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November 23

Holy Cross, Marty by Pearl Lake

Since Scott and I arrived early at Holy Cross’s stone church to meet friends, we stood in the small entryway and serendipitously took on the role of greeters.  The faces on the regular parishioners being greeted by strangers just egged us on. A few people recognized Scott, I assumed as former physical therapy patients. In our home parish, I knew most of the teenagers and Scott knew the senior citizens, but we rarely knew many our own age except for the parents of Mack and Ben’s friends. Right before Mass began, we gave up our greeting duties and nabbed  a seat as the small church with only one Mass for the weekend was filling up quickly.

Only three weeks ago I met Father Ron on my second day of the pilgrimage in Luxemburg. Again, he amazed me by reciting the gospel from memory, never misspeaking. His homily included several examples of people whose plight caused them to question their faith and how even a small measure of healing gave them hope. Like he was speaking directly to me, he answered the question, ‘Why does God allow us to hurt?” with examples of the presence of God and small measures of healing. Life will have difficult moments but goodness will come. “Love is strong,” he repeated throughout his homily, “We want to reach out to others who are struggling.” The Mass celebrated the solemnity of Our Lord Jesus Christ, King of the Universe. Our King, he explained, forgives and comforts us, and is present with us using the example of Christ on the Cross, reassuring even the thief crucified to his left that “Today, You will be with me in paradise” to show his compassion.

After Mass, we hustled across Country Road 8 to the Pearl Lake Lodge. We enjoyed a double date with Roz and Dave, catching up on our families and reminiscing. The food was good and filling and the company was great and fulfilling.

Reaching Out to Those who Struggle

After weeks of waiting through the fall of 2008, my surgery was finally close, Friday, December 19th.  On the Wednesday before, the school secretary looked concerned. The students were texting each other to wear pink on Thursday and wanted a picture with me. Was I okay with that? Heck ya!

Thursday was a river of pink in the hallways. I could not stop smiling. One kid had a Dr. Seuss striped pink and white hat. A senior boy bought pink sneakers and had me sign them. My niece Danielle presented me a gift basket brimming with treats and pink pajamas from the Student Senate. During homeroom, students wearing pink met in the gym and formed a ribbon with me at the center.

On Friday, the staff wore pink and formed a heart. The picture of them blowing a kiss was taken while I was in surgery then printed and waiting for me in my hospital room after surgery.

Roz, my friend and coworker, with mad organizational skills scheduled meals from my coworkers. For weeks we had delicious home-made meals delivered right to our home like lasagna, beef stew, Chow Mein, tater tot hotdish and also take-out from Marnanteli’s pizza and Subway. Often the food was delivered still warm and so generous I had to freeze portions. And desserts. We ate like royalty. Several meals were so popular that I added them to our regular meal rotation. Scott’s coworkers also brought food or sent gift cards. One day, Scott came home from work with a card and gift of money: the hospital’s cleaning department chose us for their Christmas tradition of donating to a family in lieu of a gift exchange. Our families checked in and made sure we had enough to eat and social distractions too. One of Ben’s friends invited him skiing on the weekends. His parents insisted on paying for three all-day passes and lift tickets and fed him God-know how much food. Suffice to say,  the support was overwhelming. I saved every aluminum foil pan with the goal of making meals for others.

Eight years later I  still had a pile of aluminum foil pans needing to pay it forward and was facing the recurrence. Roz, whose support made her seem like family to me, stepped up again and set up a calendar for meals. Scott’s coworkers and my coworkers purchased dozens of  frozen make-ahead meals. If support was measured in calories, we were morbidly obese!

Throughout the cancer trudge, I saved every card sent from family and friends who sent warm wishes, gifts and prayers. Fuzzy socks, journals and what collectively would be an ocean of lotion were popular gifts. Maybe I couldn’t save the prayers, but I firmly believed in the invincible power of prayer and appreciated everyone who pestered Jesus on my behalf.

