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A dry spell...

September 3, 2019

It has been a long dry spell. Very, very long.  

I’m not talking about sex, although that has suffered a bit since the cancer thing. But I’ll save that for another blog.

I’m talking about money.

Why is money not flowing?  

It seems my husband and I have been stuck in a rut of financial lack and I am doing everything in my power to understand why so that we can move through this and on to the financial prosperity that I KNOW awaits us.  

But there’s definitely a block present.  Must be.  Why else would we be so challenged for so long?  

I’ve been digging deep on this for a while; trying to get to the source of what the opportunities are for us.  Because Mike and I are a team, this could be a lesson for us as a couple.  Or maybe it’s our own individual limiting or irrational beliefs we hold around money.  Either way, I am deeply committed to understanding this issue in service to accepting and receiving financial prosperity.  

I get a visual.  It’s a picture of me on one side and money on the other and we’re divided by a wall.  And the wall is made of fear.  

I think back to three years ago, when we were enjoying a time of financial prosperity for the first time since having kids.  I had a wonderful time indulging myself.  I was able to go grocery shopping without keeping a mental tab on our budget. When the boys needed socks or underwear, I didn’t have to hesitate before jumping on to Amazon.  And when I wanted to grab them a sandwich from Subway, or a Starbucks for no special occasion, I did it!  So no extravagant vacations or luxurious extras; this is how I indulged. Such a feeling of freedom.  It was fantastic!  

And then I got cancer.  

So I wonder… Have I paired financial prosperity with getting cancer?  Is there a belief present that I can’t have everything?  That I’m unworthy of living a life of happiness?  That I should never get too comfortable because just when I think everything is going well, the other shoe will drop and something horrible will happen?  I feel the energy rising and tears begin to flow- a sure sign I’m on to something.

I let that sit with me for a couple of days as I contemplate these misunderstandings and misinterpretations.  And then another thought comes forward.  Maybe there’s something else at play here as well. I have a sense of what it is and I don’t like it.  Not one bit.  

Let me back up.  Over the last several months, I’ve been experiencing our financial situation in many ways.  

First there’s panic.  An immediate, guttural fear that my family’s safety and security are in jeopardy.  My history has shown that  making choices from a place of fear never works out. That didn’t stop me though.  I went into crisis mode, looking for any kind of work I could get.

Let me back up even further.  

Many years ago, my husband and I agreed that I would stay home with the boys, making him the primary bread winner.  We didn’t come to this decision easily.  But ultimately, it was right for our family, fulfilling my lifelong dream to be a mom. And while I do generate some money from home, it’s meant to supplement my husband’s income.  Yes, I know this is a privilege that many women don’t have.  I understand the gift…and the consequences.  

So when I found myself in panic mode, my first reaction was to jump in and take care of things by myself.  The thinking in my head goes something like this, “Well, if he can’t do it, somebody has to.” And if you’re wondering…yes, there was some resentment.

So then I spent several weeks looking for work. Any kind of work.  Nothing came.  During this time I was really, really unhappy.   I was getting several signs that this wasn’t the direction that was going to lead to the financial prosperity I longed for.  In addition to no movement on the job front, my body was filled with anxiety that kept me awake at night, I was unable to eat, and I was grumpy.  But I was doing what I thought had to be done.  

Then I began learning about quantum physics and how we can create our reality by raising our energy etc. and it really helped shift me into a much more positive space.  I felt empowered, energized and hopeful.  Instead of hunting for jobs, I placed my energy into things that brought me joy: my family.  And while our financial situation didn’t change, I was much, much happier. I began to trust and have faith that things would work out.  

I stayed in that space until a few weeks ago, when, once again, I was faced with the cold, hard facts of our finances.  Sent me right back into that panic place.  And the pattern continued. I jumped into looking for full time work outside the home.  I was scared and miserable. And nothing was working out. None of the positions I was applying for responded.  None.

Again, it was clear that this path wasn’t leading me anywhere, but I just didn’t know what else to do. My prayer shifted a bit. “Please just point me in the direction that best serves our family.  And if I’m meant to be home with the boys, please provide the financial means to allow that to happen.”  I even got really specific, asking for the amount of money that would help us out.  

And then a friend gently pointed out the possibility that perhaps the opportunity available to me is to shift out of my old (grrrrrrrr) pattern of over responsibility.  

Ding, ding, ding!  

Yes, I’m guilty.  I come from a long line of women who have learned the pattern of over-responsibility, sometimes known as martyrdom. I’ve been aware of this pattern for a while. Even explored the connection with my breast cancer, but again, that’s for another blog. But I have been mindful of my  choices with regard to this pattern, especially around my boys.  It just hadn’t occurred to me that the behavior was showing up in relation to my husband.  

And I realized that perhaps the reason we’ve been stuck in this pattern of financial lack is that I have been enabling it.  UGH.  OUCH.  Really?  All along, I thought by jumping in and overstepping my husband’s role, I was saving us; when in reality, I was enabling him to stay small and not giving him the space to step more fully into the role that he chose.  

My rational mind is quick to step in and question this insight.  Doesn’t this give my power away?  I am a strong, independent woman and I wonder if this is my way of playing small.  But wasn’t the point of the whole feminist movement to give women the power to make their own choices?  I am choosing this path.  But the thinking part of me still wonders if these are rationalizations to serve my position.  

I check in with myself and a few things come forward right away. First of all, this FEELS right. The anxiousness and tightness in me dissipates as I come to this realization.  Secondly, what we’ve been doing up to this point is NOT working, so why not try this out?  

So I took a huge leap of faith.  I sat down with my husband and shared my insights.  If the past several months has offered us anything, it’s the ability to speak the microscopic truth with each other.  Many times in the past we’d discussed changing up our agreement and switching roles. But we know that wouldn’t serve either one of us; in fact, it would bring us further away from our own heart’s desires.  So I took a deep breath and spoke my truth. I told him I was going to stop looking for full time work and that he would have to find a way to step up and make the money to keep us going.  

It was scary, but also so liberating.  It felt as though a weight was lifted and, once again, I could breathe.  

And guess what happened?  My husband had an amazing week of meetings. There’s nothing solid on the table YET, but there’s lots of possibility and potential.  And I think I can make our remaining resources last until he lands that next gig.  Because that’s what I’M good at.  I’m great at making the money we DO have last for a long time.  I’m also really good at believing in my husband and kids and holding that space so they can be the amazing people they are!  I’m good at finding ways to save money and generating supplementary income.  I’m great at keeping our financial books, cooking (well, sometimes), cleaning and keeping our house in order.  And I’m especially good at keeping my family healthy and happy.  

I ran into a man while walking our dog recently. He has been a banker all his life and he was sharing how excited he was to be reaching retirement so he could finally do what he has wanted to do his entire life, write a book.  I stop to think about choices.  Sure, we could’ve chosen that path, but we decided a long time ago to try things differently: to do what we love NOW and have faith that our passions would provide us with what we need. OK, so it has presented some challenges, but honestly, I wouldn’t want to do it any other way.

So here’s to financial prosperity. After all, I’m already living a tremendously abundant life, where I get to experience radiant health, joy, laughter and LOVE every day.  I understand the incredible gift that I am blessed with daily.  Now it’s time for me to surrender and complete the picture by accepting and receiving financial abundance.

And so it is.

In loving,

Sarah

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Mission Completion

June 17, 2019

We did it!  Sixteen months later and we finally completed a goal that was years in the making.  And it surpassed all expectations!

We made it to Disney World!  

I know, in the wake of beating cancer, small potatoes, right?  But not for me.  And not for my family.

We originally had our trip planned for May of 2018.  After the diagnosis in March, we knew there was no way we’d be able to pull that off, so we postponed. Finding a time to reschedule was tricky.  It was like a big puzzle, piecing together everyone’s schedules and commitments.  Between my older son’s school schedule, my younger son’s gymnastics competition schedule, my husband’s work, and my health, it seemed an impossible task.  But we landed on a date in December- a few weeks after my last chemo treatment, but before the holidays.  

Then the choir recital popped up. And another gymnastics competition. And did I really want to take this trip so close to finishing chemo?  Intuitively, I knew it was not the best time, but I also knew that broaching this with my husband would send him into a tailspin. Sure, he wanted to take the trip at an optimal time, but in his mind postponing translated to canceling.  

I shared my rationale behind pushing the dates of the trip with my husband and he begrudgingly agreed. I tried to lighten the blow by reassuring him that I’d already locked down an alternate date. We’d leave the day after my older son’s last day of school in June, which was also when my younger son was clear of competition season, and I would be strong and healthy. But that seemed like and eternity away and I saw the doubt in my husband’s face.  He was defeated.  His doubt just made me more determined to make this trip happen.

Fast forward to a few weeks before our trip.  My husband’s work had slowed to a snail’s pace.  Discretionary income was limited, at best.  We had many late night discussions about the feasibility of taking such an exorbitant, indulgent trip at this time.  I was scared, but I didn’t budge.  I held our vision, strong and clear. I set intentions, I lived in the belief that the trip will unfold with grace and ease, and as I asked for assistance, it appeared.  

The day had finally arrived.  For such a long time I’d had visions of the moment I would finally let go.  I pictured us seated on the plane, seat belts fastened, ready for takeoff!  I saw myself taking a deep breath and as I exhaled all the trials and tribulations of making the trip a success would be released  and I could sit back and enjoy the ride.  

Spirit has a funny way of reminding us about being clear with our visions.  

We all sat on the plane, seat belts buckled, ready to take off. I was just about to let out that big breath when the captain announced that when we were pushed back from the gate, the plane’s front tire had been damaged. We were all asked to exit the plane so that the pilot and mechanics could determine next steps. OK, not the optimal way to start a trip, and I must admit, I was feeling a little uneasy. But I kept telling myself it was just a small little hitch in the plans.  So we grabbed some pizza and enjoyed a nice meal in the terminal…until my husband bit into something and a big ‘ole honking piece of his tooth came right off.  Yeh.

I felt a moment of overwhelm and sadness as I was being pulled down with the fear that our long-awaited trip was now in jeopardy.  But lately I’ve been doing a lot of energy work and I was immediately aware of a choice available to me.  I could succumb to the negative energy of the situation and follow in an old pattern, or I could tune in to that heightened energy of hope and trust, knowing that not matter what unfolded, it was all going to be just fine.  I centered myself, acknowledged the old programing, (sent a couple texts to family members for support) and promptly re-programed myself to the positive. I used some of the tools I’ve been learning about raising our energy and tapping into the unknown future and I allowed myself to be pulled right back up. Not to be deterred, I held on to my vision. Only this time, I included the vision of us enjoying ourselves in the theme parks!

Eventually, we were all told to re-board the plane.  My husband’s tooth was jagged, but not painful.  We could do this!  Our seat belts were buckled, we took off, and I had a long, joyful sigh of relief.  

On our first day in the Magic Kingdom, I stopped to get a celebratory pin.  Disney World offers pins for people celebrating birthdays and anniversaries, but they also have blank pins to fill in other things you may be celebrating. I wrote one for myself:  I’m Celebrating Beating Cancer.  I wore that pin with such pride through our entire experience.  It became a symbol, marking the end of what was a very tough year, reminding me how very much we have to celebrate, every. single. day.

We’ve been home from the trip for about a week now and it kind of feels like it was all a dream.  Our vacation was perfect in every single way.  Sure, it was ninety degrees, sticky and hot every day.  Sure there were meltdowns. But through it all, I felt myself lifting and experienced things differently than I had in the past.  My positive visions continued to pull us forward through any perceived challenge.  If I felt the tug pulling me down, I reset myself.  I chose not to indulge in conflict. I chose joy.  I chose happiness.  It’s almost like I could physically see the different choices I had to make in each situation and with the power of strong intention and some of the new skills I’m learning, I chose my experience.  It was amazing.

