Tears, Deep Breaths, and Still as Determined as Ever.

Dear All,

I know that you all have been waiting for news of the scans. I have needed 24 hours to “regroup” before sitting down at this keyboard.

Julian and my meeting with Dr. Plowman was emotional. As he ushered us into his consulting room, he shared, “Well, everything in the chest area is “fine” (to be later defined), while there has been some slippage in the liver.” My heart sank and started pounding. “Slippage?” I asked, trying not to cry. Dr. Plowman looked at the radiologist’s report again, and said, “It seems that there are a couple of new subtle spots”. The tears started to fall. “Define subtle,” I asked. And Dr. Plowman said, “Well, let’s look at the scans. Let me pull up both September’s scan and this month’s scan up on the computer and compare them.” Which he did, and there they were: two images of my liver. As he began toying with the perspective, he began humming and hawing, “Yes, well there are the two old areas that we are still dealing with…. but I don’t seem to see the new spots.” Julian was staring at the screen, while I couldn’t bear to look, preferring to listen. Julian then pointed out, “Forgive me, Dr. Plowman, but don’t the two areas in the current scan seem smaller than those of the last scan?” “Well, yes, now that you mention it, they do! I don’t understand this report. I am going to contest it. Sit tight while I go and find the radiologist and review things with him. I will be right back….”

And that is when I started sobbing, and Julian held me close, and we waited. It felt like an eternity. Dr. Plowman returned five minutes later and shared, “Well, yes, it appears that there has been a mixed response to the treatment. These two “old” areas are stable, if not slightly smaller, as you too observed, while there seem to be two tiny new small spots on this other side… you see here?” He indicated what were two, tiny very faint shadows – truly, it was so hard to even see them. He reassured me, “They are remarkably small. That’s why I couldn’t see them without having the radiologist point them out to me. But they are nonetheless there, so we have to change tack.” Basically, as he explained, we needed to nip this “slippage” in the bud. The rest looked “fine” – i.e., was stable. In fact, Dr. Plowman examined me and agreed with me that my lymph node seemed to have gone down even more. So, to recap: over the past six weeks, my breast/lymph node and the two “old” areas in my liver appeared stable if not smaller, but there were these to new worrisome “spots” on my liver. So now what? Change of war strategy. And my heart, again, sank.

Instead of giving me the scheduled “break” from the IV chemo, we are going to be doing quite the opposite. Major attack. Tomorrow I start a new chemo regime: I will be getting two new IV chemo drugs, plus continuing with the IV antibody drug. I asked the dreaded question, “What will the side effects be?” and Dr. Plowman indicated that these drugs are not as strong as my first regimen, but definitely a lot stronger than what I have currently been on. Vomiting and strong nausea are the number #1 effects associated with this new combo. My heart sank. I may need to be hospitalised for a night. Fatigue and lethargy. Numbness of nerve endings in hands and feet. Risk of impact on the kidneys. And when he told me that I may lose my hair all over again, I began to cry – It may sound silly…it is not out of vanity. I just can’t describe what it feels like to be able to look in the mirror and look “healthy”. My work schedule would have to be cancelled/changed. I felt, in a way, like I was being asked to start all over again.

My dearest Uncle Geoffrey sent me the most loving of emails, and in one section, he wrote the following.

“Have you ever been in a maze? I have once. Didn't like it, couldn't see where I was going, wanted out, badly, and I felt very alone as there really was no one to rescue me. I had to find my own way out and the worst part was all my friends were close by and could only yell encouragement. I did get out, eventually, and all was fine.

I can only liken what you are going through to that experience. You keep turning corners, working your way through the maze, only to reach a dead end. You have to turn around and almost start all over again and I know you must wonder if there is an end to this. It is exhausting, depressing, frightening and everything in between.You will get out of this maze. You will feel better. Life will be great again.”

Uncle Geoffrey captured my experience perfectly. I cling to his last three sentences.

So, needless to say, we had an emotional 24 hours, as the news and the implications of the novel “war strategy” sunk in. I have had pep talk after pep talk, getting “prepped” for the next tough chapter of this marathon. I dread tomorrow. I am afraid of the side effects that await me. I grow anxious at the thought of again feeling my body “dying inside”…. that infamous chemo coat…But I force myself to reason through this: I mentalise this as my final push. We have shrunk everything to such a smaller size compared to a year ago. I have made this cancer struggle, I have made it tired. We have chosen not to give it a “break”. Quite the contrary – it is going to be slammed again. There is no stalling, no standing back. One of the drugs I will be getting is the same one that was given to Lance Armstrong – he blasted his tumours to oblivion – now it is truly my turn. While I am so scared and tearful and so drained by all of this, I am also terribly angry. This f*&ker has really pissed me off now. I want my life back. I deserve my life back. I am not checking out of this marathon. I don’t care how uphill it is. That finish line has my name on it.

One of the harder parts of all of this is that we had booked flights to go and see my 101 year old grandmother for a three-night visit in Rome this coming week. She has not seen James and I for a year, and I have been longing to visit her again, and have her see my beautiful James, who is now so much more grown up. She has never been told that I am sick, so as not to distress her, and I know that she wonders why I have stayed away. With my hair grown back and my treatment seemingly tapered, I finally had my chance to go. Not to be. It breaks my heart.

I end on a positive note: yesterday, Julian and I went for a walk in Holland Park with James. It was a beautiful autumn day – clear blue skies, crisp air, and the crunch of leaves under our feet. And I was overwhelmed with gratitude and affection for “my boys” as I watched them both play together. I need them, they need me. Fight the f*&ker, Danda, fight the f*&ker. With everything you’ve got. Round #16, here I come.

Hugs to all.

Beautiful, noble, strong Alex.

It was such a phenomenal pleasure to visit Alex last week and meet the absolutely adorable James. He is a perfect mixture of innocence, energy and playfulness and yes, he has a very resolute streak to him. As I sat in Alex and Julian's lovely living room and watched his unshakable determination to reach the toy just out of reach, I had to laugh out loud. That fabulous Priorelli determination is immediately recognizable (and Julian's good looks, to boot!)

Before we met, I was not sure what to expect from Alex. I wondered if she would be very weak, if we would need to stay inside to conserve her energy for the marathon. To be honest, and in the spirit of truthfulness and trust that is the hallmark of this blog, I feared that I would see Alex as a shadow of her former beautiful, and powerful self. How could it be possible to endure so much physical pain, to experience all the fear and hope endemic in the daily battle against this f***er without loosing a little soul? I should have known better. I should have known Alessandra better! She looked stunningly beautiful despite her very burnt hands and feet. She was brimming with loveliness and energy. Her hair has grown back and is as soft as James's! As we sat in a hip South Ken restaurant eating lunch, I was struck by Alex's innate nobility and strength in face of this crisis. We shed tears and laughed about all of the absurdities of our lives and when it came to saying goodbye, well it was just difficult beyond words. So to my great joy, we met again the next day for another dose! Alex, I love you so much and will carry you in my thoughts until we rejoice together in your complete recovery.

Kaleidoscope

Dear All,

Thank you as always for all your notes, messages, thoughts, and cheers. As I sit here with my trusted cup of green tea (I swear, they should recruit me as an ad campaign for tea leaves galore...), I smile for I feel your "company".

Yesterday was a kaleidoscope of a day....

