Cancer and other ‘C’ words

About a month ago, the mom of my best friend from high school suddenly passed away after a short bout with aggressive cancer.  About a week ago, our neighbor came home from the hospital with hospice nearing the end of her long bout with cancer.  Two days ago, a friend lost his husband to cancer.  It’s an ugly theme.  It’s an ugly trend.  It is an incomprehensible reality for too many.  By no means are these the first three people I’ve known to face this particular beast and lose the battle.  Really, the list is long and the losses too great to list here.

I had a creepy ‘benign’ skin tumor removed from my ear my sophomore year of college.  I was born and raised in a desert, so skin cancer was something almost expected. At 20, it wasn’t something I took too seriously.  Six short years later, my uncle succumbed to melanoma.  I’ve had several friends fight that themselves since then and have stayed ahead in the fight, but not by being anything but diligent in both their medical check-ups and in their sun protection.  Another friend recently lost half a lung to a ‘gumball’ sized tumor that decided to take up residence in her air sacs.  There’s not a lot of rhyme or reason here.  What is it that’s really out to get us?  Is it the sun itself?  Is it the chemicals that show up in the foods we eat?  Is it even avoidable or simply inevitable?

Constantly fretting over the probability of some form of cancer is, in itself, like cancer invading one’s life.  I wish I had some sparkling witticism to redirect the tone of my writing here today, but the fact of the matter is, Cancer is a Jerk!   To those battling, I wish for you courage.  For those loving someone in the thick of the fight, I wish you both compassion for their grieving process and comfort through your own.  For those grieving the loss of another fallen victim, I wish you fond memories celebrating the life of your loved one and I wish you joy and healing from unexpected sources.  For us all, I wish clear bills of health and more positive things on which to focus.  

Speak Up!

Last night I had to do something extraordinarily difficult.  I had to call a friend that I don’t know well to let them know that their child whom I know quite well intended to kill herself.  I had copies of the text messages to back me up in case they doubted me or my kid to whom their kid was texting.  I was blunter than I’d intended when I called, but frankly, I’d never been trained in calling someone to let them know their kid was suicidal.  We had received news earlier that afternoon that a seventh grader at their middle school had died the night before and knowing that three other friends of my kid within the past twelve months had either told my kid that they intended to kill themselves or they told her after the hospitalization that they had tried, I wasn’t willing to do anything less than call the parents directly.  My kid is one who doesn’t gossip nor believe in telling other people’s stories.  I think that’s most likely why her friends confide in her.  It was a huge deal to me that she was fast to tell me her friend was in trouble and that she was really worried that disaster was imminent.  I know my kid will struggle for a while over whether her friend will forgive her for breaking her confidence, but, after the events of last night, we have signed our own kid up to see a counselor.  I presented the idea to her as an option and an opportunity to have someone trained in managing burdens give her tools to manage those she’s been carrying for over a year.  I wish I’d signed her up sooner, but my guide to parenting this kid exactly right seems to have gone missing, so I’m just doing my best.

I’m wondering if this seeming epidemic of depressed tweens and teens is in direct response to us becoming less neighborly as a culture.  The other day I was lucky enough to catch up with an old friend whom I met in or around the second grade.  Her family had moved into the house across the street from ours and my father had greeted her parents with a bottle of wine and a handshake to welcome them to the neighborhood.  Thinking back, our family knew almost everyone who lived on that street and several on the adjacent street too.  It was a small town, but still, we all were neighborly.

Three months ago, we moved into our new-to-us home in a new-to-us town. On the day we put up the SOLD sign, someone nearby shouted happily “Howdy new neighbors!” and then were gone.  We were surprised to not actually meet our first neighbor until over six weeks after moving in.  Even then, we only met him when we went out to get the mail as he was returning home from work.  He seems very nice as do the few neighbors we’ve met since, but it was a little anticlimactic. I acknowledge the climate is different.  I grew up in a desert, but here in the PacNW, February/March are excellent months to stay indoors.  I expect we’ll get to meet others more as summer arrives and look forward to being neighborly.

The POINT is this:  When we stopped getting to know our neighbors, the parents of our kids friends and our co-workers, we seem to have adopted a mind-your-own-business attitude and defensiveness that is harming our kids.  As the situation from last night unfolds more, I’m realizing that at least one of the kid in crisis’s parents was completely blindsided. He had no idea that more than one of his kids’ friends had been struggling with depression.  He didn’t know his kid had been having panic attacks for over a year, nor that the kid like so many others in this school is struggling with sexuality and related confusion.  This is stuff my kids talk with me about. It’s not anything I would have talked with my own parents about, and I’m so grateful for the relationship I have with my kids and that they trust me enough to discuss it.

