Obstacles

"Do I really have to do this?" is the question that her bright eyes and adoring expression begged me. Our little one had a tough time first thing today. Never experiencing snow before today, Mystie, our ten-week-old Havanese puppy, was quite perplexed and fearful. For her, going outdoors in the 8+ inches of snow at 5:30 in the morning seemed nearly impossible.

I opened the back door and encouraged Mystie to cross the threshold into winter, the biting wind, and the falling snow. She surveyed this new and frigid environment for a moment and at one point refused to go outdoors at all. After some coaxing on my part, she relented, did her business, and turned around and scaled the mounting peaks of snow in order to return indoors as quickly as her little legs would carry her. Her tiny paws and face covered in snow, Mystie hopped inside our home while wagging her tail furiously, even though she was cold, shivering, and obviously uncomfortable. I immediately praised her and cradled her in my arms while gently wiping the snow off her trembling body with a dry washcloth. My husband got up out of bed and began shoveling a path for her to walk along the next time she has to go outdoors.

Sometimes, we think that we just can't do something. We just don't have the strength to take yet another step or to forge ahead through the obstacles that are blocking our paths. I remember thinking those thoughts when I was in the midst of receiving chemotherapy. It was hard, very hard. And even now, years later, I still sometimes feel defeated, or I worry about what the next test will show. Viewing a little puppy who's venturing out for the first time into the elements of cold weather pales in comparison to the struggles we face on a daily basis, but the point is that we are both strong and we persevere. We have to persevere, for there really isn't any other option. Breast cancer has taught me to never give up, to never look at the gale-force winds that continually try to strip me of my fortitude ... or my faith. Cancer has shown me that the only thing to focus on is God's love for us all, and to anticipate His warm arms cradling us, as He wipes away our tears, melting our fears. Once again.

My Roommate

Annette called me the other day, saying she'd be traveling through my town on a business trip, and wondering if she could stop in for a short visit. "Sure!" I replied upon hearing her request. Annette was my first roommate after I graduated from college in 1984. We roomed together for a little more than a year, after which time she found a better job and relocated.

Years passed, and we both married, had children and moved around a lot. We'd kept in touch over the years, but only through Christmas cards. She would send to me the latest photo of her three children, characteristically tucked inside the cards, and I'd typically send pictures of my kids to her. But we hadn't actually seen one another since we were roommates; literally decades had unfolded between us. Until three days ago.

Annette rang my front doorbell, and when she entered my home, it was as if time just stopped. It froze. We hugged, laughed and she handed me a beautiful bouquet of flowers. We chatted a lot, while walking into my living room, and I showed off my kids' pictures to her. Smiling, she pulled out her wallet and produced the latest photo of her family.

We decided to go to a nearby restaurant for lunch, where we talked so much, trying to catch up, that the poor waitress had to keep checking in numerous times to see if we were ready to order our food. Stories of our times together when we were so young, so carefree, so innocent, came to life once again, as if those happy times had happened just recently. I don't think either one of us stopped looking at each other, or stopped smiling, the whole time we were together. Without our being aware of it, the clock hands raced around. Warm coffee refills came, and our conversation continued, neither one of us pausing for even a second to look at those around us.

It became time for her to leave, unfortunately, so we hugged again in the parking lot, as the cold chill of winter reminded us that we were indeed living in the year 2009. She had to get back to her business, her family, her life, and her world. I needed to do the same...

I turned to watch her drive away; we both waved. A tear fell, but at the same time, I smiled. Annette was more than just a roommate to me. She actually played a huge part in directing the path of my future. You see, I met Annette through a young man that I was dating at the time. He knew her, and he also knew that she needed a roommate. So, out of convenience, really, I shared an apartment with her. We became very close, and as God would have it, a twist in the story line occurred, when one day Annette introduced me to another young man. Two years later, her little "introduction" became my husband!

It's funny how things work out, isn't it?

Our Christmas Gift

She's adorable! At just a tad over eight weeks old, Mystie, our little Havanese puppy, brings much more joy to our family than I'd expected. We picked her up last Thursday and after being in a her new environment in our home for only three short days, she's already demonstrated that she can sleep through the night! She eats well and even whimpers to go outdoors! We keep her in a fenced in area in our kitchen, so she always sees me and feels secure, yet she does not have the freedom to roam about the house and potentially get into trouble.

You know, I actually look forward to returning home after being away for a couple of hours, just to see her again and rub her cute pink, plump belly. Her tail never stops wagging. In fact, when I initially saw her, she immediately greeted me with a gentle lick and a wagging tail. I knew then that she'd be a faithful little "gift" to us, one that I am sure will only grow more endearing with the passing of each Christmas.

