Because I Stayed

February 9, 1990, I walked into a room full of people sat down, and did my best not to cry.

It was my first AA meeting.

I was terrified but I stayed.

During the break I cried in the ladies room.

A lovely woman named Carol, stayed with me in the ladies room, talked me in off the ledge and promised to meet me at another meeting.

That was the day that changed the trajectory of my life.

Rather to succumbing to the horror that alcoholism has to offer, I put my faith in a room full of drunks and a power greater than myself that I truly did not understand.

All I knew was that I never again wanted to feel the way that I did that night.

I never wanted to spend another night with my face in a toilet.

I never wanted to spend another day having my friends recount my idiotic actions because I had drunk myself into a blackout.

These past three (plus) decades have not been without a desire to drink. I have had that many times...I just haven't given in.

Most days are really easy. I don't live a life that revolves around partying like I did back in the day, so not drinking is pretty easy. In fact, I rarely even think about it.

When things are rough and tough, when I have to fight for my life, when I am fighting for someone else's life, when things are difficult my 'sobriety shield' is raised high. I am ready, I am on the lookout, I am constantly making sure that I am aware of my weaknesses and I am on guard.

But, when things are going well and life has settled into an easy pattern with no drama or hysterics, that's when I want to drink.

My mind will begin to fantasize about "a" glass of wine or "a" beer. Neither of which did I ever have just one of.

The "ism" of alcoholism is always waiting for me to slip up and pick up a drink.

The "ism" is a thief. It's a devious little POS that waits for my guard to be down so it can convince me that a drink would bad situation better and a good situation great. Lies!

I am constantly aware that my thoughts can slip which would cause me to slip and I have no doubt that is a fall I would not survive.

In the early days of my sobriety I pretty much lived in meetings.

I did 30 in thirty days and even after that hit 3-5 per week, went on speaking engagements or drove friends, who had lost their licenses, to meetings.

I love the fellowship and I the atmosphere. Most people there had a common goal: sobriety.

While I rarely attend meetings now the lessons of those early days have stuck. Not the least of which were steps 1, 2, & 3.

1. We admitted we were powerless over alcohol - that our lives had become unmanageable. 
2. Came to believe that a Power greater than ourselves could restore us to sanity. 
3. Made a decision to turn our will and our lives over to the care of God as we understood Him.

In the early days I didn't have a clear understanding of God. All I knew was I was not the one who created the moon and stars. I was not responsible for the sun rising and setting every day and the things that I had tried to do on my own had gotten me to where I was.

I quickly found a sponsor who was able to see through my outer shell, talk to me in terms that I could grasp and summed up the first three steps in a much less wordy way:

1. I can't.
2. He can.
3. I think I'll let Him.

As long a I was giving up control I would be alright.

Early on I resented the crap out of the fact that I am an alcoholic. I didn't like the label. I hated not being able to drink! Thirty-four years later and I can still tell you which cabinet the Tequila was in the day I decided to call the AA hotline.

Ask a "normal" person where the Tequila was in their liquor cabinet 34 years ago and I bet they'd look at you as if you're insane!

Over time the first three steps morphed into a much greater understanding of the Serenity Prayer.

Some days I practice it much better than others. I am not perfect but I really do try. And the best part of being sober this long is that my kids have never seen me drunk. God willing, they never will.

To this day my favorite meetings are the Newcomer meetings where I can hear that it's still the same crapshow out there that it was 34 years ago. Nothing has changed except the people sitting at the bar.

I have never hidden my sobriety or the fact that I am an alcoholic. I always make time to help those in need or lend an ear to those whose loved ones are still actively drinking.

If you, or someone you love, are struggling with alcoholism, please know that there are people out there who want to help. 

Helping others, helps us. All you have to do is ask.

Serenity, Courage and Wisdom. 

May God bless you with all three.

God's Got This

I am blessed. Really, really blessed.  

I didn't just survive cancer, I have beaten it. 

"The biopsy was malignant." Are four words that stike fear in those of us who have received the call. 

Given my family's pathology, the call was no surprise but it was no less terrifying. In fact, my oncologist says that my family history makes her toes curl. 

Overnight I went from only knowing the difference between benign and malignant to a functional knowledge of ductal, invasive ductal and lobular cancers. 

The learning curve was severe but necessary. 

Knowledge really is key in the fight against cancer. 

I am not one to take things strictly at face value. I do my research, speak to others who have walked the path and find as much information as I can process. I prefer information and facts vs how I might feel about something. 

Probably why I despise the "talking heads" on TV. They play on emotion a little too much for me! 

Anyway...

The beast is beaten into remission. 

I have won!

However...

Far, far in the recesses of my brain there is a small molecule of doubt, worry, anxiety. 

All the "what if" questions live there. 

This is where my faith fights my battles. 

