
See more of Emily's writings at thedeludeddiva.com

Marianne Williamson talks to Anne about why we get cancer

As a 3x cancer veteran, I hate being lectured by new age fans who preach that we “give ourselves” cancer. Whole Life Times gave me the chance to raise this issue with Marianne Williamson, one of the most respected leaders of new age thought.  I think you’ll be fascinated by what Marianne says on the cancer experience — including her advice on what to tell people who try to impose their opinions on you.  Enjoy, share, and comment....  We want to hear from you!

READ THE WHOLE STORY at http://www.wholelifetimes.com/7388/why-we-get-cancer/

READ THE WHOLE STORY at http://www.wholelifetimes.com/7388/why-we-get-cancer/

The Courage to Be Seen, Part 2

Hey my people,

Here's the second unbelievably cool cancer-fighting viral video I told you about:  "Molly's P.INK Tattoo," which came to me from upworthy.com. Click to meet Molly Ortwein, founder of P.INK.org, (P.INK as in "Personal Ink"). After her double mastectomy, Molly elected to adorn her reconstructed breasts with tattoos. Colby Butler, of Unfamous Tattoo in Miami, did the inking on two gorgeous representations of Brazilian pernambuco blossoms, reflecting Molly's love of all things Brazil.  

This story so far is lovely but not groundbreaking, right? Okay, here's the groundbreaking part. Molly has gone on to found P.INK.org -- a nexus that pairs women who want to answer cancer with tattoos with tattoo artists willing to offer their time and talent to help. I hope you'll check out the P.INK Pinterest page. Maybe recommend this idea to somebody you love. 

Brave women like Molly Ortwein and (previous post) Deborah Cohen are confirming what we all instinctively know: This is a momentous time in the wide world of cancer. The big C is losing its power to make us hide and talk in whispers. We're fighting cancer, and we're willing to be seen fighting cancer.

There's a fierceness cancer gives us, and although I bleeping hate the cancer, I love the fierceness. 

Molly is a perfect example. She may cry here and there during this video, but she's not remotely embarrassed about that. She's planning to work those tattoos, honey.  Talking about plans for her next trip to Brazil, she says with a grin: "I am so looking forward to marching my ass around the beach with no top on."

The Courage to Be Seen, Part 1

Hey my people,

You know what? We are fighting back against the soul-killing after-effects of cancer, and we are being seen fighting back. I'm thinking about two viral videos I saw today. Both make me cry, not with sorrow, but with joy.

First came the most delightful, not to mention funky, homemade dance video, staged in the OR to Beyonce's "Get Me Bodied" by an awesome woman named Deborah Cohen and the medical team about to perform her double mastectomy. She termed it a Flash Mob and invited funky souls everywhere to join in. Here's how it went down.

Just five days after her surgery, Deborah's video has been viewed more than 6 million times on YouTube.  Nearly 200,000 people have visited her CaringBridge page, and many have responded to her request to film their own "Get Me Bodied" videos and email them to her. "I picture a healing montage," she writes. "Are you with me?"

You damn betcha!

Breaking Bad: Cancer's Anger Man Checks Out

Hey my people,

Walter White has gone to that great infusion center in the sky, and I hope he's telling them to stick their needles where the pearly gates don't shine.  That's what I'll miss most about Breaking Bad:  Walter = WORST CANCER PATIENT EVER.

When I first quaked my way into an oncologist's office, I noticed an extravagent floral arrangement on the receptionist's counter.  "Pretty," I said to the nurse who came out to give me my prep instructions for abdominal surgery.  

"Oh yes," she said, "A patient sent that.  You wouldn't believe what they give us.  Chocolates, flowers, all kinds of beautiful stuff.  They want us to like them." 

Bribes, I thought. Sacrifices to propitiate the dark god Cancer and find favor with its priests.  Little extras to say, Let me be the miracle. Save me me me.  I'll never stoop to that, I thought.

Ha. You sit in a cancer center waiting room, you look around at all the other cases, you picture thousands of lab results, nothing but rows of numbers to recall your face to a doctor.  How do they not confuse you with a million other people? And if they lose track, will you live through it? Think about all that, and you'll be ready to prance around naked with a flaming baton, just to boost your brand.

To this day I find myself thinking of what funny story to tell my doctor in the exam room.  Not too long; I don't want to see that "Cut to the chase" look in his eyes.  Not too downbeat, too complicated, too clingy, too scared. I realize that I'm hoping, however ridiculously, that being a model patient will make the cancer behave.

Walter White, on the other hand, is a chemist in the land of chemo. It never occurs to him to make peace with cancer.  He's mad as hell and there's a whole raft of stuff he's not going to take anymore.  He said it to his brother-in-law, DEA agent Hank, way back in Season Two:

Walter: I have spent my whole life scared – frightened of things that could happen, might happen, might not happen. Fifty years I spent like that. Finding myself awake at three in the morning. But you know what? Ever since my diagnosis, I sleep just fine.

