Support Group -- Final Meeting of the Year

Our support group always breaks for the summer. 

Tonight we met for the last time this year. 

In addition to updating each other about ourselves, several of us learned that another member of our group passed away just over a week ago. 

For me, Shoshana was a "new" member.  She only joined the group this year, and did not come every time, so I did not know her so well.  At first, I could not even identify who we were talking about.

I felt disconnected from the discussion about her.

It might seem cold, but since I was not close with her, the news of her passing felt distant, as if it did not really affect me.

I guess, on some level, I have erected a shield, to protect myself from this sort of news.  In the world I live in, the angel of death is a regular guest.



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

With love and optimism,
RivkA

Baruch Dayan Emet -- Taube Korn z"l

I do not want to write this post.  Writing it makes it true.  And I do not want it to be true.

I did not want to write this, yet I could not write anything else, until I wrote it.  Which is why my blog has been silent for so many days.  I did not want to write the words that would make it real.

My dear friend, Taube, passed away last Tuesday night.

Her funeral was on Wednesday, at the same time as I was scheduled for my PET scan.  There was no way I could attend.  Maybe that was God's way of protecting me.

Though I met Taube because of our cancers, we discovered connections that go back to our childhood.  We grew up a block away from each other, our brothers were in school together, our mothers knew each other, we were in the same youth group, and we attended the same college/university.  Our common past, combined with our common present, formed a strong bond between us.

Taube began her journey into the cancer world about a year before I did, so she provided a tremendous amount of support and insight for me.  Whenever I felt lost, I called Taube, and she guided me with patience and wisdom.

I was privileged to be a guest in her home on several occasions and got to know her kids a bit as well.  To say that her family is impressive, is an understatement.  I cannot adequately describe the harmony I felt in her home.

Mostly, we talked on the phone.  We talked about cancer, parenting, religion, faith.  You name it, we talked about it. 

Even as her health deteriorated, I did not believe that her situation would not turn itself around.  She had a very rare form of bone cancer and had been in a not-so-good place before.  I felt sure the doctors could bring her around again.

Taube was poised, smart, private, perceptive, and giving.  She managed to keep working, despite her pain and limitations.  She inspired me to be strong and to live my life, despite the cancer. 

When I felt darkness closing in on me, Taube helped me through it. 

I did not realize how quickly her own darkness was closing in on her.

When Taube stopped calling me, I assumed she must be busy.

When she stopped returning my calls, I started to worry.  Still, I assumed she must be busy.

She was busy.  I had no idea....

By the time I realized how serious things were, Taube no longer felt strong enough for visitors.

I did not have a chance to say good bye.

Had I the chance, what would I have said?

A friend wisely advised me to write Taube a letter, which I did.  Taube's husband read the letter to her. 

In the letter, I let Taube know how much I valued her friendship and appreciated all her advice, support, and love.

I will miss her more than I can describe.

May her memory be a blessing.

יהי זיכרה ברוך



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

With love and optimism,
RivkA

My friend, Chanie Oysh

One of the things I love about my support group, is that the women come from all different religious backgrounds. 

We are all religious Jews, but that is where our common denominator ends.

One of the good friends I made in the group, Chanie Oysh, was from Chasidei Belz (I think).

She often called me once or twice a week to talk.  I always enjoyed our conversations and felt enriched by her friendship.

We were both diagnosed with brain mets around the same time.  But her situation was different.  She had beens experiencing symptoms (slurred speech, difficulty moving her arm) for several weeks before her diagnosis.

Knowing what I know, from the questions I asked my oncologist about my own situation, I was scared for her.

Before I left for our trip, I called Chanie.  I had not heard from her for a week or two (I'm not sure how long; I lose track of time), and I wanted to touch base before I left.  Each time I called, her daughter told me she was resting.  I did not manage to talk with Chanie before I left.

When I came back, I wanted to call her.  Something told me I should check how she is doing before calling her home.

