Buy the Boots

Many of you in my life know that a close friend, colleague and mentor of mine lost her courageous battle with cancer this past week. It has taken me some time to reflect and process an outcome I knew was inevitable but never fully prepared for. As Sharon would say “our monster” workloads, sometimes prevent us from taking the time that we really need for self-care. We balance between “taking care of ourselves” to burying under work and tedius tasks to push the pain aside. My intentional word of 2021 is balance. And I continue to strive to find it. Grieving loss involves allowing oneself to feel all the emotions, sadness, anger, while at the same time honouring and celebrating how one person impacted so many. I teeter between the two worlds on a daily basis

I am so appreciative of the outpouring of support through our professional world and my close connections. A fellow cancer survivor who is also a work colleague wrote me and said “when you have had the time you need, I would love to sit down with you and listen to what Sharon has taught you through your friendship and her journey with fighting cancer. I felt ready today to begin to reflect on what I take from her moving forward. I have titled this blog post, “Buy the Boots”

“Humble” - I am humbled by Sharon’s far-reaching impact in education. I remember in the summer she forwarded me an email that she received from a former student. She was blown away by the influence that this young lady took forward in her life from being in Sharon’s class for one year. In taking over Sharon’s two schools in our special education consultant role, I became part of the teams that she so capably guided for many years. Someone asked me, “ are you the new Sharon?” - I laughed, how could I ever possibly compare? I told Sharon, I will have to warn them, I am not as funny. Her response “ LOL Different strengths. They will love you, and your expertise. You are one of my besties and they will know you are a gift”

“Tap Out” - Sharon had a great line that she often used. It is one that I have repeated to myself this past year, as I learned to navigate this consultant role without her daily advice. As we would hash out, vent and problem solve issues, she would raise an eyebrow and look at me and say “time to tap out Low?” - “Tap out” can mean, stop saying yes when we are overwhelmed by workload, “Tap out” can mean let others take a lead, to step back and give others an opportunity to lead. “Tap out” can mean asking for a change. “Tapping someone” means giving someone an opportunity, recognizing a strength. Sharon was a master at both. She so skillfully elevates others strengths, and when she saw talent she made sure they were recognized and given credit. But she would let others lead, support their role, and do the work with you.

#What Would Sharon Say -  Sharon was a master with vocabulary. Sharon used terms of endearment, one-liners and truth in order to let people know they were special to her, but at the same time, she was a straight-shooter, and you never guessed where she stood on an issue, a person or a decision. It didn’t take long being in her life for her to establish little names that only she could use professionally and still deliver respect. “Chica, Michi, Super Dave, Parking, Benedetti, “The closer”, “Big Daddy”, #shadupandrea, Nonna” - One liners, “release it to Jesus”, “bite me”, “that’s how we roll”, a select other few. I think what I learned the most, is making sure you have built that relationship, that a colleague or parent knows they matter to you, then you will be able to tackle the harder stuff. Sharon could ask the really hard questions (and use really big words)  that no one else wanted to ask. She would pause, wait for the right moment (maybe insert one liner) and Bam! I think many of us continue that mantra #wwss as we remember her 

“Balls Out” - Strength comes in many forms. It looks different to each of us. There was nothing frail about SLawton. Her physical strength from years of conditioning allowed her to enjoy her love of the outdoors up until her final days. I joked with her that after 3 full days of chemo, she could still outwalk me. But she was strong in so many other ways. Facing setbacks, frustrations, debilitating side effects from treatment. Her comment to me after another hospital visit was “I just need to keep rolling.” She wanted to live and keep living.  I told Sharon early on in her diagnosis that I thought she was amazing, her response “I don’t know if I’m amazing but I am pretty balls out right now” Balls Out. Enough said. The perfect one liner to Sharon’s strength.

“Let it Simmer” - From Sharon, I have learned the power of reflection, of taking one’s time before sending an email, responding to a call, not to sweat the small stuff, to not be in a rush, to stop apologizing for being late or forgetting a job, to put something on low heat.. We all need to give ourselves grace. Sharon lived life “just in time”, she able to put it on simmer and this type A, intense, wound up girl needed a little just in time living, 

“Buy the Boots” - A few summers ago, Sharon and I were at a conference. Truth be told, in theory we were at a conference, the reality was “marina patios, corona margaritas, sangria, world up soccer, long walks, sizzling summer heat, lavender field roadtrips and exploring the shopping downtown Peterborough has to offer. We walked into this little shoe store, and saw these tall, flowered, doc marrtin boots. Of course they were a size 7. SLawton you have to buy those boots. She had to send her work husband a pic to get his approval. Ricky would shake his head, but secretly love her spirit.  She even then bartered a deal and we walked out with those boots. That’s how Sharon rolled. Treat yourself, no regrets, live large, make a statement, life your life in color, seize the moment, do something kind for someone else, life can change so quickly make the most of the situation. And in the end, “Buy the damn boots” 

Love you dollface, I am so blessed to have walked this life with you.  Xo Michi

HopeSpring and a Cure - Pay It Forward

There are moments in our lives that we want to capture, take a screenshot, to remember everything. Marriages, having our children, first kisses, first job, moments of happiness, moments of accomplishment, moments of pride. Where you sit back and take it all in.

I stood at Descendant's Brewery and looked out over 80+ of my closest friends and family. The music was playing our favourite songs, there was laughter, everywhere people who crossed into my life were hugging, so many hugs between people who I brought together, who were friends, who were acquaintances. All of these amazing people in one room, to celebrate ME.
 It was one of the most humbling experiences.

On Saturday, February 8, 2020. We hosted a fundraiser to raise money for the HopeSpring Cancer Support Centre. It was to recognize that I celebrated five-years in remission for Hodgkins Lymphoma. I am pleased to share that we raised $2500 and counting. Our closest friends and family came together and I can't express the gratitude for this evening. It is surreal, to look out and see all of "your people" in one room. The love for my family, my kids saw all of this village who helped raise them all in one room. Pretty incredible.