I had my CT scan yesterday morning, with Julian at my side, giving me affectionate "coaching" as I went through the usual routine. I entered the scan room feeling calmer than normal, not because I was in the mindset of, "I have done this so many times before", but rather because I was thinking, "I have made progress". As the machine started whirring, I again imagined Lance on his bike, with me pounding the pavement in confident strides next to him, and hearing him shout across to me, "You're getting there! You're doing it!" I hear as much as I see my visualisations - they are powerful combinations of images and sound, and I feel them, if that makes any sense. I was doing so well until, halfway through the scan, it came time for them to inject the contrast dye into my vein.... the radiologist, a lovely and warm South African woman, took my arm and commented on the state of my hands and nails ("I have never seen side effects as bad as this before in all my years"), and then proceeded to warn me that the contrast would be very painful. "Why?"I asked, "It's never hurt that much before." And she went on to explain that my veins had hardened due to the amount of chemo I had received and that this was what would make it hurt so much. So I braced myself, and.... F*@K!!!!!!! It felt like someone was taking scissors and cutting my arm open. I breathed and breathed and breathed and as tears flowed down my face, the radiologist softly kept saying, "Just hang on in there, sweetheart, hang on in there..." And I did, and it eventually passed, and then the machine started whirring again, and I was once more alone next to Lance, running with gritted teeth, listening to his encouragement, to my feet hitting the road, to my heartbeat pounding, to my breath....And it was over. Julian was back at my side, helped me get dressed, and we were out of there, knowing that we would be back in Friday afternoon to hear the results.

I went straight to my office, having purposely previously scheduled a parent feedback that morning in order to distract myself and refocus my thoughts away from the scans. As I arrived, the couple were already there, waiting for me with apprehensive looks on their faces. I thought to myself, "I was in your seat just a few minutes before. I relate to that anxiety about the unknown, about fearing what you might find out. Trust me. I will do all I can to take care of you". And so we launched into what became a 3-hour meeting. Intense and emotional, but productive and hopeful. As they left my office, I again thought to myself, "I relate to that experience. Intense and emotional, but productive and hopeful. That was how I started my day too."

Later that afternoon, I did a testing session with a 7 year old little girl. I was feeling tired, and with that, my body began to ache and twinge, fueling the usual nagging thoughts of, "Why is that hurting?!" But then respite came in the form of the ingenuity and joy of this 7 year old, for I was invited to see the world through her eyes. During our session, when I asked her if she knew what she might want to be when she grew up, she shared the following: "I want to be a singer or a teacher. I want to sing lots of different songs and I want to teach all subjects. I love both jobs. But actually, now that I think about it, I know, I know! I could be a singing teacher!!!!! Oh, Oh, wait, I know, I know! I could teach singing lessons and also teach other subjects too!!! And, Oh, Oh, wait, I know, I know! I could teach in the morning and then perform after school! That would be PERFECT!! HOORAY for me!!!!!" With all that exuberance in the room, who the hell could even have time to sense a body ache...? :-)

My mother met me for my walk home, and we slowly made our way there, my sore feet so painfully raw but accepting of my determination to exercise. As I entered my apartment, I found James grinning from ear to ear, and squealing with pleasure as he played. He had developed a high fever a few days ago, and had been feeling awful for a while, poor thing. Typically an active little boy who doesn't stay in your arms for more than a few minutes, all he had wanted to do when sick was to be cuddled, as the picture above shows. He had spent hours in my arms - during the day, in the middle of the night, in the early morning... In those quiet hours, I spoke to him about all the things that we would do together when we were both well, and I told him how I knew that being sick was simply not fun at all, but that he would get better soon. That I would get better soon. And that as long as we had cuddles and love, we'd both be okay. He had hung on tight to me, his eyes closed, making little whimpering sounds, and we both just "were". While I loved those tender moments, it was a wonderful sight to walk through the door yesterday evening and see him bouncy and animated and happy again, fever-free and ready to party. He won our game of tag. For the 100th time.

I drank two full glasses of homemade juice (carrots, apples, celery, broccoli, cauliflower, cucumber, beetroot, ginger, cabbage), and made a huge salad for dinner (lettuce, tomatoes, avocadoes, asparagus, peas, spinach, sliced boiled egg, quinoa, mixed beans), followed by a bowlful of blueberries and raspberries. I went to bed with a cup of green tea, said my mantras, and fell asleep with a photo of James in my hands (as I do every night), and Julian protecting me at my side.

It was a full day. And this morning, as I woke up, I knew that I would be starting this new day with my troops. Tea with friends... in my opinion, there are few better ways to start your day. And so I keep moving forward, one step at a time, one day at a time, with my eye always on that finish line.

Hugs to all.

Forever Linked

I too love the image of visiting the blog being like sitting down for tea with you Alex. As I have told you many times, having tea and great conversation with you is something that I truly miss with you being so far away. However, I want to give you another image that I use to feel close to you on a daily basis.

In 2004, I left Boston to move back to Florida and be closer to my family. At that time Alex, you gave me a pair of earrings, the same ones in the picture above. You told me that the links in these earrings should remind me that even though we would be living in different cities, we are linked through friendship - always. So now, on the days when I long to be close to you my friend and to feel like I am helping you get through this battle, I wear these earrings and have a physical reminder of you with me.

Love you my friend. ~Mary

Bollettino della vittoria

Hi Panda--

Tomorrow is the long-awaited 4th of November, day of scans and new revelations. November 4th is a day where great things have happened in history, and I am sure are going to happen again. In 1918, on November 4th, shortly after the final armistice had been signed, General Diaz gave a now famous address to the Italian troops that were fighting World War I. They had fought for three years in inhospitable trenches (many of which, incidentally, are still visible in the mountains around here) and were looking forward to the end of the hostilities. General Diaz addressed the troops with the following words:

"The war against Austria-Hungary, which the Italian Army, inferior in number and equipment, began on 24 May 1915 under the leadership of his majesty and supreme leader the King and with a unwavering faith and tenacious bravery conducted without rest for 41 months is won.

The gigantic battle, which opened on the 24th of last October and in which 51 Italian divisions, 3 British, 2 French, 1 Czechoslovak and a US regiment participated against 73 Austrian divisions, is finished.

The very rapid advance of the XXIX Army Corps on Trento, blocking the withdrawal of the enemy armies from Trentino, that were also carried away from the west by the advancing of VII army and from the east by the I, VI, and the IV armies caused the collapse of the enemy's front. From Brenta to the Torre with a rush that was halted the XII, VIII, and the X armies, and the cavalry divisions are chasing the escaping enemy far. [...]

The Austro-Hungarian Army is vanquished: it has suffered great losses in the hard resistance in the early days and during the pursuit, and it has lost a great quantity of materials of various types and whole stocks in warehouses. [...]

The remnants of what was one of the most powerful armies in the world are retreating hopelessly and in chaos to the valleys that they had descended with proud self-assurance."

This is known as the Bollettino della Vittoria, and it marks one of the greatest moments in Italian history. Do I need to say what (or better, whom) the "unwavering faith and tenacious bravery" mentioned in the speech remind me of?

I wish you all the best, in a very simple, literal, and true way. I wait every day for your own Bollettino della Vittoria on this very blog.

