the voice

the voice of reason

compassion, guiding me thru

treacherous waters

 

 

shadows

dissatisfaction

attempt to Photoshop failed

sun reveals darkness

 

wandering

60 years later

I still wander the rooms of

that cold, empty house

 

 

 

 

Memoir

put the severed parts

together.  arrange them as

they come – sea to shore

Still reeling

“You look great.”  That is what everyone says now when they see me.  “No, I mean it.  You really look great.”

My response when they repeat themselves:  “Do you want to see my boob?”  Yes that is exactly what I say followed  by something like, “Yeah, that is the funny thing about cancer.  If you do not have chemotherapy and lose your hair,  you look good, like you are not even sick.  I call it the secret disease.  If you did not know me, you would never know I was sick.”

I do not feel like a sick person.  I felt the best I have in years when they discovered my most recent tumor back in March.  Never better.  Strong, steady, happy. . .  all that.  Then boom, they dropped the C-Bomb.

“Ms. Nichols, I am sorry to tell you but we have found a mass in your right breast.  I think we need to do a biopsy.”

“Today?”

“No you will have to wait about 10 days.  Please see the nurse.  She will set you up with an appointment. ”

My mind is racing.  Ten days.  How can I wait that long to find out whether I have cancer?  You just will.  And I did.  I convinced myself the results would be negative.  Well they were positive.  Surprise.  My second round of cancer and only two years after the first bout.  Two frigging years.

But I did not begin this post to tell you about my cancer.  I am trying my best to write about my experience after cancer, after surgery, and radiation.

“Now the surgery is a fairly simple procedure.  We will remove the mass and the centennial lymph nodes.”  Okay how did I miss the part about injecting dye into my breast to find that “node or nodes?”  Did the surgeon tell me I would be placed on a cold metal table only to have a plate of concrete lowered to just inches above my face?  No he did not, because I would have explained that I could not do that.  “I am extremely claustrophobic.”  Let is suffice to say that I survived this ordeal, but I did have to ask once to be pulled out so that I could close my eyes, recite my mantra and use my breath to stay calm and in the moment.

Did the surgeon tell me how painful the catheter that he placed in my boob after the surgery would be?  No.  Nor did he tell me that the radiation itself my be painful.  No.  In fact, all medical personnel stated unequivocably that the radiation would be painless.  Let me make this perfectly clear.  I am do not consider myself a wimp, but I suffered, yes suffered from extreme discomfort when anyone touch the device which I wore in my right breast for 8 days and 7 nights.  All the gauze padding in the world did not relieve the stabbing sensation in my breast.   When the doctor asked, which he did each time I came in for a treatment (twice a day), “Are you in any pain?”  I said, “Yes, all the time.”

His response, “Take another Percocet.”

“But they give me such terrible stomach cramps and constipation.”

“Get a stool softener.”

“Any suggestions.”  He blurted out a couple of words I never heard of and immediately forgot.

“Okay are you ready for the treatment?”

The radiation did not hurt, but hooking the machine up to my boob was excruciating.

“This should no hurt.”  the nice man administering the treatment said condescendingly.

Crocodile tears are rolling down the sides of my cheeks.  Every time he touches one of the limbs of my device, my body convulses.  Radiation doctor says, “We will have to give you a stronger pain medication.  I am going to write a scrip for long release morphine.  That should do it.”

“Morphine?’

“Yes you will take on every 12 hours and continue to take the percocets an hour before you come to treatment.”

And so it went for 5 days.  At one point, lying on the table, reciting my mantra, I thought, I am going to have post traumatic stress from this.  I did and I am.

My emotions are off the charts.  Giddiness moves quickly into boredom, into anger and resentment, into bitchiness, into fear and foreboding and finally into deep sadness.

When I joke about cancer, people’s expressions reveal disdain and shame.

“Look, if I can’t joke about cancer, who can?”  There is humor in every situation and I plan to look for it.  I only made a crack about all my friends buying me dinner the week of my radiation.  I guess that is one of  the cancer “perks.”

Hardest part about being well now is everyone still looking at me with deep, questioning eyes when they ask, “How are you doing?”  To most who inquire, I say, “Fine.  Really I am good.”  To my closer friends I reply, “Physically I feel great, but mentally I am off the charts.”

“Oh, but I thought you got a good report.  All clear, right?”

“Yes, all clear.  No cancer now.  But will there be more?  No one knows.  No one knows.  Each day is a gift.”

 

 

 

beyond effort

we try too hard to

get it – yoga, life – secret is

not too tight, not too loose

secret

did you ask me not

to tell not to talk about

your pain is now mine

 

Eternally Grateful

Short recap of my life story.

Lived in a 2 bedroom, 1 bath house with nine other people. My father was a rageaholic and an alcoholic who sexually abused me,verbally abused my brother, Scott, beat my grandmother, and forced my step-mother Elaine to have daily sex with him.  She was pregnant 7 times in as many years and gave birth to four boys and one girl in that time span.  My father rarely worked.  My step-mother attempted to support our family on a weekly salary of $90.00, her wage for managing a boutique department store.