I was fortunate enough to have two close friends speak on my behalf. Dave Ryan one of my closest friends from childhood opened the evening. We have been friends for over 35 years. I can't thank him enough, he captured exactly the message that we wanted, Pay It Forward.

Carole Schwartz closed the speeches, her humour and love and how she recognized our family touched my heart. I would have never been able to get through those hard days without her. Really the past 30 years without her. They say everything happens for a reason and I truly believe that. Carole and my husband were both off work during my treatment and I can't thank God enough for placing them there for me. Carole also booked and donated the cost of the music for the venue and they were amazing, it was perfect. The Mark Smith Experience were exactly what our crowd needed. I can't thank Carole enough for her friendship.

I want to post the words that I said that evening as  I feel like they capture my spirit and the message that I wanted to give. I wish that someone would have videotaped it as I was so proud of my strength, poise and how I controlled my emotions. I really just wanted to convey my gratitude to everyone in the room. So here it is.

As many of you know, I write a blog titled “REALLY? My Journey with Hodgkins Lymphoma. When I found myself sitting at the Grand River Cancer Centre, you find yourself asking, like Really? Is this really happening to me? And right now I am asking myself something similar, like who has the opportunity to have all their people together in one room??? REALLY? How blessed and grateful am I for this?

To me this journey has been a gift. An opportunity handed to our family to truly realize the impact that the support of family, colleagues and friends can make. What it means to be grateful, to be humble, to accept help and to have a chance to keep paying it forward. 

My children were witness to the rally of the troops, the meals, drives to hockey and gymnastics, the anonymous cards in the mail. Work colleagues who shuttled our daughter to her gymnastics training, and coaches who covered fees for our kids. They would ask, who made this meal Mom? Who sent those flowers? Who is taking me to my game? They always wanted to know the person or family it came from, the PEOPLE mattered to them. Cam and Jordan saw tears and hugs, milestone celebrations, family who took them for playdates and sleepovers, MOTYS who stepped forward to be second moms to my kids,  they saw how much their Dad took care of me, and they saw that every tradition continued, nothing changed, we celebrated with our friends from yurting, foo fahs, birthdays, christmas eve, weddings, and as much of normal life carried on, and a piece of advice that I remembered We showed up even when it was hard.

Each and every one of you in this room has played a role in supporting myself, my husband, my kids, our families. There are many important friends and colleagues in my life who met me after cancer, and your support in allowing me to be honest, to admit that it isn’t easy, that I had anxiety, post-trauma stress, these people shared in celebrations every six months that I was clear, your support is equally impactful. There are no words to express our gratitude to all of you.

All of you have done these acts of kindness that I have described to you, because you have all been touched by struggles or you have had other angels supporting you  - not only because of cancer but the daily realities of life. In supporting our family, you are all paying it forward, you are exemplifying unconditional kindness and many it is without recognition. This was our family’s turn to benefit from you. And now it is my turn to continue giving. I made a promise to myself that I would pay it forward every chance I had, when I became a survivor. 

It is not only the people in our lives who provided us shelter and love, there are organizations in our community, all in existence through donations and volunteers, others who are giving back.

Hopespring Cancer Support Centre is the first place I walked into as an official cancer patient. I remember thinking when I registered there, I had never even heard of this place. I received a brochure at the hospital along with the mountain of other paperwork  and heard they had a wig boutique. Before I started treatment, looking back, losing my hair was originally such a huge thing but in reality, it became a sign that the treatment was working to me and I embraced it.

Carole and I walked into that wig boutique and after the initial tears and a feeling that  I can’t believe we are actually here, looking for wigs. I am at a place called HopeSpring? Wig shopping, something I kind of dreaded, became a positive experience, thanks to a wonderful volunteer Angie. I walked out of there feeling ready, I was going to lose my hair and this wig was so amazing that no one would even know,. Angie, ended up continuing to call me and check-in and see how I was doing, months into my treatment. 

As I went through chemotherapy treatment, I’m not going to lie, there were some pretty dark days. It was hard. Maintaining a positive attitude was something I tried to do. But there were days where the only people who truly knew what you were going through were others going through cancer treatment or recovering. And if  I wanted to be mad, or anxious, or cry or feel terrible with them. I felt that was ok.

There are a few special people who became my unofficial cancer support group. It is through these individuals, that I was encouraged to join a Gentle Yoga and Yoga Thrive Group at Hopespring. Once a week for months we came together to stretch our bodies, learn what yoga can do for our stress and to slowly gain our strength back. To be together. To share our stories. To me, it was once again “showing up even when it was hard” as I soon learned, being a survivor was much harder than being a patient in many ways. It gave me a  place to go, to be out of the house instead of hiding at home, at a time when there was a lot of waiting between appointments and anxiety over learning if I had beat this disease. One other way that Hopespring not only helped me, to be introduced to navigating the world with cancer but also recovering from it as well. The beginning and the end. And there are so many things they offer to those in-between

At one point, several years ago, Hopespring almost closed for lack of donations, due to many factors, a lack of awareness and rising costs of renting space. Programs were cut and they lost their location. They are now located at the Inn of Waterloo - formally the Waterloo Motor Inn. They offer such a wide range of opportunities, yoga for all stages of treatment and recovery, water yoga, reiki, massage therapy, support groups for teens, spouses, children, those diagnosed. They offer counselling for those living with loss.  There are brochures available with their programs and if you have not already made a donation, there is a box, or forms or an online link that you can use. I felt that this was the perfect opportunity to recognize a local organization who made such a difference in my life, and eventually the lives of others close to me. Future cancer patients, my friends.

