Self Doubt vs 20/20 Hindsight Vision

It is so hard sometimes to know what is the "right" decision.

Should I go to the hospital?

Will I get back home in time?

Should I let my Mother in Law pick up the kids and take them to my Sister in Law's, where they could spend the holiday with their granparents, aunt, uncle, and cousins?

What if she do not get home in time?

What if we do get home in time?

What is best for the kids?

What is best for the family?

What is best for me?

Well, it is after the fact. 

We got home in time, so it was good that we had the kids stay.

I feel a lot better, so it is good that I went to the hospital.

We made it home before sh'kiyah (sunset, after which time we are not permitted to drive), so it was okay that we left the hospital when we did.

But when we made each of these difficult decisions, we did not know what the outcome would be.

Wouldn't it be great to know in advance that everything would work out in the end?



Please daven (or send happy, healing thoughts) for RivkA bat Teirtzel.

With love and optimism,
RivkA

The Article Everyone Sent Me....

I have been bombarded by links to this article in the NY, about a woman who has been living with cancer for 17 years.

It is so nice to know that so many friends saw this article and cared enough to send me the link. 

Thank you!

I know you meant to encourage me.

The article can be extremely encouraging, especially for women who have the "right" kind of cancer.

The article informs us:

"There’s a small subcategory of people with Stage 4 breast cancer... who live for years and years.... about 2 percent of all cases.... People in this group tend to have disease that has spread to the bone (as opposed to lung or liver, say) and feeds on estrogen...."

Though my cancer did spread to my bones (in addition to my lungs and liver), my cancer does not feed on estrogen. 

So, though the message of this article is that woman can live for twenty or thirty years with advanced cancer, the statistics are still not great (only 2%), and they are not so relevant for me, given my cancer type (ER-, PR-, HER2+).

Now, do not get me wrong.

I still have my 80-year plan! (ad meah v'esrim, plus...)

No one, not even the doctors, can predict who will be the lucky survivors; my plan is to be one of them!

But this article does not hold out that promise for me.

Knowing that you all are thinking of me, and praying for me... now, that gives me hope.



Please daven (or send happy, healing thoughts) for RivkA bat Teirtzel.

With love and optimism,
RivkA

I Want to Know, But You Do Not Need to Tell Me

Dear Friend,

I want to know how you are, even if you are going through a tough time.

Maybe you do not want to tell me.  Perhaps you do not want to burden me, or scare me.  Maybe you just do not want to talk about it.  Maybe you are too tired.  I do now know what you are feeling. 

I respect your boundaries.  I do not want to push you.

I want you to know:  I miss our conversations.  I miss your insight.  I miss your support. 

I am so worried about you.  And so scared.

I want to respect your privacy.  I want to give you the space you need.  I know that this is a difficult time for you. 

I just do not know what to do.

I am praying for you all day long.

Love,
RivkA




Please daven (or send happy, healing thoughts) for RivkA bat Teirtzel.

With love and optimism,
RivkA

My Kids Will Never Know the Me I Was "Before"

My kids were 11, 9, and 7 when I first got breast cancer.

Back then, I thought of breast cancer as an "inconvenience."  It did not scare me.  My grandmother survived breast cancer, and was fine.  My mother survived breast cancer, twice, and was fine.  I was young (39) and strong.  I would be fine.

My greatest concern was for my kids.  I did not want them to miss out on anything, while I was busy dealing with cancer.

Friends informed me that cancer would takes over my life for 6 months to a year.  Then, I presumed, I would be done.  In the end, it took a bit more than a year and a half, but by the spring of 2007, I was ready to move on.  My kids were just at the end of their 12th, 10th, and 8th years. 

I was full of energy, glad to get my life back.

I had plans, so many things to do.

God had other plans.

My kids were 13, 11, and 9 in June/July, 2007, when I was diagnosed with mets to my bones, liver and lungs.

Those few "good months," when I thought I was done, were suddenly overshadowed.

I still felt young and strong; determined to keep doing the things I was doing.

I was not that strong.  I could not keep up the pace.

I realized, this is it.  I am never going to be the person I was before. 

That realization was hard enough.  Then I was struck by the even more aweful realization:  This is how my kids will always know me.  They will not remember the me who I was "before." They were too young, when it all began.

My kids will only remember me with cancer.

They will not remember the mother with boundless energy, the activist who brought her three young kids to all the demonstrations, the leader on long hikes and camping trips, the tour guide, the educator, the..... person I used to be.

They will only know me like I am now.... tired, in bed, apologetic.

I know, it is not so black and white.  I do a lot with my kids.  I am not in bed all the time.  But I am not the me that I was "before."

Yes, I am now over 40.  All my friends are slowing down.  But it is not the same. 

My kids were 15, 13, and 11 when I was diagnosed, in June, 2009, with brain mets.  The new diagnosis hasn't changed much about how we live our lives.

My husband and I work hard to keep our kids informed (on their level), so that they won't live in fear. They know we tell them everything, so they do not need to worry or wonder.  There are no secrets. 

I think we have been quite successful in this area.  Our kids are "bored" with cancer. To them, cancer is an inconvenience.  It is frustrating when your mother is tired and not readily available.  But they are not scared. Why should they be?

My kids will never remember me when I was healthy, not even my oldest. That is very sad for me.  But living with cancer is normal for them.  They do not know any other way.

My biggest desire is to live long enough to see them married and, hopefully, to be around at least for their first births, to help them with nursing and be there for those new beginnings, when support is so important.