Hank: Hmmm...okay.

Walter: What I came to realize is that fear, that's the worst of it. That's the real enemy. So, get up, get out in the real world and you kick that bastard as hard as you can right in the teeth.

When I get my Heisenberg on, it's about sneaking into an afternoon movie, not cooking blue meth.  As angry as I am sometimes, I know I won't be jumping off on a cancer-fueled crime spree.  That's why I'll miss you, Walt.  I'm so happy one of us in Cancerville broke bad.

Laugh-Riot Grrrls to the Rescue

"What's the funniest thing that happened to you this week?"

That’s the way most conversations begin for a group of my high school friends who get together at least once a month for some laughter therapy.  We don’t really plan it as “medicinal,” but the feeling of total relaxation after we whoop it up for an afternoon is a testament to the stress-reducing properties of laughter.

We guffaw in the most unladylike manner as we recall our friend who accidentally swallowed her hearing aid battery instead of her osteoporosis pill. We collapse onto the floor laughing about another friend who grabbed a jacket out of his garage to attend a fancy cocktail party.  At the party someone asked if he knew he had a dirt dauber nest hanging on his sleeve.

That same friend accidentally maced himself while driving a borrowed car.  He thought the innocuous little can on the passenger seat was breath spray. (Ha, Ha, giggle, snort.)  

Then there’s the classmate who accidentally dropped a contact lens into the potato salad at a church picnic.  It never was recovered.  

Let’s face it, life can be pretty funny. These stories are valuable little gems we carry in our memories to be pulled up when the world crowds in on us or you get a bad CT scan. 

American journalist Norman Cousins came down with a fatal illness and was given one month to live.  He checked out of the hospital and into a hotel where he treated himself with megadoses of Vitamin C, chased with hours of laughter induced by old Marx Brothers films. 

"I made the joyous discovery that ten minutes of genuine belly laughter had a healing anesthetic effect and would give me at least two hours of pain-free sleep," reported Cousins. Long story short, he went on to live for 26 more years.

Laughter is that delicious sound that occurs involuntarily and bubbles from deep in your soul. It can sometimes leave you breathless and in tears.  I wish someone would package it.

Look, we have split the atom to the nth degree, put men on the moon and mapped our DNA, but no one has figured out how to give us laughter on demand.  Personally, I always get a kick out of America’s Funniest Videos.  With Rebel and Lucky Dawg at my side we laugh hysterically  – even Rebel, who is a bulldog with a perpetual scowl.

We especially love the clips involving pets, small children and people falling down at their weddings.  Ha ha ha, cares forgotten. 

Be forewarned, laughter is highly contagious and may add years to your life.  I guess that makes my friends and me about 125 by now. 

Emily Jones is a retired journalist and ovarian cancer survivor who edits The Deluded Diva, a blog for bouncing baby boomers racing retirement.  She invites you to stop by www.deludeddiva.com.

Seamus Friday: Hollywood High

Hey, my people, Seamus thought you might get a kick out of looking down on L.A. from the Griffith Park Observatory.  He does.  

Of course Seamus gets a kick out of everything.  This time, I was the one who needed to get out and above. My six-month checkup was days away.  I needed to remember that the world is bigger than Cancerville.  

Proportions change up here. The Hollywood Sign is twice the size it's supposed to be; the hikers march along like ants in sun hats.  California's brown hills can seem desolate in photographs.  Don't believe it. They're full of life.  

As it happens, the checkup went fine.  Seamus and I get another six months to ramble.  Who knows where we might climb?

The glory of the everyday: "Make Our Garden Grow"

Hey my people, when I came down with cancer, I had a powerful weapon on my side: I already believed that even life's smallest moments were worth fighting for.  This song is one of the things that gave me that idea: "Make Your Garden Grow," from the musical Candide. 

Who's Candide?  He's one of the dumbest, numbest, most gullible characters in the history of storytelling—basically, an 18th-century Forrest Gump.  Candide maintains his blind optimism throughout a fantastic series of disasters that include war, shipwreck, the Inquisition, and prostitution (endured by his girlfriend Cunegonde, who gets quite a kick out of it—but that's a different song). 

When Candide finally wakes up and sees what a fool he's been, he sings "Make Our Garden Grow." It's the climax of the show, and it's hair-raising. The lyrics are about doing a simple day's chores—baking bread and chopping wood. But wait for the third verse, where those homely tasks are elevated in a rush of music that would flood a cathedral:  "We're neither pure nor wise nor good/ We'll do the best we know/ We'll build our house and chop our wood/ And make our garden grow."