I want to close by sharing a story about the orchid flower. You may have noticed that it was on the invite.  The orchid has been a symbol for me as it is a flower that blooms in adversity and then lies dormant, rebuilding strength and recovering only to flower once again. The conditions need to be just right for orchids to thrive. In my case, the conditions were right with my treatment and my outcome is the best one that we could have hoped for. We have had several orchids given to us by our friends and they thrived in our home, bloomed and re-bloomed many times over, with the right amount of care. My daughter Jordan and I got matching orchid tattoos for my birthday this year. She posted the following on Facebook and when I read what she wrote, I said to Jason, well that’s all I really need to say when we are at Descendants in February. 

Jordan - I went on an exciting journey today with my Mom as we decided to get matching tattoos. This small orchid may seem just like a flower to some, but to us, it symbolizes courage, power and finding the strength to bloom again after continuously getting knocked down, no matter what life throws at us, this is a little reminder to us every day that we have people in our lives who love us, care for us and support us and would do anything in their power to make sure that we were okay. It is a bucket list item checked off and an experience that we will never forget and something we will always have with us. This is cancer recovery for my Mom.” 

I would not have been able to summarize it any better. You are those people. All of you.

I love you Jordan, I love you Cam and most of all, my greatest fan, my loudest cheerleader, my husband Jason,  the person who unconditionally took care of me, every appointment, the good news, the bad news, the middle of the night crying and intense pain. His love never-ending. As I said, cancer was a gift, I got to have months of time with my husband, who was off work my entire treatment, sitting on the deck, bird watching with our coffee, joking that this is a glimpse of our retired life, binge-watching Netflix, afternoon naps, walks down the street and long drives looking for our snowy owls. The care-giver is one who is often overlooked and I had one of the best, he never once let on that he was scared or worried, he was able to make me laugh, a joke maybe in the wrong place, but it was needed to take a worry down from a cliff. I honestly would never be able to pay it forward to him in the same way. Jason, I love you.

In closing, I would like to thank all those who came together to make tonight the special evening that it is. My MOTY group, this group of ladies are my rock. I would never get through the days, months and years without you, we have something very special. Hopespring Executive Director Jane Mitchell for taking the time to meet with me and hear my story, The Mark Smith Experience - awesome music, Forest of Flowers for the flowers, Descendants Brewery, for amazing food, drinks, location, our inner circle of friends, my built in family and planning committee, our parents Bob and Cathy, Ron and Diane, my brother, Jeff and his family for their love and support. Dave, one of my oldest, dearest friends, there is something about someone who has known where you have come from, And Carole, my best friend, my Christina to my Meredith. Your support has been unwavering.

Thank you all so much for making the time to come tonight to join us and support such a wonderful organization. 

Adjusting Our Sails for Cancer Again

Today I hate cancer. But I embrace being a survivor more than ever. 

5 years ago today, I learned that I was in remission, half way through 12 chemotherapy treatments. 3 months into my ordeal. I wasn’t in the clear yet but it was evident that the treatment was working. Today I was supposed to have my six month checkup at the cancer centre. Bloodwork, wait two hours, then appointment with the nurse practitioner that I am now assigned to. I have graduated from seeing Dr Stevens every visit. 

The anticipatory stress that comes with these appointments is hard to describe, while I know that I have had no symptoms, the oncologist’s remark many years ago that “bloodwork doesn’t lie” stays with me. What if? That combined with the milestone that today July 8, 2019 represents 5 years, made today a day that I was not dreading but waiting for. WISHING FOR.  I am not officially CURED until after my next appointment in December as they count that I have been in remission for five years from the PET scan that happens 6-8 weeks after my chemotherapy has finished. An indication that when I am not receiving treatment that the cancer did not return and I remain “no evidence of disease” - then I am CURED.

Unfortunately, the appointment today didn’t happen. It seems as though it was rescheduled, but in the communication practice of the Grand River Cancer Centre, they supposedly mail out changes in appointments, but I didn’t receive this change.

So I waited…. 30 minutes - just to register. The waiting area filled with patients and their loved ones, not an empty seat. I look around at so many sick people, so many. Five years ago I was one of them. I sat beside an elderly couple, with a large binder, color coded charts to keep track of all the medications this elderly lady had to endure, they were trying to figure out when she last had her anti-nausea meds. It brought me back to trying to remember the last pill I took of the 7-8 medications that i was on. They smiled at me and asked if I was there with someone. No.. I proudly stated, I am a survivor, I am a patient. I was one of the few who didn’t look exhausted and scared. But inside, I still am. All the time. And that is why I hate cancer.

I hate knowing that my childhood friend was nearby in the ER with his sweet mother, facing the battle of her life with a rare type of thyroid cancer, likely with no cure. How did I get so lucky to spin the cancer roulette wheel - to Hodgkins Lymphoma. The horrible treatment, often results in a cure for 90% of us.  Not everyone in that waiting room is so fortunate. 

So here I sit with a rescheduled appointment, in reality - this is small when I see the faces of everyone waiting, waiting to know if they will beat this disease, waiting for poisons or radiation to curse through their veins. My disappointment is small. My waiting insignificant. It is humbling to see the vast number of our community using the GRH Cancer Centre, my home away from home for so long. I am grateful for the care I received. I can wait a few more weeks for the confirmation that I remain in remission, others aren’t so fortunate as I am. 

I was able to enjoy a beautiful day in the sunshine, reading, gardening and taking care of others, paying it forward which I made a promise to myself that I would do after so many took care of us. 

I send my love and prayers to the Ryan family. I received a text  from D when I was sick and I send exactly the same message back to him. I kept that text and wouldn’t change a word.