In the spring of 2017, Riley and Moriah, two senior girls, and Theresa, my dear coworker, put together a T-shirt fundraiser. The students were in an entrepreneurship class where most students ran businesses and turned a nice profit for themselves but these sweethearts donated all their proceeds to our family. I was floored by the time and profits they gave. From the sales  website I could see messages from those who purchased shirts: Former students with kind messages, supportive family  near and far, even a teacher I worked with 25 years prior. The shirts were cleverly designed with quotes from Mary Shelley Wollstonecraft in Frankenstein, “Beware; for I am fearless, and therefore powerful” and Herman Melville in Moby Dick, “I know not all that may be coming, but be it what it will, I’ll go to it laughing.” Students who bought shirts gathered for a huge picture in the gym and Riley and Moriah gave me a big check. Who doesn’t love a big check?  It was a struggle for me not to bring it to the bank.

Another group of students decorated my room. The walls were papered in pink hearts and notes. On the last day of the term before I started my 12 week leave, I had my usual all-you-care-to-eat pancake feed for the senior Thematic Literature class. It’s cheap to make pancakes and they loved a breakfast potluck. We had read The Fault in Our Stars about two teen cancer patients. During the unit, I left the room to get a guest speaker and returned as the guest speaker and answered any questions they had about my cancer experience plus had a short PowerPoint. After we finished reading  The Fault in Our Stars, we watched The Bucket List while the students created their own Bucket List and Unbucket List, a concept I created listing things they never want to do. I shared my Bucket List, which included things like golfing in Scotland, sailing on Lake Superior and wearing a tiara. On the last day of class, a group of students bought me my own tiara. It was not easy to leave!

Since we had set the bar high celebrating my double mastectomies at Hooter’s, our close friends Sean and Wendy threw us a Pity Party for my axillary lymph node dissection. We wanted to stay in theme so BBQ Pit was what we were expecting, but in addition to a houseful of friends sending out all the best wishes, we had an amazing surprise Chipotle spread. Our friend Sean ate at Chipotle every work day, the same meal ready when he arrived at 11:15 and kept racking up reward points until he won the Hot Rewards level of Chiptopia: a huge buffet serving 30. Anyone who gifts you that much guacamole is a true friend.

Our families showed their support in lots of ways that involved food: planned and impromptu get-togethers and  fish fries during Lent. Scott’s brother Tom designed a T-shirt with a boxing motif “beating cancer one prayer at a time.” The entire family wore them at Kotten Christmas and several other gatherings and sent shirts to my siblings. My sister-in-law Sherri created a comfort quilt of my favorite activities on one side and pictures of our family on the other. My goal was to wear it out.

Over the course of my cancer trudge, my siblings had collectively sent a garden full of flowers with arrangements showing up with every diagnosis or just because.  Sometimes they included treats like root beer, which I hated or Boston Baked Beans, which I loved, just to mix it up. They checked in often, making sure I wasn’t mired in a pity pot. The loss of our parents brought us together even though it was a challenge to physically meet with Patti’s ER doctor schedule and Joe’s wastewater management and unpredictable snow-plowing duties.

Even when there was less than an inch of hair, my hairdresser could work miracles with my hair creating style and making sure any bald patches from radiation were covered. LeeAnn saw me through long gaps when I was getting a trim before chemo and would not need a haircut for a year. She gave me a bracelet with a message in charms Crucifix > up arrow, down arrow.  “God is greater than my ups and downs.”

One coworker had the most unique way of showing his support.  Tony, the band director, shaved his hair in my honor before Mack’s holiday concert.  But the shaved head wasn’t enough; from the first diagnosis until I started medical leave, whenever we met in the hallway, Tony would kneel in front of me and say, “A saint among us,” referring to our alma mater, St. Scholastica.  It cracked me up every time.

Support Groups:  I never attended a support group, but found support in those who had cancer before me like Janis and tried to pass the wisdom and offer support to those diagnosed after me. Several of Mack’s classmates’ moms were diagnosed and we were often together socially as our kids were the same age. Julia along with Ginny and I had sons who were friends so we socialized together too, providing a ton of support for each other. We acknowledged that we hoped our sons could support each other too since as Julia pointed out, “No boy wants to talk about his Mom’s boobs.”