No, I don’t want unsolicited parenting advice either, but if someone suspects my kid is in emotional or physical trouble and tackling concepts way bigger than whether the dog ate their homework, I want it known here and now that I WANT YOU TO TELL ME!  Even if you think my kid may have already told me, I still want you to speak up.  Yes, it will feel awkward.  No, I won’t be happy to hear it, but better to learn about what’s going on than to have to write an obituary.  If you lose a friend over having spoken up regarding a serious concern over a child’s safety, they were never really your friend and hopefully you will have at least helped them to start an important conversation with their kid.  Lastly, don’t buy into the myth that teenagers are too far gone to save.  They’re still kids in grown-up bodies with raging hormones just trying to carry the weight of the world with an over-developed sense of self-importance while still battling an under-developed sense of self-worth.  Frankly, it’s exhausting, but we who chose to become parents really only get eighteen years to help them evolve into functioning ‘grown-ups’… in the big scheme of things, it’s only a blip in time.

As my brother said from a very early age, “I didn’t ask to be born”.  None of our kids did, but as the people who brought them into this world, we are obligated to help them at least make it through high school with some sense of purpose and a set of goals to help them on their way.  There are a million things we can do to connect with our kids, but the first thing has to be to be present and engaged.  Stay in touch with your kid. Ask questions. Put down the technology. Hike as a family and explore your town/county/state.  Make time. You won’t regret the investment.

Be gentle. Be kind. #BeThe1To

During 1991-1992 school year I had lived in the fine arts dorm on campus and had my favorite school year ever.  My very rough freshman year saw me living off-campus with virtual strangers, not playing tennis or taking any dance classes due to injuries for the first time since I was five, hitting an all-time weight high and bulimia-low. I almost flunked out of school and my only real friend in Irvine at the time was the upstairs dance major who bonded with me over our shared eating disorder.  Near the end of that year, at the urging of my brother, I underwent testing and was verified to be ‘learning disabled’ (they don’t call it that anymore).  Signing up to live in the dorm the next year was a fresh start and the first place I found my tribe.  It was also the only year while in college that I didn’t struggle with bulimia or depression.

In December of 1992, I was in my junior year at UC Irvine and living with friends in a townhouse off campus. Aside from usual pressure of being in college, around this time, my sister told my parents that I had been making myself throw up. My Dad called to tell me that if it continued, he’d pack up all of my stuff and make me quit school and move home.  I got better at hiding it.  I was being stalked for the second time in my life by someone who would follow me home from campus and work and even was waiting in our back yard when a roommate and I got home from a late-night grocery run.  Another night, a male’s voice was calling my name as he threw small rocks at our upstairs window. When my roommate turned on the light, he jumped the fence and ran off.  Police were involved, but the ‘incidents’ continued throughout the school year and that person was never caught.  With winter break coming and no roommates staying in town, I’d been advised by the police not to stay alone in the house.  I’d been working retail part-time in nearby Costa Mesa. Although I’d kept my manager appraised of the stalker situation, she told me in no uncertain terms that taking any time off at the holiday season would mean I’d be unemployed when I got back.  As most college students are, I was under immense pressure and didn’t know what to do to improve things.

There was a common occurrence almost any time I was alone during this period.  My face would leak.  It would start automatically, and it usually came as a surprise.  First the tears would flow and then I’d berate myself for crying which spun out into all of the reasons I was a worthless burden to anyone who was dumb enough to put energy into loving me.  I knew it wasn’t normal to cry as often as I did, but dang!  I can be really mean! Conversations with myself in private left me with little doubt that my friends and family would be better off without the burden of me taking up time and space.  Really, I was sure that if they didn’t have me to worry about, everyone, myself included, would be so much better off.  About a week before winter break, I bought sleeping pills from a local drug store.  I’d planned to take the whole bottle that afternoon while my roommates were out.  I was sitting on my bed with no intention of leaving a note trying to summon up the guts to get it over with when I heard my roommates come home early.  I heard Pez cheerily bounding up the stairs. She flung open our bedroom door with a big grin on her face and pushed a small Christmas tree into my lap.  She gave me a hug as I began to cry and told me that they’d been worried about me.  Having had a similar conversation with my brother sixteen years later, I know how hard that must have been for her to say out loud and I don’t know if she ever knew what her coming home early that day prevented.  I wish my conversation with my brother had been as effective.  Matt took his own life on December 12, 2008.