So, I called MT, another woman from our group.  (I wanted to ask her for a ride to our meeting that night anyway.)

MT told me that Chanie would not be participating in our support group any more.

I did not understand her meaning.

Then she told me;  Chanie passed away during the week before Chanukah.

At first, I was upset that nobody told me earlier.  Then I realized that we were already out of the country, on vacation.

How could I have been surprised?  I do not know; but I was.

I felt like I entered some surrealistic dream.

The last time I spoke with Chanie, she seemed much better.  How could it be that this strong, powerful woman was gone?

I thought of our original group. Blimi, Esther, Yehudit, Tzippy, Pia, and now Chanie are all gone. Six out of ten.  There are only four of us left: TK, MT, LE, and me.  Can that be? 

No. I almost forgot MC, from Dimona.  She only participated in our first group; the commute (3 hours, by bus) was too difficult for her. We did meet up last year at Beit Natan's winter retreat.

The four of us have been together for over two years. 

I love these women.

I do not want to lose any more of my friends.


(Thanks to Renee, from Circling My Head;  Her post, about her friends from her original support group, and their passing, helped me confront my own feelings.)


Postscript: ....and then there were four....Following this post, a friend from the group called to let me know that Mazal Chaya, from Dimona, also passed away before Chanukah.  There really are only four of us left....





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

With love and optimism,
RivkA

New Blog for Women/Mothers Living with Cancer

Way back when (about two months ago), when I got censored and forced out of the group blog for mothers with cancer, one of the women on that list suggested that I start my own group blog.

Well, I finally took her up on it and am starting a group blog, for mothers living with cancer.

All women facing cancer are welcome to join, but the blog will focus primarily on mothers who have advanced breast (or other) cancer -- i.e. we will be living with cancer for the rest of our lives or until there is a cure.

Anyone interested in joining, should contact me at:
coffeeandchemo@gmail.com

Anyone interested in reading the blog should visit us at:
http://motherslivingwithcancer.blogspot.com/

Hope to be up and running in a week or two!



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

With love and optimism,
RivkA

Support Group -- welcoming new members

I am in a wonderful support group!

I don't wish my situation on anyone, but if you have to live with cancer, it can be really helpful to talk with other people in the same predicament.

Our support group is starting a new session, and new members are welcome!

The group will be led by a fantastic social worker, who led our group last year.

The group is for women only, and meets at Beit Natan.

If you, or someone you know, is interested, you can email me, or contact Beit Natan directly.

Pease, do not hesitate to join us!



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

With love and optimism,
RivkA

Freakin' Me Out!!

When my youngest saw me with almost no hair she came up to me and gave me the sweetest hug.

As she hugged me, she said in the cutest voice, "Ima, it's kinda' freaking me out."

At first, I thought she was just disturbed about my hair falling out and the wierd way it looks.

A few days later, following the suggestion of the psychologist from our support group (at Beit Natan), I asked her what is freaking her out.

"Well," she said, "the idea of cancer in your brain is sort of scary."

"I know," I gently responded, "it is sort of scary for me too."



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

With love and optimism,
RivkA

Support Group -- Before and After

Back-story: The third incarnation of our support group (for women living with metastatic disease) is a series of four five meetings with a psychologist who specializes in psycho-oncology and, within that field, specializes in dealing with children.

The group consists of nine women with cancer. The two women who facilitated the previous support group at Beit Natan are also attending the meetings, both to learn from the psychologist and to add to our support network. It is a very unique and incredibly warm and nurturing atmosphere.

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The second meeting of this support group was really the first meeting for me. I came so late to the first meeting, that I really did not feel part of it.

Since three new women also attended the second meeting for the first time, a significant portion of the meeting was again devoted to introductions.

Then we did an exercise comparing the behavior of one of our children before and after our diagnosis. I chose to concentrate on my youngest child, who is the quietest and perhaps the most affected by my cancer.