It occurred to me that I may be experiencing some of the whole ‘new lease on life’ thing that people talk about when they’ve survived something that threatened their life. I’d imagined survivors singing along with the birds and walking with a spring in their step; that they experienced unending joy and delight every moment of the day.

Maybe some survivors do have that experience, but it’s different for me. I don’t feel an elated  appreciation for life every moment of the day. But I am experiencing feelings in a much more heightened, vivid manner. I had more moments of intense happiness and joy in those few days at the theme parks than I’ve had in a long while.  And on more than one occasion, I found myself weeping, the kind of weeping I just can’t control, as a result. Watching my boys play in the rain storm, seeing a child sleep in their parent’s arms, eating a soft serve ice cream cone, watching the fireworks as they sync up with music and a message that encourages us to believe.  I mean, what could be better than that?  

We’re back to reality now. No more Mickey to remind me to believe. And as I feel the heat of summer slowly descending, I also feel myself being pulled downward. But that’s ok.  I’ve got my own internal song playing every day, reminding me that anything is possible.

My job is to simply listen closely, hold a clear vision, be kind and compassionate, remind myself that I have the gift of choice and trust that it’s all unfolding perfectly. And love, love, love that I get to be here to experience it all!

In loving,

Sarah

“When you wish upon a star

Makes no difference who you are

Anything your heart desires will come to you

If your heart is in your dream

No request is too extreme

When you wish upon a star

As dreamers do

Fate is kind

She brings to those who love

The sweet fulfillment of their secret longing

Like a bolt out of the blue

Fate steps in and sees you through

When you wish upon a star

Your dreams come true.”

Songwriters: Leigh Harline / Ned Washington

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Leveling Out

May 23, 2019

I’m feeling balanced.  Level.  Like if I were one of those pendulums that swings back and forth, I’d be finding that sweet spot, right in the middle.  

And as the distance from discovering the cancer increases, I feel I will continue to find that balance.  Time is a wonderful thing.  With its blessing, I’ve been able to run the gamut of emotions that came from the experience of discovering that lump to feeling healthy today- and everything in between.

And so while I hesitate to close the chapter on this whole cancer thing, my sense is it’s time to move on.  

If you’ve been following my blogs, you’ll know that I’ve had several lessons from cancer.  Lately I’ve been contemplating the symbolism of removing all the tissue from my breasts.  I was cleared out in the chest area.  Hmmm…..  Why did that area need to be cleared and what other things close to the heart needed clearing?  

Perhaps it was time to release some of the limiting beliefs I was holding around my own creativity.  Or my natural tendency to sit back and observe before stepping more fully into my power as a woman.  And there’s always the whole self-nurturing thing and my resistance to embracing my own self-care.  All lessons I’ve taken note of and will continue to contemplate and shine light on.  

If you saw me now, you wouldn’t even know that my last year was consumed with cancer treatment.  My hair has grown out to the point that people probably assume the style (and curls!) are a choice.  My energy is back to one hundred percent.  The only other reminders I have are when I look in the mirror at my new boobs, (which I’m still not completely on board with), see my short hair, take my daily medicine, and experience the painful side effects as my bones and muscles ache.

My emotions have leveled out too.  Yes, I still experience intense mood swings, compliments of that daily pill. But they seem to be fewer and further apart.  

I’ve also been drawn to learning about quantum physics and the whole mind/ body connection. I’ve always been so fascinated with this whole subject, it resonates as absolute truth for me.  So I find myself wondering how I contributed to creating that cancer.  I try not to place blame on myself, but explore how I can shift any old patterning to a more positive, hopeful way of being, in service to increasing my health.  

So yes, one year after clearing my breasts and learning I would have to undergo sixteen rounds of chemo, I’m gaining perspective and finding my way into my new life.  Cancer has transformed me on many levels beyond the physical. While I wish the lessons from this experience would’ve come in a much more gentle way, I’m also mindful of the fact that I am alive- and so maybe it did come in a gentle way after all.  

And some of the most vivid memories of the past year won’t necessarily be around chemo (although, boy, they were doozies) but around the love and support that carried me through my days.  Friends and family from far and close, new and old, who I speak with daily and I haven’t heard from in years.  You all came forward and rallied for me when I couldn’t take care of myself.  You provided me with food for nourishment, drugs to stave off the ill effects of chemo, flowers, notes, posts, encouragement and so, so, so much love.  So there are blessings in that cancer, for sure.

I’ve been blessed with another year to share in my boy’s experiences. They are taller, maturing at lightening speed, and so joy filled.  Both of them continue to thrive in their lives and seem to be genuinely happy kids.  We now have a dog, who just loves to cuddle.  My husband and I are more committed to each other than ever before. And I am finally taking steps to explore what my next chapter will hold. There have even been some wonderful synchronicities unfolding- things that I’ve imagined and hoped for over the past several years, occurring right before my eyes.  Maybe, I finally have the space for it all.

So I thank you, dear reader.  Thank you for taking this journey with me.  Thank you for your patience as I complained and vented, your persistence in cheering me on and your unending love.  

If more insights come forward, blogs about cancer may follow. But now I see myself sharing more about next steps and new adventures in my life.  And how lucky I am to wake up every morning, surrounded by love, with a roof over our heads, food in the cabinets, running water and electricity, and a body that is working in perfect alignment with my soul’s Higher purpose.  

I am grateful.

And I thank you.

In loving,

Sarah

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A National Experience

May 14, 2019

Kadyn and I had our first experience at the Men’s Junior Olympic National Competition. This year it was held in Reno, Nevada, and although Mike and Kiernan weren’t able to join us, Kadyn and I had a really good time!  The week was so full, it’s hard to pare it down, but here’s my takeaway.

To compete at Nationals, Kadyn had to qualify with a certain score at Regionals. In his level and age group,  only 24 athletes in the country met that score. So just being able to participate in Nationals is a great accomplishment. Having said that, Kadyn went with two goals in mind:  Hitting all his routines and making the US National Team.  

The culmination of his competition season, Kadyn was buzzing with nerves, excitement and anticipation as we arrived for his first training session at the Convention Center.  Since he was a young gymnast, he’d heard about what a big deal it is to go to Nationals. I stopped at the entrance to freeze the moment.  “Kadyn, you’re here.  You made it to Nationals!”  The look on my boy’s face will forever be imprinted in my memory- he was pure joy.  He had a sparkle in his eye that reflected so much back to me. In that moment, he was able to justify all the hours of training, pain, disappointment and frustration and realize this was his reward. He was proud.  He was happy. He was accomplished.  He was excited and determined.  It was one of the best moments of my week.

On the training floor those first few days, it was a different story.  These workouts were open to athletes of all ages. So all the top Junior gymnasts in the country were training right beside him and some of the 17 and 18 year old boys were doing some fierce skills.  Because his home gym has its fair share of champions that he trains with, I didn’t think this would phase Kadyn, but I was wrong.  He looked terrified.  He wasn’t alone, many other athletes looked the same.  And it definitely affected him.  I’ve had the opportunity to watch Kadyn train a lot and I’ve never seen him look as flustered as he did those two days.  He couldn’t stay on any of the apparatus.  He was falling on skills he’d been doing for years. It was a “Bad News Bears” experience.  I prepared myself for a rough two days of competition.

But true to form, on competition day Kadyn stepped up and pulled it together. All season, he hadn’t been able to get through a competition without having a fall, but at Nationals he hit six for six on both days- without a single fall!  He even landed a new vault to the delight (and possibly surprise) of his coaches. One of his goals: MET!

I had my usual competition experience, battling nerves and excitement, but also enjoying watching such amazing gymnastics. It helped that my sister, Evie, was there to share it with me.  She knew when to talk and when to leave me alone and I was so grateful!

After Day 1 of competition, Kadyn was in third place…in the country!  He was hoping that with a good performance on Day 2, he’d be able to move up to second place. But in the end, my son was awarded the Bronze Medal in the United States Junior Olympic Nationals Competition!  

Unfortunately, because only the first and second place athletes were named to the US Team, his second goal of making the team was not met. So the toughest part of my week happened after the competition was over, when I watched my son wrestle with anger and disappointment. Angry because of the outcome.  Disappointment, well, in himself.  Despite the fact that he’d had two good days of competition, he still was unable to reach his goal of making the team and that’s a lot for an eleven year old to process.  So I had to give him space and time to work through his emotions.  

It had been such an intense week of gymnastics and suddenly I found myself unable to comfort my boy. I also had so many of my own feelings to sort through. On the one hand, I was so proud that he was third in the COUNTRY!  But yes, I’ll admit that I was also feeling the same as Kadyn, albeit at a much lesser degree.

Part of what contributed to how he felt is that out of the twelve athletes from all the age groups earning the title of National Champion, three of them came from our home gym. That must normalize and possibly diminish his  tremendous accomplishment of finishing third; one of the pitfalls of training at the top training facility in the country.  

I knew how badly he wanted to be named to that team and it was so hard to watch him work through his feelings. But I put my stuff aside and focused on my job as his mom.  I allowed him the dignity of his experience without trying to make him feel better, granting him the time to sit in that disappointment and anger. Yep, that was hard.  I loved him through it as best I could and eventually we both moved through our feelings and came to a place of gratitude.

Now he is now more determined than ever to grab a spot on that team next year.

I’ve got so much to be proud of with this kid.  Some of my favorite memories of his first Nationals are watching him meet up with other athletes from all over the country- boys he has been following on Instagram or watching on videos for the past several years. Although these boys are competitors, they’re also kindred spirits and when you throw them all in a room together you can catch a glimpse of the young boys they are outside the competition floor. They laugh and joke and have a fantastic time together!

And then there’s the relationships he has with his teammates.  His home gym had 16 athletes qualify to Nationals- more than any other club team in the country.  And this year, our gym’s Level 8 (Kadyn’s level)  and 9 boys won the top Club Team in the country!  Every day these boys push each other to be better athletes. Sure, they sometimes fight, but like brothers, they quickly make up. They cheer for each other louder than we do.  (Well, maybe- but I can be pretty loud.)   He’s growing up with them, learning all about gymnastics and other worldly things that I sometimes wish he wasn’t learning quite so fast!   But these boys- they love each other.  What a gift to witness!

Another highlight of Nationals was watching his coaches.  All year long these coaches grill him, push him, teach him, guide him, sometimes yell at him, and also help him beyond the physical skills- teaching him about the power of his mind, discipline, learning how to listen and honor his body to stay healthy.  They help him grow emotionally, behaviorally and physically.   I believe they are some of the most influential people in his life.  So witnessing these coaches celebrate his victories, knowing  that he has reaped the benefits of all their hard work, that is just priceless.  

And taking this journey with the other parents has been an amazing experience.  Yes, we’re all crazy.  Certifiable.  Nuts.  But we come together with a common love- our boys.   And that has created a bond that will stay with us for the rest of our lives.  

So one down, and if we’re lucky, seven more JO Nationals to go.  Kadyn has a week off and then he’s back at the gym, working hard, trying new skills and setting his eye on next year.  

Who knew gymnastics would play such a big part in our lives?  With all that flipping and flopping, I’m hoping we’ll both land on our feet and stick it!

In loving,

Sarah

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Ball of Fire

April 10, 2019

Lately, I’ve been feeling VERY scared.  Actually, terrified.  I feel like if you peeled away my skin, you’d find a huge ball of firey fear.  It’s raging.  It’s consuming me.  And while I’m doing my very best to move through it, I can’t help but admit I’m panicking.

Contrary to what you may expect, this blog is not about cancer.  This time, I’m going to break an old social taboo and write about something most people don’t share openly.  I hesitate only because this extends beyond my own experience and involves my entire family.  Mostly, I want to honor my husband’s privacy.  But true to form, he supports me one hundred percent in my experience and has given me the green light to share this publicly. So here we go.