Status Quo

The kids are doing their homework at the kitchen table. Leftover turkey and stuffing are slated for our dinner tonight. Patrick's returned to college, studying (hopefully) for upcoming finals scheduled to take place next week. I started doing a little Christmas shopping today. Things are quickly retuning to normal; the status quo emerges once again, following the happy chaos we enjoyed during Thanksgiving while visiting our families and staying up later than usual to chat.

Just as things are returning to normal again, I find myself facing another change in the usual status quo. For almost two decades now, I've refused to purchase a dog for my pleading children. I mean, really: dealing with dog-chewed shoes? Training it to go outdoors during countless sub-freezing nights just so that it can urinate? No thanks!

We all know that puppies can be a challenge. I had a dog when I was a child, a fact that my kids constantly reminded me of, prior to my relenting to getting a dog in the first place. I also remember my mom doing most of the work back then. My mother typically let the dog outside, cleaned up after her, and fed her. Day after day.

A few months ago, I noticed my youngest, Caroline, "walking" her dog - a stuffed animal - outside on a leash. Peering through the living room window, I watched, open-mouthed, as Caroline repeatedly stroked it and talked to it. She didn't see me. For the first time, my eyes fell to the floor as reality struck me: my children have never had the pleasure of taking care of a dog, walking it, and experiencing the unconditional love that exudes - day after day - from most canines to their human friends.

The girls are just thrilled that Christmas is around the corner, and a puppy's not only on their wish list, but she'll be arriving this Thursday, three days from now. A ten-week-old Havanese puppy will become our newest family member. Soon, the status quo will be disrupted.

Why did I give in to my children's whining and pleading this time around? This time it just felt right. I've no other explanation, really. I just hope I'm not making a mistake. Even though my daughters have drafted and signed a "contract" that states that they will be in charge of the dog's care, I am realistic. Soon I'll be the one who takes the dog outside in the middle of the night while the girls are sound asleep. I'll be the person in charge of her meals, and I'll be cleaning up the mess while my daughters are at school.

What about my coveted status quo? In my opinion, maintaining the status quo is very much overrated. And when you stop and think about it, the status quo is really only as important as you demand it to be. The girls will be speechless when they see the puppy. Sure, the status quo will be altered in our home, but hopefully, it'll be for the better. Day after day.

Surprises

Last evening, while my daughters and I were quietly eating dinner, we heard the kitchen door opening. I knew that my husband was out of town, so I couldn't imagine who would be coming into our house. I'd read in the newspaper that a house in a neighboring town had been broken into a few weeks ago while the owners were at home and asleep. Apparently, while their house was being ransacked, the pour souls were held at gunpoint for hours. Hearing my kitchen door squeak as it was opened last evening immediately made my heart race. Did I forget to close the garage door? What next? Who could be there?

Just then my son strolled in! Both Melissa and Caroline simultaneously darted from their chairs while shouting "PATRICK!" upon seeing him walk through the door and into the kitchen. Meanwhile, like a domino effect, the girls' quick actions awakened our cat, Ritchie, who was previously sound asleep on the kitchen rug. Anyone who has a cat knows what typically happens at this point.

Notably frightened by this intrusion and with pupils immediately dilated, Ritchie jumped to his feet, arching his back in a lame attempt to defend himself. The tiny hairs on his tail flared and bristled outwardly so that his tail appeared to be more than twice its normal size! I don't think I've ever seen him look more irritated and annoyed! The kids found the cat's expression and appearance so hilarious that the sight of him just added to the excitement and surprise of seeing Patrick! Laughter filled the kitchen, followed by hugs, one at a time, as we were all so eager to embrace my son, who wasn't supposed to come home from college until tonight. He'd found an earlier ride home, and he wanted to surprise us.

I just love surprises, and this one was one of the best ones I've had in a long time. Upon waking this morning, I couldn't help but think that when I see Patrick at lunchtime today (since he'll likely sleep in until noon), I have so much to be thankful for. I know that the story of the cat and his funny reaction to our outburst upon seeing Patrick arrive expectantly last evening will continue to flavor many more Thanksgiving recollections over the years. I can hear it now from one of my kids, "Remember a few years ago when Patrick came home early and surprised us, and the cat went crazy, and ..."

And I can see them all smiling.

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone!

Letter to the Pennsylvania Breast Cancer Coalition

I received a letter from Sarah, a spokesperson for the Pennsylvania Breast Cancer Coalition, which is a very active organization located in Harrisburg, PA.. (I receive this organization's monthly newsletters, and I participated in the most recent conference, held in October, 2009). Due to the recent "changes" proposed in breast cancer screening, specifically, delaying initial mammography until age 50 and discouraging Breast Self-Exams, Sarah's letter had encouraged breast cancer survivors who were diagnosed in their 40's to share their stories and their reliance on mammography screening. Please read what I wrote to her regarding this issue:

Dear Sarah,

I am a breast cancer survivor. Here is my story.

