Category Archives: Cancer

Gratitude Friday

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This post started as a mashup of The Little Bliss List and Joy Jam, and as such is meant to celebrate: the little things that brought me hope and happiness this week, the sweet stuff of life, those small gifts that brought me joy this week. By sharing them, I not only make public my gratitude, but maybe also help you notice your own good stuff and send some positive energy out into the world.

1. Dexter and Sam curled up next to me in bed. All of us together, safe, warm, sleeping (well, except for me who is awake to notice the moment).

2. Food, satisfying and good. Grapefruit juice and avocados. Meatloaf with lots of ketchup. Biscuits and strawberry rhubarb jam from Lucile’s. Roasted brussel sprouts.

3. Small kindnesses, moments of beauty. The way the light hit the snow and made it sparkle, seeing someone’s glove fall out of their pocket and being able to return it to them, Dexter feeling enough better that he wants to play again, Sam pressing his head against mine and sighing his warm breath into my neck, friends sending me silly videos or posting cute pictures on my Facebook wall, love notes from Eric, kind comments and gratitude.

4. Things that could have been worse, but weren’t. I am especially grateful this week for talented and compassionate veterinary staff.

5. A supportive spouse, who helps me remove the cactus spines from Sam’s leg, gives Dexter the shot he needs twice a week, who convinces me to go to my paid work office for just a little bit so I can get out of the house and on my own even though I don’t really feel up to it, who feeds me so well and lets me rest, who tries his best to understand when I seem to be (am?) losing my mind.

Bonus Joy: Another week with Dexter, even though it was an especially rough one. I took him to see his regular vet this week, because when Dexter was diagnosed in August, he was given the standard prognosis of 95 days–that was six months ago. She took a good look at Dexter and conceded that considering how well he’s been doing, and the absence of any sort of facial deformity or other changes, there’s a good chance that his tumor is slow growing, and some dogs with those tumors live anywhere from 6-24 months beyond their initial diagnosis, even without treatment, (although, she did caution that some of the dogs that make it to 24 months are in really bad shape and should have been let go sooner). Maybe I’ll get to have a ten year old dog after all.

Three Truths and One Wish

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1. Truth: Being highly sensitive is both a blessing and a curse. I was born completely porous, raw and naked and open wide. I had no defense, no barrier between myself and the world, myself and others. What you felt, I felt, and I felt it deeply. For years, I wore heavy armor (invisible yes, but heavy and hard nonetheless) and masks, cocooned myself, padded my body with extra weight, distracted with smoke and mirrors, hid myself away, anything I could to do to protect myself.

What I didn’t understand yet is that this sensitivity, this keen emotion, acute intuition, deep knowing, this tenderness was something that others spent their lives trying to achieve, that there were many ancient practices to teach one to be so openhearted, so present, spacious and awake. I had what others wanted, what they worked so hard to experience. I have slowly allowed my gentle self to peek out, have been working with being vulnerable and brave, keeping my heart open, but it’s so hard sometimes–the beauty and the brutality, the tenderness and the terror can be so overwhelming.

2. Truth: “You should put on your own oxygen mask before attempting to help someone else with theirs.” I was chanting this silently last night as I tried to fall asleep. My worrying about Dexter wasn’t letting me rest, mind or body, and I was exhausted. That phrase was the thing that kept coming back to me, the only thing that was helping. No “he’s fine” or “everything’s going to be okay” or general allowing or accepting of reality or releasing of attachment would work, but the awareness that I needed to take care of myself or I wouldn’t be of any help to him did.

3. Truth: I can’t control everything, and perfection is impossible. I know this, deep down know it, and yet I keep acting as if it’s not true. I keep Dexter home from hiking, thinking I can keep him safe, and he hurts himself chasing after a squirrel in our backyard. I feed my dogs the best possible food, provide the best health care, give them tons of exercise and affection, take better care of them sometimes than I do myself, and still two of them have been diagnosed with fatal cancers. I obsess about Dexter’s physical therapy and medications and various appointments, thinking I can fix him, keep him safe, when no matter what I do, he will eventually die, as all mortal things do. I try to be so careful and prepared and diligent and alert, but bad things still happen. Things break, feelings get hurt, mistakes are made. I am not always responsible, and even when I am, I am forgivable, still loveable. I am trying to do as Karen Salmansoh suggests and, “Let go of what you can’t control. Channel all that energy into living fully in the now.”

One Wish: That we can approach our experience, our struggle and suffering, with great gentleness and a loving presence. That when we despair, are afraid and sad, we can experience some ease, remember our innate strength, have confidence and find comfort in our fundamental wisdom and compassion. And as Hafiz says, “I wish I could show you when you are lonely or in the darkness, the astonishing light of your own being.”