Off Balance

After breast reconstruction, I found myself falling over easily...and often. In fact, I lost my balance so much that I feared I had developed a brain tumor. Not that I obsess...

It wasn't until I heard about other women with breast reconstruction who also experienced the loss of balance after surgery. I finally surmised that because we had our core muscles cut, we no longer have the abdominal strength to balance us.

Therefore, if you're slipping and falling frequently, fret not. Instead, sign up for a strength training class to build back your core. Since I've been working out with my personal trainer -- who, incidentally had me hauling concrete blocks and stepping up and down on a bus stop post last week -- I realize I've been stumbling less.

It's painful, but it will keep you from injury in the long run. So, go find some concrete blocks and start moving.

Resiliency

I was slogging through rush-hour traffic in Atlanta the other night while listening to Terry Gross with"All Things Considered" interviewing Elizabeth Edwards about her just-released book, "Resilience."

At the interview's end, Gross asked Edwards how she defined resiliency. Edwards' answer was so profound that I practically drove off the road trying to write it down. Since I haven't purchased her book yet, I will paraphrase what Edwards said:

"Resiliency is accepting the new reality of your life after loss-- and live it fully -- rather than long for the past and what it held."

If ever there was a quote for cancer survivors, this is it. I don't know about you, but sometimes I am wistful of life before cancer -- without all the surgery scars and missing pieces...when I was stronger and more flexible...when I had eyebrows (sigh)...when I could remember every detail (before chemo deleted my brain)...when I was innocent and naive, thinking I was invincible and immortal.

I don't obsess about these things, but every now and then, I get frustrated trying to be the "old me." And that person doesn't exist.

The new reality is an older, scarred, wiser woman who knows first-hand the body's limitations and the eventual result of death.

On the other hand, she also knows she has more courage in the face of fear than she ever imagined. That she doesn't take a single day of life -- or a single relationship -- for granted. That every day counts. Every interaction. Every choice. Every action. It all matters.

She also knows that she is loved far more than she ever realized. She knows that pain and suffering produce depth and insight. She understands what's truly important and what needs to be discarded or not taken so seriously.

Life after cancer is my new reality. I can never run away from or ignore what has happened to me. I can't go back and recapture my youthful self.

But, as Edwards points out, resiliency is the ability to "live fully" in your new life. That takes on a different meaning for each cancer survivor. For me, it's accepting my physical limitations, while at the same time, appreciating that I have a better grasp of what is true and valuable.

Advice from A Fitness Expert

This is an email my fitness instructor sent me recently:

"I met someone today in my bodywork class. She wanted ideas to rebuild her abs, since she was cut for breast cancer surgery and reconstruction.

This is the third person I've come across in a similar predicament, so I am planning to do some intensive research on exercise for women who have had breast cancer.

I hate to see breast cancer survivors frustrated with their bodies, when everyone seems amazed by how far you have come , medical teams happy with the results...you seem to be the only ones left with a feeling of unfinished business...and indeed it's not over for you.

You have a different body, you are and you are not the same person. You need to assess these changes and how slowly they will be part of you from now on. You need to work with these changes that you may not quite understand or even know about.

Your battle is not over, and everybody has left.

I believe strongly into the amazing ability of the body to heal repair and adapt, but also in the power and relation the mind has on this process.

Your will and courage is your victory. We, as instructors, need to wake up to this specific growing demand and try to work together with the health professionals to assure not only recovery, but long term health , happiness...and fitness!

Women who have had breast cancer need to work specifically on core, abs and upper body strength--which seems to be the 2 areas of most changes and trauma...psychologically, physically and physiologically.

See you in class!"

Helene Villinger

AFAA Certified Personal Fitness Instructor

http://fitnessislife.tripod.com/

When Rubbish Happens-Part 2

Recent layoffs among several people I know have prompted responses from well-wishers, telling the newly unemployed they'll "be in a better place" one day and "when one door shuts, another opens"...blah, blah, blah.

While I believe these statements can be true, there's a catch. It's up to you to open the next door to get to a better place. It doesn't automatically open. This pertains to jobs, or cancer, or any other disappointment in life.

