Alice In Wonderland

Positive mood and attitude….I am always inspired when I see it. You know it don’t you? The person waiting on you at the grocery store, the person standing in a long airport security line, the Uber driver.  They see the world differently, like each moment is a good one, a blessing. You immediately get when it’s the opposite too.

One of my favorite inspirational women is an octogenarian.  She is a master flower arranger. She has her signature look; big round turquoise glasses that are 35 years old, always wears black, honking turquoise jewelry and her silver hair is cropped just so. She’s beautiful inside and out, as is her mood. She creates, she works, and she gives the most amazing hugs.  She is vibrant, a creative, spiritual soul.  I want to BE her.  Hardie is a role model.
You know it when you see it.

Another role model.  Alice.  She was the appointment before me in the radiation line up. We took the last two slots in the day. She would come straight from work. She was in her 80s.  Still working as a loan manager in a nearby bank. She had lost her husband and daughter to cancer. She had a double mastectomy and was sitting next to me as positive as a person could be. I loved seeing her at the end of my day. She was upbeat, darling, and full of life. She had cancer and had lost so much to cancer and yet she was still positive.

I remember the day I came in my first Glam Gown prototype, hot off my sewing machine (literally—my brother in law was my walking partner to radiation that day and he saw me at the sewing machine making the last stitches.  (Oh yeah, I lived 1.5 miles from the hospital and walked to and from radiation every day, but that’s another story). It was hot pink and white zebra print. It had rickrack around the neck—does anyone remember that stuff?   It was the first gown, not perfected, but still a hundred times better than the hospital gowns. Alice loved it! She thought it was fab; I didn’t have a chance make her one. She “graduated” from radiation no long after that.
I wonder how Alice is doing…I wonder if she knows she was and is a role model for me?

Who do you know that inspires you? Uplifts you even when it would seem impossible?  Are you that kind of person?

Word Play

I have favorite words. Words I just like to say, that roll off my tongue, make me happy to say them. Silly things like Piscataway (a town in New Jersey), I’ve never been there but I love the way it feels to say it! Conundrum is a good one.  Of course my sister would say “piece” is one of my all time favorites. A piece of work, a piece of advice, a piece of interest-a lot of ways to use that one! Hmmm..What are some other words I just enjoy-cockamamie, ebullient is lovely and so are luscious and divine.

There are words that I just have a hard time saying and sometimes spelling too! For example, the word AWKWARD! Well there it is, it says what it is! As well as caricature, I can never articulate it just right. Then there are words people just can’t stand hearing or saying. One of my college friends used to hate the word phlegm; we would say it to her over and over again to just to see her cringe (What can I say, we were girls in college!!)

My mom couldn’t and wouldn’t say the word cancer. She called it the C-word--- “No one in our family has had the C-word. No worries there. “ I don’t think she could even say it as she lost two of her dearest friends to cancer. Then she got pancreatic cancer. Still, she did not want to say the word. Funny how a word like cancer is not hard to say- and yet it holds so much weight.

Weighted with fear, the unknown, loss. My Mom got to exit well as one of the doctors said. She was fourth stage; no chemo, no radiation due to an aneurysm she had close to her pancreas. She got to spend her three months around the people she loved. Spending time with people who meant the most to her. And she still did not like the word cancer and I could understand why. 

My friend Betsy named her breast cancer “Hoot” or maybe it was just her boob she named “Hoot.”  (Not sure about that :-) She had bracelets made up that said, “Toot for Hoot.” You’d have to know her sense of humor—she’s really really funny.  When I got diagnosed, my brother in law kept saying we had to evict the invader and that’s exactly what I did!

Use your words purposefully.  They are powerful.  Create a vision that works for you to fight, to overcome, and to eject the cancer from your body!

What would you say to your cancer?  What name would you give it?  What do you have to say?

Lipstick

One of my favorite places in the world is the cosmetics department at Bergdorf Goodman’s in NYC.  It feels old, classic, feminine, decadent.  It’s in the basement, hidden like a little jewel.  I was most recently there with a client and friend.  We were taking a walk after an all day meeting and were passing by when she said she was dying to go to Bergdorf’s.  I said, why not go in?  After a quick bit of gawking and fawning over the gorgeous baubles, scarves and people on the first floor, we headed down the escalator.  What is it about make up?  The hint, allure, hope of looking better?  Hell, even feeling better? 

