Twenty Years And Counting
One October I took part in the Susan G. Komen 5k Race for breast cancer with my friend Andrea. It was a clear but cold day so I layered up in my 80's leg warmers and my "Survivors" shirt. As we were swept into the sea of pink I noticed many of the participants wore a paper chip on their backs bearing the names of the women they walked for, "in support of" or "In remembrance of" friend, wife, mother, sister, etc. It was very emotional and inspirational and it reminded me of a young mother who received the dreaded news over 20 years ago.......that woman was me.
I was recently divorced and had lost my health insurance when I found a lump in my right breast. I had a history of benign lumps, so I was pretty diligent with my monthly self exams. I was scared, I thought I might not live to see my 6 year old son grow up and I was worried about paying the medical bills. My surgeon said, "Let's get you well and worry about payment later."
I had a modified radical mastectomy and it was discovered that the cancer had spread into my lymph nodes. Under the care of Dr. Colleen Austin, my oncologist (who took me on pro bono) I had nine months of intense chemo- I lost all my hair (it grew back; as thick and unruly as ever) Two years later I had reconstructive surgery by another generous and amazing healer, Dr.Rod Hester. Of course, I couldn't have done it without the love and support of my family, my friends and even the kindness of strangers.
Since then I've met and married my true love, watched my son grow into an amazing, kind and talented man and I'm a very proud "La La" to my grandson. I have also been blessed to pursue my passion - songwriting. I’ve since released 4 albums and a song about my journey called "Twenty Years". It has a happy ending.
Best Friends: A Dog Named Queenie
I recently read a book and one of the characters is a beagle named Queenie. I find that amusing because people frequently respond to my name with, “I used to have a dog named Queenie." I’m not offended at all, because I was raised in a family of animal lovers. Nearly every family photo from old faded black and white snapshots to present day Christmas postcards includes a pet or two. Most of my friends have pets as well, including my best friend Grace Robin who thought it would be cute to name her Siberian Husky pup, you guessed it, Queenie. Queenie and I had something else in common, too. We both faced a deadly disease.
It was late summer of 1988 and I was in the fight of my life against breast cancer. The diagnosis came just months after I was divorced and had lost my health insurance. Thankfully a hospital social worker found a state aid program that would help pay for the treatments and an oncologist that took me on pro bono. I started my first chemo on my son’s 7th birthday.
My family, friends and band mates rallied around me with little kindnesses and a lot of prayers. I tried to stay positive, but co-parenting, performing and eight months of chemotherapy were taking their toll on my body and my spirit. Just a week before my last chemo I needed to clear my head, so I took a road trip to Graham, North Carolina to visit Grace.
I finally got to meet my namesake. Queenie was sweet natured and strikingly beautiful with a shiny deep red coat and ice blue eyes. She slept in front of the fan while Grace and I played guitars and sang, painted our toenails, sipped strawberry daiquiris, laughed and talked into the wee hours. Grace even made me feel comfortable without my wig, “You look beautiful bald; your ears don’t even stick out.”, she smiled while rubbing my head.
The weekend was just what I needed, but it was over too fast and I didn’t want to go back to Atlanta. I was tired and bloated from the steroids and just the thought of having that last chemo made me instantly nauseous. Grace Robin grabbed my shoulders, looked me in the eyes and firmly said, “What if there is one last cancer cell and this treatment will kill it?” Standing by my car, we hugged for a long time and she promised “I’ll be praying for you - you can do this.”
Grace was famous for her fun, bedazzled letters and it always raised my spirits to find one in my mailbox. That winter she sent one to her family and friends sharing the sad news that Queenie had died earlier in the week. A few days later she got a phone call from her sister Trisha, who is shocked and says, "I can't believe Queenie’s gone. I though she was doing well.” When Grace answered, "I know, the heart worm treatment was too much for her." "Heart worms?", Trisha screamed, "I thought only dogs got......are you talking about your dog?" Of course, we were all heartbroken to hear about Queenie’s passing, but we did have a little laugh about the confusion.
Thirty years later I’m happy to report I'm cancer (and heart worm) free. Grace and I are still BFFs. I don’t get as many bedazzled letters, but we do text and message weekly. Everyday I marvel at the good that came out of my ‘year of cancer’ - an appreciation for the little things, the gratitude and affirmative prayer practice that balances my life and an unfailing belief in the healing power of faith and friendship.
To be continued...
Do You See What I See?
I know the exact moment I realized that my son would be a musician. In fact, I have it on video.
Like most children, Justin loved singing along with Sesame Street, making up songs on his glockenspiel or dancing to the stereo. He could pound out a pretty mean groove with a wooden spoon and a spaghetti pot, but we were fairly certain he was no Mozart in the making.
When he was nearly three we caught a glimpse of things to come. One of my husband’s construction crew spotted Justin hammering a nail into a board and asked, “So, are you going to be a carpenter like your Daddy when you grow up?” Without missing a beat, our son replied, “No! I’m going to be a horn player.” End of conversation.
“Justin put your coat on. It’s freezing out”, “Mom, we gotta go.” he replied, already heading to the car. I hopped into the passenger seat and we were off to the first grade Christmas play. Wrapped in his Dad’s big, blue bathrobe, a plaid dishtowel for a headdress and a walking stick his Grandpa had carved for a staff, he looked more like a character from Star Wars then a shepherd, but he was rehearsed and ready to make his stage debut. I took my seat while my husband joined the video cam wielding “Papa”razzi lining the aisles.
The curtain opened as a chorus of very short shepherds sang appropriately, “Oh Little Town of Bethlehem” while the three kings kneeled under a tin foil star that swayed above the makeshift stable. A donkey tripped, an angel sneezed; but a few songs later the play ended without any major mishaps to thundering applause.
“I’ll make some popcorn.” I said, while my husband popped the tape into the VCR and we settled in to view his first feature length production. Justin was clearly the star of this show. Our camera zoomed in lovingly on our son’s angelic half-smile while the clear strains of “Do You See What I See” rang through the auditorium. Off camera, the soloist’s sweet soprano reached for the high note and hit a clunker instead. As though poked by an audible cattle prod, an involuntary shiver shook Justin’s entire body, rolling his eyes back into his head and transforming his beautiful face into a contorted grimace. Laughing hysterically we rewound the tape again and again. We had missed it during the play, but there it was, the undisputable “Kodak moment” that proved our son truly had an ear for music.
Looking back now I see how lucky Justin was that he heard his calling early in life. He did indeed play horn in his Jr. high band and I’ve watched him hone his talents on several instruments over the years. Yes, I’m proud to report that he continues to make a joyful noise. In fact, I have it on video.