“I wanted to reach out of you. First I am sorry that you are going through this but I know there is no one in the world more giving, caring and thoughtful than you. What does that mean… you will deal with and overcome whatever is in front of you. And you are not alone. All the people that you have impacted are standing with you and that is a powerful force. So if you want to talk about this or nothing about this - I am here. You are one of my oldest and truest friends and I am there to help in any way I can. I hope you know that.” (DR) Love, Michelle

Inching my way towards a cure.

Golden Buzzers

As the end of 2018 approaches, I am reflective and melancholy. It is now 4 years that I have been in remission. We are heading into 2019, the year that I have had circled in my head for the past 48 months, I remember I used to count the number of months that I was in remission. Then I was able to count years. . If I can make it to 5 years, then I am considered cured of Hodgkins Lymphoma and no longer a patient in remission from Hodgkins.

Being a cancer survivor changes your life. Every moment means something. Every decision you weigh carefully. Sometimes I take life too seriously and sometimes I am impulsive, without a care in the world. It is difficult tight rope to balance.

We are planning a celebration for the five year anniversary. A fundraiser, a way to give back. A way to recognize that I have beat this disease. I still feel like I am holding my breath, waiting for something bad to happen. I don’t want to hold the event too early, because what if. What if the cancer comes back. What if I have to face it again? The chances and percentages are stacked against me regardless of the number of months or years that go by.

I am grateful for so many new experiences. Opportunities that I feel like I have been able to take, that if my treatment had not been successful that we would not have been able to complete. Items checked off on the bucket list.

I love watching golden buzzer videos. Love seeing the looks on the performers faces when the golden tickets come raining down. It is pure happiness. That is exactly how I felt when learned that my twelve chemotherapy treatments were successful and I was in remission, That is how I feel most every day. So grateful, so relieved and so blessed to have the life that we do.

I wonder sometimes how it feels after the golden buzzers and shows are all over and people go back to living their old lives. How does it feel to go back to ordinary lives, with real life worries and stress. After that moment of being on stage and having that experience. It is hard going back. It hard to continue to seek those golden buzzer moments. Your loved ones treat you differently. Sometimes it’s like that after having cancer. You seek out many golden buzzer moments, you seek out those feelings of exhilaration and happiness. You live your life just a tiny bit differently, sometimes wanting and needing more. But worrying that if you achieve it, that it will come to an end.

Life becomes a series of bucket list moments because you are never really sure when you won’t be able to continue checking off those items. I continue to try and live my life with balance, without regret but with a new unwanted caution. The carefree attitude changes with cancer. I have said to many people, I hate that it has done that to me.

January 2, I have an appointment at the cancer centre, every 6 months for 10 years, I will have these appointments. They are anxiety provoking but after they are over, they are affirming and a relief. I know in my heart, that all is ok. And that I have 2019 to look forward to. The year of the cure.

Merry Christmas and Happy 2019.

Banana Pancakes

June 4 is National Cancer Survivor Day. I ask myself, what does it mean to me now - almost 3 years post-cancer treatment and continued remission to be a SURVIVOR? To finish treatment, to hear those two words "cancer free", no evidence of disesase. To be a cancer survivor has different meaning to me on different days. It changes all the time.

 On the day when I am singing at the top of my lungs at a Jack Johnson concert with the love of my life and our best friends, the sunset, open air concert on June 4, National Cancer Survivor day, being a survivor means, I am brought back to my when my kids were babies. Jack Johnson, Curious George CD, playing on a weekend morning, on an afternoon where I worked part-time and we slept for three hours everyday. I dream back of sleepovers at the Lago house, champagne breakfasts with Jack Johnson, staying another night and never wanting to come home and go back to work.  Banana pancakes. Wanting to sleep in and pretend that we didn't have any worries or anywhere to go or be. That song will always stay with me. That care-free feeling we had before cancer changed our lives.

On the day when the oncologist at the Juravinski Centre in Hamilton informed me that I was in remission and the PET scan showed no evidence of disease, being a survivor meant tremendous relief. The month of November that year was the most stressful few weeks that I have ever experienced in my life, waiting for those results.

On the day where I returned to work for the first time in 18 months, being a survivor meant feeling an enormous sense of accomplishment that I was returning to a career that I love and a new role as an Itinerant Developmental Support Teacher, being a survivor felt like a new beginning.

On the day where my daughter tells me she has a lump on her neck, which turned out to be mononucleosis, being a survivor meant having a wave of fear go through me that flashed me back to when I first felt the hard, round olive size lump on my neck. The lump that rolled around, was painful to touch and felt like a marble. Being a survivor that day, was the worry of something happening to one of my children.

On the day where I interviewed and was offered the position for my current role as Special Education Consultant, being a survivor meant realizing a dream and goal that I had been working for. It was a job that I had watched be posted while I was off on sick leave and was unable to apply for. A position that I often wondered when I was in the darkest days of treatment, will I ever return to work? What if I will never get that opportunity?

On the day when I come home from work after a long 12 hour day, emails to answer, my body tired, work stress overcoming me, being a survivor means, a realization that I need to find a better balance, a reminder that there is more to life than our work and careers. A reminder to put away the computer and phone and take care of myself and my family.

On the day where I am sitting on the dock at the cottage, watching our friends and kids jump off the dock at sunset, celebrating MOTY weekend with my best friends, a clink of a glass, a kayak ride, a feeling that "life is pretty damn good", being a survivor means a gratefulness that I am able to enjoy the sweet things in life once again.

"Banana Pancakes"

Can't you see that it's just raining?
Ain't no need to go outside...