A straight A student, I played the violin and was a junior high cheerleader.  Entering puberty, I I started drinking, smoking and having all but full-blown sex with Micky Stilson.  Quit orchestra, snuck out at night, spent evenings at the skating rink where I could flirt with older boys, and smoked in public.  Somehow maintained my grades, while my already low self-esteem plummeted.  Mick was the classic bad boy. Cheated on me, ran away from home, dropped out of school, stole his dad’s car, even got into an altercation with a police officer.

Seeing the writing on the wall, I asked my mother, who abandoned me when I was a year old, if I could come to Memphis and live with her and my step-father, Bill.  She consented.  I contacted a lawyer my mother knew.  He took me before the judge, who, because I was 16 and “of age” according to Indiana law, was able to end my father’s custody and free me to go south to live with “Mommy Dearest.”

More abuse, physical and emotional.  A mother who served me alcohol on daily basis, took me out drinking with her, allowed me to smoke at home and at school.  What more could a girl ask for?  Mommy and Bill moved to Florida when I was 18.  I stayed in Memphis. I has attended the University of Tennessee in Knoxville for two quarters and dropped out due to a nervous breakdown.  Probably attributable to the alcohol and drugs I took during that time.

Once back in Memphis, I found work at what was then St Joseph hospital as an insurance clerk.  I filed claims for patients. When my parents moved I found an apartment with an across the hall student whom I befriended while at UT.

By now my bulimia was in full  bloom. I had used laxatives for years to control my weight.  I ate compulsively until I made myself sick and then did everything but throw up to eliminate the evidence of my over consumption.  My digestive system became dependent on the pills I took and the enemas I self-administered.

Began attending St John’s United Methodist Church, found God and moved back to Indiana to “save” my family from damnation.  Instead I introduced my already screwed up brother to a gang of thugs and drug pushers with whom I spent most of my time after I gave up my evangelical work.

My soon to be husband, Jeff, rescued me from the den of inequity, brought me back to Memphis and, foolishly, married me.  It is a miracle we did not kill one another.  After 7 years, an affair and an abortion, he divorced me.  I went back to school to finish my college degree.  Again, I excelled, majoring in both French and Psychology.  Met my next husband, Jackie, and moved in with him in less than a week’s time.  I graduated, but turned down an opportunity to go to grad school in Psychology and a teaching job in France to stay home and have children.  I worked as a paralegal at a local law firm.

Prior to my law career, I worked at Squash Blossom, a natural food store in Memphis, for Jimmy Lewis who, unbeknownst to me would be my third and final husband.  He eventually hired me away from the law firm, offering more money and an opportunity to be a leader.  I hated working for the attorneys, most of whom were arrogant, crude and misogynistic.

Jimmy and I were both married.  He and I both had daughters.  I filed for divorce, but continued to live with Jackie because I did not have the resources to move out.  Jimmy and I went on a business trip to Atlanta, a natural foods convention, shared and room and ended up having an affair, falling more deeply in love and…..Jimmy’s wife found out.  We came home, arranged to live together in a duplex we rented for a year.  Big mistake.  We lasted 3 months.  I got pregnant by my not yet ex-husband and Jimmy moved in with his parents.  He eventually got a divorce from his then wife, but lost custody of his daughter Alyana, from whom he is still estranged.  A few years later, Jimmy remarried. He rehired me.  We tired to work together, but could not keep our hands off of one another.  I was banned from shopping at Squash Blossom.

Doomed to living with a wonderful man whom I did not love or trust, crazy as hell, depressed, suicidal and unable to care adequately for my two children, I reached out in desperation to a friend, Lou Hoyt, who became my first yoga teacher.  Through her I contacted Felicty Green, a 6 foot tall South African Yoga teacher who at the time lived in Seattle.  I went and spent a week with her.  She became my Baba Yaga.

Baba Yaga is a witch (or one of a trio of sisters of the same name) in Slavic folklore, who appears as a deformed and/or ferocious-looking elderly woman. She flies around in a mortar and wields a pestle. She dwells deep in the forest, in a hut usually described as standing on chicken legs, with a fence decorated with human skulls. Baba Yaga may help or hinder those that encounter or seek her out, and may play a maternal role. (Wikipedia)

I went back and lived with her for three more months.  Yoga became my life line.  Over the span of 29 years, I have studied, practiced, trained as a teacher, opened and operated a successful studio, and trained over 100 others to be teachers.  But most importantly yoga gave me the tools I needed to be a great parent.  Yoga saved my life.

Jimmy and I married in 1999.  We are friends, lovers, partners and more.  My children, Katie and Jordan, are both grown and living with their partners here in Memphis.  I am so proud of them.  Every time I hug them, when I tell them how much I love them, I am reminded of what a gift my life is, and I am grateful to be who I am today.  What was once impossible becomes possible over time through the practice of yoga.