While December 1992 was my lowest point in college, I don’t pretend that I didn’t cycle back into a dark place ever again. I do know that I had no idea at the time how much better my life was going to get.  I am grateful every day for the amazing adventures that I get to have and the team that loves me through them.  Is every day great?  No! Of course not! But the great thing I finally know is that there is something great in every day as long as I am willing to see it.  Adding up all of the great things is a much better use of my time and energy than comparing myself to others and counting all of the ways someone else may be luckier, happier, prettier, smarter, etc.  I’m a very competitive person, but I was never going to win a competition against someone else’s genetic code, karma, luck or destiny.  I’ve made peace with that side of my persona.  It helps that I spend more time offline than on these days and that I don’t watch TV beyond Netflix.

I did get help, and, with some key people in my life who stay tuned in, I have gotten better at identifying my triggers, asking for help and at helping myself. I also improved my relationship with my body and with food.  The bulimia and depression combination is one that works easily together to tear you down. In my own struggle with depression after my brother died, I finally told myself that suicide is no longer an option for me and I believe in my heart that I mean it.  The challenge is, no one can say that for you, no matter how much they want to.  I’ve had several people over the years ask me to “promise” that I wouldn’t end myself and I lied to each of them. Telling them what they wanted to hear at that moment was the only way to end a lecture I was being subjected to rather than a conversation that I needed to have.  There is a distinct difference there.  I will always be grateful that it was Pez that walked into the room with that Christmas tree that day.  She was the only one of my roommates who could have started that conversation and listened rather than lectured.  Pez did go on to become a therapist.

This week is National Suicide Prevention Week and with that are a few quick points I’d like for us all to remember:

1. If and when you are worried about a loved one for any reason, reach out. Even just a quick text message letting them know that you are thinking of them can make a difference.  Don’t do it later. Do it now.
2. Follow up. Check in with them again.  Are you still worried?  If so, follow up more.  Use your words. Say specifically that you fear they are thinking of suicide.  If you’re still worried after you talk with them, call National Suicide Prevention Lifeline 1-800-273-TALK (8255). Yes, YOU call them because you are worried about your friend. They can guide you on what to do next.
3. Be gentle and be kind. With ALL people, be gentle and kind. No matter how well you think you know someone, you never really know the sum of the things they’ve been through or what they say to themselves when they’re alone.
4. The only true shame in suicide is that the world will never know all the amazing things one could really accomplish and contribute in a full lifetime. That really IS a shame.

A few really awesome resources:

The Jason Foundation, Inc. is dedicated to the prevention of the “Silent Epidemic” of youth suicide through educational and awareness programs to equip young people, educators / youth workers and parents with the tools and resources to help identify and assist at-risk youth.  @JasonFoundation  contact@jasonfoundation.com www.jasonfoundation.com

Suicide Prevention Lifeline The National Suicide Prevention Lifeline is a 24-hour, toll-free, confidential suicide prevention hotline available to anyone in suicidal crisis or emotional distress. By dialing 1-800-273-TALK (8255), the call is routed to the nearest crisis center in our national network of crisis centers. The Lifeline’s national network of local crisis centers provide crisis counseling and mental health referrals day and night.

@800273talk  www.suicidepreventionlifeline.org

911  If you genuinely feel your friend/loved one is in imminent danger of self-harm or suicide, dial 911.

The American Foundation for Suicide Prevention (AFSP) is the leading national not-for-profit organization exclusively dedicated to understanding and preventing suicide through research, education and advocacy, and to reaching out to people with mental disorders and those impacted by suicide.  http://www.afsp.org

IF YOU ARE IN SUICIDAL CRISIS PLEASE CALL 800-273-TALK (8255).
If you have lost someone you love to suicide visit: http://www.afsp.org/copingwithsuicide

The Emily Program  888-364-5977  888-EMILY-77 @TheEmilyProgram info@emilyprogram.com           http://www.emilyprogram.com

There’s Help. There’s Hope! Millions struggle secretly with food and body issues. One of the most comprehensive eating disorders treatment programs in the country, our care is personal, warm & welcoming.

#BeThe1To #NSPW #BeThere  #noshame #lightthetrailride

Are you ‘Deserving’?