But, baby, you hardly even notice
When I try to show you this
Song is meant to keep you
From doing what you're supposed to.
Waking up too early
Maybe we can sleep in
Make you banana pancakes
Pretend like it's the weekend now

And we could pretend it all the time
Can't you see that it's just raining?
There ain't no need to go outside

But just maybe, like a ukulele
Momma made a baby
Really don't mind the practice
'cause you're my little lady
Lady, lady, love me
'cause I love to lay here lazy
We could close the curtains
Pretend like there's no world outside

And we could pretend it all the time
Can't you see that it's just raining?
There ain't no need to go outside

My Fight Song

This is my fight song Take back my life song
Prove I'm alright song
My power's turned on
Starting right now I'll be strong
I'll play my fight song
And I don't really care if nobody else believes
'Cause I've still got a lot of fight left in me

Yesterday I went to the Cancer Centre for my six month check-up with a nurse practitioner Marg. I have graduated from the care of Dr Stevens my primary oncologist. I continue to anticipate these appointments with mostly comfort in knowing that I will hear that I continue to be in remission mixed with a a tiny amount of guarded worry that I don't want to be caught off guard by bloodwork results that are unexpected. I am happy to report that I continue to be in remission and am nearing that two year mark where the chance of relapse begins to diminish. I came home happy and cheerful, looking forward to a celebratory steak dinner with my family. I also arrived home to an emotional video of a fellow cancer survivor singing "Fight Song" by Rachel Platten. I really can't listen to that song without tearing up. Whenever it plays I envision myself needing to play that song over and over again should I be faced with a re-occurrence of Hodgkins Lymphoma. I continue to fight the battle of anxiety and worry, and move forward everyday. I have almost completed my first full year of work in three years. I can't wait for the summer to rejuvenate, relax and enjoy my friends and family. I am grateful for the opportunities that are before us and am confident that in three years time I will be celebrating a cure!

New Wishes

I remember a time where we measured milestones in terms of our kids walking, moving out cribs, first bike, first day of school, staying alone for the first time, losing a tooth, first goal, grade eight graduation, first boyfriend, first girlfriend, driver's license. Now the word milestone takes on such a new meaning to me. Every milestone I am grateful that I get to be here. Living and celebrating. I celebrate milestones in terms of months now. 6 months of chemotherapy, one year of recovery, 6 months of remission, the first two years with fear of relapse, and five years to a cure. Last January, we hosted an evening to celebrate 6 months in remission.
Fast forward one year and I am looking at 18 months since I was found to be in remission.

Another marker to a cure. It's amazing to me how quickly life has returned back to normal. I am loving work and we had a busy Christmas season, hosting our family here on Boxing Day. I invited some close friends to join me for an evening at SocialArt KW to paint a picture titled "New Wishes". I felt that the name was appropriate to symbolize my hopes for the next year to come. The ladies who joined me have all played a huge role in my life and recovery. Thank you for taking the time out of your busy lives to celebrate with me. Your friendship
means the world to me. Two years ago this weekend, I was facing the scariest test I would face. The waiting between appointments knowing that I had growing lumps in my neck of an unknown origin, was one of the most difficult things I have ever faced. Jason, knowing that I needed to fill the empty space of the weekend, so that I wouldn't be researching the internet to find every worse case scenario suggested that we go for a drive to find the elusive snowy owl. After a short drive outside the city, we were rewarded with two snowy owls in a snow-covered field. This past weekend on Family Day, Jason and I again ventured out and again were treated to a sighting of a snowy owl perched high on a post. My friends have said that they feel that us finding the snowy owls two years ago was a sign that everything was going to be ok. I fully believe that again, our snowy owl is assuring us that I will continue to enjoy remission and will look forward to the next milestone. Two years in remission in July. A symbol and a great milestone to reach. Love you all.

The bells are ringing!

And the Grinch with his Grinch feet, ice cold in the snow, stood puzzling and puzzling, how could it be so? It came without ribbons. It came without tags. It came without packages, boxes or bags. And he puzzled and puzzled, till his puzzler was sore, Then the Grinch thought of something he hadn't before. 

"What if Christmas, he thought doesn't come from a store?, What if Christmas perhaps, means a little bit more?"
 The tree is sparkling, the gifts are wrapped, lists are made, we enjoy lazy mornings of sleeping in and running last minute errands. It is the end of 2015, my year of recovery. My year of returning to work, my year of putting my journey with cancer farther and farther behind me. I have enjoyed incredibly good health this fall, a minor cold which I was able to withstand better than my family members. 15 months from my last chemotherapy treatment, my energy levels are good, my spirits are high - there have been some difficult times for people in our lives who have lost loved ones and I struggle at times to keep my anxiety levels manageable. The smallest of worries can still affect me quite strongly as I fear "something bad" happening. I know that this is normal for those who have gone through a cancer diagnosis and thankfully it passes fairly quickly. We have such a full busy life that I am able to jump back into my hectic new role as Developmental Support Teacher, juggling a large caseload, driving the kids to work, friends, gymnastics training, hockey games. Our world is back to the way we knew it and the worries take a back seat to our front view of LIFE!

Today I return to the Grand River Cancer Centre, it is my regular 4 month check-up time. In retrospect, scheduling it on December 23, was to avoid missing work but in my heart, I know it will be the best early Christmas present for me, I fully believe that I will be in continued remission. But there is a tiny tiny part of me that wonders, now that my guard is down, will they find something in my bloodwork that is cause for concern? Will it change our Christmas? I also know that returning to the Cancer Centre is a reminder of all the patients who are facing Christmas while in treatment, I see the faces lined up to register at the front desk, every chair taken waiting for bloodwork, the uncertainty about where they are headed. For those people, I pray for healing and respite from treatment for them. I wonder if they could see the smile on my face and know that I am at the end of this long path. They certainly knew when that gong rang out in the foyer. I was pleased to hear those bells three times while I waited to see Dr. Stevens.