The discussion raised all sorts of issues, such as:

• What are "normal" changes for a child that age?
• How can we know how our cancer is affecting our child's development?
• How does having cancer affect how we parent?
• In what circumstances should cancer cause us to be more lenient? Or more strict?

The facilitator assured us that we will address these questions in future meetings.

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Later that week, my youngest daughter noticed a piece of paper on the table with her name on it. I glanced at the Hebrew in my handwriting and thought it must be my notes from our parent-teacher conference. I asked her not to read it on her own and told her that I would go over it with her another time.

A few minutes later, she asked me about something I had written. I realized the notes were what I had written in my support group. I chastised her for not following my instructions and explained that the paper contained notes that I had written for myself were meant to be private. Chagrined, my daughter apologized contritely.

I decided to transform her transgression into something positive. Explaining the context of the exercise, I suggested that she share differences that she noticed. At first, she mentioned, as she always does, that I am tired. Then she got more specific. She revealed that she no longer asks for help with her homework, since I am usually too tired to help her.

My heart fell when I realized she is not even asking for my help anymore. It hurt, but I appreciated her honesty. I took my daughter's face in my hands, looked directly in her eyes, and gently begged her to please keep asking for my help. I acknowledged the fact that I am often tired. Then I pointed out that there are also times when I am not tired and I am both able and happy to help her. I do not want either of us to miss out on those times.

Then she noted that when she was little I used to sit with her while she did all her homework while, more recently, I would only pay attention when she needed my help with specific problems. This, I pointed out right away, had nothing to do with cancer! As gently as I could, I explained that it is BORING to sit and watch her doing 100 math problems. Even if I did not have cancer, I would no longer be doing that! I emphasized that I am happy to help her with problems she cannot solve on her own. But, with or without cancer, I will not sit around doing nothing while is working independently on her homework. She can do that on her own.

Some changes do not have anything to do with cancer!

I think she got it.

A few minutes later, she turned to me, with a hesitant smile, and said that she also noticed a good change. My curiosity peaked. With a proud smile, she noted that she had become much more independent. How true! What a pleasure to elaborate on the many manifestations of her independence!

Among other things, I noted that she takes buses freely and confidently. She smiled at me with an impish grin and pointed out that "it is still nicer to be driven places..." We both laughed at that! She might be able to get around on her own, but she still prefers to be taken.

As with so many things, I felt torn by conflicting emotions: pride that she can take care of herself, sorrow that she has to take care of herself, joy that she still likes me to take care of her, and desire to continue taking care of her.

After enumerating her various accomplishments, I pointed out how proud I was of her attitude! She recognized, by herself, that she also benefited from this challenging situation.

My little girl possessed a depth of understanding that amazed and impressed me.

As our conversation drew to a close, I could not help but be grateful for the opportunity that had presented itself that afternoon. I received a gentle reminder that my daughter still needs my help. At the same time, I discovered that she is learning how to take care of herself. And, on top of that, I see that she is emotionally mature in ways that I would not have expected, particularly in her ability to see positive ramifications even in difficult circumstances.

I wanted to capture the moment and savor it.

(I guess I just have)

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

With love and optimism,
RivkA

And then there were six....

Sometimes, I feel like I have been dealing with cancer for years.

It is hard to imagine that I am only two years into the game.

In the beginning, I was desperate to find other women who have been living with cancer for ten years or more. I needed to speak with real live women who were beating the odds.

They exist. And they are amazing.

One of the women in my support group has had cancer for 19 years. She still works every day. She has married off all four of her children, all of whom were little kids when she was first diagnosed. (One of her sons, and his family, lives down the block from me.)

All of the women in our support group are still very active. We are all busy women who also happen to have cancer. Cancer is not what defines us, even though it is our common denomenator. There is vitality in our group of vibrant women.

Our group has created a "safe space," filled with faith, hope and optimism, despite the fact that we talk about our inermost feelings and our deepest fears.