Some people I know responded to their layoff by aggressively applying for jobs, networking, heading to the gym and keeping a positive attitude--which ultimately lead them to their dream job. Others headed to the bar, sat on their backsides and decided to be bitter.

A friend shared his fear of wasting his life due to working long hours and not having a Hemingway-like adventure every weekend. While I don't endorse workaholics or couch potatoes, it's not a job or lack of fun that wastes a life.

Rather, it's wallowing in anger, depression, fear and bitterness in response to life's challenges. Instead of moving forward with courage, you become paralyzed in your grief.

Life CAN be better when bad things happen to good people if you rise to the occasion. It's becomes better because it changes you -- you grow up, get a new perspective, learn to handle problems. Tough times can deepen you, pulling you out of your self-centered, self-absorbed, childish, all-about-me context.

And becoming a deeper, less selfish person is what allows you to live a richer, more fulfilling life.

Changing for the better is earned the hard way--the way we all try to avoid--through pain and suffering. But in the long run--by plowing ahead with courage--you can look back and say, "I'm in a better place because this happened."

When Rubbish Happens-Part 1

A friend, who is younger than I, is now in hospice, dying of cancer. It has not escaped my notice that I've survived cancer for the time being, while she did not. This begs the question--why her and not me? Why did she get the death sentence while I was spared?

This has always been a tricky question that arises when life throws you a curve ball (or in the case of cancer, when life throws you a grenade). I don't claim to have the answer. But I do know, that as modern day Americans, we've come to expect a Disney ending to tragic things of life. And it's just not so.

Why did I get life over others in my condition? It's not because I'm exceptional, or that God loves me more, or that prayers for me outweighed prayers for others. I've known far better and nicer people--with much greater faith--to experience an early death while I lived. You have to wonder why.

After pondering this over time, here's what I hold to be true: "To whom much is given, much is required."

My writer-counselor friend, Sue, wrote a poem, "The Scarecrow” in which she points out that our life experiences "make our stuffing deep, rich and available for God’s use, whenever and however He decides to scatter it."

So, until the day comes when I'm in hospice, I'm in a strategic position to be a blessing to others. After all, it's what's required.

1 Year Later

It's been a year since my double mastectomy, oophorectomy & reconstruction (phase 1), so time for a progress report.

My reconstruction surgeon said my right breast needed some "tweaking" since it's smaller than my left. The reason for the size discrepency is I had radiation in my right breast during cancer treatment years ago. Tissue in a "radiated breast" responds differently to surgery than a non-nuked breast. Translation: I need a larger implant.

Tip: If you must undergo radiation, ask your doctor how it will affect your breasts long-term. It's good to know for a variety of reasons.

Surgery to exchange an implant is an outpatient procedure (yaay!), but nevertheless involves anesthesia, tests, needles, blood, drains (%&#*!), nausea, and no exercise except walking for 6 weeks.

Right now, I'm not up for all the pain (from needle jabs) and suffering (from lack of food) this surgery calls for. So, like Scarlett, I'm going to think about it another day.

A small breast is no big deal. What is a big deal is that my stomach is still expanded like Demi Moore on the cover of Vanity Fair. (And that's the only similarity between my body and her pregnant one.)

I ask--what happened to "your stomach will be flat as this wall," as my surgeon swore?

Instead, after a year of surgery, when I was sliced in half, my abdomen has a small "pooch" like I'm in my first trimester.

What they don't tell you is that all the cutting and stitching of your abdominal muscles causes them to expand whenever you place any pressure on that area. Exercise, lifting & moving objects, gardening, housework...and myriad other daily activities can cause your stomach to swell. Swell, isn't it?

And, an expanded abdomen = no clothes with a fitted waist=forget summer fashions and swimsuits.

No one forwarned me that I needed to invest in maternity clothes after this procedure. From the way my surgeon talked, I was going to be a runway model at 50. (Tip: surgeons lie.)

Therefore, I enlisted the help of my French water aerobics instructor, who is also a kickboxing intructor and personal trainer.