I am so excited to share that my blood counts continue to be perfect! My ESR rate is 4, which means the level of inflammation in my body is low. A soft predictor for a return of lymphoma. What does this mean for me? This was my last visit with Dr. Stevens, I will now see an oncology nurse practitioner every 6 months. What a huge milestone for me! It really has to be the best Christmas present ever!

Appreciating Life

This past month has been a mix of relief that our lives have returned back to a sense of normalcy. Homework, our careers, kids jobs, sports, learning to drive, boyfriends and girlfriends, friendships and new colleagues. I am feeling absolutely wonderful and strong. My new role has come at the perfect time and I am feeling such a sense of accomplishment and being right where I should be. Cancer has fast become a distant memory, only to be brought forward when faced with loss and the fragility of life. Life returning back to normal also means putting my own family's past struggles aside to support and recognize that for unknown, unfair reasons, life can end far soon. This realization causes me to pause and really acknowledge that I have been given a gift, the gift of life. Why God did choose me to face a battle and come out victorious while others are chosen to be called to Heaven? In a two week span, our Lackner hearts were broken by the loss of two young men, really they are boys. Two special boys who both crossed my path and touched my heart. One facing a cancer diagnosis with such bravery and courage that he became a teacher to his classmates, teachers and family as they watched him fulfill his dreams, facing a battle that sadly he wasn't meant to win. His short life taught us so much. The other dear boy was a student who touched me in ways that few have. I wrote a tribute to him that I posted to the funeral website that really sums up my feelings.
"To say the words heartbroken is an understatement. There are no words I can say to you to provide comfort or make sense of this tragic loss. You are well aware of the impact that your son left on my heart during the three years I supported his learning at Lackner Woods. Without a doubt, he knew he had found his way into my heart, and played that to his advantage many times. Even when I wanted to be firm with him, I could hardly keep a straight face when he would say “Sorry Mrs Low” in his little voice, ready to take off out the door to play with his many friends. You could say I had a soft spot for him. Your son persevered, never gave up, accepted help and as a result made astounding gains as a young boy. This carried him far and he was destined for continued greatness in his field where he had found passion. I take comfort that when we ran into each other recently, I got that hug from him and he could see several years later that the look in my eye was still there. He knew “this teacher is still cheering me on”. May you gather strength to endure from all the people who have been touched in some way by Cameron and allow them to shoulder some of your grief and lift you up with the many stories and memories that they will want to share with you."
To see their parents mourning the loss of their boys broke my heart. Another parent burying their son, the third time we have supported our friends in one month. How precious life is. How often we take it for granted. A gift given to me that I will never find myself taking anything for granted again, because how quickly can things change. To E.G and C.B rest in peace. Thank you for what you both brought to my career as teacher. Another month past, another month closer to what will be considered a cure. So incredibly blessed.
 

It Takes a Village....

I was ready to write a post on my first month back at work but then life happened and my focus shifted. We received the sad news of our neighbour Andrew's death this past weekend. We lived for just over 10 years on Misty Street with 4 sets of neighbours whom we share so many memories with. Backyard parties, garage hanging out, standing outside watching the kids play, walks around the block, baseball on the path, birthdays, lobster dinners, New Year's, theme dinners and kids running back and forth on the sidewalk. Andrew was a brother to Spencer and the two of them were inseparable. It was Andrew and Spencer, a package deal to Cam and Matthew, they were road hockey buddies, babysitters and the older boys going off to highschool, with their first cars, loud music and new friends. To Andrew and Spencer, we were the crazy neighbours who had their Mom calling in sick to work on Monday mornings and the reason for never having ice in the freezer from the margarita afternoons. I said today, it takes a village to raise a child. Our kids realize now how special those memories are. Watching Cody and Spencer and their friends mourning the loss of their protector and partner in crime was heartbreaking to us. It is hard to fathom losing a child, a husband, a daddy to his princess. It was a beautiful service today, just the right amount of humour, sadness, memories and exactly what Andrew would have wanted. It made us smile and made us cry. Even though many years have gone by, no one can replace those ten years. The first ten years of my kids lives. I'm not sure we will have an experience of having neighbours like that again. My most recent memory of Andrew is two years ago when I ran into him at Concordia Club. He was so excited to see me. He ran and got shooters for us to toast each other. I kept saying "you're all grown up, you're a man! How did that happen?" In the blink of an eye. We shared a few drinks and many memories. The pride he was telling his friends about his neighbours and how crazy we were when we lived on Misty Street, didn't mean much back then but now I look at that moment and feel great happiness knowing that he saw us in that light. That we were important people in his life and for that I am grateful. We raise a glass to Andrew tonight. Catch you on the flip side....

Jason showing Andrew the tricks to garage parties.

A Return

I have been thinking and reflecting on the day I return to work for many months. To me it symbolizes so much for me. I have said to my friends, returning to work means "everything is back to normal". Unfortunately for me, normal means something very different because being a cancer survivor has greatly changed me. I am embarking on a new position, a challenging, rewarding, difficult, exciting role. Tuesday morning when I turn out of the driveway, I will have a smile on my face because getting back to work really does mean that I am strong, healthy and ready for full-time work. There were many times over the past nineteen months where I truly questioned whether it would ever happen. My new normal will reflect a different Mrs Low. I am much more aware of the importance of taking care of myself. It is so easy for me to fall into the routine of putting myself last, working long hours, coming home after my family has had dinner. I made a promise to myself that I would be kinder to me. Continue to make time for yoga and my family. Worry less about the small stuff. Eat healthy, not skip lunch. Stay off work if I am sick instead of pushing through and making myself go in when I really should be in bed. Remember that colleagues, children and parents often have hidden challenges in their personal lives that we should not make assumptions or speculations about. Life is hard. And my role is to help make it a bit easier for students, teachers, parents and professionals. But I will not solve all problems. I won't be able to fix everything. I will try my best.