Money.  It sucks.  

From the time I was a child, I didn’t have visions of marriage or career. I had visions of being a mom.  It’s all I ever wanted to be. But before I was able to manifest that dream, lots of life happened.  I was a fiercely independent woman, having spent several years in NYC as a (hopeful) actress and eventually finding my way to a great career as a Casting Director for television.  I loved casting!  But my dream for kids was strong, so when I found myself pregnant after three miscarriages, I chose to stop casting and become an incubator.  This wasn’t a tough decision to make- I knew what I wanted and I went after it. And  after many years of pain and disappointment, we gave birth to our first son.  Another loss and eventually son number two came three and half years later.  

After clearing up a big ‘ole misunderstanding about expectations once I became a Mom, my husband jumped on board with me choosing to stay home to be a career mom.  (That sentence is very weighted.  Although it’s said with one breath, it took months of therapy to work through!)

Here’s the thing- at the time, my husband was an actor.  Nowadays he’s more of a writer.  Neither of them offer consistent, sustainable income.  Not unless you’re one of the very, very lucky ones.  So one of the challenges for me, the girl who   grew up contentedly middle class, in the same house my entire life and craves stability, was becoming more improvisational and flexible, especially when it came to money. For the most part, my husband has managed to find consistent work.  And I’ve learned that there will be ebbs and flows of income.  More like feast or famine, honestly. So I adapt: when money is flowing, I’m packing it away like a squirrel stores nuts for the long winter.  (Do squirrels really do that?  I’m not sure, but I like the image.) We live a very frugal life, putting the bulk of our income toward the boys activities.  But when work slows for my husband and stored money begins to dwindle down to a place where I’m uncomfortable, it gets bad.  And scary.  

I gave up a lot by choosing to stay home with the boys.  Sure, I miss having a career of my own, but not nearly enough to make me want to trade in my career as a mom.  However, I do miss the income and financial security the career outside the home provided.  We have spent many conversations about the guilt I have by not generating a regular income.  My husband understands the value I offer our boys and continues to support my decision through all my hemming and hawing, even though this puts tremendous pressure on him as the sole provider.

So when we get to this scary place, I panic.  And  old programming makes its way into my head.

When I was in my twenties, pursuing my acting career in NY, I was encouraged by my Dad to find a job that would offer a more sustainable income. His solution was to become a Pharmaceutical Rep.  Those of you who know me can stop laughing now.  Here’s why it’s humorous: First of all, I’m not a salesperson.  I’m way too honest and transparent to sell something I may not completely believe in. And that leads to…Secondly, I don’t like taking medications for anything!  Not even aspirin!

But I began to notice a feeling in my body whenever Dad would suggest the career move.  It was an intense anxiousness. My heart and blood race, there’s a tightness in my chest and tears begin to form in my eyes.  That’s how terror shows up for me.  As I matured in my awareness of my body, I was able to identify the feelings as a sign that I’m on a path that may not be in service to myself.  

But there’s always a small little voice in my head whispering, “Or is that how you justify avoiding doing something that you know you need to do?” The conflict is almost always there.

And that’s how I’m feeling right now.  It’s the fear of having to be forced into a position that doesn’t fit me. Something that just isn’t right.  I feel like I just can’t breathe. Somehow this fear is scarier to me than almost all of my cancer experience (except the part where I was afraid I’d die).  And I’m terrified to my bones that if I don’t take one of “those jobs” that we will run out of money and be homeless.  T E R R I F I E D!

So if you saw me right now, I’d look normal to you.  But in reality, that big ‘ole ball of fear raging like a fire. All. The. Time.  

I resort to my training.  First, I acknowledge that although the fear is real, it isn’t necessarily based on truth from past experience.  We have never been entirely broke or homeless.  Ever.   False Evidence Appearing Real.  True, it has been very, very scary at times. (Like now!) But somehow we have always managed to pull ourselves out of the situation.    

But the fear says, “What if this time is different? What are you going to do? It’s time to suck it up and go get a job- anything that will bring in money.  Anything you big ‘ole wuss. Most women don’t even have a choice- they HAVE to work, you spoiled brat.Who do you think you are?  Nobody gets to live their dream their entire life! Get out there and get a REAL job.”  Fear is not nice to me.  I feel the tightness almost strangling me and the panic sitting in my stomach.

The voice keeps me up at night.  When I get overwhelmed, I once again turn to my training.

Because this seems to be a pattern in my life, I understand there must be opportunities available to me.  What have I been overlooking?  What lesson is this situation offering me? I hear a much more gentle voice reassuring me. “It’s ok, Sarah.  It’s going to be ok.  You are held.  You are always held.  This is unfolding perfectly.   Keep your heart and mind open.”  And slowly, I can feel myself loosening.  My breath deepens.  My panic begins to dissolve and I feel a softening; a way to look at this all a bit differently.  And it feels much better than the tight, anxious, panicked feeling of fear.

So if this is perfect, what IS my opportunity?  Well, I’ve been hovering in a space of not knowing what the next chapter of my life is going to look like for the last several years. Maybe this is exactly what I need, a kick in the pants, to get me thinking more in that direction?  I sit in that for a while.  And then a plan begins to form.  And I’m reminded that working does NOT have to look like my fear’s images.  There is a world where I’m doing something I enjoy, generating money AND being the kind of mom I want to continue to be.

And that’s where I am today.  Still terrified, but taking small, action steps. Trusting that I have enough time left before our funds run out to allow the plans to evolve into something that generates income.  

Trust- that’s a big one, right?  I’ve always had a hard time discerning the fine line between trust and denial.  Right now, I’m too dang scared, so I’m going to lean towards trust.  I don’t want to give into my fear because the past has shown that when I make choices from a place of fear, they just don’t work out.  And sitting in this space FEELS much better. I’m breathing easier, the tightness in my chest is gone and the panic has lessened. So trust it is. For this moment.  And then hopefully the next and then the next.  

My son had a big gymnastics competition recently.  He started out really strong on his first event and then fell on his second, dropping him from first place to ninth.  I went into a tailspin as I kept re-playing the moment he fell, wondering why, trying to somehow change the outcome in my mind.  In the meantime, my son just kept working hard and competing beautifully at his subsequent events, chipping away at the lead that the other athletes had gained by his fall.  Going into the sixth and final event, only four tenths separated him from first place.  He prepared to mount the pommel, an event that had been giving him so much difficulty throughout the season.  I tried my best to not cheer very loudly because I didn’t want to distract him. But as he worked his way through the routine, gaining momentum, clearing each skill, I just couldn’t hold back.  My cheers became louder and louder, knowing full well if he didn’t fall, he’d win.  And then, just like that, it was over.  He’d done it- stayed on the pommel, did what he was supposed to do, what he’d been training for all season, and completed a clean routine.  And yeh, he won the competition!  

I can’t help but consider the symbolism of this event and extrapolate it onto my life.  If I can just keep pushing, even after falling, trusting that I can do what I am put on this earth to do, it will all be ok.  And maybe I can cheer for myself a bit too, knowing I can win if I can just hold on!

At least, that’s what I’m gonna tell myself today.

In loving,

Sarah

[sarahaltmanposts]

My (fake) boobs

March 31, 2019

I don’t like my boobs.  A year since my mastectomy and five months since reconstruction surgery and I’m still trying to embrace my new lady lumps.  

Before I got cancer (BC), I’ll admit to having a curiosity around having my boobs done.  Breast feeding two boys and weight loss and gain had left my breasts smaller, low and droopy.  So every once in a while I’d have a fantasy about getting them done, and in that fantasy I’d imagine my breasts the way they were in my twenties- not porn star boobs, just nice, full, healthy looking breasts.  

So learning I would need a double mastectomy after my cancer diagnosis was something I took in stride.  Everyone kept pointing out that one of the perks (ha!) is that it would eventually lead to that boob job I’d been imagining.  True, I got the boob job, but it certainly didn’t turn out the way I’d imagined.  

OK, let me back up a bit.  BC, I didn’t understand the whole mastectomy thing.  I thought that the surgery entailed chopping everything off. In fact, that’s how I refered to the surgery before I had it done.  They were going to chop off my boobs.  I’d  seen images of women, art pieces, of what a chest looks like after a mastectomy.  So after the surgery, I was pleasantly surprised to find that my breasts didn’t look a whole lot different.  I was lucky because my doctors were able to save my nipples, so basically after the surgery my boobs just looked like they’d been deflated, like they were balloons whose air had been let out.  They had lots of scars and bruises, but mostly they looked like my breasts minus any content.  So they weren’t cut off so much as emptied out.  Months later, the temporary expanders were removed and I received my implants, so I filled back up.  You can read more about that here.

But I’ve learned that there’s a big difference between having your boobs done by choice and by necessity.

First of all, I can not feel my breasts.  At.  All.   If my eyes were closed and someone came over and started touching my breasts, I’d have no idea whatsoever.  And I guess I wasn’t prepared for that.  So for me, it feels more like I’ve had an amputation with artificial replacements than an enhancement or reconstruction.  I sometimes get phantom pains which I’ve read is common with amputees.  And sometimes they itch, which is so weird because I can’t feel anything, so why would it itch?  I’ve been told this is the nerve endings trying to repair themselves, but there’s nothing to repair because there’s nothing in my breasts except the implants. Bottom line- I will never get sensation back in my breasts. Ever.    

So I find myself mourning my breasts for a couple of reasons.  First, my breasts were a big part of my sex life. Boob play was high on our foreplay  list.  It was a great erotic zone for me and I enjoyed the arousal that they provided.  And now it’s gone.  Gone.  Grrrrrr…..

I also mourn the way they looked and felt. I mean, if the purpose of the reconstruction was to ensure natural female curves, then this was a success.     But naked- they just don’t look right to me.  Since my breasts were so saggy before the surgery, I was told I’d have to go up several sizes from my BC size to fill them completely.  I had no interest in having really large boobs.  So I opted for the implants that were close to my size. As a result, my new breasts have lots of dimples in them. It’s a hard thing to describe because it’s an unnatural look and not anything I’d seen before in real breasts.  And of course their shape is different because now they’re shaped like the implants. They’re rounder now instead of longer, if that makes sense. And they feel like a cross between the texture of slime (you know, the kind that the kids make) and that magic clay stuff that you can squeeze and re-shape.  Definitely different feeling.  Round, indented, silly putty squishy boobs.  

And then there’s other little things, like they’re always nippy- day or night, hot or cold.  Nippy.  And sometimes my breasts are cold when the rest of my body is warm- because they’re not real and they retain the cool if it’s cold outside. So I’ll surprise myself when my arm brushes against them and they’re cold!  And when I lay on my stomach, I feel like I’ve got pillows propping me up where my chest is. I just wasn’t prepared for any of that.  

And did I mention that my health insurance deemed my reconstruction medically unnecessary?  They approved having my expanders placed and removed, but nothing else done.  Ahh… the world of insurance.  Five months later, I’m still appealing this decision. Just another annoyance around these new appendages.

So yeh, I miss my old boobs.  If I had known all of this before the reconstruction, I’m not sure I would’ve opted to get implants. Yes, I’d be flat and that would present a whole slew of other thoughts and feelings, but I’m not sure they would be worse than what I’m experiencing now.  

But like everything, I hope that over time I come to a better place of appreciation and acceptance.  This is just another step in processing what I experienced over the past year. Because when I strip it all down, I really am still grateful.  I’m grateful to be alive. And I know that eventually I’ll  be able to embrace these boobs of mine- dimples and all.