A big hug.

tea time

Hi, Alex -
I love the image of blog time as tea time with you. I remember how hot you like your tea...I always think of that when I make tea (although I admit I have become a coffee lover, too). :-) I'm struck in your last post by how many times yourefer, often parenthetically but there none the less, to your many weaknesses. I'm so curious what that is about. Is part of this struggle for balance about accepting your own limitations, your own needs, your own human parts? Knowing them and naming them and accepting them is all good...but it feels like you are talking about these things as weaknesses, kinks in the armor, imperfections. Maybe I'm way over-analyzing or projecting, and at the very least i'm probably offering unsolicited therapy. But I can't help it. Having limitations and needs, and being in touch with your own humanity, is not a weakness. It's a strength. It feels like you are in a bit of limbo -- while honoring and working to accept your humanity, I still hear you ultimately judging yourself for it. No? Maybe i'm way off base (Iknow a client who would say it's an affliction of mine today...). And I hope it's not too personal a comment for the public blog. I feel like the blog has become a pretty intimate place. Healing for all of us as we all learn from you and journey with you deep into our own humanity, as well.

Lots and lots of love - Lindsay

AUTUMN'S LEASE

We are almost at the end of autumn in Maine. There are only a few leaves hanging tenuously from my two giant maples. The other thousands race around the property looking for nooks and crannies where they will come to rest and eventually return to the earth as nourishment for next year's fiddle-head ferns. The thermometer outside the dining room window has plummeted to the 20's. Even the morning sun is not strong enough to bounce it upward today. But the sky is blue-blue and the air crystal clear. Far off I hear a gunshot as hunting season has started. There is a flock of turkeys near the barn. They are keeping their heads down as they peck the apples, red and yellow temptations within reach. No chipmunk has shown his head for days near the bird feeder. The field mice have moved in under the refrigerator. I keep catching them - cruel. Why do I bother? I know there will be a herd the minute I shut the door on From Away Farm for the winter. I bother because they have already chewed the fringe off three cotton rugs! The nests must be something out of Elle Decor!
I am headed to San Francisco next week for a long weekend of girl time. Alexis and I will shop for her wedding dress! I am positive that we will stain the samples with tears, mixed perhaps with champagne, but what are you going to do? Bitter and sweet. Make the best of it. Throw yourself at it and you are rewarded with memorable moments. I will take my camera. No, you will not see the dress; just a picture or two of the choices. Tulle, satin, ottoman, lace, organza! What shall it be? Bandeau, strapless, spaghetti straps, v-neck? Flounces, tiers, a-line, sheath? It will take days! If Peter were around, he would hand Alexis the credit card and say "whatever you fancy" and Alexis would dream Vera Wang and settle for a charming, practical, not-over-the-top expression of her true-to-form innately frugal self. She will rock! Blow you away with beauty, because it is not about the dress, but the person who wears it. And wear it she will! Of course, coming anywhere near Danda's dress will be a challenge. It is, by far, the prettiest piece of apparel I have seen in years! But, we will press onward, in hope.
More soon as the sun sets early and it is dark by 4:30. Cocktail time is at 6. That leaves plenty of time to put a thought or two on the blog, eh what? LSC

Halloween

Happy November Alessandra! I love reading your messages and feeling as if we were in the same room, sipping tea and chatting, instead of an Atlantic away. Today it finally stopped raining and I took my mother out for a walk in a soggy, leaf strewn park to lift her spirits a little. Moving home at any age is hard, and she is finding this 'new life style' a challenge, although she has only been here a fortnight. As you can imagine, it is also a new life style for me, and the experience is sometimes frustrating but always enriching. Last night we stood at the front door and handed out candy to Spiderman, Tigger, SaintGirl, Red Devil, and hordes of skeletons and witches. In the distance, I could still see myself as Sylvester the Cat, trick or treating over 50 years ago. I wonder what James's first Halloween persona will be, and whether his proud mum and dad will be growing monster pumpkins and holding neighbourhood carving parties as we did. For me, autumn has always been a time for slowing down and reflection, and never more so than now. I love watching the trees fall asleep, the scent of pine and leaf mould, and the sharp beat of wings overhead as a V of geese heads to their winter playground. So, enough reflections for tonight my dear, sleep well, and continue on your voyage gaining in health, wisdom, and happiness. Te quiero mucho.

Good Morning Alex

As I sip my coffee thousands of miles away from you, I, too, feel connected by reading your blog and hearing your thoughts and feelings...nah, not as good as having you here, but it will have to do for now. We miss you, too.

It has been a pretty fall around here, the leaves have fallen all over our yard, and Vic is out raking this morning. (you're my excuse not to help :). We had our annual Halloween dinner last night that has morphed into a party with my parents, his parents and family, and several brave friends. My parents dressed up as punk rockers...very comical :) I was Octo-mom with multiple baby dolls hanging on me, and Vic was a cowboy attached to a big blow up bull that prevented him from sitting too much last night :) But, it was nice.

Despite this crazily busy time in our lives, it is important to make time for family and friends and to share in laughter if only at ourselves...and we were pretty funny looking!!

Anyway, I'm so glad you got to see Joanne and that soon she will be living much closer to you. I wish I could visit as well.

Take care of yourself as it sounds like you are doing. I'm happy to hear less frustration poked at yourself and more self love and compassionate care. You deserve that - and patience and love will see you through this marathon.

Much love across the miles,
Julie

ps- happy late birthday to Julian!

More Lessons Learned.

Dear All,

It's been quiet on the blog front. Hopefully, it's because we have all been busy, happily busy, leading "normal lives". I have continued to strive for the "normal", in busying myself in everyday things, while still learning to accept (and struggling at times to do so) the reality of what is yet "not normal" for me. The operative word is "yet", I tell myself. Be patient. Breathe.

I have seen many clients over the past couple of weeks. It has felt good, and my sessions with the students and with their parents have been very rewarding, vivid reminders of why I choose to do the work that I do. I have, however, noted my energy levels throughout, and am still learning about and acclimating to the smaller "tank of fuel" I seem to have. I tire easily. I cannot see the younger children in the afternoons - it takes too much out of me. So, I make my mental notes, and I adjust. I plan differently. And I take pride in making those adjustments and in recognising what my body needs, versus taking pride in "how much work I have completed". Accomplishment is measured in self care, not in work hours. Achievement is measured in "feeling healthy", not in feeling paid. "Success" takes on new meanings for me, every day. I make mistakes, many mistakes trust me, but I am learning to redefine accomplishment, achievement, success.

I am ploughing ahead, with steady momentum, on the dietary front. It is so time consuming: the constant shopping for the fresh produce, the reading of labels to make sure I am not eating/drinking anything with sugar or dairy, the juice making, the counting out of the 40+ pill supplements I take every day... I complain about this sometimes, and am sure that I will continue to do so on some days. But I am learning to not see it as a chore, but instead as time "well spent". Julian has been wonderful in bringing me bagfuls of organic vegetables that he has grown with love and care for me in his garden. These pictures speak for themselves.... I guess that there is some "American" now in my British hubby... hooray for fresh squash... it will make Thanksgiving feel that extra special! And, as he reminds me, we have so much to be thankful for.