While perusing Facebook yet again, I noted an ad on the right hand side of the screen that stated “You DESERVE to be Happy”.  The sentence attached itself to the back of my brain and tapped at my consciousness like a splinter gained while gardening without gloves.  Had I worn gloves, I would have been less likely to get the splinter, but does that mean I DESERVED it?

I believe everyone has a right to choose happiness, but by no means do I believe that any one person ‘deserves’ it.  Happiness is something you earn. It’s something one works towards.  It’s something one can achieve if they put out the efforts to not choose to be miserable or to make others miserable, but ‘DESERVED’?  I think not.

It’s very much like the idea that ‘The customer is ALWAYS right.’  Having worked in retail as both a sales person and as a manager, I can tell you first hand that the customer is OFTEN wrong.  It takes skill and finesse to straighten out a customer in the wrong without letting them feel like you’re pointing out how very wrong they are. It takes even greater skill to not only retain the customer after they’ve been blatantly or obnoxiously wrong and greatest still to not only salvage the sale, but then to manage an up-sale before all the transactions are done.

I have no doubt that the world would be a kinder and gentler place if everyone on the planet were happy.  Would I like to see that world?  No.  States of being beyond happiness serve some important purposes.  If everyone were blissfully happy, we as a people would be less apt to innovate.  While I can easily pick several areas where I don’t believe that’s a bad thing, I love my iPhone too much to say technology and innovation is bad.  Think of the story of the Stepford Wives.  A world in which the wives were programmed to emote nothing but blissful happiness left no room for passions or creativity.  Passion and creativity are two things that MAKE ME HAPPY. Without both, my marriage, the raising of my kids and the very creation of artworks wouldn’t be possible.  And those three things…my marriage, raising of my kids and the creation of artworks…those are the very things that make me most happy.

Do I ‘deserve’ to be happy?  Yes.  I’m willing to work towards that.  Happiness isn’t a state of being but rather a state of mind.  Without periodic unhappiness, melancholy, frenzy and angst, we wouldn’t recognize happiness when we experienced it.  I wish each of you earned happiness.  More than that, I wish you passion, creativity and well being.

“I Don’t Want To Wake Up Dead Tomorrow Knowing That I could Have Had A Piece Of Cake Tonight”

Last night my husband and I were watching Gabriel Inglesias’ comedy special and he referred to himself as ‘fluffy’. For those who don’t know who he is, Gabriel is a morbidly obese younger than middle-aged Hispanic comedian who wears Hawaiian shirts and spends most of his routine discussing his place in the world as a ‘fluffy’ American. And no, it isn’t likely that he’s ever passed up that piece of cake. His body shows it. That he gets a bit winded through his performance isn’t all that surprising considering his size. Here is a man who actively and consciously chooses to ‘eat the cake’.

I am reminded of a quote I heard a lot in High School as I was trying to reclaim my body. The quote is “nothing tastes as good as thin feels”. I don’t entirely agree with that. At my thinnest, I was 124 pounds at 5’10” and I felt like I was dying. I awoke throughout the night in pain from my ribs, chest and stomach. I didn’t know what was causing it…I only knew if I could lose another 20 pounds, I’d at least look the way I wanted to. I’d gone to extremes…from way to heavy (see my prior blog ‘Stalk ya later’ for details on that) to way too thin. I became somewhat of a compulsive dieter. Then I took it a step further when my dance instructor let me know in no uncertain terms that I wouldn’t have a solo again until I was considerably thinner. I would work out at a minimum of two hours before bed every night having had at least one dance class earlier in the day (five per week) and while playing on the varsity tennis team at my high school. When I would give in to my brain screaming that I was starving, I’d binge, and then I learned to purge. Yup…I spent eight years as a bulimic doing even more harm to my body than the initial weight gain and diet cycle could have.

Through support of my family and then boyfriend (who is now and still my husband), I worked my way out of the vicious cycle but I know that every day I make the choice to not purge. I make the choice to not binge. I make the choice to not eat the cake. I’ve tasted cake before. I’m sure it will taste the same the next time I take a bite. I don’t need to eat it every day to know that it’s still sweet and gooey. I make the choice to pay attention to what I eat. I make the choice to walk and/or exercise at least once every day because I have big plans for the rest of my life and I need all my strength, energy and time that I have possible in order to accomplish each of my goals one goal at a time. Cake isn’t going to get me there.