At the age of 43, I felt a very small lump in my left breast, specifically under my left armpit area. Initially, I was not very concerned about this finding because I have a history of fibrocystic breast changes, and I believed that this lump was just another one of those benign, small nodules. But I visited a general surgeon just to be sure, in November, 2005. Her exam and palpation of the lump were inconclusive at that time. She recommended that I have my annual mammogram, which was scheduled to take place in January, 2006. The mammogram report acknowledged the lump, but again, the radiologist was unable to confirm that it was malignant. I then underwent an MRI scan which was also unclear, in January, 2006.

It was only after the biopsy was performed in February, 2006, that a definitive diagnosis was made: Stage 1, Grade 3 (the most aggressive rating) malignant breast cancer. The biopsy also showed that the cells were HER-2 Positive, poorly differentiated and extremely aggressive in their make-up. If left unchecked, the cells would have very likely spread quickly to other organs, and most likely, death would have been the result.

I underwent a left breast lumpectomy, 15 months of chemotherapy and Herceptin, and 33 daily radiation treatments at age 43.

I have no family history of breast cancer or any other type of cancer. I'm not at all obese, I've been an active runner for ten years, and I've followed a low fat diet for nearly 30 years. The news came as a complete shock to me, my husband, and our children who were 15, 9 and 6 years old at the time of my diagnosis. Simply stated, I have no risk factors, except that I am a woman.

I am quite certain that if the new "mammography screening guidelines" were in place today, I would not be alive to write this letter. If women are instructed to wait until age 50 to have mammograms and are discouraged to perform Breast Self-Exams, I feel that their lives will be in grave jeopardy. I am concerned that women will put off having mammograms, or simply forget whether or not it is their time to have one, if the recommendation is relaxed to "every other year mammography," as it is proposed. For many women like myself, waiting until age 50 for initial mammography screening is a death sentence. If this proposal is passed, breast tumors that could have been treated early will have become much more invasive, resulting in more lives lost and more children left motherless.

Early detection is crucial. Mammography and self breast exams are key elements in early detection and prompt treatment.

Please consider this letter a heartfelt plea to keep mammography screening at age 40 and earlier for women at high risk. Please continue to encourage all women (and men) at all ages to perform monthly breast exams. The risk is just too great.

Sincerely,

Karen L. Holmes, R.N., M.S.N.

Baking Cookies

I know it's a bit premature to do this, but last evening my ten-year-old daughter Caroline and I made gingerbread cookies from scratch. I had recently bought a nonstick cookie pan which contains little wells of all sorts of holiday shapes, just the perfect size for making formed cookies. There's a stocking, a wreath, an angel, and many other very detailed shapes for a total of 12.

We added the ingredients one at a time, and as I opened the small container of cloves, I lifted it to my nose and savored the aroma. For a moment I was a child again, too. The cloves smelled like Christmastime. The spice reminded me of pumpkin pie, and laughter, and warm conversations that circled around countless Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners in the company of grandparents and cousins.

Caroline's questions and the burring noise of the electric mixer interrupted my thoughts and nudged me back to the task at hand. I placed the cloves container under Caroline's tiny nose, as she'd sat perched on the counter, positioning herself at just the correct height to see - and participate in - each step in the cookie-making process. Smiling, she also took a whiff of the spice. I couldn't help but think that this particular smell might also be etched into her brain for decades to come. Would she reflect on this time when she's 47 years old and baking cookies with her own daughter or son?

Flour seemed to fly everywhere, and I momentarily remembered that I'd just cleaned the kitchen earlier in the day. But I said not a word about her fumbling fingers and the mess that ensued. (Believe me, it was difficult to keep my hands to myself!) Our time together making cookies might be one of those events that remains engraved in her memory long after I'm gone, so don't spoil it by trying to keep a clean kitchen! I thought.

Finally, it was time to bake them. For Caroline, this 9-minute period seemed endless. She waited ... and waited ... and waited patiently for the oven timer to beep. Finally the seconds passed down to zero, and the long overdue "BING" sound summoned us. The whole kitchen swelled with the tantalizing aroma. After I removed the hot tray from the oven, she almost couldn't contain her excitement. We gently lifted each precious treasure from its warm little cavity. She smiled with anticipation, eager to see how the cookies turned out. And they were just perfect!

I remember vividly making cookies with my older daughter, now 13, a few years ago after I'd been through the heat of cancer. I remember praying and asking God at that time for the blessing of having many more years of making cookies with my children. It's amazing how something so simple can become so monumental in our small minds. Making cookies - no matter how messy it can get - has never felt quite the same to me after that.

God answers prayer. We never know how many more "cookie" times we'll actually have, but we do know that He has planned every day for us and that He already knows exactly how each day will "turn out." We just need to trust Him. Our lives rest ever so gently in His hands, and if we allow it, He will create within us the most perfect shape of all: the heart of Christ.