In two weeks I hit the cancer center for my six-month checkup.  I take the blood test and wait for the result.  I don't like it and I don't have to.

But today I grouted tile, fed my handsome dog, and listened to "Make Our Garden Grow."  I'll take this day with me when I go.

Talia Joy Castellano. A woman to remember.

Hey my people, I don't want to cough up a lot of bromides about the fact that Talia Castellano is dead. I do want to say this: For me, Talia didn't lose her battle with cancer. Even in death, she won. To you that idea may sound clueless, not to mention tasteless. Death at 13 is an obscenity no matter what the circumstance. But this Florida tween with the million-watt smile was more than a YouTube phenom. She had the mettle of a real star. Talia took on the adventure of her own life. She kicked cancer all the way up and down the block before she left us.

This young woman spent her time abundantly well. She played every card she had, and did it with gusto. She charmed Ellen DeGeneres on TV and displayed her flair for makeup in an ad for Cover Girl. Talia got up from chemo and still had the psychic wherewithal to describe the sight of rain coming at you across a Florida field (see the 2012 interview excerpted here).

Talia said she wanted to be remembered as "that bubbly girl who wanted to do something about childhood cancer." I'll remember you, Talia. No problem there.

My Cancer Quest for Meaning

I would never have presumed to compare my suffering as a cancer patient with that of a prisoner in Auschwitz. It took the thoughtful and compassionate Dr. Arash Asher, director of survivorship and rehabilitation at Cedars-Sinai, to show me the connecting thread.

I had asked Dr. Asher to help me understand how experts view the challenges of longterm cancer survivorship. He discussed physical and mental issues. "Then," he said, "there's the existential."

Ah. Among the zillions of words I've written about cancer, existential had never come up. It instantly clicked into place as that perfect expressioin that had been on the tip of my tongue the whole time.

"Have you read Man's Search for Meaning?" Dr. Asher asked.

I'm reading it now. Dr. Viktor Frankl's mighty work, rooted in his experience in three Nazi concentration camps, reveals that physical strength alone is no guarantee of survival. In Auschwitz, those most likely to survive were those who had the mental will to find meaning in their lives -- in life itself.

Frankl writes that his own life was saved more than once by his power to imagine himself elsewhere. He describes how, being whipped, cursed, and marched in the freezing wind to a work detail, he escaped into a vision of a loving conversation with his wife. "I did not know whether my wife was alive, and I had no means of finding out…; but at that moment it ceased to matter. There was no need for me to know; nothing could touch the strength of my love, my thoughts, and the image of my beloved."

Again, I don't presume to compare the circumstances. Yet during chemo I had similar experiences; my imagination came to my rescue. I supposed I ought to be facing reality. Throughout my childhood, I'd gotten in trouble for daydreaming. Yet when the adversary was cancer, I was sure that my dreams were saving my life.

The whole point behind Well Again is that cancer changes nothing less than our existence. Life beyond cancer can never be the same. So we get a chance to make it better.  We deserve to reimagine and rebuild our lives based on happiness, adventure, education—whatever 'Well Again' means for us.

TO BE CONTINUED......

Dancing for Roger Ebert

Hey my people,

Roger Ebert is my hero not just because he was so mighty in the face of cancer. I loved him because as a writer he ENGAGED with what came his way--love, art, death, and everything between. As a critic, Ebert was just what I hope to be, exacting but generous too. If he hated a film, he said so; but he also wished the filmmaker better luck next time. When it came to cancer, Ebert was the finest joycatcher I ever saw. Cancer took his voice; he re-created it. Cancer took his jaw. He kept his smile.

Hey Roger. Thanks for everything. Let's dance.

Meet Jessica: Cancer Road Warrior

"If I fall down, it could kill me, so I don't fall down," Jessica told me -- as we set out on a two-mile walk. Like me, Jessica is a three-time cancer vet. Unlike me, she has complications that threaten her spine.
Jessica's backbone, however, is rock solid. Cancer ended her job, sapped her savings and forced her out of her home, but she's not bemoaning her losses. She and her pickup truck are hitting the road to see America.
I had the privilege of meeting Jessica when she came through LA. To me, she embodies what Well Again is all about. Cancer has done rotten things to her. She's responding by doing things she's always wanted. Jessica's filling her eyes with new sights and her heart with new memories. She's not falling down. She's embracing the adventure.

If you appreciate Jessica's attitude, then how about sending her a shoutout here on the Well Again blog? Better yet, tell Jessica what town or landmark in America you'd most love for her to see.  

Happy Dia de los Muertos! Because why not?