My hands and feet continue to be a mess. But even that feels more and more to be simply part of the "routine". I expect it, so I am better mentally prepared, and just push through it as best as I can. Put it in perspective, I tell myself, and one day, this too shall pass. Hang on in there. You are doing this. And I learn that I am stronger than I thought and that I can bear more than I would have imagined. My "weak spot" (one of many!) however, is when I feel "unexpected" pain... I get incredibly anxious, I get immediately tearful... "Why is that hurting? What does it mean?" I worry, and I vent, and then I regroup, often with the help of one of Chiara's wonderful peptalks that put me back in the saddle. As she says, "Never take your eyes off the finish line. You will get there, You know that. How you get there is the hard part, because there are ups and downs, and many unknowns. But you will get there. And that is all that matters". And so, even when I question whether I have it in me, I learn to trust in the belief that the finish line is mine for the taking, and hold onto it as tightly as I can.

My highlight of the past few days is that my dearest friend Joanne is here in London, and she came to see me today. James fell in love with her from the moment she walked into the room (as I knew he would) - he showered her in smiles, responded joyfully to her playfulness, and showed genuine interest in the photo of her beautiful 4 year old daughter Annika...I think there's potential there for some future match making! It was so wonderful to see Joanne, and to be in her company. I miss my friends so very very much. I miss you all! As I sat with her and chatted over a cup of tea, I thought of my blog writing and how I typically type with a cup of green tea next to me... This blog has become my "cup of tea with friends", and I realise more and more, how much this connection means to me. And how lucky I am to have such wonderful friends, such a supportive family, such fabulous troops.

Time to turn off my light. It's late, and I need to sleep. I just wanted to connect as it feels like too long since I last wrote. And yet not a moment goes by that I don't think of you all, and feel you with me every step of the way.

Hugs to all.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO JULIAN!!!!

Happy Birthday to Julian!!
What a story about the pond. Who was that crazy person!!
Today is about Julian. I hope he has a great day and a very Happy Birthday.
I love hearing about his farming, I have the best visual of him coming home from Seven Oaks on the train to his family with the goods. Just like little house on the prairie. (only the opposite coming from the counrty to the city) He is the best provider ever.
I love you Julian and miss your stories and smile.
Have a Great Birthday!!
Eve and Steve

We Move Forward.

Dear All,

A quick note, as I am about to head into a meeting. But I wanted to comment on a few things and provide an update.

I had chemo on Monday, and true to form, my hands and feet reacted with intensity to yet another round of medication. I have now learned that there are truly many shades of pink in this skin palette of mine, and that "pain" is a concept whose hues and subtleties abound. It really has become as much of a mental battle as a physical one, in trying to direct my focus away from what hurts and towards what feels "well". Thankfully, I felt much better this morning, and I had no need for pain killers. While I still tread lightly and touch gently, the intensity of the pain has subsided somewhat, and I can sense wonderful things (e.g., the cool floor, James' soft hair) beyond fire.

Dr. Plowman has scheduled a new set of scans to be taken two weeks from today. I shall have a CT scan on Wednesday November 4th, and meet with him Friday November 6th. We aim to see if more has shifted, and to obtain a new "baseline" as I end this particular treatment chapter and begin a new one. Basically, I will continue on three-week treatment cycles, taking the oral chemo and having the IV anti-angiogenic drug, but will be given a break from the IV chemo, so that my bone marrow can have a breather and regain its strength from the battering it has received to date. I shall be scanned regularly to see how I do with one out of three meds removed... The plan is to do this new regimen for the next three months at least, with the possibility of re-introducing a third drug contingent on my progress. On the one hand I am very nervous at "losing" the one medication, while on the other hand I see this as giving my body an even better chance to do some of its own fighting, with an immune system that is allowed to have more of a starring role. I believe that it is in my control to end this marathon victorious. One foot in front of the other. Believe, believe. And breathe.

I also wanted to take a moment to thank you for the continuous contributions to my Whole Foods account. I don't know who you all are, and I wish I did, so that I could thank you more personally. I am so overwhelmed by how generous you have been, and by the conviction that you share with me that my diet is such a key player in all of this. I never expected such ongoing support, and am at a loss for words to convey the gratitude I feel for the huge gestures that have been made in this regard. Julian and I often talk about wanting to do the same for others in my predicament when I complete this marathon of mine. Somehow, we will find a way to give back and provide people with the opportunity to nurture their bodies with goodness. I know that it has made an indescribable difference for me. It is one of my many plans of involvement as I think of the future and of how I can pass on some of the many amazing blessings that have been given to me.

I also want to apologise to many of you who have left me countless messages over the past couple of weeks and are waiting to hear back. Mary, Jane, Eve, Lisa Hilley, Lisa Vasallo, Jessica, Lindsay, Kamila, Karen ... the list is wonderfully long and I love you all tons. I only received some of your messages last night, as my cell phone has finally responded to some desperate tech CPR and is semi functional again following its submersion in pond water.... I will reconnect, I promise!


And talking about pond water, voila a photo of where I submerged last weekend. You see the crowd of people by the swans...? Well, just imagine the exact same scene, with James and I as part of the group of happy weekend strollers... oh, those flashbacks are quite priceless! I am pleased to report that James and I have sinced remained dry, and have developed a particular interest in dogs and squirrels, who prefer terra firma...!

Much love to everyone, and hugs to all, as always.

Where to start, Danda? I´ve taken a while to write, giving time to time after the loss of your dear Uncle Peter. My heart is with you all, and especially with wonderful Alexis (without whom this very special blog would not exist!) and her family. (Dear, dear Alexis, there are not many words I can say during such a sad moment. I can only dedicate the following blog entry as much to you as to Danda. My heart is with you...)

I guess the death word has to be faced and looked at sooner or later. It reminds me of when I lived in the States and several times I would see that famous bumper sticker: "Look Fear In The Eyes". Sometimes fears are actually ghosts we create and nourish with our own minds, ghosts we do everything to avoid...until we´re forced (or maybe a wiser person choses) to face them. Since my father died almost a year now, I cannot claim to have understood death or really faced it. But maybe I have looked at it a bit closer, and gone beyond the ghosts I had constructed through my own fear. Death has a strange way of reminding you that there is something beyond, something mysterious, something incomprehensible but beautiful, powerful, infinitely peaceful. And, in my own ignorant, naive, inexperienced way that is how I have felt, and now live, my father´s death. Life, ironically, becomes all the more present, all the more meaningful, all the more worthwhile in its cosmic insignificance. My father breathes through me and his earthly absence has brought a new depth to my life. It´s as if he had opened a door to a new dimension I hardly ever was aware of (maybe only in those moments of pure joy, those similar to a child´s, when you´re so fully immersed in the present and so far-removed from the chains of your mind that you grasp the true wonder of Life).