Currently, we are in the middle of a 4-5 part series with a psycho-oncologist whose specialty is parenting. Many of us felt the need for several sessions focussed on issues of parenting.

I constantly wonder about my childrens' behavior -- how much of their behavior is "regular adolescence" and how much is affected by cancer?

This past Sunday, we gathered early, to talk about the recent passing of Pia, one of the members of our original group. When I arrived, I learned that another woman from the group, B, just died this past week (She only came to our support group once or twice, but I met her in the hospital on several occasions, and other women knew her from previous groups/events).

Within the first few minutes of our discussion, I learned that a fourth women from our group, Tz, had died almost two months ago. I did not know.

I was caught off guard and did not know how to process the information.

When I commented on the fact that four women from our group had died already, I was corrected. ("What? You did not know?" ) Apparently, Y died a while ago too.

I did not know.

How could I know? I did not ask and nobody told me.

I wish somebody would have told me. I did not like finding out this way.

All of a sudden, I was faced with several deaths.

I know that in many ways my situation is different. That does not change the facts.

In less than two years, five women from our support group are no longer with us.

Six of us are still here.

Five of us still meet regularly, at our current support group. (the sixth lives in Dimona, over 3 hours away)

Four of us meet almost weekly, at Sha'are Zedek, where we get chemo on the same day (the fifth lives in B'nei Brak, as does another women who has been part of our group from the beginning of this year).

Three of us have the same oncologist.

Our lives are all intertwined.

These women form such an integral part of my life. I see them, and speak with them, more regularly than almost anyone else. We share intimite details of our lives. We seek advice, comfort, and support from each other.

I do not want to consider the possibility that we will not all be here in another two years.

This week, three more women joined our support group about parenting.

Once again, we are a group of ten.

I cannot help but wonder who will still be here two years from now.



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

With love and optimism,
RivkA

Support Group III -- Inauspicious Beginnings

After waiting for months for a four-week support group about parenting, I had a conflict that could not be avoided.

The truth is, there is a bit of a back-story, which makes this even more poignant.

You see, at first I had a Bar Mitzvah that night. So, I tried, unsuccessfully, to get the date changed (of the support group, not the Bar Mitzvah. duh!) Then God smiled at me, and the facilitator needed to postpone the meeting. I was so happy that I would not have to miss it! Then God laughed at me, and gave me parent-teacher meetings on the new meeting night. That was so unfair!

Well, I went early to the parent teacher meetings, but we still finished meeting with all the teachers after the support group already started. As soon as we were done, I ran (okay, drove) to my support group. I arrived an hour late.

Even though there was still an hour left to the meeting, I felt like I missed a lot.

In the end, there was nobody new in the group, except the facilitator, who I had met before, at a previous event. Most of the women were from my previous support group (Ch, L, M, and R) and one, MZ, was from our first support group. S and EZ, who led our last support group, also attended. I felt like I was "coming home," but also like I was late for something really important.

The group was still doing an "introductory" exercise. I listened as my friends shared their stories about what they told/shared with their children.

The facilitator wanted to extend the meeting, but several women needed to leave by ten. So, when everyone had finished, the facilitator turned to me and asked me to take two minutes to share what I had told/shared with my kids about my cancer.

For various reasons, I felt really put off. I would have preferred if she had just asked me to wait and share my experiences next week. How was I to sum up in two minutes what everyone else had just spent 15 minutes, or more, sharing?

In the end, I just answered, "We told our kids everything."

The facilitator had asked all the other women follow up questions, but she did not really have time for me. She did ask me one or two questions, but I did not understand what she wanted from me.

It was clear that there was no time for any detailed answers, so I resented her questions. I did not really know how to respond. With no background, and no real understanding of our family dynamic, what could I say?

I was really annoyed, but I did not know how to express my frustration constructively. I felt like anything I said would come out sounding like I was pouting. How could I make any demands for attention, when I was the one who came in an hour late?