My surgeon endorsed my decision, saying that building my core muscles were key to getting a flat stomach. NOW he tells me.

So, last Saturday at 7:30 AM, I am in Helene's basement (aka, the torture chamber) punching boxing bags, throwing weighted balls, jumping rope, doing pushups...and then going outside in the freezing rain and sprinting up the hill in her front yard. Alas, what we do for vanity.

It was then that I discovered a critical insight -- I have no muscle strength. ZERO.

After a year of surgery in which most of the time I wasn't allowed to do any exercises except walk, my body weakened overall.

This means a long, hard road before me with lots of Saturday morning sprints up Helene's hill.

But I'm up for the challenge. After all--for all the pain and suffering that Helene inflicts, it doesn't involve needles and anesthesia and lack of food.

Embracing Calm & Chaos

The call interrupted my dinner preparations, and my world immediately switched from a relaxing Sunday evening with my husband to a sleepless night of fear and agony.

My usually stoic younger brother was sobbing on the other end of the line, as he told me that my 14-year-old niece had fallen 21 feet off a ski lift. She was skiing in West Virginia with her mother for the first few days of spring break before coming to Atlanta to spend the remaining time with me. All that changed with one poor decision.

My brother was at home when he got the news. Consequently, he was receiving sporadic information from the hospital. He knew that my niece’s spleen and kidney had been lacerated, but it wasn’t confirmed whether she had suffered spinal cord or other critical injuries. I envisioned my precious niece in a wheelchair for the rest of her life, and it was unbearable.

My niece was conscious when I called ICU after I got off the phone with my brother. “Aunt Julie, I want you to come see me.” That’s all it took, and I was determined to go to her--whether her parents wanted me around or not.

Adding to the drama, my older brother (who is a pilot) flew both my younger brother and me the next morning through fog and rain to West Virginia--worrying my mother because her three children were traveling in the same small plane in inclement weather.

Fast forward to the end of the week, after spending my vacation sleeping in a recliner and eating hospital cafeteria food (is it me, or do I always seem to be spending my vacations in hospitals?) and my niece is back home. No spinal cord injury and the spleen and kidney are healing just fine. Her judgment is another matter…

I must say, this put a damper on my resolve to reduce anxiety in my life. I was so proud of myself for not panicking every time the phone rang, thinking it would bring bad news. Didn’t my niece realize this when she refused to put down the bar on her chairlift?! (According to 14-year-olds, it’s not cool to have the bar down.)

Life has a way of messing up our best laid plans.

So far this year, I’ve attended the funerals of my favorite aunt, one of my breast cancer mentors and a friend’s mother (who died of cancer). My brother has been experiencing chest pains, and my forever strong dad has suffered dizzy spells and exhaustion. I’ve also mourned a coworker with liver cancer who got the news she would not recover. I could go on, but I realize that everyone has sadness and tough situations to deal with.

While in the hospital, I read C.S. Lewis’ spiritual autobiography, “Surprised by Joy." He mentions a friend who believed in not running from pain, fear, loss and trouble, but rather, experiencing all of life to its fullest -- even the negative aspects.

When we avoid pain at all costs, we end up creating fake lives of distractions and shallowness and emptiness. He points out that even pain and rough times can offer a kind of richness…because it’s all part of the human experience.

He writes: "Jenkin seemed to be able to enjoy everything; even ugliness. I learned from him that we should attempt a total surrender to whatever atmosphere was offering itself at the moment..on a dismal day to find the most dismal and dripping wood, on a windy day to seek the windiest ridge...There was a serious determination to rub one's nose in the very quiddity of each thing--to rejoice in its being (so magnificently) what it was."

Fear doesn't add anything to our experience because it's not real -- there's nothing tangible about it that transforms you (like grief and pain) or enlightens you (like coming to terms with your faults). All it does is cast you into an altered state.

Not that I’m welcoming bad news, but it struck me that maybe I need to celebrate the joys of everyday and also, live through the painful moments I try so hard to avoid. Maybe it’s better in the long run to experience it all.