As we entered, we realized we had happened on one of Bergdorf’s special moments.  The opening party of a new makeup line.  Complete with champagne, cocktails, a DJ, and gorgeous clientele.  How fun is that?  We were sucked in by the booming music and lovely sales women promising instant eye lifts.  OK, we both bought it hook, line and sinker.  No, I mean seriously we bought two tubes!  We cheered each other on by the visible difference in the mirror.  My purchase was placed in a beautiful lilac bag.

On to another counter, I was looking to replace one of my favorite lipsticks.  I actually wore it to my surprise 50th birthday party.  Luscious neon pink.  A color that looks divine in the summer, against sun kissed skin.  Presto, I found a similar match.  My American Express got a workout and we left lighter than when we went in!

What difference does it make to look better, perkier, brighter, lifted?  I think it makes a huge difference.  Cancer wants to suck you down in to an abyss of fear and ache and pain.  It brings life directly to your doorstep.  As my one friends plainly said, cancer is about mortality.  How scary is that?  Very.

So every little thing you can do to feel better, hopeful, uplifted and upbeat…DO IT!  If it’s pink boa’s, pigtails, cartwheels (go Betsy Johnson!) or tutu’s (all on display at cancer walks and runs!) ----Just go for it.  Who cares?  Let your self be buoyed by a freedom to do what ever you choose.  Choose what you can, claim it with full abandon and proudly.  Let it bring you joy and a sense of controlling something in your life.

I had my annual one-year check with my radiologist last month.  The nurse said, I’ll get you a gown.  Do you know how great I felt saying, “No thank you, I have my own!”   I felt on top of the world.

What makes you feel better? Happier? Lighter? Even a little childish?

Cancer as Coach

Crazy dreams, I have them.  Honestly, full on movies.  Sometimes three, four, five of them.  I have even dreamt of decorating whole rooms in my house and woken up and executed the exact vision in my head.  My blue and white family room?  Yep, a dream.  Complete with putting my Mom’s blue and white plates and urns on display.  I even dreamt of my big silver punchbowl (bought for $15 at a yard sale by the way!) It all came together in my dream and it turned out beautifully if I do say so myself—very Ralph Lauren!  My Collaborative Consulting office was the same way, dreams of yummy apple green and fuchsia.  Calico Corners served up the exact match for my vision.  Gorgeous silk duponi curtains, fabric for slipcovers and even a rug I walked right over on the way out the door!  I promptly turned around and added that to my purchases.

My dreams have a life of their own.  Last night I dreamt about a psychiatrist at American University who was teaching a class called “Cancer as Coach.” In the dream, I printed all the course materials and headed over to DC to have a peek at the class. What was on the curriculum?  It was founded on the principles of coaching (this is my other career!).  Coaching is about creating self-awareness and accountability. About partnering to accelerate performance.  It is setting goals and the conditions for success to achieve them.  Yes, Cancer as Coach-the curriculum nailed it.

This dream reflects deeply (obviously if it’s showing up in Technicolor in my dreams) my own experience with cancer.  I learned so much about what I am made of.  New things I had yet to discover.  I was fierce.  I was bold.  I was vulnerable.  I needed help.  I would do cancer my way.  I felt the reality of being human.

I had to be accountable.  Hmm, don’t feel like going to radiation today?  Or skipping a biopsy?  Or surgery?  I don’t think so.  It takes commitment, one step in front of the other.  I reflect back on completing 33 days of radiation and working at the same time (both my consulting and coaching business and starting up GO Lisey.  I’m amazed.  It was a feat.

I had a goal.  May 28th, 2014.  How was I going to get to that date?  The last day of radiation.  How did I want to BE in the process?  What was my message to others? What kind of role model did I want to be?  These questions drove my mood and attitude.

Cancer as Coach.  It wasn’t my only coach.  Coaching is about being in partnership.  My sisters, brother, sister-in-law were daily touchstones. They provided support, comfort and encouragement.  Gordon my husband was my safe haven. He protected me.  Held my boundaries for me.  Made me laugh.  He tells me (even just recently with the Uterine cancer scare) that I am one tough broad and I guess I am.

How has cancer been your coach?