I can't quote scripture. I have a horrible memory for scripture, song lyrics or most other quotes...but I'm really good with jokes! 

And, I have faith. 

It's so hard to put into words. 

Dictionary.com defines Faith as: "complete trust or confidence in someone or something."

That someone or something is God.  

"God's got this" is what plays through my head and heart the most. 

According to the American Cancer Society, 1 in 8 women will develop breast cancer and of those 1 in 39 will die. While deaths from breast cancer have decreased by 43% it's still going to take more than 43,000 women in the US each year. 

I don't know why I was spared but I have faith that God's got this. 

However, I still ask, "Why?"

Why was I chosen to live? Why me? 

I don't know if I am currently living God's plan or if I will be called into service in the future. Was my purpose to bring humor into the chemo center? Is it so that I can share my experience? 

I don't know. 

Many will say that it doesn't matter and that what matters is that I did beat it and can continue living but I believe that it's bigger than "just living." 

Millions of people will be diagnosed and many won't survive. 

In fact, last week I attended a celebration of life party with a man who was losing his battle with pancreatice cancer. I am so grateful for the opportunity to see him again and hug him one final time. 

But, while talking he looked at me and asked, "How long has it been for you?" 

I didn't realize what he was asking so I replied, "For what?"

He said, "Since you were diagnosed." 

I felt like I'd been hit in the face with a 2x4. 

I have never felt more horrible or more guilty than that very moment. 

There I was standing in front of a man whose life was most likely down to hours explaining that it's been two years since I was diagnosed. 

I wanted to crawl under a rock. 

Survivor guilt is real!

I'm still reeling from it and find myself asking again, "Why was I chosen to live? Why me?" 

Gary passed barely 24 hours after that party. I am grateful that he chose to spend time with the ones he loved and to see everyone one more time. His bravery in allowing people to see him during his last days was amazing. 

His impact will be felt for years as will his loss. 

I pray that my impact on those around me has been and will continue to be positive. 

I may never know why I was spared but I will continue to do my best to continue to share the knowledge I have gained in this process and trust that God's got this. 

Purpose

I never imagined that I'd end up in a position where I would need a Medical ID/Warning bracelet...

But, here I am. 

Did you know that once lymph nodes have been removed from an armpit that arm can never be used for blood pressure, IVs, injections etc? 

Why? 

It could cause Lymphedema. 

Yeah, I didn't know what that was either. 

According to the Mayo Clinic: "Lymphedema refers to tissue swelling caused by an accumulation of protein-rich fluid that's usually drained through the body's lymphatic system. It most commonly affects the arms or legs, but can also occur in the chest wall, abdomen, neck and genitals.

Lymph nodes are an important part of your lymphatic system. Lymphedema can be caused by cancer treatments that remove or damage your lymph nodes. Any type of problem that blocks the drainage of lymph fluid can cause lymphedema."

Anyone can develop lymphedema but the likelihood of it happening to a cancer patient who has had nodes removed is much greater. 

I knew when I went in for treatments to make sure they don't take blood pressure on my right side and I can't have blood work done there either but it never dawned on me that I should get a bracelet until I was told about a post in my support group but my chemo buddy Christina. 

What if something happened and I wasn't conscious to tell the professionals not to touch my right arm?! 

I went to a Bove Jewelers in Kennett Square, PA, looked through the catalog, found a bracelet I'd be comfortable wearing and placed the order. 

It arrived last week and looks great! 

The front says Lymphedema. On the back it says, "No blood test, blood pressure, no IV or injections in this arm"

When I asked what I owed, the owner Bob Strehlau looked at me and said, "You've been through enough, it's our gift to you." 

I cried and hugged him. What a beautiful and generous gift! 

The past 11 months of our lives have been insane. I'm looking forward to the day they become a distant memory. That being said I have made some new friends, tightened bonds with others and have learned that there are few things that I value more than prayer. 

I don't talk about my relationship with Jesus much because I struggle with putting my feelings into words. 

There is an idescribable level of peace that comes with knowing that God has a greater purpose for our struggles than just making us struggle. 

Few things grow in complacency.

The times in my life where I have grown the most were some of the most difficult ones. At the time it was horrible, looking back it was necessary. 

Whether it was my own health or my husband's, there were many people who called to pray with me over the phone and we had prayer teams around the country praying for his recovery. 

A few years ago, during a sermon, pastor Johnny said, "People always say the God doesn’t give us more than we can handle but that is wrong.  God purposely gives us more than we can handle so that people turn to him."   

I can’t say that I know the exact purpose for Glenn to get hit so hard with covid but, while Glenn was fighting for his life, friends who are declared agnostics and atheists started praying. People who’d walked away from churches for a variety of reasons were praying. Not just to a “higher power” but to our Lord. 

People were united in one purpose, praying to one God. 

Our God. 

Beauty from ashes. 