Returning to work now in September rather than earlier in April was one of the best decisions I have made. Having this extra time means I am really ready. Without a doubt, completely ready. After this past week, I realized that I would not have been able to have the stamina in the Spring to be able to be on the go, make quick decisions, read, communicate, organize, multi-task - wouldn't have happened. To those who are currently in treatment or in recovery who are reading this, please take the time your body needs. Do not rush back to your "new normal life", it will always be there. I really did think that I was going to be ready to return to work six months after I completed treatment, I was nowhere close. That was a surprise, I know everyone is different but emotionally I wasn't ready and physically I would have been able to manage it for a short time but not for the long haul. With these extra months, I was able to continue to grow stronger not just physically but mentally. That is where I seemed to struggle the most. I have read and been told that it is very normal to experience anxiety and survivor worries, I didn't expect it to be on the level that it was. I have made great gains overcoming the worry of the cancer returning, I have learned what my triggers are and continue to get better at pushing the worry aside and focusing on how great I feel.

The last weekend before Labour Day, our family was able to get away to Darien Lake for a mini-vacation. When I was in the middle of treatment, I asked the kids, "what's your bucket list item that you would like to do when Mom is all better?" Jordan wanted to go to a Luke Bryan concert, Check! Cam wanted to go to Darien Lake. So off to Darien Lake we went. Jason and I quickly realized that our 40 something year old bodies cannot tolerate rollercoasters like we used to. We had an amazing time and some hilarious laughs with the kids. Not many people can say that they have lied on a hotel bed with their two teenagers, the four of us laughing so hard that we are wiping away tears. We have amazing kids. Truly amazing.  I also had a wonderful night with my forever friends, the 4 women who know me when I made terrible decisions, some of our best nights, marriages and children. I love them. Thank you for taking the time so that we could all be together. It means more to me than you know. I also hosted a party to celebrate my dear friend Penny, who will soon be marrying the love of her life. Our Lackner friends all came together to buy some amazing pieces of jewellery from Silpada with the hostess rewards all going to Penny. More importantly, we realized that although some of us are no longer colleagues, we are definitely friends. Lackner Woods is truly a very special place to work and learn. It is not easy to describe what it is like to have been apart of that community. I can only say that I think moving to an Itinerant position will save me from comparing life at Lackner to another school environment, because truly there is no comparison.

and so.... here we go. School starts. Both kids are working. Cam will play volleyball in highschool (hopefully), Jordan is training for track and field, math and science homework for hours will begin. And the kids will have the pressures of success on their shoulders again. Dad will have to adjust to Mom not having quite the same amount of time to make this household run smoothly like clockwork. Mom will also have the pressure of success on her shoulders. I know the learning curve is steep, but I am up for the CLIMB.

Shavasana

In my yoga practice, I have learned to appreciate and embrace the beginning and the ending pose of "Shavasana" - it is the allowing of your body to regroup and reset itself. Lying in stillness is one of the most challenging poses. I read in a yoga magazine that it is recommended to practice life shavasanas, an opportunity for you to retreat and look within yourself to restore light, energy, perspective.

Every day take off 1 hour for yourself.

 No cell phones, emails or messages. Just you with yourself.

Every week, take 1 day to spend in nature, off grid

Every month take off 1 weekend to go someplace new and spend

Every quarter to half a year, take a long weekend 

or 1 whole week to travel and clear your mind completely from the daily clutter.

Every year, take 1 month to deepen understandings 

and practice or experience a different culture.

Every decade, take 1 year off, a sabbatical, 

to rethink your direction in life, your priorities,

goals and purpose.

This past year has been a forced "shavasana" for me, a necessary time for my body to reset and restore. Chemotherapy has cleansed my systems, I have brand new hair growth - it's like starting over from scratch. It has resulted in my having this chance to live a quieter pace of life, to spend a great deal of time within myself, alone in my home. I remember when our children were very young and Jason was working shift work. I would have paid to have a day alone in my house, to do nothing or to be able to enjoy time doing what I want to do. I have been given this gift during the past year. Yes - just like yoga, I have faced challenging poses, I have been poked, prodded, twisted, turned, with some pain - but I have had the opportunity to return to Shavasana on many days and stillness has healed me.

Shavasana is very much like returning home to me. I often can't wait for this posture at the end of yoga practice. I use this analogy to describe this past month. July was a wonderful, busy month in our household. Jordan and I travelled to our dear friends the Somers-Crisp family in Calgary for a few weeks. Jordan is like sisters with M and R. Jenn and I went on an amazing road trip to Jasper and Field BC. It felt so great to be able to hike Johnston Canyon, bike in the mountains, lounge at the Jasper Park Lodge, attend the Stampede, dance at Nashville North and Stoli Lounge, laugh in the field of dreams at the Palisades Centre - so many amazing memories.

But, despite my heart-warming "check one off the - I'm done with cancer bucket list", flying into Breslau airport and walking down the stairs off the plane and seeing the faces of people waiting for their loved ones to return HOME brought tears to my eyes. There waiting for me was Jason. HOME to me. My shavasana, There is no better feeling than returning to one's mat at the end of practice and there is no feeling like returning HOME from being away to the arms of your loved ones.

My year long Shavasana is fast approaching an end, a new beginning. A new role in my career to look forward to. I am anxious to get started. I continue to enjoy good health and do not have any lasting side effects from treatment. Aside from some mild neuropathy in my fingers and toes. Last month,  I had a productive appointment with my family doctor. Being proactive, I requested bloodwork to check all the levels that the Oncologist doesn't include. I am happy to report that my thyroid levels are all normal, cholestrol, glucose, everything completely normal. A great feeling. I have my next three month checkup with Dr Stevens next week and fully believe that I will continue to have normal blood readings i.e. white blood cell, ERS etc. and no cancer markers. I know that I am not considered CURED for 5 long years but 13 months in remission is a wonderful feeling and I will take it!!