Cut Through – Brighten Up

From my wise friend Cyndi Lee, “When it gets bogged down I have to keep going and find a way to brighten it up, to cut through.”

Getting bogged down has been a huge stumbling block for me.  My tendency to tumble into darkness is a lifetime obstacle, lessened to a great degree by my practices, specifically asana and meditation.  And I should mention diet.  I have made what some would think to be drastic food changes since my trip to India last February.

Me, with my fellow travelers, at the back of the bus in India, 2013

I rarely if ever eat cold foods, anything frozen, with ice, or refrigerated.  I shop and cook daily so the food I eat and serve my family is fresh. I have cut way back on my consumption of alcohol, two glasses of wine a night, if at all.  And I do not skip meals.  I chronically skipped breakfast, the most important meal of the day.

Okay good.  But my mind is my mind and there resides remnants of self-doubt, depression, lethargy (well not so much) and an idea that I must not get too big.  I want to cut through that idea.  I want to be bigger and brighter in every way.  It all starts with self-love, self-acceptance, giving up the idea that I need to improve.  Pema Chodron says, “The problem is that the desire to change is fundamentally a form of aggression toward yourself. The other problem is that our hang-ups, unfortunately or fortunately, contain our wealth.”

I have a wealth of wisdom, clarity and determination.  I am also incredibly energetic for short periods of time.  I am a sprinter.  I could never run a 4 mile race.  Well, I could, but I certainly would not win.  Length is not my strength.  I can be irritable, but most often it is because I have pushed to hard, or I expect to much.  I am sometimes irritable, but that irritability has lots of energy.  It’s one of the things that make my dynamic…..hmmm.

In loving myself, I love the world.  Mark Nepo:

I can only say that loving yourself is like feeding a clear bird that no one else can see.  You must be still and offer your palm full of secrets like delicate seed.  As she eats your secrets, no long secret, she glows and you lighten…And the light through her body will bathe you till you wonder why the gems in your palms were ever fisted.

“Why the gems in your palms were ever fisted.”  Today, lets open our fists, cut through whatever old idea is bogging us down.  Let the invisible, clear bird in you fly and sing.  It takes courage but you can do it.  “Be loyal to your own self-worth.”

What? What the World Needs Now

That is a good question.  What?  What is your name?  What do you do?  What are you feeling?  What is the weather like today? What’s going on?  What have you been up to lately?  What did you eat for lunch?  What color is your daughter’s hair?  What do you think about unemployment benefits for the long-term unemployed?  What is the impact of a global economy on the wealth of American businessmen?  What makes civilization?  What is anarchy?  What makes democracy better than socialism?  What long-lasting scars linger in the hearts of the children of Hiroshima?  What did you do last night?  What amount effort are you willing to put into getting healthy and staying that way?  What happens to your heart when you lie?  What does it take to get a book published?

What do you want to be when you grow up little girl?  What do I most miss about the world of commerce?  What drives me to write?  What right do I have to think I am good enough to be a writer?  What was my mother thinking when I told her I had remembered being sexually abused and her response was, “Get over it.  Everybody has a bad day.”  What do I think about getting older? What do I still keep hidden under lock and key?  What am I still afraid of?  What do I long to do?  What precipitates depression?  What drives a mother of three to walk into a lake and drown herself?  What is mental illness?  What about the library of congress?  What does retirement mean?  What is sin?  What is redemption?  What is Soul?  What is moderation?

What is the source of my eternal longing, my need for attention, my desire to be noticed, my drive to be seen and heard?  What crosses the mind of a poet like Mary Oliver when she sees the refracted light of the sun cast upon her bedroom floor?  What makes ice cream irresistible?  What complex sequence of events causes two people to fall in love, marry, have children, build a life together, and then, after thirty-two years together, divorce?  What happened to all the sea shells in Destin?  What drives one person to adultery, betrayal, vengeance, remorse, revenge, and retaliation, and another to loyalty, forgiveness, empathy, compassion and sympathy?  What is love?  What is the difference between the alcoholic and the social drinker?  What draws one man to God and religion and his brother to crime and misfortune?

What is enough?  What for?  What if?  What he bleep?  What difference does it make?  What did you say?  What’s that?  Now what?  What do you mean?  What do you care?  What do you think?  What do you have to say for yourself?  What is it?  What now?  What, why, where  and when?  What do you expect?  What else?  Now what?  What for?  What the heck?  What do you want?  What do you like?  What did he say?  What are you saying?  Say what?  So what?  What ever!?  What ….wait just a minute? What works?  What I mean is….What can I do?  What’s the use?  What does it matter?  What do I want?  What do you want?  What’s left?  What goes around, comes around.  What else?  What’s up?  What the world needs now is love sweet love, not just for some but for everyone. What more can I say?