Waiting Room

What do you do when you wait?  Text?  Read magazines? Go through emails? Talk to someone sitting next to you? Daydream?  Draft a to-do list? Worry?  The act of waiting is very different than having patience.  I remember being called back for my second mammogram.  They had seen something on the left side and wanted to redo the test.  It was December 20th.  I had been traveling a lot and hadn’t gotten to my Christmas cards yet, so I took them to my appointment.  I figured I would do something productive while I had to wait.  And so there I was sitting in my gown (not a Glam Gown yet of course!) braless, amongst many other women who were waiting.  We all know that what’s coming is painful squeezing and everyone thinks, “Why hasn’t there been a better solution to having your breast smashed like a pancake?” (Honestly! But that’s another day for another blog. ) So while I was working away on my cards, a few women teased me about being a bit late on my cards, or commented on how they wished they had brought theirs along.  One younger woman, didn’t comment, she was quiet.  Finally she just said out loud, “I’m scared.  I have a family history of breast cancer and I’m scared because they want me to wait.”  Just like that I could see the fear.  Standing on that precipice of her life changing forever.

In that moment, I felt for her, but I don’t remember if I felt scared for my self.  We have no family history of breast cancer.  My Mom died of Pancreatic cancer, but no family members with breast cancer.  Maybe I was being too efficient to let the fear seep in.  I don’t know.  I was trying to make the best of my waiting time. 

The domino effect of events began to flow after this one appointment—you know how it goes—ultrasound—biopsy—diagnosis.  I went from my Christmas cards to the ultrasound and then a small office where they recommended a biopsy and an appointment with a surgeon ASAP, as it was the holidays.  I actually got the biopsy scheduled 3 hours later.  They had an opening and they said I could get the results by Christmas Eve.  I drove straight to my sister’s house and my husband met me there.  We waited.  Did I have a glass of wine?  Can’t remember.  It was all a blur. We went back for the biopsy.  The radiologist was firm, from the ultrasound he thought it looked like cancer.  I was trying to be positive after the biopsy and he said don’t….I am 70% sure it’s C-A-N-C-E-R. 

I got my biopsy results on Christmas Eve, it came back benign, but he didn’t budge.  It was weird, family members at the house were celebrating the results, but I knew it wasn’t over.  I still had to wait.

Cancer taught me about this strange passage of time—waiting.  When you have no control over how long test results take or how long you have to heal before the next step in the process, all you can do is wait.  (Side note, after the excised biopsy,  final cancer diagnosis and another surgery to clean the margins, I thought I’d roll right in to chemo or radiation, knock it out. ( Ha! That’s a good one!)

What is so different about waiting than being patient is I learned to be present, really to just BE.  What would worry or anxiety do for me?  What if I let everyone asking me “have you heard yet?” “When will you be done?” bother me?  I had to give up control, serious control.  Cancer is such a big life event.  No wonder so many people change dramatically after it.  It tells you THINGS WILL BE DIFFERENT NOW!!  Screams it actually.  It shakes you to your core.

So, you have to choose how you are going to BE in the face of cancer.  Be deliberate, purposeful.  Control that.

I’ve taken the phase “I can’t wait” out of my vocabulary.  I just don’t say it anymore.  Because, you know what?  I can wait and there’s much to experience in the mean time.

You're Fired.

I had my hair colored yesterday with the woman who’s been doing my color for 2 years.  She’s a color genius. Amazing, calm, not too chatty.  She was a nurse in Peru before coming to the US.  She has a soft touch.  I would’ve liked her as my nurse…well she is sort of my hair-nurse.  Another person does my cut at the salon.  Trained in France, he is well known, an artist.  He’s highly skilled, precise, careful.  He knows hair.  They are my team.  Finding a stylist and colorist who are not only skilled, but trusted is an accomplishment—it’s sort of like winning the lottery.  Ask most women, hair is an intimate experience.

OK, so what does this have to do with cancer you ask?  I’ll tell you, it’s about having the right team.  Not only a qualified, skilled, talented, reputable team, but a team you trust.  A team that has the right touch.  A team that cares about you and your diagnosis.  I didn’t understand at the beginning of my diagnosis I would need a ten-year relationship with my doctors (surgeon, radiologist, oncologist, OB/GYN).  I have a hard time keeping straight who I’m supposed to see and when.

First my surgeon.  She is the dream doctor.  Qualifications, all a check.  She is professional, but that’s not why she’s my doctor---it’s who she is as a person that makes her my choice.  She is direct, yet kind.  She is efficient, yet spends time with me.  At one appointment, she even tolerated a list of questions I brought with me from my husband.  I’ve brought both of my sisters to appointments and again, she didn’t look as me as some big baby, she saw a scared woman who needed support.  OK, Dr. M even texts!  Yes, complete with emoticons.  She is my gal.