In loving,

Sarah

[sarahaltmanposts]

Cancerversary

March 13, 2019

I’m not very good at remembering dates and numbers.  While I can tell you exactly how I was feeling when something happened, I just can’t recall specifics with regard to when they happened. Luckily I knew this about myself and wrote down all the important dates and ages of my kid’s milestones or else I’d have no idea when my boys said their first words or took their first steps. But it seems I do have a built in reminder system with my senses. Smells, sounds, and tastes are wonderful at bringing me back to a specific moment in time.  

So recently when I began getting a feeling that I was coming up on a meaningful anniversary, I had a general sense for what it was, but I had to go back to my calendar to find out the specifics.  

March 13th and 21st.

Found the lump on the 13th, diagnosed on the 21st.

One year ago.

I think about my life before these dates.  It’s kinda like when I think about my life pre-kids.  “Wow, I was so naive and innocent and I had no idea what I was getting myself into.”  

One year ago.  My older son had auditioned for a highly competitive Performing Arts High School and was waiting to find out if he’d been accepted.  My younger son was still attending school part time so he could train in gymnastics, looking towards his Regional competition.  My husband was deep in Graduate School and writing on several projects. I was enjoying the routine that offered me so much comfort; one that involved daily exercise, eating healthy, being a mom and running our household.  We’d just told the boys about a trip to Disney World that we’d been planning for several months.  

And then March 13th and 21st happened.

One year.

Now, a year later, my older son is completely immersed and loving his Performing Arts High School.  He has also grown taller than me, something that still astounds me.  My younger son has become much more independent, now homeschooled full time and hoping that his training and skills will qualify him for Nationals.  Both boys have matured tremendously.  It seems the events of the past year have forced them to grow up in a way I hadn’t anticipated they’d have to, if it weren’t for that lump.  My husband has been dealing with his own challenges, grappling with being the sole financial provider in our family and having a wife that is, at her best, moody and irritable a good deal of the time. Me, well, if you follow these blogs, you know how I’m doing.  And we still haven’t taken that trip to Disney World.

Two dates that I will mark every year going forward.  My sense is that with each year that passes, the dates will become less meaningful.  In the future I’ll gain perspective and will be able to recall them with a wisdom that only the gift of time can offer.

Another thing I find myself doing as I look back, is consider the future.  I wonder what the year ahead will hold?  What will I be reflecting on a year from now? In my good moments, I’m hopeful that the year will be filled with health, abundance and joy.  But in my fearful moments, I worry that I’ll be adjusting to more sad events.  

Funny how time works, isn’t it?  I’m having conversations with my boys these days that I couldn’t even imagine when they were little babies and toddlers.  We talk about all sorts of things and I love hearing their perspectives on adult topics.  I’m not sure we would’ve gotten to this place in our relationship so quickly had it not been for the year we all just endured.  They’ve witnessed me at my worst, curled up in a ball on the couch as the chemo worked it’s magic on my body.  And I’ve witnessed them at their best, moving through their own fears and challenges around having a sick Mom.  

And one year later, here we are.  A little beaten down and tired, but we’re here, together.  So yeh, this is a date to note and maybe just an opportunity for me to acknowledge how far we’ve come, challenges and all.  Because while they saw me at my worst, they also saw me standing up after the bad days, moving forward with treatments, finding things to smile about every day and showing them what going through cancer looks like.

And I was given another year to witness my amazing boys in their lives.

It’s been raining a lot lately. Not such a big deal to most, but here in LA, it’s always an event.  A few days ago, my Southern California born-and-bred boys decided it was the perfect time to play basketball in the rain.  My husband, of course, had to join.  I watched from the warmth of my home and had a moment of joy and contentment.   Sure, the year was tough, but wow.  I live a life surrounded by love Every. Single. Day.  

So on this cancerversary, I’m going to take a moment to express gratitude. Because right here, right now, all is good. And heck, nobody knows what the next moment will hold. So let’s just enjoy the moment- rain and all.

In loving,

Sarah

[sarahaltmanposts]

Delayed Reaction

March 4, 2019

Have you ever been driving and when you get to your destination, you can’t remember the actual drive?  Or sometimes during my morning workout I’ll complete a set of exercises and ten seconds later not remember that I’d actually done them.  Well, I’m coming up on a year since I discovered that lump in my breast, and for the life of me (ha!) the past eleven months is a complete blur.   And it seems that all the thoughts, feelings and experiences that I moved through, but didn’t have the time to process are now plowing over me like an avalanche.

A little catch up- Although my PET Scan in December came back clear, a few weeks later I found another lump in my breast.  Having had a bilateral mastectomy, it shouldn’t be anything, right?  Always wanting to avoid overreacting,  I hesitated contacting my doctor.  But after about two weeks of feeling the thing, I sent my Surgical Oncologist an email asking if it’s anything I should be concerned about.  Her call the next morning requesting to see me right away answered that question.  

An ultrasound could not determine what the lump is.  Yes, it could be scar tissue or dead fat cells from the grafting that was done during my reconstruction, but the radiologist could not be conclusive.  So they decided to ‘watch me very closely’ and follow this lump to make sure it’s not another tumor.  I’ll go back for another ultrasound in a  month or so.

Getting back to ‘normal’ also meant resuming my regular skin checks with my Dermatologist. Having had several skin cancers in the past, all treatable with a few snips and stitches, my Dermatologist and I are buddies. But at this appointment, he was different.  Now that I’m post- breast cancer, he suddenly become over vigilant.  He did a much more thorough skin check than before that resulted in discovering a lump at my lymph node by my pelvis.  (Who knew we even had lymph nodes there?!!!) He had never even examined those lymph nodes before.  So when he solemnly asked “So, uh… when’s the next time you’re going to see your Oncologist?” it’s was all I could do to avoid laughing.  Not a humorous situation, but, are you kidding me? So yeh, I sent off another email to my Surgical Oncologist and we both decided this one could wait to be examined at my next check up in a month.  

At this point in time, I’m kinda thinking that if we keep digging deep enough, we’re gonna find some stuff.  And shit, I’m just kind of done.

Back to the avalanche.

I’m on my third month of taking hormone blockers and I think they’re messing with me.  This shows up for me in a couple ways.  First, my bones are really achy.  When I go to stand after sitting for a while, I walk like an old lady.  And second, I’m experiencing an exaggerated version of PMS, where I become overly irritable, followed by some deep sadness.  It’s not really depression, but more a lack of joy…in everything.  

Warning- rant to follow.

I am no longer bald- that’s something to celebrate, right?  I should be grateful. And I am… but….My hair is coming back darker and curlier than it was before.  And I’m not really enjoying the growing out process.  And if one more person tells me how cute my hair style is, I may just scream.  Yes, I know people are well-intentioned.  And heck, I may have made the same kind of remark to someone I’d seen going through this process.  But for me, it’s just a sad reminder of what I’ve just gone through.  This is not a hairstyle I’ve chosen. I did not go to the salon and ask for a pixie haircut.  This strawberry blonde, curly mess growing is not by choice.  Some days I feel like Little Orphan Annie!  And as much as I wanted to play Annie as a child, nowadays it just gets me angry. I miss my light blonde hair.  I miss having longer hair.  I miss having a warm head!    

And then there’s my boobs.  I miss them too.  MY boobs.  The ones I had before surgery.  Because the ones I have now- they don’t feel like mine.  They don’t look like mine.  And honestly, they don’t even look that great.  Don’t get me wrong, the plastic surgeon did a wonderful job.  But because my boobs pre-surgery were kinda saggy, I would’ve had to go up several sizes to fill the skin and I just didn’t want to do that.  As a result, my boobs have lots of dimples and indentations in them now and the shape just looks unnatural to me. And they don’t feel great. Sometimes they hurt.  It’s just another reminder.  

Piled on top of all this anger is a boatload of guilt.  I’m reminded of how lucky I am.  I have my life. The treatments worked. My health insurance, for the most part, was amazing at helping us handle the cost of the financial toll of this disease.  And my body has mostly rebounded from the year’s events.  So with all of that in mind, all these challenging feelings seem indulgent.  There’s a voice always whispering, “Sarah, come on now.  How dare you?  You should be feeling unending gratitude.”  So every experience of anger, sadness or frustration is followed by tremendous guilt.  And there’s an aching thought that somehow I ’should’ be doing more with my life; that my life as a Mom to these amazing boys, running our household, it just isn’t enough. It’s not a positive whisper, one that encourages me to do more.  It’s more of a very judgmental side of myself, criticizing and nagging; as if saying, “This is what your life was saved for?”

So yeh, there’s a lot going on in my head these days.  And little things trigger me.  Recently I saw a story on facebook about a guy who ‘cured’ his cancer by eating raw.  First of all, yay for him. But secondly, shit.  Really?  Here’s my inner monologue reacting to this story:  “Wow, so more evidence that eating raw is good for you and may even CURE cancer?  I’m not eating raw.  I’m not enjoying eating very much at all lately.  But when I do eat, it’s not raw.  Right now, it’s carb and sugar heavy because I’m f-ing sad all the time.  Great. So now, I’m not only hurting my body by not sustaining it with healthy food choices, but I’m inviting cancer to come right back in.  Way to go, Sarah.”  And then it turns to:  “F-ck that!  If I fought so hard to stay alive, I should be able to eat whatever I want!  And f that guy for implying that by not eating raw, I’m welcoming cancer back!”   OK- I know that guy wasn’t really implying that. He was just sharing his story.  Again, yay for him.  But clearly, there’s still lots of anger and guilt present for me.

“Waaa, waaa, waaa.  Quit your bitching and moaning. Stop indulging yourself and shake it off,” says my inner voice.  

And then I learned that this whole thing I’m going through…it’s not uncommon.  In fact, most cancer survivors experience a period of time when they process the trauma of, well, getting cancer and going through treatment and surviving.  And for me, this part is much harder than the actual treatments.  When I was going through treatments, there was a plan to follow and it kept me on track.  Now, going through this, it’s ambiguous and wrought with traps, reminding me how I should be grateful, when all I’m feeling is sad. And I’m a bit angry that there wasn’t a warning about this part of recovery and no courses on how to navigate this post-cancer phase.  

And if I’m being totally honest and transparent, which is all I know how to be, I’m a bit angry that the support that was so abundant during my treatments has all but disappeared.  People congratulate me now, like the whole cancer thing is done, I’ve crossed the finish line, mission complete.  Unlike the loving compassion I received from friends when I shared my cancer diagnosis, now when I share my sadness and difficult feelings, my friends just nod and suggest therapy, anti-depressants, or finding my passion.  These are great ideas and ones that I’ve utilized in the past, but right now, they’re just not resonating. But I understand my well intentioned friends. Sitting with someone in sadness is not easy  or something we’re taught. We naturally want to help someone feel better. I get it.

Another tactic is reminding myself that there are so many people who are experiencing so much worse than me. But this can be tricky because while I understand that notion intellectually, my own sad feelings remain the same and joylessness persists.  And then guilt creeps back in and compounds the situation.   So ultimately, my training has taught me that avoiding my feelings, or masking them with drugs or busyness, will not lead me to radiant health.  Sometimes, you just have to go through it, you know?

So it seems I’m in mourning for my pre-cancer life.  And It may just take a bit of time for me to adjust to this new life of mine.  One with achy bones, strange, awkward boobs and cancer still dangling over my head.  

So please bare with me, dear reader, as I go through my stuff.  More rants may follow.  And hopefully, as I continue to work through all of this,  these feelings will lift.  

I ask for grace, compassion and understanding.  No need to solve this for me, but I welcome a hug, a loving nod, or a wink- you know, the kind that Samantha used to give to Carrie, reassuring her she had her back.  And I hope…I really hope, I can find my joy again.

In loving,

Sarah

[sarahaltmanposts]

At long last, I found it!

January 7, 2019

I kept waiting to have the experience.  I watched others around me experience it on my behalf, but I had yet to feel it myself.  I was beginning to wonder, would I ever feel the relief of ridding cancer?