Sometimes, I look at them, and think "they are so young....."

I pray, a lot. Not so much formal prayer, but just talking to God and making sure He knows how much I want to live.

I can live with cancer.  I just want to be here for my kids.


Please daven (or send happy, healing thoughts) for RivkA bat Teirtzel.

With love and optimism,
RivkA

Choose Life

Our lives are filled with choices.

Almost two years ago, when I learned about my diagnosis, I made a choice, a conscious choice, about how I would live my life.

I stumbled, by accident, on frightening survival statistics of women diagnosed with metastatic breast cancer: only 20% are still alive five years after their diagnosis.

I determined right then and there that I intended to be part of that 20%.

I wish I could remember which angel directed me to the fabulous article by Stephen J. Gould, "The Median is Not the Message". I think it might have been someone from Sharsheret, a wonderful Jewish American organization that provided me with tremendous support in those devastating initial weeks, before I found appropriate support here in Israel.

If you have not read it already, then I recommend doing so now. Go ahead. It will reshape the way you view the world.

I read "The Median is Not the Message" and realized that my determination to "beat the odds" is a rational possibility and not just "wishful thinking."

Meanwhile, Moshe was reading everything he could about my disease. My dear, loving, sensitive husband was devastated by the statistics.

I knew that Moshe, for whom logic and cold science are fundamental to how he views the world, needed to read the article.

That article was the greatest gift I could give him.

But I did not stop there. I had already begun formulating my 20-year-plan.

I figured that if I did end up living for another 20 years or more, it would be an aweful shame to live all that time worrying about dying tomorrow.

Besides, I joked, I "just need to live long enough for them to discover a cure."

There is so much research going on every day, who knows what new medicines and miracle cures might be just a few years down the road?

We do not know what the future will bring. So why live expecting the worst? What a waste of our valuable time and energy.

In the past, I loved the adage "expect the worst, hope for the best, and you will never be disappointed." Suddenly, this approach to life no longer served me well.

I shifted paradigms.

I chose to expect the best.

I chose to believe that I would live, that I would have a future.

In Parshat Nitzavim, which we read on Shabbat, just before Rosh HaShanah, during the time when Jews are focussed on self-evaluation and repentence, Moshe Rabeinu (our teacher; not my husband) addresses Am Yisrael (the Jewish People) and proclaims:

הַעִדֹתִי בָכֶם הַיּוֹם, אֶת-הַשָּׁמַיִם וְאֶת-הָאָרֶץ, הַחַיִּים וְהַמָּוֶת נָתַתִּי לְפָנֶיךָ, הַבְּרָכָה וְהַקְּלָלָה; וּבָחַרְתָּ בַּחַיִּים, לְמַעַן תִּחְיֶה, אַתָּה וְזַרְעֶךָ
(דברים ל:יט)

I call heaven and earth to witness against you this day, that I have set before thee life and death, the blessing and the curse; therefore choose life, that thou mayest live, thou and thy seed (Deuteronomy 30:19)

Please daven (or send happy, healing thoughts) for RivkA bat Teirtzel.

With love and optimism,
RivkA

Ups and Downs -- Part II

My dear, wonderful, warm, caring, friends,

I love reading your insightful, and thoughtful comments. It's fun to see who is reading my blog, and who has what to say. Comments make me smile!

(here it comes.....)

BUT, though I recognize that those of you who recommended therapy as a response to my previous post, did so because you love and care about me..... YOU TOTALLY MISSED THE POINT of my post.

The post was about mood swings. About the ups and downs of living with illness (in my case, cancer).

It is totally normal to have ups and downs.

I am not debating the benefits of therapy.

If I want/need therapy, I will get it.

I am surrounded by people (to begin with, my husband, and my oncologist) who will let me know if/when it is time to seek outside help.

I know therapy is available if I want it.

I appreciate all your comments and emails, I really do.

BUT, I really felt bombarded by so many suggestions that I go for therapy.

I am sure that I can benefit from therapy.

I have LOTS of issues. (I had most of them before I got cancer)

BUT, my TIME is LIMITED. I cannot do everything.

Right now, unless I need it, I don't want to spend an hour a week in therapy, plus travel time.

There are other things I would rather do with my time.

If I only wrote about how great I feel, and how great life is (and life is great), then this would not be an accurate portrayal of what it is like to live with cancer. Because, friends, cancer SUCKS. And, no matter how great my attitude is, cancer still sucks.

And no amount of therapy is going to change that.

And no amount of therapy is going to make the cancer go away.

And that's why, even with the best therapy in the whole wide world, I will still have mood swings.

Because, quite honestly, it is not easy living with cancer.
(Even though I'm doing great, thank God, thanks to all of your prayers, and happy, healing thoughts)

I wish the cancer would just go away.

I really do.

But, I live in the real world. And, for now, my cancer is a permanent, chronic, condition.

I can live with that.

For someone living with cancer, I am proud to say that I have a damn good attitude. In fact, I would go so far as to say that I have an exceptional attitude.

So, do me a favor. If you think I need therapy, then, please, give me, or my husband, a call. Tell us that you are worried, and why.

If not, please don't tell me I should go to therapy, just because sometimes I'm sad that I have cancer.

I am not depressed. I am not in denial.

I have cancer.

Sometimes that makes me feel sad.



Please daven (or send happy, healing thoughts) for RivkA bat Teirtzel.

With love and optimism,
RivkA