After the meeting, the facilitator was very friendly and nice. She showed me the workbook they used for the meeting and suggested I do the exercises at home. The workbook is in Hebrew, so I was not sure that I would really use it on my own. The facilitator offered to bring me some materials in English next time.

As agitated as I felt, I could not remain upset at the facilitator, who was exceptionally warm and welcoming.

So, though I was decidedly unsatisfied, I will see what happens next meeting.

After looking forward to this group for so long, the actual meeting, or what was left of it, was a real letdown for me.

I have so many questions and concerns about parenting within the context of cancer.

I really need this group to help me process what is going on in our home.

More than anything, I need help in understanding how cancer is affecting my role as a mother.



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

With love and optimism,
RivkA

Baruch Dayan Emet

We first met in an art class (paper mache) for people who have or had cancer. There were less than 10 women in the class. It took a while to figure out who was finished with their treatment, who was still in treatment, and who, like me, would always be in treatment.

P was striking. Tall, and thin, with short light hair. She was often engrossed in her work. She did not chit-chat like the other women.

I discovered that P, like me, had metastatic cancer. She had a different type of cancer and, truthfully, it was a miracle that she was still alive. Her original prognosis was grim, 6 months. I met her several years later.

A nurse by profession, P did not live in an illusion about her fate. But she continued to live life to the fullest. When I met her, she was planning her daughter's wedding.

When my support group started, almost two years ago, she was surprised to see me. I realized she had not comprehended that I also had mets. She was friendlier after that.

Through our support group, I got to know her better. She was intelligent and perceptive. I especially appreciated her perspective on parenting.

P did not join this year's support group. I called her to find out what was going on. She really appreciated the call. She had a conflict with her chemo schedule and it was too difficult for her to come.

Every few months, I called her to see how she was doing. Each time, she seemed happy to hear from me. We would chat for a while and she would update me about her family and her health. She was doing well.

I learned that one of the nurses in the hospital was a close friend of hers. So, periodically, I would ask the nurse about her as well.

It was a while since I last called. So, today I decided to call.

As soon as I asked to speak with her, I suspected that something was wrong. Her daughter handed the phone to someone, and I thought it was P. It was her sister. She was sorry to tell me that they were sitting Shiv'a.

P passed away on Sunday.

Today and Saturday night are the last days of shiv'a (the 7 day mourning period). I would have liked to go, but I won't be able to. Instead, I feel at a loss. I have to focus on getting ready for Shabbat.

I am so sad. So, so sad. But, if I think about P too much, I won't be able to attend to the immediate needs of my family as we all work to prepare for Shabbat.

I want to talk with someone, but I don't know who. The friend I would have called first is in the US. I tried calling one of the women from our group, but she was not home. I tried calling one of the women from Beit Natan; she was not home either.

So, I went back to work. I still have to finish cooking. There is only an hour left.



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

With love and optimism,
RivkA

Today's Blessings: Support Groups, Birthdays, and Children

If you have not already done so, please read my post about What I Really Want for my Birthday
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Only now, as I sit in the quiet stillness of my home, do I reflect on my choice to spend my birthday with the women in my support group.

I could have done something else, but I did not want to miss our meeting.

As blessed as I am by the love and support I receive from family and friends, I look forward to my support group, and the strength and encouragement that I find there.

There, I can talk about things that I cannot talk about anywhere else. There I can gain perspective from other women who are dealing with the same issues as I am. There, we are all struggling together, to try and make sense of this crazy reality.

It is my birthday, and these women understand what that means to me in a way that nobody else really understands.

TK has brought me a pink balloon and some chocolates. (If she thinks this gives her an exemption from writing me a letter, she is mistaken!) EZ has made whole wheat cinnamon buns. I feel welcomed and celebrated.

It is my birthday, and I am with friends who understand just how precious it is to mark the passing of another year.