On to my radiologist.  Again, top dog here in the quals—it’s who he is that had my vote right off the bat.  He gave a first name introduction at my initial meeting (his whole name sounds like some Vegas performer, I love it!  Saying his name makes me smile).  He’s a kick.  Young, hip.  Smart as crap and funny.  In his dictated notes at the first appointment, he kept referring to me as “a pleasant, 51 one year old woman!”  He said it three times!  I teased him about it and he said there are plenty of people who aren’t pleasant, so I’ll take the complement.

Now on to “you’re fired!” My first oncologist, has the professional reputation and was recommended, but she was dry as toast.  Dismissive almost.  And yet I stayed, until I didn’t.  What put me over the edge was how she handled the tumor testing and the final decision on chemo.  The test was supposed to take two weeks.  I called the office several times to follow up…here was the response “maybe it’s on the fax machine.”  Really?  Really?  I’m waiting to see if I’m going to have to be sick as a dog, lose my hair and that was the response?  Finally she called me a week later (5 minutes after I pleaded with Dr. M’s office to help) and she gave me the results.  I had to ask, so this means no chemo?  She said right, how does that sound?  I wanted to jump through the phone and well, you know what I wanted to do!  But I composed myself because I was checking out at Target of all places when I got the call (you take a cancer call no matter where you are).  So I thanked her, hung up and proceeded to tell my Target cashier the following….yes, I really did this…

“You don’t know me, but I have cancer and I just found out I don’t have to have chemo.”  He was lovely.  He congratulated me and told me that was wonderful news.  Yes, I was celebrating “no chemo” at Target with my cashier because cancer makes you do things you might not have done in your life, like celebrate each moment, take each piece of good news that you get and savor it like a little piece of candy.  ** Note to self, I should probably let Target know that one of their employees was sensitive, kind and went above and beyond. 

So I fired the oncologist. My new one is interested in me, curious, wants to know anything and everything about my health and other doctor’s appointments—cancer related or not.  She’s feisty, a bit bossy….I like her just fine.

Who’s on your team?

DAMNED IF YOU DO, DAMNED IF YOU DON’T

Tamoxifen—let’s just say it, it’s a trip.  Before I was put on the drug last year, my husband and I asked the oncologist, the surgeon and the radiologist, “What about the side effects?  How does it impact mood?  I wish I had recorded the reactions!  First the faces, then the sounds.  A lot of “ooooooooooohhhh”, “welllllllllllll”, and “hmmmmmm.”  Hilarious.  The tone and expressions said it all--- not good.  The oncologist did say that it’s hard to parse out what’s Tamoxifen and what’s menopause.  Oh joy!  A double whammy! Even with their reactions, it seemed a clear choice to go on the drug, so on it I went.

 Let’s talk about the night sweats first.  OK not pleasant.  I’ve figured out that they normally get triggered after my middle of the night bathroom run, so I’ve started bringing a cold washcloth back to bed.  Seriously it helps.  Sometimes I need two.  When I’m done, I just hang it over the headboard until I need it again!  Problem solved.  Now the blanket situation is a bit trickier.  I am normally cold blooded; I like to sleep in sweatshirts and under three down comforters.  Do you see where I’m going?   This presents a dilemma when you are suddenly drenched and need to escape everything quickly---oh and without waking up the sleeping husband (Thank God we have a King—but is there anything bigger?)  So I’ve come up with another solution, first I’ve taken all of Gordon’s old T-shirts and cut the necks out (very attractive ladies) and that’s my go to PJ’s. They are big and roomy and absorbent. I put a sweatshirt on when I go to bed, but take it off on the washcloth-nightly bathroom run.  Is this sounding too complicated?  Honestly, this crazy process working!  When I slip back in to bed, I don’t put the covers on and just wait being washed in sweat.  By the way, does any one else mostly just get it on their chest? Ew. It’s gross.   I think the Tamoxifen has given me more vivid dreams too.  I kick Gordon a lot in my sleep and he has to wake up from some dreams because I’m whimpering.  Again, very sexy!  My sleep sucks and so does his!

So back to moods, save the best for the last right?  Gordon should probably have his own blog on this topic—actually that is a very bad idea!  As for my mood on Tamoxifen, unless it’s a bad day, I really don’t notice.  One of my friends said something very funny t about her five years on it….she said, “I was always a bitch, so I don’t really think it affected me!”  I almost choked I laughed so hard.  I’ve reframed Tamoxifen through the help of another friend and survivor; Jane called it her “warrior drug.”  I like it.  Strong, fighting, tough.  Good one Jane.