So what is Life, what is Death? A while back I heard a saying that struck me, and that I only came to understand in the context of the "loss" I had just experienced: "The opposite of Life is not Death. The opposite of Death is Birth. Life is eternal." So the Life force is that to which we must be faithful, in whatever shape or form. You, Danda, are faithful to a Life force that is choosing to stay on this earth, an earth we will all leave sooner or later. Fears as terrible and (almost) paralyzing as those you´ve experienced seem inevitable when your´re going through what you´re living. But they may also represent your ultimate and true victory. The painful burns, the weakness, the nauseas, the endless other physical challenges you´ve faced may pale in comparison with the dispair brought on by fears. That is where the biggest battle lies. In essence, it´s where all of our human battles lie. Whether they be a small struggle or a huge war, we face fears every day in some shape or form, consciously or unconsciously. As so many friends, family, colleagues repeatedly tell you, you have been of unimaginable bravery in withstanding nothing less than 14 crazy, wild, roller-coaster, marathon, chemos!!! But maybe the battles behind-the-scenes, those in the deepest darkness and most isolated of places, those fighting the demons of Fear, are those that have brought out the bravest of bravest Alessandras, Dandas, Pandas, you name it! I am sure that every single battle you have won against your fears is taking you towards your objective. The realization of your objective is actually that faint, distant light that in the darkest of moments you have chosen to drag yourself towards, then walk towards seeing it strengthen slowly but surely as you approach it. That light is always there, Danda. The light of what you dream, what you desire, what you believe in, what you battle towards. At times, you may be walking upstraight towards it, at others almost crawling. But never forget it is the march of the winner´s battle.

Before your new battle tomorrow, may the soft voice of this beautiful girl, Tae, bring you comfort and fill you with strength, peace and faith. She wrote this song after being diagnosed with cancer in both lungs and the liver, and recorded it in February 2008, the month of her 15th birthday. She is the daughter of a very dear colleague of mine...I know both are more than happy to share this with you, and anyone else who needs it.

http://www.taekamifund.org/music/walkontk.mp3

WALK ON, WALK STRONG

For the storm won't last too long,
Walk on, Walk Strong. When everything seems wrong,
Hold on,Walk On.

Thru the fear and thru the fire
You'll find the way out,
Thru the pain and misconceptions,
Thru the sorrow and the doubt.


When you look beyond your troubles,
Then you'll figure it out
You will find...

That the storm won't last too long,
Walk on, Walk strong. When everything seems wrong,
Hold on,Walk On...

She's crying in the corner,
The work's never done,
I'm tryin to explain to her that the victory has been won

Don't Be Afraid 
There's Peace Beyond the rain
I know...it'll be okay...

The pain never lasts.
It's now in the past.
Hold on. Walk on.

Reflections of Gratitude on a Sunday Morning.

Dear All,

"I would maintain that thanks are the highest form of thought; and that gratitude is happiness doubled by wonder." ~G.K. Chesterton

My hair blew in the wind yesterday. I felt it, and almost burst into tears. Hard to describe how sweet it felt to experience something so simple that I had lost for some time now. It made me feel all that more alive. My hair blew in the wind!

My little one is sleeping soundly in his room, snuggled under his blanket, his arm around his toy sheep which, without a shadow of a doubt, is one of his most treasured possessions. He played tag with me this morning, he built me castles of blocks, he gave me hugs and eskimo nose kisses, and showered me in smiles. We shared cinnamon toast, and danced to "Big Barn Farm".

My sister is coming to visit me today. I have not seen her in a month, given her trip to Australia and then her bout of flu. I cannot wait to wrap my arms around her, and have her with me again. Her energy is infectious, her positivity is contagious. Her presence is simply wonderful.

Julian is out in the garden in Sevenoaks - digging up carrots and squash and onions that he planted for me months ago, and picking apples off the many trees in his orchard. He will lug bagfuls home later this evening, via train and bus, to pour onto our kitchen table and feed us with organic goodness.

My body has fought off a cold (pond-induced, I am sure!) in a mere 48 hours. What came on fully as a bad sore throat and very stuffy, runny nose, has now receded to almost nothing. No need for aspirin, Sudafed, antibiotics... my counts are low, and yet my body kicked this autumnal chill out of the ballpark without a problem. "I am strong", my body reminds me, "I am strong!". I am ready for round #15 of chemo tomorrow.

Hugs to All.

To Laughter...

Hello Alex,

What a day! What I love is that you are living your life and while learning about balance also experiencing wonderful days of motherhood, like being pushed in the pond and washing goose poop off of your belongings. Okay so that is not a typical day, but a very memorable one. I know how lucky you feel to have James in your life, but he is such a lucky little guy to have you as a mother!
I hope these next weeks ahead are filled with dry days, less swelling, and lots of balance. I love you.
Hugs,
Lisa

Wow!

Hi Panda,

I can't believe someone shoved you in the pond! I have to admit that the way you told the story made me laugh out loud, but you must have had a pretty tough hour there. Whenever I try and imagine how your day is going I have never, ever imagined you splashing in the Kensington Park pond! And this is so funny that I can so easily picture you in there... this is dangerous, I should use my imagination to put you in better situations ;)

Your burns are also very... colorful (to say a neutral word...). It's unbelievable how burns can come from inside the body, as if you had a fire sitting under your feet and hands all the time, but from the other side of the skin! That must be really difficult. Luckily you're going to have "only" three more weeks of this. Three weeks are still a lot, but the change in schedule after the last round will hopefully get rid of this problem. I really hope so!

A big hug, superwoman!

A little inspiration!

So every once in a while we all need a little inspiration and yesterday I was blessed to share the inspiration of my little nine year old client. The quote she picked from Sanskrit, hit me in the soul and reminded of the challenge of life...in all it's simplicity, is really so hard to achieve, but as with every goal is possible if we keep it in our mind's eye. So, for each of us in our daily struggles with fear, balance, love and life I thought I would share this little piece of inspiration....

Listen to the exhortation of the Dawn!

Look to this Day!

For it is Life, the very Life of Life.

In it's brief course lie all the Verities and Realities of your Existence;

The Bliss of Growth,

The Glory of Action,

The Splendor of Beauty;

For Yesterday is but a Dream,

And Tomorrow is only a Vision;

But today well lived makes every yesterday a dream of happiness,

And every tomorrow a Vision of Hope.

Look well therefore to this Day!

Such is the Salutation of the Dawn.

Cheers and love to all! May we all live each day to it's fullest, as guided by the model of my dearest friend Miss Alessandra, aka superwoman ;-)

Opposites

What an amazing letter, Alex. Even just your capacity to see the bigger picture and frame your current experiences as being related to the major life elements is a sign of the peace, health, calm, and balance you are feeling.

I was thinking as I read the paragraph about the work wind that one way to look at it is that it is okay, nay important, nay critical, that you allow yourself to think about how to make use of the work in ways that are healing for YOU, and not get sucked into feeling an obligation to work a certain amount to meet other people's needs. I hope that is what you have begun tofind when you describe turning it into a soothing breeze instead of a stormy or overwhelming wind. It's great that it is normalizing, healing, brings you back in touch with your sense of competence, with the support of your colleagues and clients, with the honor of being trusted, and with your intellectual self (which is maybe a lovely break from your being in your body right now). And you want to work in amounts and in ways that allow you to reap all those benefits without ANY deficit. You don't have to owe anything to anyone, you don't have to push through anything for anyone else's sake. And while this may feel unfamiliar and may, at first, feel like youare not doing your job to your fullest, the exact opposite is true. By staying true to yourself, by working in only ways that are healthy to you, by knowing and respecting your own limits, you provide you very best personal and professional self to your clients. I so dearly hope you can find that soothing breeze in your work.

