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Posts with tag grateful
Posted Sep 11th 2007 9:00AM by Jacki Donaldson
Filed under: Cancer Survivors, Today, I Am Grateful
The following post is one of a series of posts appearing Monday through Friday on The Cancer Blog. This feature -- Today, I am grateful -- allows me to share with readers my appreciation for all the treasures in my life, both big and small. In my post-cancer world, I find It healing for my soul to be mindful of the good in my life. It is my pleasure to share my gratitude with you.
I'm sick of talking about this sickness of mine. But there's one more thing I need to say in regards to how it's disrupted my life -- and how one person has helped me pick up the pieces I've left scattered around as a result.
The one more thing: Sickness always throws me for a loop. I'm an organized, planned, on-the-ball sort of person and I don't like how sickness takes me out of the game. I'm not good at sitting around, resting, putting my feet up for extended periods of time. I hate how life passes me by and my responsibilities begin to stack up. I try my best to stay on top of everything but all it really does is keep me sick. It seems the more I try to do, the longer it takes for my body to heal.
Continue reading Today, I am Grateful
Posted Sep 10th 2007 9:00AM by Jacki Donaldson
Filed under: Cancer Survivors, Today, I Am Grateful
The following post is one of a series of posts appearing Monday through Friday on The Cancer Blog. This feature -- Today, I am grateful -- allows me to share with readers my appreciation for all the treasures in my life, both big and small. In my post-cancer world, I find It healing for my soul to be mindful of the good in my life. It is my pleasure to share my gratitude with you.
I've been sick for 10 days. Only during the past few days have I started noticing my body is beginning to mend. I judge this by the fact that lately, I am able to sleep.
For days and days, I coughed all night. I might sleep for an hour here and there but mostly, I spent my twilight hours hacking uncontrollably. My cough was so severe at times, it caused me to vomit. My cough was horrible and landed me night after night in a vicious cycle I couldn't control.
Continue reading Today, I am Grateful
Posted Sep 7th 2007 9:00AM by Jacki Donaldson
Filed under: Cancer Survivors, Today, I Am Grateful
The following post is one of a series of posts appearing Monday through Friday on The Cancer Blog. This feature -- Today, I am grateful -- allows me to share with readers my appreciation for all the treasures in my life, both big and small. In my post-cancer world, I find It healing for my soul to be mindful of the good in my life. It is my pleasure to share my gratitude with you.
My house was struck by lightening the other day. I wasn't home at the time but heard the violent storm from inside my mom's house, in the same neighborhood. The thunder and lightening was so loud and crashing, I wondered if it would tear through the roof above me. It didn't -- but it did tear apart quite a lot at my house, just a block away.
When I got home, I smelled a burning odor, heard a surge protector beeping, and discovered I'd lost power in half my house. A neighbor came to my rescue -- my husband and boys were at the beach while I stayed home to recover from my
recent illness -- and restored the electricity in my house. I thought all was well, except for a cable outtage which I determined a minor inconvenience. But then I noticed plaster, rock, and wood had been sprayed around my boys' room and a guest room. My youngest son's bed was covered. A lone piece of wood sat in the middle of the guest room. Where had this come from?
It came from the baseboards located in one corner in each room. They had been shred into pieces and torn from the walls. And my carpet had been somehow lifted up from the floor and appeared singed at the edges. When I spoke to my husband about this amazing destruction, we came to appreciate just how powerful weather can be. Mostly, though, we counted our blessings. No one had been home. No one had been outside at the time of the strike. Our house had not burned down. Our smallest child was not in bed when the debris flew. We are lucky.
Today, I am grateful my family survived the storm.Posted Sep 5th 2007 9:00AM by Jacki Donaldson
Filed under: Cancer Survivors, Today, I Am Grateful
The following post is one of a series of posts appearing Monday through Friday on The Cancer Blog. This feature -- Today, I am grateful -- allows me to share with readers my appreciation for all the treasures in my life, both big and small. In my post-cancer world, I find It healing for my soul to be mindful of the good in my life. It is my pleasure to share my gratitude with you.
Losing my hair was one of my most traumatic cancer experiences. When first told I needed chemotherapy, I didn't fret about the poisons that would circulate throughout my body, or the nausea that might strike me. What I feared most was losing my hair. It seems silly now. I mean, hair is just hair. If I could trade my hair right now for a guarantee that cancer would never return, I'd do it. But three years ago, when cancer was new and my self-image was faltering, I couldn't stand the thought of losing it.