 So there it is.  Life with cancer.  Sometimes it makes me hot, sometimes it makes me a little edgy, sometimes it make me laugh, but mostly it makes me feel grateful for having come through.

 Tamoxifen is my daily reminder that I had cancer, what’s yours?

Never Say Never

Let me clear. Very clear.  I do not like tattoos.  Never have. I understand people who get them for personal reasons, like putting the name of their husband or wife on their arm (although didn’t work out so well for Angelina first time around—just sayin’) or maybe a ying and yang symbol, or some other symbol that has meaning for that person.  I get it; I just don’t like them for me.  The ones that really perplex me are the compulsive tattoo people, not just one or two, but whole arms, backs, legs.  I don’t understand.  As a note, I’m contradicting myself on this one, because I really, really don’t like tattoos, but an exception is Adam Levine and David Beckham.  Can’t explain why they look hot with tattoos, they just do.  I digress.

 So I’m getting to the never say never part of this blog.  Watch those nevers…sometimes we don’t have control over what comes next.  Like my three little blue tattoos.  OK you could argue they are not really tattoos, but to me they are.  Permanent blue marks on my body.  The say YOU HAD CANCER.  A reminder that I laid on a table for 33 days, while beams of radiation were lined up to those little dots.  33 days where 4-5 people stood over me and adjusted me while I was laying there topless.  Pushing and pulling me. Drawing on me with sharpies to make sure my dots were lined up just so.  After they got it perfect, they made a beeline for the thick door that shut me in.  You know it’s strong stuff when people want to be as far away as possible from you while you get zapped.

The day I got my tattoos is still vivid in my mind.  I had my cat scan first and then the two technicians were using those damn sharpies on my boobs.  Such a strange things.  So sweet Janice is chatting away, commenting on the color of my nail polish and then BAM she stabbed me!  Sweet Janice stabbed me!  She apologized and said it was better if I was distracted for the first one.  The other two went fast, not any less painful, but it was over quick.

 So now I have three blue dots (If I had to have them, why couldn’t I pick the color?  Purple?  Turquoise?  Something other than the blue-black that they are.  A permanent reminder that I have a before and after in my life.  Never say never.  What marks the change that cancer has made in your life?  How do you see your self now?  …….Me? The three tattoos make me feel a bit like a badass biker chick…kicking the crap out of cancer!

Crap happens, so what are you going to do about it?

Have you ever felt compelled?  Really, truly, wholly compelled?  I have.  GO Lisey is about a vision, a feeling, a desire to make the scary, the crappy, the painful stuff in life better.  A year ago, I was going through radiation, feeling depressed going in to that closet of awful hospital gowns, and I knew I had to do something for myself---seriously the fabrics on those things were from the 50’s, they reminded me of bad, mint green formica!  The best design out of the bunch was snowflakes and it was Spring and dammit I didn’t want to wear snowflakes in April!  Those stupid hospital gowns made me feel like I had cancer, like some sick person and that was not who I wanted to be.   So on April 12th, I declared that I was going to make my own gowns.  I was having a Kick Cancer’s Ass party with my girlfriends (note—this is a great idea.  Only fabulous, killer shoes allowed) and I told them my idea and they cheered me on.  

I made my own gowns and everyone who saw them or heard about them, connected with them, a visceral connection to the concept.  They got it.  People understand that life keeps coming and it’s how we approach it that matters.

I kept revising the gowns, tweaking them, trying to get it right…or at least so I could have it cover my back and still be able to slip it off on the radiation table!  I’m not the best seamstress in the world, but I kept sewing anyway.  The radiation technicians offered up ideas, the oncological nurse had thoughts, the whole team took an interest.  As a note, the only other homemade gown they had ever seen was a Super Woman cape which sounds fun, but not exactly my style either!

By Easter last year, we were floating names up for a company and GO Lisey was in motion.  It took on a life of it’s own.  I became bolder, determined, tenacious in making GO Lisey real.  People, resources, connections aligned to help me along the way.  Being compelled does that.  It truly does.

The vision for GO Lisey came to me as I was waking up one morning (that delicious space between dreaming and waking) and I knew with all certainty that the vision of GO Lisey was to uplift the daily mood of patients and their support circles.  Verbatim, that’s what hit me.  

So today, I am welcoming the first of many products to the come, the Glam Gown.  Meant to inspire inner Glam, a positive outlook, and just plain feeling fabulous.  

GO Lisey is about doing something with the crap that happens.  What will you do?