I finally raise the issue that has been pressing on my mind. It is not really a new topic. I am conflicted about how to deal with some of the negative feelings associated with having cancer.

One topic leads to another, and we find ourselves discussing issues of parenting/mothering. I especially appreciate M's point of view -- her children were young when she was first diagnosed. Now, eighteen years later, she has a unique perspective on parenting with cancer. I almost wish we could interview her children.

Towards the end of the meeting, our facilitator suggests that my negative feelings stem from an unwillingness to accept the limitations that cancer has imposed on me.

I cannot deny this observation. I am angry and resentful. I cannot accept that this will not pass and that I will never get my normal life back.

I am acutely aware of all the activities that I have cut out of my daily life. Even so, I am constantly struggling to do more; if not today, then tomorrow.

So many issues were raised but not resolved. Even after the meeting ended, we were reluctant to leave. It will be another two weeks before we meet again.

It is late, and we need to go.

When I enter my home, my kids are still awake.

My son has gotten out of bed because he realized that he forgot to clear the table. I am impressed by his responsibility. He is growing up.

My youngest daughter invites me to sit by her bedside. She wants a few minutes of attention, and I am happy to spend the time with her.

My eldest daughter also wants some attention. She does not have something specific on her mind. She is just happy, and wants to be together.

One by one, I tuck in my children. I look at their sweet faces and wonder how long they will let me mother them in this way. I treasure these moments. They grow up so fast.



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

With love and optimism,
RivkA

Catching Up

I thought that when I came home from the retreat, I would spend the afternoon catching up with my kids and doing some of those things that need to get done.

Silly me.

I greeted my kids, gave and received hugs, heard a bit about what they had to say, and fell into bed. I slept for three hours! I woke for a bit, had dinner with my kids, and went back to sleep.

The next day I had chemo. I don't remember what I did afterwards. I meant to sleep, but that did not happen.

Friday, I managed to cook for Shabbat, and then I slept all Shabbat. In the afternoon, Moshe suggested we listen to MD read the first aliyah (section) of his Torah reading. I really wanted to sleep, but how could I say no? What a pleasure! I did not expect him to read so nicely. Then Moshe went to lie down and I stayed with MD to listen again, and help improve his reading. It was a really nice time together.

I had wanted to teach my son to read, but I just could not find the time and energy to do it. So, one of our neighbors is teaching him. It was nice to have a chance to teach my son, without the pressure of having to teach him. He is just beginning....

Saturday night, we ALL watched Star Trek. What a treat to have Y with us as well.

Then Moshe wanted to go out to see "Two Legacies," Einat Kapach's documentary film about her grandparents, the Rabbanit Kapach, famous for her many acts of chessed (righteous deeds), and Rav Yosef Kapach z"l, who was the foremost authority on the Rambam. I could have easily just gone to bed. Instead, despite the rain, we went to the Cinemateque. Only an hour long, the film was very interesting, and beautifully done, but too short. I was glad we went. (Added bonus: there was handicapped parking right in front, so we did not have to walk too far in the rain!)

Sunday was a crazy day. In the afternoon, I went to Ofek (the city's gifted and talented program), for the end of the semester presentations. This semester, MD learned robotics and juggling. Every week, he brings home a Diablo and practices in all his free time. He is really quite good.

I had arranged for MD to get a ride home with someone so that I could go straight to my support group. The program at Ofek ended at 6:00 and my support group began at 6:00. My plan was to zip over to my group.

Then I spaced out! There is no other explanation for what happened next besides chemo brain.

After Ofek, I couldn't figure out why I was so pressured, since I had plenty of time to get to my support group by 8:00. I could have even taken my son home, and come back again. The wires in my brain were completely crossed! I confused the ending time of my support group with the beginning time.

At 6:30, my friend TK called to see if I was coming to the group. I answered "Of course! I'll see you at 8:00!" She started laughing. Only then, I realize what happened.