On a lighter note...the story about getting pushed (you are so generous to add in there that it was "accidental" -- one can only hope!!!) reminded me of the best laugh I have had in awhile. I'll try to recount the story...My dad is infamous in our family for getting very lost in his own world. In his defense, it is largely because of his hearing loss, but it is exacerbated by the joy he finds in settling into an electronic world. He can play happily on his ipod while major discussions, arguments, life moments, or even commentary about him go on right around him. My mom, as you can imagine, is perpetually trying to explain to him why this canbe frustrating for her! Well, the other day I recommended he download a game for the grandkids onto his ipod callen Balloon Animals. Here's how it works: A deflated balloon appears on the screen; you blow into the end of your ipod (literally, you blow on the damn thing), and the balloon in the picture blows up. Then you shake the ipod, and the balloon gets contorted and contorted until it turns into a balloon animal that then does funny little things when you touch it (via the ipod screen). Whacky crazy cool, right?! So my parents are out to dinner in Boston, and my dad is playing with this thing, and he is particularly enthralled with the blowing feature. While he is on one side of the table blowing in his ipod, my mom bends over to pick something up from her purse and leans back, in the process, against a bifold door that, in warm weather, is open to the deck of the restaurant. Turns out that there bifold door was not locked, and it promptly opened against my mom's weight, and she FELL OUT OF THE RESTAURANT onto the deck!! People from tables all around jumped to her rescue, pulling her back inside and getting her to her feet. NOT among the crowd of rescuers? My dad. Yup. He sat there on the other side of the table blowing on his ipod, completely unaware that anything was happening. When he finally looked up my mom was already back on her feetand inside the restaurant, and there was a small crowd gathered around the table, many of whom were, apparently, shooting him some pretty nasty looks. He ended this story bysaying, "In my defense, what is a man supposed to do to rescue a woman on the other side of the table who is already airborne?!" I laughed for a good 5 minutes just reading the story. Needless tosay, it's probably best I wasn't there in person!!

So, odd combination of heavy and light in this post...but that is the way life is sometimes, isn't it? Another formof balance. It's so nice to hear the confidence in your voice, Alex, despite the torture. It seemed inevitable that Peter's passing would bring the fears of death that get pushed down under ground to the surface. And as painful as that it is, maybe having felt those fears, having let them up to the surface, ahs also allowed them to flow away a bit...maybe this new sense of earth grounding, earth balance, and confidence was on the other side. I love you - Lindsay

Fire, Water, Wind, ... and Earth.

Dear All,

One would hope that my silence from the blog would be due to things being calm and status quo, but alas, not in my neck of the woods! Let's chalk it up to fire, water, and wind....

FIRE: My hands and feet have been at their most painful in months. My skin feels like it has been scorched and then dragged over a carpet of stinging nettles. I can hardly bend my thumb on my right hand, due to the cracked and raw sores, and my skin on either hand feels pulled so taut that it feels very uncomfortable to try to stretch my fingers out flat. I have lost a lot of the sensation on my fingertips. My feet are different shades of pink, except for the brown line that travels along their contour, marking a definitive burnt track. My soles are covered in creases, each of which feels like a sharp pin when I put any pressure on it. Walking barefoot can be excruciating, making the simple trip from bedroom to bathroom in the middle of the night feel like an endless nocturnal trek. Creams and pills seek to soothe, but admittedly do little. Many have asked me what this all looks like, and given that my troops and I now share an intimacy in this marathon of mine, I have attached some photos, when things still weren't that bad. I'd hardly rank high on the sexy rating, eh?! But, I revert to alternatives: stroking James' soft cheeks with the back of my hand, embracing the padded practicality of sneakers versus trendy heels, and focusing on what I can do instead of what I cannot. Push through the pain, and you realise that your limits are far beyond what you might have expected at first. Burn, baby, burn - but I am still holding on tight and still walking towards that finish line, one step at a time.

WATER: Well, you'd think that I didn't need any more drama in my life, but why put a cap on it? For reasons that I have still to fathom, the Gods decided that Saturday would be a perfect day to give me a little more "upheaval". There I was, in the Kensington Park with James, crouching near the edge of the pond as he squealed in delight, pointing out the ducks and geese and swans. Next thing I know, I feel a shove, and I am pushed forward... I put my foot out to brace myself and whoosh....I slip on swan shit and before you can say "You've got to be kidding me!" I am in the pond. Yes, you read correctly. I am sitting, up to my waist, in the Kensington Park Pond. James was up to his thighs in the pond too, and so was the buggy, floating off and tilting dangerously as my handbag was hanging on the handle, quickly filling with water, with my wallet, cell phone, house keys.... You know when you have those moments where you ask yourself, "Are you serious?!?" Luckily, motherly instincts kicked in big time. I didn't care about the buggy or bag - it was all about James, who at this stage was dripping wet in freezing water and wailing at the top of his lungs, clearly wanting to communicate, "Mama, you call this a fun day out?! What the hell just happened?! I love the ducks, but I don't want to be a duck...." I held him tight and focused on keeping him warm. While the culprit who accidentally shoved us was never identified, bystanders jumped in to help me, dragging me out, and rescuing buggy and handbag. I ask you to then imagine my sprinting across the park (screw the painful feet....), leaving a trail of water behind me, as families and couples stared at me with a look of confusion, curiosity and disbelief. I managed to flag down a lovely London cab driver who agreed to give us a ride home, despite the fact that I flooded his cab and soaked the fabric on his seats. James at this stage was singing and giggling, while I veered dangerously back and forth between wanting to laugh and to burst into tears. Got home, promptly put James in a hot bath and to bed, washed swan shit and pond water off my possessions, and did a huge load of laundry.... what a morning. I am still recuperating.... Oh the joys of the Kensington Park Pond - I will forever look at the water from a new perspective!

WIND: Work has felt like a tornado of chaotic wind. I have received endless referrals, and am trying to figure out how to manage all of this. It is wonderful to be wanted in this way, and to see that my practice has not suffered at all professionally following my complete absence on the scene for so long. But I am wary of falling into old ways, and am listening to my body to guide me in what I can do and what I should do and what simply isn't wise nor possible. The inability to predict my treatment course beyond a few weeks, makes booking appointments incredibly tricky. Balance. It all comes down to balance, time and time again. I have to say that it has felt increasingly good to be back in the saddle, and I have experienced less of the melancholy that has plagued me in the past as I adapt to my body's new rhythm. I continue to be struck by the warmth and encouragement of colleagues, by the understanding and appreciation of parents, and by the trust that children and teenagers give to me. I love my work. But I love my life even better, and so I am learning how to taper the wind and turn it into more of a comforting breeze.

I guess that this trilogy of fire, water and wind is lacking its fourth companion of EARTH. Well, I feel more grounded than I have in a while. Calmer. More at ease. Maybe it is because, despite the awful physical pain of hands and feet, I feel well. Maybe it is because the lymph node seems to have turned another corner and shrunk some more. Maybe it is because when I look in the mirror, I see a familiar face with some hair on her head and rosier cheeks. Maybe it is because James continues to light up my life with his joy and his playfulness, with his cuddles and nuzzles, with his gentleness and tenderness. Maybe it is because I feel everyone's love and friendship and support so strongly, and am lost for words in seeing that it has not wavered in the least over these 10 long months. Maybe it is because the tiredness that I feel does not scare me as much; it is normal to feel tired when you are running a marathon. Maybe it is because I am proud that I am still fighting 100% and that I believe that I am winning. And the fear that was so visceral a week or so ago, has ebbed and allowed me to breathe a little easier.

Hugs to all.