I am grateful to God for saving my hubby. I am grateful that this experience pricked the heart’s of those who had turned away and they are turning back. 

And, I will forever be grateful to everyone for lifting us up in prayer. 

There is a profound level of peace in knowing that even when we felt like we couldn’t go on we were being carried by others. 

Just Loud

Throughout my diagnosis, surgery and current chemo treatments, people have referred to me as "brave," a label with which I am not comfortable. 

Merriam-Webster defines brave as: "having or showing mental or moral strength to face danger, fear, or difficulty : having or showing courage."

I don't see myself as brave or courageous. 

Great figures in history that I think of when I hear brave are: 

• Harriet Tubman leading slaves to freedom on the underground railroad
• Martin Luther King
• Irena Sendler — a Polish social worker who helped save some 2,500 Jewish children from the Nazis by smuggling them out of the Warsaw Ghetto 
• Combat soldiers
• Firefighters
• Police
• Anyone willing to put their life on the line for the betterment of others

I just talk about what is going on in my life and encourage others to go to the boob squish machine. 

I know, I know...it sucks, it hurts, it's uncomfortable but it's necessary. 

It's not bravery. It's a test. 

Someone recently asked how I was and I gave them the standard answer, "I'm good. Steroids get me through the weekend. The fatigue at the beginning of the week is pretty severe but my staff is amazing. They have everything covered so I can nap when I need too. The meds keep my tummy issues mostly under control."

He responded with, "You poor thing." 

I snapped back with, "Don't talk to me that way." 

And I meant it. 

I am not a "poor thing." 

What I am going through is temporary, manageable and I have a light at the end of the tunnel. 

There are many that will never see the end of treatment. 

They will lose their battle. 

In this regard, I am blessed. 

The cancer was stage one. I will beat this and move on. 

I am not brave, I am just loud. 

If God chose me and my big mouth so that I can spread the word and help to save others, then I am honored to be his messenger. 

Imagine God have enough faith in your faith in Him to make you a messenger.

What! How incredible is that? 

What I am talking about here is perspective. 

I am not a victim. 

I am a weapon, a warrior, a fighter. 

I don't wear battle armor, I have a big mouth, shaved head and pencilled on eyebrows.

Truth be told though? Being bald does make me feel pretty badass.

I'm really liking the bald head. 

It's cooler in the summer, takes no time at all to get ready when we go out and...think of the money I'm saving on hair care products. Ha! 

I am having a great time with pictures of my bald head. 

After my chemo treatment last week, Glenn needed to go to his office and I needed to make a stop at Hobby Lobby for supplies. 

I scored a pair of Yoda sunglasses!!!

Once we were in the car I pulled them out to put them on and Glenn was mortified. 

It was the only time since we met that he wasn't a super aggressive driver. He was so embarrassed that he was hanging back so people wouldn't see us, well, me.  

I don't know what his problem was, my name is on the back of the car! 

Anyway...we got stuck at a notoriously long red light. He was really irritated and grumbling about it. 

While still wearing the Yoda glasses, I put my hand on his arm and said, "Alright you will be."

He tried to not to laugh, but in the end couldn't help himself, and we had a great laugh together. 

I still have 7 more weeks of chemo ahead but I have five behind me. Each week I get closer to getting my life back. 

It's just a path I need to take and I will walk it with God lighting the way. 

With a little humor and a lot of faith, alright I will be. 

God's Plan

It was sophomore year in high school I distinctly recall going into the girls bathroom down the hall from the cafeteria with my best friend and having her explain to make myself throw up and get rid of all of the (high calorie/fattening) pasta that I'd consumed at the annual high school spaghetti supper fundraising dinner.

And so began a lifetime battle against the insidious eating disorder: Bulimia.

I spent all of my teenage and most of my adult years obsessing about my weight and torturing myself.

I stopped growing at the towering height of 5'3 & 3/4" and am fairly big boned for someone of my height. According the evil height and weight chart at 157 lbs I am roughly 27 lbs overweight.

Yeah, well, that chart has had me puking my guts up for years.

Not everyone is built the same.

I am not tall, lanky, skinny, slender. I do not have a tiny frame. I am big boned and years of athletics has given me a fantastic muscle base.

I have dieted, exercised, starved myself and body shamed myself for years because designers, the media, mean girls in high school and society in general have lead me to believe that a size 8 or (gasp) a 10 is much too large and that if I am not a size 2 or less then I am not worthy...of anything.

Guess what? They were wrong.

And so was I.

Jeremiah 1:5 says, ""Before I formed you in the womb I knew you, before you were born I set you apart; I appointed you as a prophet to the nations."

God created me and loves me as I am. 

Why then, do I pressure myself to be something other than what I was meant to be? 

Because I have been pressured by "societal norms" for so long that I have allowed them to dictate my worth.  And most importantly, because I did not have the faith to trust in God's plan. 