It has been ten months since my diagnosis.  A busy ten months, for sure.  Tests. Surgery- boobs gone. Port placed (ouch). Chemo- 16 of ‘em.  More surgery- fake boobs placed. Lots more tests.  And finally, port removed (ouch again!).  And yay!  I am FINALLY done.  It’s official- I am cancer free.  

I kept waiting.  My expectation was that I would experience a huge sense of relief, or accomplishment, or overwhelming joy.  But it didn’t come.  

When I completed that last chemo and the nurses sang to me, sure, I was happy.  No more of that chemo stuff is good.  But it wasn’t an overwhelming ‘whew, I’m done’ kind of feeling.

And when word came back that my PET scan was clear, I wept with joy.  It felt really good knowing that it was no longer in me. But again, I didn’t feel a huge sense of relief, that final exhale releasing all that stuff I’d been carrying.

So I thought, “Well, I’m still going through a lot of tests and doctor’s appointments. Maybe it will come after I finally get my port removed.” The port had become a symbol in my cancer journey.  It was placed in my chest where it created a big bulge under my skin that made me feel that I was waiting to be assimilated by the Borg on Star Trek. It served its purpose for sure, carrying  drugs to my body without damaging my veins. But it was very uncomfortable and a constant reminder of what we were trying to remove from my body. So the port removal was more exciting to me than getting my breast implants.  I thought I would certainly have that sense of relief once it was taken out.  But nope.  As we drove home from the surgery, I cried a bit because it was such a milestone.  But mostly I comforted my husband, who had finally experienced his big sense of relief at the completion of this whole, challenging event.

So I waited.  

I began taking the medication I will most likely be taking for the next ten years to ensure that my hormone fed tumors don’t return.  The list of side effects from the medication are daunting: nausea, dizziness, hot flashes, mood swings etc.  Basically, the medication sends my body into a (second) menopause.  Lovely. After several weeks on the medication, I’ve experienced the hot flashes and the moodiness; some low lows, but nothing too new for me.  Manageable for sure.

And then one day, it happened.  Just like that.  It snuck in there just when I least expected.  It was during the holiday break and my husband had taken the boys out to a movie.  I was busy baking cookies, listening to Christmas music and I glimpsed out my window to catch the most beautiful sunset.  It stopped me dead in my tracks.  

I.  AM.  CANCER. FREE.

I am still here.  I get to enjoy this beautiful life surrounded by so much love, abundance, joy and laughter.  It was a high I hadn’t experienced in such a long time.  I was almost giddy.  And yes, you know me dear reader,  I cried.

And the feeling carried into the next several days. I felt it as I enjoyed dinner with my friends on Christmas Eve.  I felt it as I sat back and watched my boys open their presents on Christmas day; there was such a pure sense of peace and joy that day, it is etched in my memory. I felt it as I held my husband’s hand and turned to look into his eyes and caressed his face in a way I hadn’t done in many, many months. And I felt it as I looked in the mirror and saw a reflection of the woman I knew from before. The whole, complete, cancer free woman.  Less hair than before, sure.  But there I was.  I was still here.  And I finally, finally felt it.

This must be what I’ve heard others describe who have survived life threatening illness or experiences.  Seeing the colors of the world brighter and more radiant and having a  new lease on life.  For me, it’s showing up a little differently. I’m finding my inspiration again.  I feel energized like I did in my thirties as I began my career in Casting.  I feel a sense of gumption and chutzpah that’s propelling me forward. I want to live large again.  I don’t want to hold back.  The Sarah that is pragmatic and practical has diminished, having been replaced with one who wants to take chances.

But I’m unsure if I can trust this. Is this merely a reaction to what I’ve gone through?   Could this be a side effect of the medicine?  A counter to my low, lows?

I remember having a friend in AA who shared that in the first year of sobriety, he was encouraged not to make any life-altering decisions- like moving to a new state or making big purchases.  I wonder if the same holds true for the first year following a brush with mortality?  

I guess only time will tell if this is temporary or if the experience of the past nine months has left a permanent mark that is changing the trajectory of my future.  I’m aware of a sense of entitlement present that may be affecting my decision making.  A kind of attitude that ‘I deserve to get what I want.  And shoot, if I’m gonna die, I might as well live the way I want to now’.  And that’s the part that I’m unsure if I can trust.  After all, my decisions affect my whole family.

Here’s what I do know.  Entitlement thoughts aside, I LOVE this feeling.  There’s an energy of possibility that I’m riding and it feels really good.  It fuels me.  It feels like Divine whispers coming through me.  It excites me.  It motivates me.  So for now, I’m gonna ride the wave.  I’ll keep following my heart and trust that the Universe will provide and that there are enough check points in place to keep me from going overboard.

Please don’t picture me leaping through a meadow of greens with rainbows and music in the background. These highs are not sustained through every moment of my day.  I still experience daily normalcy and challenges.  But nowadays it’s like the foundation that my experiences rest on has shifted. My starting point has been raised, if that makes any sense.

So yay to life and love and laughter!  Yay to the research that has led to the release of disease in my body.  Yay to opportunities, possibility and gentle whispers.  Yay to being cancer free.  

I am blessed.

In loving,

Sarah

[sarahaltmanposts]

An Ode to the Gymnastics Mom

December 14, 2018

Taking a much needed break from the cancer blogs to write about a new season.  Nope, I’m not talking about Fall or Winter, but gymnastics competition season.  

My younger son is a competitive gymnast.  Although he trains year round, his current competition season has just begun. So around this time of year I start to get that feeling.  Ugh.  I recognize it right away- a feeling in the pit of my stomach that starts very small in October and grows exponentially through the end of his season in May. I’ve dubbed this with several names based on the affects it has on my body: my seasonal diet, mommy nerves, and gymnastics tummy. Just one of the wonderful reminders that I’m a gym mom.

I’m not sure if moms experience this with their kids in every activity. I certainly don’t have the same feelings with my older son as a musical theater performer. I mean, I guess kids compete for different roles in a show, and watching him on stage can be a little stressful, but it doesn’t create nearly the same level of nerves and tension that I experience with gymnastics.

This is my son’s sixth competitive season, so it’s not like it’s a new experience.  At the beginning, I was surprised by the amount of stress I felt at these competitions.  Having been a competitive gymnast myself, (but not nearly as capable as my son), I had a sense of what the sport was about.  But in my new role as mom to a gymnast, I had no idea what I was getting myself into!

I confess to watching a few episodes of “Dance Moms” several years ago.  In my experience, Gym Moms (and Dads) don’t go that far, but we are a batty bunch and there has been quite a learning line on how to navigate the competitive waters and parent an athlete.

I love to watch my son.  He is a beautiful combination of grace and strength.  I find something so compelling about watching him grapple with new skills and take on the challenge of perfecting them.  His determination and strong will are so admirable.  Not to mention, he just looks really cool doing this stuff.   There’s just something about watching a person do something they love that draws me in and affects me so deeply.  It’s not unusual for me to be moved to tears watching ice skating, a great number from a musical, a piano or violin soloist, or anyone who is immersed in their passion. I see such beauty in their talent and it tugs at my heartstrings.  And even though my son’s just eleven years old, his love for the sport is overwhelmingly evident. So I try to stay out of the coaches way, while watching from a distance.  But come competition season, things get a little more tense.

Gymnastics is considered a competitive team sport.  But in its essence, the gymnast gets one opportunity to present his routine to a judge who determines the score. And that score influences both the team and individual results.  One chance- that’s it.  So many hours of training, but when it comes down to it, they get a single shot at a competition.  ONE.  He takes one mis step, places his hand off by a millimeter, loses focus for an instant, and that could be the difference between doing well and doing poorly.  This creates a tremendous amount of pressure for us parents at competitions; comparatively, the boys seem to handle it much better!

I’ve often wondered what I look like at a competition?  Remember Aly Raisman’s parents at the last Olympics?  They were doing every move with her as she competed.  Yeh, it’s kinda like that for me.  Only worse. I had a horrible mom moment at one competition when my son fell off one of his stronger events.  I had a reflexive reaction as the word “Shit!” exploded out of my mouth.  And it was loud.  Really loud. And I’m not even a curser! I was so embarrassed and quickly apologized to the other parents around me.  Oof.  Not a proud moment for me at all.

And my craziness extends beyond the gym during competition season. I become hyper vigilant about germs. Any sign of an illness within fifty feet of my son and I become the germ police.  I encourage A LOT of hand washing.  I use homeopathic remedies to boost his immune system.  And I freak out  (mostly silently, but sometimes aloud) if I see other kids around my son who are sick.  I try to keep the paranoia to a minimum, but one illness can put him at a disadvantage or take him out of competition. And we certainly can’t have that.

Right about now you’re thinking I’m nuts, right?  Wait, it gets worse.

During the last competition season, my son’s coach approached me to give me a little coaching.  “You need to enjoy his competitions more. When I look over at you, your face is all red and you look so worried.”  Uh.  Yeh.  (I guess that answers the question of what I look like during competitions. And btw hot flash + competition = red face/ very unpleasant!) But I got his point and made a concerted effort to let go and try to enjoy these competitions.  I’m certainly making progress, but wow, it’s hard.  I’m aware of the skills to look out for- the one’s he’s concerned about. And I want him to succeed.  Is that so bad?

And that’s one of the hardest parts for me. The nature of competition is that someone wins, right?  Our kids are part of a team, true, but  they compete for individual awards.  So when my son began competing years ago, I found myself feeling threatened.  And I’m embarrassed to admit that these feelings expressed themselves in very unattractive ways.  I mean, I didn’t go all crazy mom, yelling at the judges like I’ve seen with some baseball and soccer moms on the news.  But I found myself creating adversaries with some of the other parents (mostly in my head, but some played out in reality) for the sole reason that their child was more talented than mine.  I know, it’s horrible; I’m presently burying my head in shame. And what’s worse is that I was painfully aware of the bad feelings inside that were provoking this behavior.  I judged myself, beat myself up, and continued to question why I was having this experience.

Luckily, my education has offered me the skills to examine my feelings and behavior.  And after a great deal of introspection over the past several years, I got really clear and painfully honest with myself.  The truth is that the feelings I experience have very little to do with my son and gymnastics, but are more a reflection of the way I’m holding on to and judging my own inadequacies. Ugh, take a moment to let that settle.

Sure, my son is not the only one making an investment in the sport. We’ve done a lot to accommodate his passion and the entire family has made sacrifices. The choice to homeschool him was not an easy one. (That’s a whole other blog!) The financial commitment is tremendous; without support from my sister, much of his training would be impossible.  And then there’s the time commitment, driving him to and from every workout.  He’s at the gym twice a day most days, about twenty-six hours a week. And some competitions have us traveling.  If I weren’t a stay at home mom, none of this would be possible.  

And as his mother, witnessing him coming home sore, swollen, and exhausted is tough; not to mention the numerous injuries and doctor’s visits. And trying to discern which injury requires a doctor’s visit and which cold symptom should keep him out of the gym for a workout has taken quite a bit of learning. My desire has always been to support him in his passion, but there are days that he’s just beaten down physically or emotionally and it’s hard to witness without questioning what this is doing to him in the long run. So I’ve had to learn that there are just bad workout days (weeks or even months) and my job is to support him through those times.  And separate.  I have to separate my feelings from the whole situation and look at it as objectively as possible.  Some days I’m better at that than others

But the truth is, all of this wouldn’t be causing so much upset in me unless it was triggering something deeper. And here’s the awareness that’s most painful for me to acknowledge: I am attaching my own worth to our boy’s accomplishments.  Ouch!  Even though I’ve been working with this awareness for a while, it still hurts to admit and share it aloud and openly. There’s so much shame and pain involved in this truth.  It ties in with some very core issues about my own self-worth.