I am grateful for a mini-shavasana with Jason to the cottage where we enjoyed blazing sunshine, much reading, dinners and dock sitting. Thank you to Jason for the purchase of a hot tub for our family to enjoy some quiet times together, free of social media and distractions. I congratulate Cam on his successful four weeks as an LIT at Camp Kintail. Warms my heart to see him enjoy and love camp life so much, making such great friendships and life-changing experiences. A quiet month of August awaits us before the craziness of school and work schedules greet us.

Stay tuned for a hilarious update on the highs and lows of my hair re-growth. What an experience!

LUCK?

LUCK "a purposeless, unpredictable and uncontrollable force that shapes events favorably or unfavorably for an individual, group or cause" Another author has described LUCK  as "events that influence one's life and are seemingly beyond one's control".

I have caught myself saying many times, "I feel so lucky." Lucky that I have been in remission for one year. Lucky that I was able to get through twelve chemotherapy treatments without major complications. Lucky that our kids are such amazing teenagers. Lucky to have such wonderful friends and family in our lives to support us, celebrate our happiness and care for us in times of need. Lucky to be able to have the time away from the pressures of work, to have solid benefits and long-term disability,  to travel with highschool friends, go away to an island with Jason, spend time with my mother, visit my best friend in Calgary. I question whether it is really truly about luck or whether it is more making decisions, a mind-set we have. A decision to choose happiness, to choose to make things happen. To live in the moment. Another quote about luck is "where preparation meets opportunity." How do we use the times of struggles in our lives to turn them around to be hidden blessings? Opportunities for us?

I was able to have a small celebration last night with a group of friends who have surrounded me with laughter, love and support in many ways. Some a constant fixture in our lives, others we met as aquaintances and now they have become friends. As I looked around the table, I am amazed at the connections and six degrees of separation between the friends in our life. Seemingly random friendships at first, yet soon we realize the commonalities between groups of people.  A shared history of memories.  I feel lucky. I feel fortunate and blessed to celebrate one year in remission. To celebrate the power of friendship. We can create our own luck. We can choose happiness.

Thank you to everyone who came out to the Huether to raise a glass to pause for a moment and make a realization that we are incredibly fortunate, and pretty darn LUCKY.

525 600 minutes

RENT - Seasons of Love

Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes
Five hundred twenty five thousand moments, oh dear
Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure, measure a year?

In daylights, in sunsets
In midnights, in cups of coffee
In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife
In five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure, a year in the life?

How about love?
How about love?
How about love?
Measure in love

Seasons of love

Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes
Five hundred twenty five thousand journeys to plan
Five hundred twenty five thousand six hundred minutes
How do you measure the life of a woman or a man?

In truths that she learned
Or in times that he cried
In bridges he burned or the way that she died

It's time now, to sing out
Though the story never ends

Let's celebrate
Remember a year in the life of friends

What an amazing feeling to be able to look back and realize that I am soon able to measure my remission from Hodgkins Lymphoma in years. As I approach July 2015, it will be one year that I arrived back in Wiarton with K and K - bottle of champagne in hand to celebrate a PET scan that showed I was in remission 3 months into chemotherapy.  This past week there were many reasons to celebrate. I received a letter from Long Term Disability confirming that my official return to work date is September 1, 2015. I enjoyed a very full week orientating myself to my new position for next year, participating in several meetings, signing for my laptop/cell phone. A tour of my new office. A very emotional send-off party with my staff at Lackner. I felt like a young girl in university who was leaving home for the first time. While I would be in new surroundings, I still do feel like I will be able to call Lackner Woods home and return for support and solitude in my new position. Our extended yurting family enjoyed our traditional celebration of the End of Year Foo Fah Party.  A celebration of our children's successes. And the ever favourite tradition of burning their notes from the previous year. A symbol of the amount of work and pressure our kids today in the classroom. How amazing is it to learn how many of our children were recognized for Citizenship awards, Art awards, Honours distinction,  Valedictorian, Athletic and Music awards. A testament to the wonderful adults our kids are supported by. We are so very blessed for our extended chosen family. As I reflect on the past year and the challenges our family has so humbly and successfully met, I am in wonder of what we are able to rise above. We have much to look forward to this summer. A quick trip to Grand Bend, Tragically Hip concert, Huether patio remission celebration, a month of leadership camp for Cam, a long-awaited trip to Calgary for Jordan and I, the Stampede, girls horse camp, road trip to Jasper, massage/spa day, cottage weekends, Darien Lake, Southampton family weekend. Before we know it, 8 weeks will have passed and we will be ready to embark on new adventures of Itinerant DST role and Grade 10-11. How quickly the days, months and years pass. Those 525 600 minutes fly by, thankfully bringing me minutes, days and weeks closer to what the medical profession considers a cure.

I had a good appointment with my family doctor this week. Thyroid testing comes next. As well, I do continue to have complications of mild Lymphedema from the lymph node surgery I had on my right arm. I have swelling and tightness in my hand/wrist from lymph node fluid not properly draining. A very common side effect from that surgery. Unfortunately, according to my doctor there isn't much that can be done outside of elevation, Ibuprofen, exercise. I will see what Dr Stevens recommends in August when I have my next appointment. Word of caution for those with a similar diagnosis to myself reading this, I have found that having bloodwork done or blood pressure taken from that arm to be a trigger for increased swelling, I have been told to avoid this to assist with minimizing the swelling. Something I wasn't immediately told.  

Aside from that mild annoyance. I feel absolutely great. We enjoy much joy and gratefulness in our life. Thank you to everyone from my Lackner staff to my new Developmental Ed team. I appreciate the varied caring, friendship, wisdom, guidance and support you bring to our lives.