I could be a size 4 or 6 if I wanted to starve myself and live on protein bars but, quite honestly, I love food too much. 

I have needlessly battled the same 15 pounds for the past two years. I can take it off but it slowly creeps back on until I get to where I am now. 

So here I am.

At 157 lbs I can eat whatever I want and my blood pressure is 112/72. 

I go to the gym a couple of times a week, run around with my twin three-year-old boys and can garden all day without feeling as if I am going to keel over. 

My body is where it wants to be. 

I'm done torturing the beautiful creature that the Lord saw fit to bring into this world. I will no longer treat myself as a lesser person because my weight doesn't fall into the right block on that stupid chart. My worth is no longer going to be dictated by a number on the inside of my jeans or the number on the scale.

God loves me, my husband loves me and my children love me. 

I am choosing to trust God.

The body shaming ends now! 

His Passion

Four years ago this morning I kissed my father goodbye for the last time.

He had been diagnosed with bladder cancer in September and took his final breath on December 3, 2010.

The world has not been the same since.

We all know that our parents are supposed to die before us. In fact, anytime someone loses a child the saying is, "You're not supposed to bury your children." It's a natural order of things to let the parents go first.

That being said, it doesn't make the loss any easier.

Dad was one of the healthiest guys I've ever known. He quit smoking in the '70s, rarely drank to excess, ate well and was not the least bit overweight. What he did suffer from was a genetic predisposition to cancer. Men in our family all get prostate cancer. Dad did but beat it with radioactive seeding. According to the oncologist, it probably wasn't even necessary but dad said that he didn't like living each day with the knowledge that he had cancer in him.

In the end it didn't matter.

Some people just draw a short straw the day they were conceived.  You can't argue with DNA.

After his biopsy confirmed the bladder cancer in September. He was scheduled for surgery in October to have his bladder removed and was trained on how to empty the "bag" that he would be wearing for the rest of his life.

Surgery came and went...the doctor opened him and closed him back up.

In the couple of weeks from the biopsy to surgery, the cancer had grown at lightning speed, breeching the bladder walls and taking over the lower part of his abdomen. There was nothing more that could be done.

He opted for palliative radiation in hopes that it would buy him a little more time but even that wouldn't do much to extend his life or the quality of what he had left.

The family and our friends rallied. We did everything we could to make what time he had left as good as it could be. From coordinating volunteer drivers to radiation and taking dad for his last sail.

Dad, who was a Quaker, turned to his friends and our pastor for spiritual guidance. His belief in God was deep but something he didn't force on others. Over the years we'd had some great conversations about God and spirituality and prior to passing he confided in me that he was concerned about the afterlife as he, "hadn't always been nice to people."

That was the most amazing thing about him.

Even as he lay in bed slowly surrendering to the cancer, his concern was not just about himself but about anyone he might have wronged.

I told him that I highly doubted that if God was willing to forgive those who had done something as heinous as murder, that He would be more than willing to forgive a man who would have yelled at someone because his passion ran high!

Dad was a passionate guy.

If he really believed in something you'd be best to just get out of his way or better yet give him a hand because he's going to draft you to help him anyway. He was instrumental in rescuing a yacht club from near bankruptcy. By the time he stepped down as Commodore the club was in the black, had expanded to put in an in-ground pool, started a sailing school and was holding regular regattas. Mom worked at his side and the club became the family annex. If you came to visit you could pretty much count on working.

Dad's passion easily translated to enthusiasm and you couldn't help but get involved. If you didn't believe in what he was doing he'd be the first to point out that you were wrong and he was known for having a temper and voice to go with it.

One of our friends loved the fact that he could get into a very spirited debate with my dad and when it was over, belly up to the bar and have a beer together. He was not a grudge holder.

He had a great sense of humor but a horrible memory. I could tell him the same joke every year and he'd laugh as if it were the first time he'd heard it.

I loved his laugh.

While he could be a really serious guy at times, he didn't take himself seriously.

Over the years we'd teased him about looking like Inspector Clouseau from the Pink Panther movies and referring to him as Chuckles. One Thanksgiving his sisters teased about attempting a comb-over because he hadn't had time to get his hair cut before the holidays.

He took all of it in stride and would even laugh with us (but did get his hair cut the next day.)

I think that's the thing I miss most...his laugh.

While my boys can look at his picture and know who he is, they will never know his laugh. He would have loved to play with them and I would have loved to have heard him laugh at their antics.

There is not a day that goes by that I do not miss him and I'm not alone. His impact on those around him was astounding! Which is both a blessing and a curse.

While we were all enriched by his presence but we all suffered when he passed. Fortunately, we were left with lots of great memories and stories to share.

While he is no longer here to laugh with us, I take solace in the fact that to this day I can still hear his laughter which makes me smile and warms my heart.