I can see how this misinterpretation evolved.  I chose to stay home with the boys, leaving my career as a Casting Director. I don’t regret that for a second, but by doing this, the BOYS became my career.  And there’s no yearly progress review or bonus from supervisors marking my success in my career as a  mom. So I began to judge how well I was doing at my job as a mom by basing it on how well the boys were doing. Were they happy and successful?  It seems that’s a HUGE trap for us stay at home moms. When the boys are doing well, my self-worth was in tact, but if they’re doing poorly, I internalize it and it surfaces as my own failure.

It has taken a lot of work to shift away from this way of thinking. I’ve had to change the hardwiring I’ve created in my head that has led to these misinterpretations. I work with a lot of self-forgiveness and releasing of judgments. And mostly, I remind myself that these beautiful children have their own experience that has absolutely nothing to do with me.  They call into their lives the experiences they need to evolve on their own Spiritual journey. And I’m merely here to love them through it as best I can.  

I’ve apologized to those parents who were affected by my behavior several years ago. I’ve even shared some of my learning with them. It seems we agree that as parents of gymnasts we want all the boys to do well.  We just want our own child to do better. So yes, I cheer for all the boys on the team and I genuinely want them to do great!  I also genuinely want my kid to do better. That’s just the plain old truth.

Gymnastics has offered my son so much.  He is learning discipline, respect, the meaning of hard work, social and leadership skills, and determination. He has a great group of friends. He has an amazingly healthy, strong body and is laying the ground work that will lead him to find success in whatever he chooses to do with his future. And most importantly, he LOVES the sport.  

The sport has presented me with many gifts as well.  In addition to providing me with experiences and opportunities to deepen my learning, I’ve also made some amazing friends. We  share a common bond, going through all the trials and tribulations of learning how to parent an athlete together. And I would imagine most of us are experiencing a slew of similar emotions revolving around the sport. These parents have not only stood by me at competitions when I’m feeling upset or worried, but they were the first ones to jump into action when I received my cancer diagnosis.  And they’ve remained supportive through my entire treatment.  These families and coaches have become part of my family and I’m so grateful.

So while my son is gaining so much by participating in this sport, he is unknowingly helping his mom evolve too.  As he flips and twists, I am going through my own type of emotional and spiritual acrobatics, doing my best to find my center and live a life of purpose and alignment.  

There will be many ups and downs in my son’s gymnastics career.  With any luck, we can both stick our landings!

In loving,

Sarah

[sarahaltmanposts]

After the treatment...

November 28, 2018

It has been almost a month since my chemo treatments ended.  A month filled with lots of activities, some cancer related and some just about regular life.  Maybe it’s the timing or maybe I would’ve had this experience at any time of the year, but I’m finding there is a sadness that has descended upon me, kind of like when I woke up this morning and there was a thick fog outside.  And I’m having trouble navigating myself out of it into the light.  

November is notoriously a challenging month for me.  No matter what my state of mind is going into the month, by Thanksgiving I feel the sadness creeping in.  November 30th will mark the seventeenth anniversary of the day we lost our daughter, Hope.  And even though throughout the rest of the year I can usually reframe that entire experience for the gift it has offered, come the end of November, I’m just sad.  

Layer that with the transition out of chemo and it has been just plain tough.  

On the physical level, my body has responded well to the end of chemo. I’m starting to get the feeling back in my finger tips and the tingling has lessened quite a bit.  But my skin has erupted with bumps that I can only imagine are the toxins finding a way to work themselves out of my body.  The bumps itch, but I can’t scratch because then I bleed.  So I do my best to ignore them.  They’ve been there for about two weeks now and I’m hoping they will soon subside.

I’ve also gotten my appetite back and it has returned with a  vengeance.  This was most evident when I was in Colorado Springs for my son’s gymnastics competition.  Did you know that the Doubletree hotel offers free chocolate chip cookies at the front desk? And they will give you one any time you ask!  Feeling too embarrassed to return several times a day, I took advantage of my son’s youth and had him  request the warm, delicious treat on my behalf. I think I ate two a day for the four days we were there!  They also had a wonderful breakfast spread that was included with the stay. Although I love breakfast, it’s not a meal I indulge in that often. But at the Doubltree that week I filled my plate with several samples each morning.  I ate as if I’d been rescued from a deserted island where I hadn’t eaten in months.  I just could not get enough food.  

This is problematic for a couple reasons.  One, it triggered all my eating issues from my twenties.  Even though I know I can afford to gain a few pounds, I worry about that slippery slope. Images of the blueberry girl from “Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory” enter my brain.  I know it’s not logical, but my fear is that once I start eating, I will immediately balloon out to the big girl I was in my youth.  

Also, with my current state of mind, I can’t discern whether it’s depression that I’m feeding or a real need for nourishment.  So I worry that this need to feed myself will never end.

But of course it does, at least intermittently.  Since I returned from Colorado, I’ve managed to get back to my regular eating habits several days a week. But there’s a battle that goes on in my head every day about my desire to eat loads and loads of carbs or treat my body with the care it deserves and make healthy choices.  Some days, the depression wins.  And it certainly doesn’t help that the holidays are upon us and there’s lots more opportunities to indulge.

But my sense is that the eating is just a symptom of the larger problem: this nasty depression that’s lingering.

Yes, dealing with the death of Hope is one thing.  But this feels like it’s much more about the cancer stuff.  

I was recently at a doctor’s appointment and found myself sitting next to the most lovely young lady.  Her hair was a bit longer then mine, (Oh, yes, I have hair again!  It’s growing in slowly, but pretty soon I will be ditching the scarves and doing my best ‘Wakanda Forever’ fierce woman look from “Black Panther.”) and I began a conversation with her about where she was in her treatment.  Turned out she did the same regiment as me.  After chatting for a bit, I asked her if she experienced depression upon completion of her treatment.  Her eyes widened as she exclaimed “Oh, yes!  Very much so.”  She went on to share how she began seeing a psychiatrist to give her support and after a month of being on a low dose of anti-depressants, was beginning to feel herself again.  She also learned about how chemo affects our brains and explained how it can take several months for us to begin to feel better.  I was so grateful for that conversation.  

All along, I have felt so supported by friends and family, but this conversation solidified a recurring thought  I’ve had about reaching out for additional help from cancer support groups.  

This journey began nine months ago.  And for the outsider witnessing me in this process, it may appear that I’m fine and no longer need support.  But what I’ve realized is that being in treatment provided me with an active role in fighting cancer. And now, with treatment ending, I feel isolated and unprotected, like I’m fighting without any weapons.  

I hope I’m not presenting too bleak a picture here. It’s not like I’m walking around feeling doom and gloom all of the time. The busyness of my life keeps me from dwelling in the lows for too long, and I’m grateful for that.  These feelings are more an undercurrent, a constant that sits right below the surface. And even a tiny scratch causes the feelings to flow.

So while I’d thought the chemo ending was going to be the beginning of the end, I guess I’m realizing that I’m still deep in the heart of the process. I have so many fears about learning that the cancer is still there, that I will have to continue treatment, or even that I still may die from this.  

So the doctor’s appointments continue, the testing and the medications will be a constant. In the next six weeks I have eight doctor’s appointments and a surgery.  And I was told I will most likely be on medication for ten years.  

As I write that, I hear a voice in my head uttering “wah, wah, wah”.  What a pity party I’m having for myself. And believe me, the irony of my strong desire to stay alive, but feeling so sad and complaining about my experience does not escape me.  I’m doing my best to release judgments.  And while I work on forgiving myself, I ask that you, too, please forgive me.  I really don’t like that part of myself, but these blogs are about transparency and this is where I am these days.

I guess part of my lesson is that I can feel two conflicting things at the same time.  So experiencing tremendous gratitude for the blessings in my life and  sadness or depression simultaneously is ok.  

It occurred to me during one of my recent walks  that maybe this is my winter; a time to be quiet and still and listen to my heart.  Maybe, like some animals who hibernate, I’m settling in so I can awake, fresh and new, ready to start the next chapter, a healthy, more grounded self.  

Deep breaths, one foot in front of the other, acceptance, gratitude, seeking out the opportunities to learn and grow.  This is my life and I am grateful.  And so it is.

In loving,

Sarah

[sarahaltmanposts]

Slow Down...

November 2, 2018

Slow down…

I finished chemo.  I did it.  This once monumental task is now behind me. Woohoo!  Let’s go!  Let’s get on to the next thing.  Let’s clean the house, cook nice meals, take care of my to-do lists, plan a couple birthdays, go to parties, get a dog, go on a trip.  

Uh….wait a second.  Not so fast.  

I was so excited to mark this event that I somehow forgot there’s a boatload of drugs coursing through my body.  And the fact that the doctor warned me the treatments were cumulative just slipped my mind.

Well, poo.

Call it denial, wishful thinking, or maybe my Taurus stubbornness, I’ve pushed through many of the chemo side effects, acting as if everything was ok. Every day I woke up with my older son to get him out the door by 6 am, kept up my exercise routine, prepared all our meals, ran our household like clockwork.  Yep, I managed to keep it all going until this week when I got slammed in the face with a dose of reality.  

Warning: Rant to follow.

I’m exhausted.  Plain and simple. I can barely move.  I fall asleep sitting up.  My body hurts.  I can’t focus.  My port tugs at my chest.  My finger tips are always numb.  I’m cold. Then I’m hot.  Food tastes awful, until it doesn’t and then I eat too much and my body can’t handle it and I become bloated and uncomfortable. I’m constipated. I have muscle aches all the time. Oh, and let’s not overlook the steroid mood swings.  And I feel completely depleted.  

OK- rant done.

I’ll admit, knowing that this was the last chemo, I thought dealing with the side effects would be easier.  But this last round hit me like a ton of bricks and I was completely unprepared. Just when I thought I’d figured this whole cancer thing out, I get walloped again.

BUT it IS the last time, so I’m doing my best to keep my eye on the prize.  And as I sit here, rubbing my head that is now donning almost a quarter inch of soft peach fuzz hair, I smile.  

I can do it. And as I reflect on your cheers of love, support and encouragement, I’m lifted.  

I cannot promise a future without rants, but I can promise that with any luck, they will NOT be about chemo!  And for that, I’m grateful.

In loving,

Sarah

[sarahaltmanposts]

Feels like I’m losing my mind.

October 16, 2018

Recently I was introduced to the term ‘cancer brain.’  It describes the effects the cancer treatments have on your brain, kinda like  the way I used ‘Mommy Brain’.  And it aint very fun!

You know when you go to get your eyes checked and the doctor puts various lenses in front of your eyes to see which prescription is best for you?  The past several weeks has felt like that to me, but with my brain.  There are days that I feel like my brain has wonderful lenses on and I can think with super clarity. But other days I feel like my brain is wearing thick, foggy coke bottles where nothing is clear and I can’t control my thoughts and emotions.  And every once in a while, I have a day when my brain is normal.  

Being a witness to my own roller coaster of experiences is a little …whacky.  It’s like I’m sitting on the outside watching myself react and I have absolutely no control over my experience. It’s a little similar to what I felt with PMS, when I would recognize my heightened moodiness and  irritability.  But this is more intense and in addition to the moodiness and irritability, there’s also a loss of cognitive function, which makes me feel a little crazy. And I truly want to apologize to those poor people around me who are subjected to all of these ups and downs.

After nine treatments, I’ve learned to recognize the pattern. On Sunday and Monday I take steroids for my treatment.  Tuesday, I’m crisp, clear and have super sight!  I move at a faster pace than I normally do- I even speak faster.  It’s like my mouth and body can’t keep up with what my brain wants me to do. These are my most productive days, for sure! (For a good visual, cue music “Flight of the Bumblebee” and picture me in fast motion going from room to room, multi-tasking!)