Miniature kiwi

Hi Panda,

How is this Saturday afternoon going? I can see you playing with James, talking with Julian, writing some report, resting with a good cup of tea. I'm sure you also spent some time today looking at the many photos Chiara must have brought from Australia.

I went to the organic Saturday market in the morning. I discovered something that I had no idea existed: miniature kiwis. They have a technical name that I now forget, but I saw on the internet that they are also called hardy kiwis. They are as big as a grape, green, with a smooth peel. You eat all of them, including the peel, which is soft and tasty. They do really taste wonderful, like kiwis, but more tasty, a bit sweeter and with a soft pulp that melts in your mouth. I don't know if kiwis are good in your diet, but I thought that these mini-kiwis would make for a very interesting addition to your juices. They are like wonderful berries, so if you've never tried them, throw a few in the juicer!

A hug.

Fight the **c!er!!

Dear Alex,

This is a quick post that I've been meaning to write to add to Karen's note about our walk. (Big thanks to Karen for organizing us troops!!)
Last night I came home to my crazy husband wearing his "Team Alessandra" shirt. I made him an honorary shirt last week despite the fact that he didn't walk with us because he was attending a friend's bachelor party in NY. But, sweet and loving guy that he is, he apparently put on the shirt last night as he busied himself around the house awaiting my return.

Some of the shirts, Victor's included, had "fight the **C!er" on the back in honor of your fighting spirit against cancer. I went a little tamer on others, and wrote softer sentiments, like "Believe", and "Good News"....because we were walking with Rachel's and Karen's moms, and little three year old Annika....
However, I did end up writing "fight the **C!er" on Annika's because Joanne insisted that Annika likes to state things the way that they are. Very cute kid :)

Anyway, just trying to broaden your smile. Your troops had a nice time walking for you, and we love you dearly. We hope that next year you can wear your Survivor sash and walk with us. Until then, I wish we could collectively take away your pain. Many virtual hugs,

-Julie

Bigger post

Hi Panda,

[I wrote what follows a few days ago while I was still under the weather and didn't get the chance to post it. I'm going to edit it a little, but otherwise I'm going to leave it as it is].

Here is the beginning of the fall. Not as beautiful and colorful as autumn in New England, but it definitely has its charm. I have no photo that shows how autumn looks like here, so I'll post something entirely different: Jerusalem in September.

I was in Jerusalem for a couple of weeks, visiting Oori's family. The photo above is taken from a cafe in the old city and shows Temple Mount. The dome of the right (not perfectly visible) is the Al Aqsa mosque, and the dome on the left is the Dome of the Rock, the shrine where the Foundation Stone lays. According to the Muslim tradition, from this stone the prophet Mohammad rose to heaven, and according to the Jewish tradition, the Arc of the Covenant used to sit on this rock in the Jewish temple. In addition, from this rock the world was created--I am therefore posting here a photo of the center of the world! The Wailing Wall, in case you're interested, is between the two domes, you can't see it in the photo because it sits too low.

I sat in this cafe, in front of this view, for a long time sipping tea on the day after my food poisoning. As soon as I felt better, I so wanted to go out of the house and walk around the city. I was so happy to be able to be out and about that anything I saw seemed magic and beautiful, and since I still had not recovered all of my energy, I just wanted to sit everywhere and look around. Of course, on that day, I thought of you a lot. I thought how you too--and for such a long time now!--on the days you feel more energetic must look at the world as a magic place to explore. I'm not trying to say that I know what you feel or I have a good idea of what you're going through, I just think that for a few moments I was able to put myself if not in your shoes, in shoes "close to yours" (at least, I tried). I sent you all of my best vibes, thinking of your scans coming up and the many steps of your trying way to recovery.

Good vibes resonated everywhere in Jerusalem. I know this is not the idea one gets from reading the news from the Middle East, but the feeling I got was very different. It was the end of the Ramadan and the beginning of the Jewish New Year. Even if you are not among those who fast during the Ramadan month, knowing that so many people around you are, and that they are in general exercising moderation (and through this are aiming at spiritual purification) gives you a lot of food for thought on patience, modesty, and spirituality. In addition, seeing people getting ready for the New Year was much more heart-warming than it ever is for our New Year. It's not a commercial event; again, it's spiritual. The New Year is a moment of renovation in a deep sense, just consider that it is the first of eight days in which people amend their behavior toward other people and toward God and ask for forgiveness both to other people and to God, until the last day, the Day of Atonement, when they also fast. People were happy in the days before the New Year. The evening before you could see the people in the streets and buses going home calmly and with a smile. I don't think I ever experienced this for our Christmas or New Year.

So, I tried to absorb all that while thinking of you and tried to funnel it in your direction. I believe that if you didn't feel the warm wave of good energy flowing your way then, you are going to feel it soon.

A hug.

Smaller post

Hi Panda,

I am so sorry to read about your intruding thoughts and the psychological torture you are subjected to, in addition to the physical torture, by this disease. I usually prefer to focus on the positive aspects of your posts, but these days in which mourning a beloved uncle adds so much pain to your already difficult situation, I just want to send you the biggest of hugs.

Having said that, I'm done with the negative. I'll revert to my strategy of sharing with you some of the positive small things that make me happy throughout my day, hoping that some of that happiness reaches you somehow and contributes to your strength for the fight ahead. OK?

On Saturday, Oori and I went on a long bike ride ("Of course! What else can she be taking about!" ;) ). We visited a castle on the side of the mountain that I see each time we take the freeway in the valley. The photo above shows the view from the castle. I took that photo with the specific purpose of showing it to you--so, you see, you're in my thoughts pretty often.

On the way back, along the bike path, I saw lots of yellow flowers and very small--but so many!--purple flowers in the shade of big trees, that I couldn't believe this is the beginning of October (sorry I didn't have the chance to take a photo of this). They were not there in the summer. These are wild flowers that bloom in October, period. Note that no grapes are left in the vineyards, only few apples are still on the trees in the orchards and the mountains have begun to brown. So, although fall is coming, along the bike path it felt like a second spring has come! A clear sign that renovation and new life can spring in any season.

A big hug.

One Last Thought of the Day.

The posting of the walk and the photo of "Team Alessandra" brought me to tears. I am so very lucky to have such wonderful, caring, and thoughtful troops. Thank you so, so much for supporting me in this way, in addition to the hundreds of other ways I feel and hear your cheers. I am touched beyond words.

Goodnight to all.

The Chorus is Loud Through Tough Times

Dear All,

It is one of those Mondays when I am thankful that it is a brand new week. Last week was a rough one, physically and emotionally.