I arrived an hour late. Suffice it to say that I was unable to raise all those topics that I had been waiting to talk about! How frustrating!! The discussion that we had was interesting (about priorities and making time for the people who are most important to us -- our husbands and kids), but it was not the discussion I had wanted to have. Also, you would not think it would be so hard to drop what we are doing and pay attention to those nearest and dearest, but it is. At least, it is for all of us. The facilitator made certain that we ended the meeting with practical suggestions, shifting the focus from what we are doing "wrong," to what we can be doing better.

Monday, I was still so tired. The thought even flitted across my mind to cancel lessons. I am so glad that I did not. My classes were AMAZING!! So many of my kids had the best lessons that they have had to date! I felt so wonderful after class!

And here we are.

It is Tuesday afternoon and my house is quiet. MD just went off for his Bar Mitzvah lessons. The girls are out on "netiyot" (tree planting for Tu B'Shvat, even though Tu B'Shvat is not until next week) with their youth group. (These days, both girls are in Ezra. A joined Ezra, to be with her older sister. Y is happy to have her little sister in the same youth group, and she really looks after her. It works for me!)

In theory, I could sleep or get something done.



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

With love and optimism,
RivkA

Beit Natan Winter Retreat 2009

I came home from the retreat physically and emotionally exhausted!

I was away for almost three full days and there was so much I wanted to do when I got home. Instead, I went straight to bed! I spent a few minutes with my daughter, then with my son. I fell asleep in the middle of my son's entertaining description of his drama class (he and a few of his friends made a comic skit was about the yetzer hotov and the yetzer harah [our good and evil inclinations]). His description was very amusing, but I could not keep my eyes open!!

I had a wonderful time at the retreat. Many women were there last year as well (I even remembered several of them!).

It felt like coming home.

Last year, I had to be convinced to attend. This year, I could not wait!

It was so wonderful to be in the company of such a special group of women. And it was an emotional relief to be able to talk completely freely of all things related to cancer.

Though I was still a bit reserved about the fact that I have metastasis, it was helpful to recognize so many faces from my support groups and to know that I was not the only one. By the end of the retreat, I had met several other women who are also on the long-term plan. One woman with mets was only 34!! (she was 29 when she was first dianosed with cancer, and received her second diagnosis only a month after she finished treatment)

The time just flew by!

It seemed as if we just arrived and already it was time to pack up and leave.

I look forward to next year!



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

With love and optimism,
RivkA

Support Group -- New Beginnings

After our first support group ended, I was eager for us to meet again. I was excited when I found out that our new group was forming after the chagim (holidays), and that S was going to be our facilitator. I had met S last year, on the Beit Natan winter retreat last year; she made a really good impression. M had been such a skilled facilitator that it was imperative that the person who took the group over would also be highly capable.

I naively expected everyone from our first group to return, and was a bit surprised when only four of us (L, M, T, and me) showed up for the first meeting. C was also supposed to attend, but she was not feeling well (we were all quite concerned about her). There were supposed to be several other new women, ten in all. For each of the first two meetings, only one new woman joined, but did not return.

Tonight was our fourth meeting. L, who had attended the third meeting, returned, and there were two other new women, M & R. C also came, which was really exciting since she had missed all the previous meetings (she was really not well for a few months). So, tonight, we were eight women. It was really nice to finally feel like a group.

We had really good discussions in previous meetings. However, since we were such a small group, with almost no one new, we really felt the absence of the others.

During our second meeting, we shared what we knew about the women from our previous group. P was too tired to come the meetings, Y was not doing very well, and MC chose not to continue because the commute is too difficult (she came from Dimona, almost 2 1/2 hours away). Sadly, I learned that E had passed away. That meeting, we spoke a lot about loss and the challenges of being in an environment, whether it be a support group or the chemo ward, where encountering death is an inevitability. It was a difficult meeting emotionally, though very important. Sometimes we need to allow our fears to come out of the box so we can look them straight in the eye.