By Wednesday afternoon, I begin to feel the fog creep in.  My body responds to the past two days of activity by becoming heavy, like lead is running through my veins.  My thought processes slow down dramatically and it’s hard to articulate myself clearly.  

By Thursday I feel like a limp noodle and moving my body takes a tremendous amount of effort.  But putting together complete thoughts and action steps is nearly impossible.  I’m just incapable.  I will tell myself to go to the next room to do X and remind myself “Sarah, this is why you’re going to the next room.  Remember this.” And by the time I get to the next room (all of 10 seconds later) for the life of me, I cannot remember what I was going to do!  

Friday and Saturday depression sets in and I begin to feel hopeless.  I’m fully cognizant of the fact that my feelings are a response to the medications and they’re an exaggeration of the truth, but this does little to help me move through the experience.  I’m sad and lonely, with a lot of irritability thrown in- a wonderful combination for my poor boys who have to experience all of this up close and personal.

By Sunday the fog begins to dissipate and I feel like I’m returning to my normal self a bit. I have clarity, but it’s not laser beam focused.  My physical strength has returned and I can follow my thoughts and actions from beginning to completion; just in time for me to start the whole process all over again.

On top of all of that, there are the physical side effects that I’m doing my best to manage.

Yes, in three short weeks, I will complete my last chemo treatment. But the unknown beyond those treatments offer little comfort.  Will I find that balance again?  Will the fog return?

My thoughts go to those struggling with dementia and I wonder if this is similar to what they experience? To be a first-hand witness to my own cognitive limitations has been tremendously challenging.  

I’ve been asked whether or not my spirituality  has been helpful during this process. The question kind of stops me dead in my tracks each time. I am a very spiritual person,  always looking for the learning opportunities in every experience.  But this… this cancer brain and the sporadic loss of cognitive function makes it nearly impossible to focus on anything else. It’s like a big, heavy blanket has been thrown over my brain. And it takes all I have to focus on the details of the day’s activities- you know, things like getting the boys to school and gym, food on the table and bills paid.  It just doesn’t even occur to me to seek out the spiritual opportunities. But I’ve continued to pray every night. And I’m reminded of something one of my spiritual teachers always said, written by Master Eckhart, “If the only prayer you ever say in your life is thank you, it will be enough.”  I say thank you a lot.

And thankfully, I do have a few good days in between. (Otherwise this blog wouldn’t be possible!) And in those moments, I try to accomplish all that I can in preparation for the fog that will inevitably set in and send me back to limited function.

I know this is temporary and I will have plenty of time to process and find the learning opportunities as they’re ready to present themselves, in their own time.  And I still experience gratitude for my health, our home, our safety, our abundance, my husband and boys who have been so very, very patient, my family who listens to me day in and day out as I struggle, and my friends who continue to hold me up as I’m tipping over. So yes, I guess I still can access that spirituality and for that I’m grateful too.

Two more treatments.  I can do this!

And in case you were wondering, this was written on Sunday, my day of clarity!

In loving,

Sarah

[sarahaltmanposts]

Well, that’s a surprise...

October 10, 2018

Oh my goodness, chemo is almost done.

I thought when I reached this point in treatment I’d be ecstatic and relieved. But I’ve noticed something strange.  Instead of experiencing those elated emotions, I’m having some of the same feelings I experienced when I was first diagnosed.  And what a surprise.  

I’ve been working towards completing treatment for so long.  This whole thing started back in March.  MARCH!  That was so long ago.  I know, in the big picture, it’s a blip in time. But right now, deep in it, it feels like a really long time.  Surgery, horrible chemo treatments, the side effects, all the drugs to combat the side effects, then the manageable chemo treatments.  I’m almost there- the finish line is in sight.  And what am I feeling?  I’m scared.

What if, after ALL of this, the cancer isn’t gone?  My thoughts go to those microscopic cells that they found in my lymph nodes after the surgery.  The doctors decided they didn’t need to remove my lymph nodes because the chemo should kill them off.  But what if that didn’t work and the cells got to other parts of my body?  

And I begin to wonder about that spot on my back.  My PET scan before the surgery showed breast cancer and a ’suspicious’ area on my spine.  In the end, the doctors determined it was inflammation, but they were unsure.  What if that is something?  

All this time, I’d imagined that when I got to the end of my treatments I’d be feeling confident, ready for my new lease on life. But fear- man, she just swooped right in and is beating me down!  

Is this my fate for the next several years?  My surgical oncologist said that the hormone blockers I’ll take after chemo are, in her mind, more important than the chemo because my cancer was fed by estrogen and progesterone.  So will the next several years be a waiting game to see if they’re working?

And dang!  Why are these the thoughts intruding my head space?  

All my bitching and moaning through this process and I really just want to be able to live.  And figure out what my next chapters are.  And witness my boys get older and grow and learn and love and laugh.  

You know those really tender moments that, on a rare occasion, we get to experience with our kids?  The ones that may appear minute to anyone else,  but are etched in our memories for a lifetime?  I had one of those recently with my older son.  It happened in the middle of one of those regular days- the crazy busy, boring, monotonous, exciting, routine, extraordinary days we have.  He was in the shower singing his one solo line from an upcoming performance.  Up until that moment, this particular performance wasn’t a big deal to him. But something clicked for him and he must’ve gotten nervous because he kept singing the solo line over and over again.  

He didn’t know it, but I sat out in the living room and cried. Picturing him feeling insecure about his voice and dealing with the nerves that were coming up for him, working through it on his own…it was too much for me.  It offered a small glimpse of his sweet, tender side.  Those moments, seeing the soft, true essence of my beautiful son, that’s what I live for.  I get to witness my boys experiencing their lives and grappling with their stuff.  I get to be there for them, to support them and love on them.  So when he came out of the shower, I matter of factly mentioned how great he sounded, hoping I could provide some comfort and  confidence.  I just LOVE those moments.  

And I want to be here for as many as I can possibly experience.  Even though I bitch and moan. Even though I feel lost and I’m unsure how I’m contributing and serving.  Even though I may not feel good.  I want to be here.  

I’m just saying… I sure hope this chemo thing worked.

In loving,

Sarah

[sarahaltmanposts]

To Wig or Not to Wig?

October 5, 2018

Its been about three months since I lost all of my hair.  Although the build up to it was scary, being bald wasn’t such a big deal at the beginning. I don’t know if that’s because there was so much other stuff going on that I just couldn’t focus on it, or there was still enough hair on my head to not make the baldness blatantly obvious?  But nowadays there are times that I catch my reflection in the mirror and I surprise myself.  I mean, I know I’m bald, but it’s funny how something I live with every day can still be surprising. And I’m noticing that I’ve become very self-conscious of my baldness.

I’m a planner, so when I learned I was going to lose my hair, I jumped right into action.  Lose hair = buy wig.  In retrospect, I wish I would’ve given myself a little time to adjust to the bald thing and see if a wig was the way I wanted to go.  

As it turns out, I was gifted with not one, but two wigs from two amazing angel friends.  The first wig we found at a wig shop. I went with two friends who stood by me with tissues and hugs.  As I placed various wigs on my head, doing my best to treat this event like a girl’s day out, I couldn’t deny the truth of the situation. Seeing myself in the mirror I began to cry, and I leaned heavily on my friends, and the very nice lady who was selling the wigs. I have (had) thin hair, so it was hard to  find a wig that didn’t look like a mop on my head.  But eventually we found one that resembled my hair, pre-kids, when it was straight.  I was overwhelmed when my friend graciously offered to cover the cost of the wig.  Her desire to make my experience as easy as possible was clearly evident and despite my challenge with receiving, I accepted. I’m tremendously grateful for her kind heart and generosity. That act of kindness allowed me to shift my energy back to gratitude.

The second wig was a gift from a friend’s daughter; someone I’d never even met before.  But when this young woman learned about my situation, she offered to purchase and style a wig as close to my wavy hair as she could manage.  We spent several weeks chatting back and forth, sending pictures and adjusting the style so that it matched my hair.  This selfless act from a complete stranger is a gift I will hold close to my heart for the rest of my life.  I don’t know much about this amazing woman, but it seems that she’s going through her own, very deep challenges, which makes the gift all the more meaningful.

So by the time I shaved my head, I was armed with two wigs.  Then the hard chemo treatments came and during that time, I could’ve cared less about how I looked.  And then the other chemo treatments came. And before I knew it, a bunch of time had passed without me thinking about the wigs.  I’d purchased a scarf that worked well when I went out in public. I really enjoy the ease of throwing it on as I run out the door. But as a result, many weeks later, I still haven’t worn my wigs.

The primary reason for this is comfort.  I’ve never liked wearing hats or anything that restricts my head, so it took some time to adjust to wearing even a light scarf.  And when I’m home, I don’t wear anything on my head.  I’m just most comfortable this way.  Even my younger son, who was so apprehensive about my hair loss, has gotten used to my bald head. (His previous hair caresses have been replaced by bald head rubs!) The Southern California temperatures were another factor. The temperatures have remained in the high 80’s since I lost my hair, so the thought of placing a wig on my head is completely unappealing.  It’s just too hot and itchy.  

So now as the weather cools and this new self-consciousness has appeared, I find myself considering the idea of beginning to wear my wigs.  

I wonder if they’ll lessen my less self-consciousness?  Perhaps they’ll make me feel a little more human? And the wigs will certainly help to keep my head warm with the cooler weather.  

But it feels like I’m having to convince myself to go the wig route.

I don’t see myself wearing a wig through the entire day.  And it seems like  a pain in the ass to deal with putting it on and taking it off as much as I do with my scarf. Call my lazy, but I don’t know if I want to go through the whole process of making sure it’s placed correctly and brushed out and looking presentable. When I had my hair, the extent of my styling routine was getting out of the shower and letting it towel dry. The wigs will require more attention, for sure.

I was also wondering if I choose to wear the wig some times and not others, is it weird?  Like if people are seeing me one day in a scarf and one day in hair, is it strange?

There’s also a part of me that feels a little fake in a wig. I mean, in my daily life, I don’t even wear makeup. I’m an ‘au natural’ kinda gal and there’s something about wearing a wig that feels a bit false.  

So when it comes down to it, the most compelling reason I have to wear these wigs is that they were gifts. Amazing gifts.  And I’m afraid that if I don’t wear them I’ll be disappointing my gift-giving friends. I even created stories in my head about how upset they’d be with me because I haven’t used them yet. Yes, the people pleaser in me was tugging.  When I finally got up the nerve to share my thoughts and feelings with my friends, I was once again, overwhelmed with their compassion and kindness. Their goal was purely to make my situation easier, however they could.  And the proof of that, for them, was simply my smile.  Well then, mission accomplished.

Such is my wig dilemma.  I know, in the grand scheme of things, not such a big deal, right?  But this is all part of my current journey and it has been weighing on my mind.  

I’ve got about a month of chemo treatments left and then slowly, my hair should begin to grow back.  I’m not sure I’ll want to wear wigs through that, stick with the scarf look, or as it grows, just work the bad ass, almost-bald, but really short hair look.    

I’m hoping there will be a natural solution that will present itself to me.  Because in the end, the fact that I’ll have a life to live and hair to grow on my head is enough to celebrate!  

In loving,

Sarah

[sarahaltmanposts]

Are we done yet?

September 25, 2018

Five more treatments.  Five left out of 16.  That’s good, right?  The home stretch.  I can see the light at the end of the tunnel. That’s what everyone keeps reminding me.  And oh my goodness, I’m so sick of hearing it!

Because I am not a patient person and I am DONE!  I am so worn down and tired of going through chemo.  I just want it done.  

I think about long distance runners and how they handle the monotony, exhaustion and  frustration that comes in those final miles when they know they’re close to the finish line, but it’s still so far away and  having to deal with so much pain?  I never liked long distance running.