Uncle Peter has been on my mind constantly. I have replayed so many different memories in my head, and have mostly sought the sound of his voice. It is crystal clear in the tape that runs through my mind, in its warmth, intonation, cadence and affection. “Hearing” his voice brings me to tears but it is also very comforting. It makes me feel very close to him. I need it. I have “talked” to him as I lie in bed at night, and I know that he is listening. His passing brought to the forefront the struggle that I have with the thought of “death and dying”. Since the beginning of this journey of mine, those words continue to weave themselves in the undercurrent of my marathon: they fuel the fear that I fight so hard to keep at bay and they rudely intrude into the many moments of my days and nights. This past week I have had morbid flashes of what my memorial might be like, of conversations with Julian about his looking after James for me when I am gone… it’s just awful… even as I type this, my eyes well up and the pit in my stomach returns. Those “intrusions” can be so powerful and so overwhelming – I find it hard to breathe and all I want to do is sob. That is NOT going to be my reality, I tell myself. I am NOT going anywhere! Listen to yourself, Danda, you are NOT going anywhere! Those monologues of self-talk are loud and determined, and I gradually calm down and accept those moments of deep sadness and fear for what they are: understandable human moments. I accept them, but I loathe them. And Uncle Peter’s voice strongly and firmly reminds me that I am winning this fight. Doctor Danda, he says, you ARE doing this, do you hear me? His voice joins the chorus of my troops that, without fail or faltering, cheer me on and keep me focussed on that finish line. And my voice, while at times shaky and more than occasionally out of tune, sings the loudest of them all.

My body has had its own particular battle this past week. My hands and feet have been particularly painful, a cumulative combination of the “burning” skin and the inflamed nerve endings. It became unbearable after my chemo Monday, so much so that I had to take heavy pain killers for a couple of nights to try to fall asleep. Even with the meds, the the pain awoke me in the middle of the night, but all I could do at that point was ride it out. Again, visualising proved to be my tool. I visualised the tumours being torched, burned, set on fire, and “watched” them wither and shrivel and be reduced to ashes that, in my characteristically anally retentive way, I proceeded to vacuum up, leaving everything looking “clean”. After a couple of hours, I would manage to drift off to sleep. The night sweats have been bad too (I had four last night, each requiring a change of clothes), but again, I imagined the heat burning the tumours to absolute smithereens…

Having survived the week, I spent the weekend simply immersing myself in James. He is my biggest comfort, my greatest booster, my largest source of pure joy. We played for hours, and I marvelled at how much he takes in, how well he copies so much of what I do, how curious he is about the world around him. We played a lot of music, and he danced and danced and danced… he just loved it… The kid’s got rhythm! [“Strictly Come Dancing” – known as “Dancing with the Stars” in the U.S. - was on television Saturday evening, and he was mesmerised, shaking his little bottom from side to side… I could see Julian frantically making a mental note to expose this poor child to something a little more intellectual… David Attenborough’s Planet Earth series, perhaps..?!]. James’ pretend play is also lovely to watch – his latest source of enjoyment is holding a small, plastic truck in his hand and driving it all over the furniture… “Brmmm! Brmmm!” he goes, off on his imaginative adventure. Bath time was one big splash after another, rubber ducks and foam shapes galore, quickly transforming our tiled bathroom floor into an indoor pond. James filled our home with hysterical giggles and squeals all weekend, none more so than when interacting with my mother who seems to share many a private joke with my little one. We spent a lovely time in the park, marvelling at the autumn leaves and enjoying the crispness in the air. At one point, James crawled right up to me, squeezed me in a tight hug, and then ruffled up my hair with his hands, as if to say, “Everything’s great, Mama”. He’s just the happiest of little boys, and that happiness is infectious.

So, despite having just spent the better part of the day in hospital (my blood work came back its usual low, so the mid-cycle chemo was skipped yet again, requiring the now traditional discussion about when to start the next series of immune boosting injections), I am starting this week with my fighting spirit strong. I have Uncle Peter looking out for me, my burns are scorching the hell out of my cancer, and James is grinning from ear to ear. And those are just a few of the many, many weapons in my armour. And did I mention that Chiara got back from Australia this morning? Hooray!

Hugs to all.

Team Alessandra....Making Strides 2009

Dear Alessandra,

As you and your family mourn the loss of Uncle Peter, I wanted to pass along this photo in the hope that it will make you smile. In Boston this morning was the Making Strides Against Breast Cancer Walk. Team Alessandra completed the 5.5 mile walk with flying colors, having raised over $1450.00 for the American Cancer Society.

As we looked around the Esplanade this morning, there were many women, families, school groups, college students and others all walking in support of women and families affected by breast cancer. There were also many women walking with bright pink sashes around them that read "survivor." As we walked the two hour loop, many were talking about how they knew you, sharing stories and speaking about your incredible strength and determination. It has been challenging to show you tangible support from afar, but we walked today in love and support of you and the many women who share your battle.

Lots of love. XOXO,

Karen

PS: From left to right in photo: Saul, Annika, Joanne, me, Carol Kiley (my mom), Joe, Rachel, Gail (Rachel's mom) and Julie

sad news

I'm so sorry to hear the sad news about Uncle Peter. I remember his house, his vibe, and his love of you from your marriage celebration in Camden. His specialness is so evident, even to an outsider. My thoughts and love to you and your family in your time of grief and melancholy. How does your grief interact with your own battle, with your own daily challenges, and with your new found sense of wonderment in the little beauties of each day, Alex?
Lots of love - Lindsay

My deepest love and thoughts to you all!!

Hi All,
I'm so sorry to hear about Peter's passing. I know how special he was to all of you!
My thoughts are with you all and especially Lisa and her children. Alexis I hope you find comfort in knowing your father was able to see you get engaged and know your husband to be. My father died before I was married and didn't really get to know my husband, but I knew he approved and was happy to see me engaged before he passed away. From what I've heard about Peter through the years it sounds like he had a wonderful full life.
Again my love to you all!! I know he will be missed!!!!
Love,
Eve

My dearest Uncle Peter.

Dear All,

My dearest Uncle Peter passed away peacefully last night. He was surrounded by his children and my Aunt Lisa - love, love, love all around him. Words cannot do justice in describing what a wonderful man he was, and what a special person in my life.

Uncle Peter celebrated my move to Boston over a decade ago, and cheered me through my endless studies. "We've got another doctor in the house! Doctor Danda!" he'd exclaim. I have lost count of how many times he welcomed me with open arms and the tighest of hugs to his From Away Farm house in Maine - it became my other home, in grounding, in comfort, in spirit. For years I would drive up in my trusted 1990 Honda ("Jack"), and he would make sure that I kept it looking cared for - washed, polished, oil changed... for one should have pride in one's possessions, and there was no excuse for neglect, he would tell me. He would watch me typing away at my laptop, writing yet another report, and would combine praise for my efforts with gentle reminders to take breaks from all the work. He would make me giggle as he'd tell me a phrase in his Sicilian dialect and I would tease him as to whether he was speaking Italian at all. In my days as a student, he would often slip me a $50 bill as we'd say good bye, with a wink and a "Look after yourself, treat yourself, you deserve it" - that was his way: generous, kind and supportive. Despite his hearing aid, this was a man who was a good listener and who would share his own accounts of his experiences in his "hey day" with humour and a twinkle in his eye, that would have us all smiling. Uncle Peter embraced Julian as if he were his own son; he spent hours with him in the garden and shared many an evening chatting on the deck as they sipped their aperitifs. Julian often described feeling the closest of bonds to him, and their companionship was lovely to watch. Uncle Peter gave me wonderful memories in St. Thomas; again, so many happy trips and happy times with family and friends, under both sunny skies and tropical rain fall. "Life is good," he would say, "Life is good."

My parents, Julian, James and I saw Uncle Peter on webcam last week. He looked great and made us laugh, and it was wonderful to hear his voice. I may not have an internet connection to heaven, but I know that he will continue to read this blog, cheer me on, and feel all the love that so many have for him. I miss him so.