One day after school,  Roz came into my classroom. I will never forget the pain I saw in those mother’s eyes as she explained her family was waiting on biopsy results for Erin, her daugher. Less than a year later, Roz was comforting me with my stage III recurrence and brought Erin, who provided so much support with information about the TCHP chemo regimen and side effect management tips. I was permanently indebted to that beautiful young woman who was so optimistic, stressing that regardless of the staging now, the goal was to go through treatment and then be Stage 0.  Her mindset was inspirational.

I would never forget the fear in one fellow pink sister’s face and the tears in another’s eyes when we made eye contact as they waited in lines in the gym during conferences a few days after the recurrence diagnosis in 2016. Janis was diagnosed shortly before me and Chris a few years after. I could tell both now felt that god-awful, bone-deep dread of recurrence themselves. I remember feeling like I let them down. Whenever I heard anyone had a recurrence, it was another boob punch.

When stage IV blasted into our lives, I sought out Julia, a nine-year stage IV hero. Her calm demeanor and live-in-the-present outlook gave me so much solace and a mindset to follow.  She might as well have worn a cape.

In the spring of 2009, I was in the middle of chemo treatments but able to work full-time. Two students in my video production were dealing with cancer too and we became a support group of three. Both students took video production instead of physical education, so we were together quite a bit. We had similar treatment schedules and would compare the achy effects of Neulasta in our bones. “Cancer became the commonality that brought the three closer,” The St. Cloud Times wrote a story about us, “A High School Responds to Cancer.” We wore bright blue “Cancer Sucks” and hot pink “Fight Like a Girl” t-shirts for the feature’s photo.

At the end of the 2017 and by the start of the 2018 school year three of us teachers in the ROCORI high school English department were dealing with breast cancer diagnoses at the same time. We shared stories and asked questions as we faced our biopsies and diagnosis together. It was wonderful and awful; wonderful to have fellow travelers so near, but awful to experience their fear and pain.  Staff and students rallied in pink support. Our English department was not only co-workers, but friends who wrote the most encouraging notes, created the best gift baskets and planned potlucks to celebrate or offer support. A pair of seniors, Lauren and Kya, set up a t-shirt fundraiser, spreading pink support throughout the school for our trio.

American Cancer Society Relay for Life fundraisers were so powerful, but also dredged up so much emotion that I needed days to recover from both the all-night walk and being in an emotional row boat tossed in an angry ocean. The format had speakers throughout the nights with survivors telling their uplifting stories, but family members who spoke of a loved one who did not survive were so hard to bear as it forced me to face my own mortality.

Chris, a friend and golf pal, created and organized ‘Chip-in for Cancer’ a golf fundraiser with all proceeds going to help fund the Coborn Healing Center’s patient support services. I offered to help, but was in awe of how easily she networked. Officially the most thoughtful person I knew, she had hot pink t-shirts with sparkle letters that  proclaimed “Yes, these are fake, my real ones tried to kill me” printed for the event. It was fantastic to be part of her team, but extra painful when she had to have more shirts made for new members of “the worst club with the best people.” We had other friends who golfed and had gone through breast cancer and were an endless group of support for each other.

Another dear soul twice sent me a heart-warming card and included a generous check with funds intended for fun and family adventures. The funds were appreciated, along with her genuine concern and support. We had a few meals and rounds of golf that our boys would have felt guilty about except that I could tell them our benevolent sponsor, the Mr. Brownlow to our Oliver Twist, was funding so they could not protest or offer to chip in.

Though I probably forgot someone or something and apologize in advance, the length of this chapter shows how overwhelming the support was for us. I hoped to pay it forward, to fill the stacks of  aluminum foil pans with comfort food for others, to listen, to pray, to hug, to advise, to inspire anyone if only by lasting longer than expected!

If anyone asked for it, I offered my advice to other cancer patients: Always accept help. It helps those who want to help you. They might be scared and feel the need to reach out. You might have all your ducks in a row, but let others help you.  The treatment will take awhile; you can help someone else in the future.