My body is toast.  The highs and lows of these dang steroids are doing me in. (As evidenced by the fact that I am writing this at 2:22am because I’m unable to sleep.)  I’ve actually been able to track the pattern of the steroids and side effects of chemo.  

Sunday night I take a dose of steroids that is followed by a sleepless night.  Monday morning I take the second dose before going in for chemo.  After chemo, I’m kind of groggy because of the Benadryl I get as a pre med in my infusion. But even though it makes me sleepy, my body is still awake from the steroids, so I really don’t get any rest.  I have no appetite that day, my stomach hurts and I AM CRABBY!  (Just ask my boys- they’ll tell you all about it!)

Despite the fact that I don’t sleep on Monday night, Tuesday I’m full of energy.  My exercises come with such ease and I find I’m very optimistic and hopeful.  I get a lot done on Tuesday’s.  I run a ton of errands and it seems my energy is endless.  Still no appetite, but that’s ok because I’m too busy running around!  

I start to be able to sleep again on Tuesday night, but by Wednesday afternoon, all the previous day’s activities begin to take a toll on me.  My body aches, my muscles hurt, the neuropathy begins bothering me and my teeth start to hurt.  (I don’t understand that last one, but it happens!)  My constipation subsides by Wednesday, so that’s good.  But I still don’t have much of an appetite.  And I begin to sense the darkness descending.  By Wednesday evening, I’m usually in a full blown funk of a depression.

The rest of the week, I’m doing my best to be a positive person, but it’s really tough.  My body is heavy.  I find it hard to see and experience goodness.  It’s such a sharp contrast to Tuesday, that I’m aware these are the effects of the medicines.  But that doesn’t offer me much comfort.  The feelings remain.  

My appetite returns by Friday and I’m insatiable to the point that I overeat and feel uncomfortably stuffed by the end of the night. This triggers all the old eating issues I had, so I find myself doing my best to avoid that trap.  I’ve lost all of my hair- ALL of it-  my eyelashes and brows are now gone.  And I am not myself, I never feel healthy.   I try not to complain that much, but I just don’t feel good.  Ever.  This is all just getting to me.  And I’m DONE.

YES, I know, only 5 more.  I know.  But oh my golly it seems so far away.  My life has been interrupted now for over 7 months and I feel as if I don’t have anything to look forward to.

And I’m so deep in this that I’ve forgotten why I’m doing it.  We put in an application for a house that we really wanted to move into about a month ago. In speaking with the management company, I shared how this house had given me something to hope for during this whole chemo process.  She stopped me dead in my tracks when she responded, “Well isn’t getting better the something to look forward to?”  

Oh yeh.  That’s why I’m doing this.  I’ve been so immersed in the minutia of the process and side effects of chemo that I’ve lost sight of the fact that I’m doing this to extend my life.  

So I begin to think about choice.  I can focus on the negative, sure.  We didn’t get the house.  One of my husband’s jobs has gone away.  I feel like crap a lot of the time.  My son is failing Algebra.  My other son is always grappling with one pain or another.  

But then I learn about someone who has cancer and has to do radiation on top of chemo, which I get to skip.  Or someone whose mom was just diagnosed and the prognosis is not good.  And, after dealing with my own fears about my cancer returning, I’m reminded that my cancer is a very curable type.  That in all likelihood, after my chemo, and once I begin hormone blockers, there’s only a 5 percent chance my cancer will return.  

Oh yeh. That’s why I’m doing this.  OK.  So once again, it’s time for me to pull up my big girl pants and remind myself of how blessed I am.  I will do my best to find the opportunities this experience is offering me.  I will wake up in the morning and try to rise above the side effects and try to focus on the blessings in my life.  

My husband.  My boys.  My family. My friends.  Our health and safety.  Our abundance.  Our laughter.  Our joy.  Our talents.  Our opportunities.  Our gifts.  Our freedom.  Our choice.  

I have the blessing of choosing how I want to experience every situation.  I have the blessing of having enough food in the refrigerator and running water and a shelter that keeps us warm in the winter and cool in the summer.  I have the blessing of having lungs that work perfectly and a body that carries me through each day.  I have the blessing of watching my boys grow and learn.  I have the blessing of loving and learning, and being loved every moment of the day.  

Ok, whew!  I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get there, but here I am.  A glimmer of my old self.

Thank you for your patience, dear reader, as you allow me to share my experience.  I know it must be frustrating to witness on your end.  It kinda reminds me of all the years I was dating loser guys and incessantly complaining to my friends about them.  And my friends patiently waited and listened as I learned my lessons.  Your support and love continue to carry me.  

5 more treatments.  I can do it!

In loving,

Sarah

[sarahaltmanposts]

The Invisible Side Effects

September 10, 2018

Just because you can’t see it, doesn’t mean it’s not there.  I’m not talking about God.  Or oxygen.  Nope, I’m referring to the side effects of chemo.  

This week marked the half way point in my chemotherapy treatments.  And while there’s a part of me that finds joy in this milestone, I have to admit that mostly, I just feel like crap.

WARNING:  Self-pity and wallowing to follow. If you’re not up for it, skip down to paragraph five!

True, the physical side effects of this regiment are so much more tolerable than the first round. There’s just a little peach fuzz left on my head now, barely visible unless you look really closely.  My eyebrows and lashes have begun to disappear. I get sores in my mouth and the treatments leave me constipated, which lead to everlasting hemorrhoids. I also have a horrible metal taste in my mouth, so I’m alternately unable to eat and starving.  And I have the beginning signs of neuropathy, where my fingers and toes feel like they’re falling asleep and on pins and needles. I am tired.  All of the time. HOWEVER, I am able to complete many of my daily tasks, function in the world, and participate. So for that I’m grateful.  

But I’ve realized that the physical side effects are only a part of what has been affecting my daily life.  There is some serious stuff going on that’s problematic beyond the physical level.  Stuff you wouldn’t see if you ran into me at the grocery store.  It’s all about my psychological and emotional state. And it can be a bugger.

Ever taken steroids before? I hadn’t.  I take a small dose the night before and morning of my treatments to help my body avoid a bad reaction to the chemo. I imagined steroids would make me feel the way I do on antihistamines…you know, that feeling like your blood is racing and you can’t calm it down?  But nope, this is very different.  

After I seemed to experience no obvious physical symptoms on my first doses of steroids, I thought I’d gotten by with a pass.  I was energetic, even jovial.  But steroids are a stealthy little devil.

I began noticing I wasn’t sleepy at bedtime.  I’d fall asleep for maybe an hour and then be wide awake.  But unlike bouts with insomnia, I wasn’t tired.  I was alert and ready to keep going.  I found myself creating all sorts of spreadsheets with end of year projections, cleaned up the contents on my computer, went through lots of pictures, all in the wee hours of the night.  I’d do anything that was relatively quiet.  Ok, that’s not so bad. I can deal.

Then I noticed how productive I was during the day.  It was like I was working on hyper speed, ultra focused on the task at hand. I’d move from one thing to the next with great sufficiency.  My house has never been so clean!

And then I noticed I was much more irritable than normal.  I mean… MUCH more irritable.  (In all fairness, it took two rounds of taking the steroids for me to notice the pattern. And although I was aware, this MAY have been pointed out to me by someone I love.)  I overheard my husband, who’d taken my two boys aside. The conversation went something like this:  “Boys, there’s a thing called Roid Rage and your Mommy is probably experiencing some of this, so it’s probably best to give her space for the couple days after her chemo treatment.”  It reminded me of the old PMS days when my hormones would throw me into a state of ultra sensitivity to sound, taste, socks on the floor… you know, things that normally don’t put me over the edge.

But the part that has been hardest to deal with is the depression.  I’m unsure if it’s the result of the steroids or the chemo drugs, but it is real.  I get caught in some downward spirals that I have a hard time battling.  And I’m triggered by things that, before I was highly medicated, wouldn’t have bothered me; like our financial situation, my choice to stay home with the boys (see Dark),  or even being bald.  Suddenly I find myself very self-conscious of the lack of hair on my head.  I catch myself in the mirror and I’m stunned at how bald I am!  Or I’ll be out in public and am suddenly mindful that I’ve got a scarf covering my bald head.  In my right mind, I can get myself out of this type of negative self-talk, but these days it’s much more challenging.

I also find myself focusing on the negative much more than I did before.  I’m impatient with friends and family.  Intolerant of stupidity. (Well, ok, I was like that before.) And hyper sensitive.  I feel lonely on a different level than before too.  And there’s a part of me that just wants to be alone to avoid putting my bad mood, energy, stuff on the people around me.  

Add to this my weakened physical state, and I have a sense that I’m always one step behind all the things I need to be doing, playing catch up a lot. I’m completing my ‘normal’ activities, getting the boys where they have to be, cooking meals, doing laundry, paying bills, homeschooling my younger son.  But things like walking and exercising, that used to make me feel energized now leave me feeling depleted and weak.

Lack of sleep combined with my mental and physical state leaves me feeling unmotivated. To-do lists, which had been easy for me to prioritize and complete in the past, now sit stalled, swirling in my head (or on notes on my computer!).  There’s a general fogginess that lingers and complicates clear thinking and it works in direct contrast to the steroids effects, leaving me feeling frustrated.  

So on the outside I look normal. But it’s almost like I’m chasing my old life- trying to FORCE myself to be in a place that I just can’t sustain right now.  

(My apologies to those who wanted to avoid the wallowing.  It snuck in…)

Two weeks before I was diagnosed last March, we’d shared a big plan to take our boys to Disney World in May. The only vacations we’ve taken up until now involved meeting up with family, so this was a big deal.  Unable to go then, we re-scheduled to November.  But last week I realized that although I may appear to be doing ok, the truth is, I’m just not back to speed yet.  The chemo is taking both visible and invisible tolls on me and I just can’t deny that any longer.  Having to tell my boys that we would have to postpone this trip…again…nearly broke my heart.

It has been six months since diagnosis.  A lot has changed.  I’ve got eight more treatments, a surgery and many years of medication still ahead of me.  Is it a wonder that I’m having challenges?  Maybe it’s time for me to lighten up a bit?  Perhaps I’ve set the bar a bit too high too soon?  I’m so anxious to get my life back that I’m being a bit unrealistic, pushing myself too fast.  When I was an actor, we called it ‘acting as if.’  But I can’t act my way through this one.  And honestly, I really don’t want to.  I’m too tired. Two more months of this seem insurmountable.

It occurs to me that perhaps I’m still coming to terms with this whole thing.  Have I been in denial and this is another level of acceptance?  I want to be very careful here because the truth is that I no longer have cancer.  It has all been removed through surgery and these treatments are insurance to keep it away.  But maybe this is an acceptance to the experience as a whole?

Friends ask how I’m doing and they share that I look good.  I’m grateful to be looking healthy, for sure, but it’s not that simple really.  It’s the invisible stuff affecting my experience that’s hard to articulate in a polite, concise manner. But I guess the gist is, this cancer stuff is still kicking my butt!  And what you may not be seeing is that I am struggling.  My body may look fine from the outside, but inside I’m fighting to stay vertical every day.  Although the physical has improved, I am still drained and depleted and it takes a tremendous amount of energy to remain positive and functional.  

So maybe I could be a little more patient with myself….

I look around and realize that so many people are struggling with their own challenges, both visible and invisible. I feel tremendous compassion and hope that my interactions may change someone’s experience for the better. I’m mindful to be kind to others because I just never really know what’s going on in someone else’s life.  And I remind myself to extend the same courtesy to my own experience, as I try to be gentle, patient and kind to myself.  

I know my situation is not that special. My challenge these days is just more concrete.  But it IS temporary.  It will end.  And come June of next year, I hope to be in Disney World, celebrating my health, knowing that cancer has come and gone and I am back.  

In loving,

Sarah