Hey my people, here in L.A., it's not just Halloween we're all getting ready for. No, in this territory that once was Mexico, we're all about the Day of the Dead. This isn't maudlin and it isn't weird. It's Halloween with the mystery left in. It's a time to remember all the ones we love, and by remember, I mean party. The Dia de los Muertos tradition centers on the creation of figurines that can be scary or endearing, like this esquelato (skeleton) made by kids at a local elementary school in tribute to Michael Jackson. In a blog about life beyond cancer, why am I bringing up such a dicey thing as, you know, death? Because it's good to remember that whenever death comes, it might very well be a party. Why not?

Surviving Cancer in the 99%

Cancer Vets Speak: A Well Again Series

Hey my people, we asked you to tell us: "What do you think is missing from cancer treatment now?" For Jen, it's affordable treatment.  Do you relate?  We'd love to post your story.  Talking with each other is the first step to improving our financial prognosis. —Warmest regards, Anne

Jen's Story

I am a 42-year-old breast cancer survivor of three years. I just lost a bc sister, mother of two, aged 38 — so I'm not really at the peak of a cancer cheerleading wave right now. Sometimes I'm more positive, but the last two weeks have been really, really tough.

But you wanted to know what I think is missing? I think we need truly affordable healthcare and financial assistance for those of us in the 99% and unlucky enough to be diagnosed with cancer. My diagnosis happened while we were already just trying to survive financially until both of our children reach kindergarten; while trying to maintain a freelance design business; while trying to send my husband back to school to obtain a teaching credential; and while just trying to maintain our household and some semblance of normal for us during my grueling treatment.

Why should a diagnosis mean financial disaster?

Having cancer is really expensive if you add in lost income, multi-thousand deductible expenses and additional cancer-related expenses not covered by insurance. It makes me sad and angry that so many of us have to hit rock bottom financially due to illness. It is outrageous that up to 65% of bankruptcies in our country are due to medical-related expenses.

And unless you have already hit rock bottom, you are not eligible for any basic government-related assistance. And even that -- when you are facing a shortfall of $15,000–$30,000 per year during and after cancer -- is just a drop in the bucket.

I am alive, I am able to be with my children, and my children are healthy, for which I am truly grateful. But the financial disaster of being diagnosed with a chronic illness is truly devastating. It has taken us two full years to begin to pick up the financial pieces of our lives.  That has taken a lot of the joy out of a time that should be filled with as much optimism and joy as possible -- to make the most of whatever time any cancer survivor has, and also to help keep recurrance at bay.

It's just really hard [to be optimistic and joyful] when debt is mounting, and making your modest mortgage payment is a struggle every month.  So, that's what I think is missing. Truly affordable healthcare and real financial assistance for survivors.

Can I afford to come out about cancer?

Hey my people, Check out The Sickness Closet, a brilliant column in Salon today by my awesome fellow cancer vet Mary Elizabeth Williams.  The subject is: do we let people know we're dealing with the C, or do we keep it secret? 

I mean, keeping it all a secret just can't be good. I get this picture of my trillions of cells trying to fend off the cancer while also pouring out energy to explain my oddly long lunch hours and my blood-test band-aids, and, who knows, whether my wig is on straight. Talk about your strength-sappers!

On the other hand…  Next to the shock power of the C word itself, the second-most-awful C word comes from your insurance company: CANCELLED.  So the closet starts to look pretty good. Except that hiding encourages people to think cancer is worse than it is.  If we're sick one day, we'll be better the next.  We're not dead.

We're alive, thank you very much!

Most of us who come down with cancer go right on living.  For every curve the illness throws at us, we discover new strength and new purpose. The folks who count us out… and those who want us to keep cancer a deep, dark secret… I'm guessing they're really scared of cancer themselves.  Not that I blame them.

But here's the thing. If I'm hiding my cancer journey, how can I help with yours?

True story: "Well again means giving more than I take."

Cancer Vets Speak: A Well Again Series

Hello, my people! Here's a tremendous message about life beyond cancer treatment. Thanks for letting me share this. We want to hear your truth, so don't be afraid to join in. Everybody's cancer story is different. Somebody out there needs to hear yours. —Warmest regards, Anne

Gregory's Story

"Three weeks after a year of aggressive treatment for rectal adenocarcinoma, a PET scan showed a golf ball sized tumor. So now I have another year of treatment ahead. I worry about burning out the people who support me. I was strong and athletic, and I don't know what to fill that part of my life with."

What's my Well Again?

"Being well again for me will mean a life without how are you doing? and the kind, loving pats on my arms and back. Well means giving more than I take; when I can ride my bike as long and far as I want; when I can lift weights without someone asking, should you be doing this? Being well will mean running into friends at the supermarket and talking about avocados and children and dogs, not my health.

"Some experienced nurses tell me that cancer patients are the easiest to work with. If that"s true, why are we like that? Is it because we try so hard? Because we're so grateful? I think it's in the way we make peace with our fear, but I can't say for sure."

Disclaimer: Well Again does not give medical advice. For cancer advice, see a doctor.