Since there were so many new women tonight, half of the meeting was spent introducing ourselves and catching up. The other half was spent discussing how we deal with the unexpected. In particular, how we deal with surprises that force us to confront our disease -- such as the need to go to the emergency room when you just have a simple cold that happens to include a fever. (If you don't understand the reference, see here)

One theme that consistently arises in our group is how to find the ballance between living our lives as "normal, regular" women, and living our lives as cancer patients. For me, this is a constant challenge.

It is difficult for me to accept that every time I have a minor fever I have to go to the hospital (though on normal days, I can at least bypass the emergency ward and go straight to the oncology day ward). It is difficult for me to adjust to the fact that I need to actually take my temperature, and not just rely on how I am feeling. And it is difficult to know that I will spend many "unnecessary" hours in the hospital, just to be "safe."

This is my "new normal." I do not like it. But, it is what it is.

So, I am trying to learn to accept it.



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

With love and optimism,
RivkA

Support Group -- "Bein HaZmanim"

"Bein HaZmanim" is the "in-between time." (Yeshiva terminology, referring to the 3 week break in learning from Tisha B'av to Rosh Hodesh Elul. Some yeshivot also take off for a few weeks around Pesach)
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At our "final" meeting, we discovered that none of us wanted our support group to end.

Our wonderful facilitator was going abroad for a year.

We were on our own.

We decided to meet twice, within the next five weeks, "before the chagim." (holidays)

Perhaps, "after the chagim," Beit Natan would find us another facilitator.

Meanwhile, we were advised that one of us should be assigned to lead each meeting.

I volunteered to lead the first meeting.

We decided that I would prepare something in the spirit of Elul (the Jewish month, when we reflect on the past year and the changes we would like to make in the upcoming year).

Five of us came to our first, "independent," meeting (L, C, M, Y & me). C had Sheva B'rachot that night, and still chose to attend our meeting first, before heading by bus to Ashdod!

We spent the first few minutes "catching up."

Then I asked everyone to take a piece of paper, and draw segments divided by straight lines on one side, and segments divided by curvy lines, on the other.

On the side with straight lines, I asked everyone to write about things, not necessarily cancer related, that we regretted about the past year. Then, on the side with curvy lines, we wrote about things we hope to do differently next year.

Then, we shared how we felt when we were writing.

Not surprisingly, it was harder to examine our flaws. I know that I felt overwhelmed by all the things that I wish I could change.

When discussing the flip-side, participants felt satisfaction. The felt happy about the things they were doing well.

When I turned over the page, I also felt my mood switch. I felt the burden of my failures lift, and the opportunity to do better next year.

After summing up everyone's emotions, I shared some of my thoughts about the page:

The straight lines create sharp angles, representing the harshness with which we view our own faults. The smooth, wavy lines are meant to guide us in being gentler in our judgments of ourselves, in helping us be more flexible and open in the future, helping us to "go with the flow."

Though there were many tangents over the course of the meeting, I felt the meeting went well. We'll see what kind of feedback there is.

I have years of experience as a group facilitator, however leading our group was particularly challenging. I was not an outsider, coming in to lead the discussion; I was also part of the group. The dynamics were different, both in the way the group related to me and how I related to the group. Nevertheless, I think I was successful in creating an open, and dynamic meeting, and in preserving our "safe space."

The meeting was also challenging, because one of the women was going through a particularly difficult time. It was clear to me that she needed more support than a simple support group can provide. I tried to give her the space she needed to share, allow time for women to support her, and still keep the discussion focused and on track. It was hard, but I think I succeeded.

We ended our meeting, as we always do, standing in a circle, arms wrapped around each other. One by one, we each say, in one word, an emotion that represents how we are feeling, right now, in this moment.

Warmth.

Support.

Together.



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

With love and optimism,
RivkA