I did OK once my hair was gone. I found great human-hair wigs and I learned to enjoy my shower-and-go morning routine. I could get ready in an instant. It was all kind of liberating really. Now, don't get me wrong. I was glad when my hair came back. And every day when I look in the mirror, I am comforted by the fact that long dark hair now covers my head. Yes, hair is just hair. But there's just something about it that makes me feel well, happy.
Today, I am grateful for my hair.Posted Sep 4th 2007 9:00AM by Jacki Donaldson
Filed under: Cancer Survivors, Today, I Am Grateful
The following post is one of a series of posts appearing Monday through Friday on The Cancer Blog. This feature -- Today, I am grateful -- allows me to share with readers my appreciation for all the treasures in my life, both big and small. In my post-cancer world, I find It healing for my soul to be mindful of the good in my life. It is my pleasure to share my gratitude with you.
When I think about how much my mom rescued me during my breast cancer treatment, I always land at the fact that she watched my little boys for 35 days in a row while I transported myself to and from radiation therapy. That wasn't all she did -- she also accompanied me to surgery, sat with me during chemotherapy treatments, parked herself by my bedside when I was hospitalized, dried my tears, fed me, hugged me, encouraged me, and loved me.
My mom helped me survive cancer. She is my hero.
Today, I am grateful for my mom.Posted Sep 3rd 2007 9:00AM by Jacki Donaldson
Filed under: Cancer Survivors, Today, I Am Grateful
The following post is one of a series of posts appearing Monday through Friday on The Cancer Blog. This feature -- Today, I am grateful -- allows me to share with readers my appreciation for all the treasures in my life, both big and small. In my post-cancer world, I find It healing for my soul to be mindful of the good in my life. It is my pleasure to share my gratitude with you.
For the past six and a half years, I've been a full-time, stay-at-home mom. It's my job, just like my husband has a job. In his job, he gets to actually leave the house alone, go to the bathroom all by himself, eat lunch in peace with other adults, and collect a paycheck each and every month. I get none of that. Still, I get a lot. I got to hold my babies all day, every day when they were teeny, tiny. I got to love and nurture them and observe their every move. I saw them walk and talk for the first time, eat solid food, grasp toys, and eventually, head off to school.
Both of my boys are in school now, so I am without them for about five hours each weekday. Still, I am a full-time mom. I wake them in the morning, feed them breakfast, pack their lunches and backpacks, head them in the direction of matched clothing, urge them to brush their teeth and put on their shoes and buckle up tight in the car. I drive them to their respective schools and return promptly at the end of the school day to pick them up. And then we spend the afternoons together. It's a great job. I wouldn't trade it for anything -- not even a big, fat paycheck.
Today, I am grateful I get to be a stay-at-home mommy. Posted Aug 30th 2007 9:00AM by Jacki Donaldson
Filed under: Cancer Survivors, Today, I Am Grateful
The following post is one of a series of posts appearing Monday through Friday on The Cancer Blog. This feature -- Today, I am grateful -- allows me to share with readers my appreciation for all the treasures in my life, both big and small. In my post-cancer world, I find It healing for my soul to be mindful of the good in my life. It is my pleasure to share my gratitude with you.
The night before my lumpectomy, way back in December 2005, I was consumed with fear, worry, and panic. Since I'd found it, the lump in my left breast had been sitting untouched for nearly two weeks. I imagined the mass spreading with each day and believed I could detect its growth each time I felt for it. A doctor told me if it was growing like I thought it was, my tiny pea-sized tumor would be the size of an apple within days.
My fears were unfounded and irrational. I know that now. But during the moments of uncertainty that filled my days between diagnosis and prognosis, I had no direction. I had only my wandering mind for company. The waiting really is the hardest part. Once faced with the specifics of our diseases, we can take action.
Continue reading Today, I am grateful
Posted Aug 29th 2007 9:00AM by Jacki Donaldson
Filed under: Cancer Survivors, Today, I Am Grateful
The following post is one of a series of posts appearing Monday through Friday on The Cancer Blog. This feature -- Today, I am grateful -- allows me to share with readers my appreciation for all the treasures in my life, both big and small. In my post-cancer world, I find It healing for my soul to be mindful of the good in my life. It is my pleasure to share my gratitude with you.
It's hot here in Florida -- steamy, sticky, humid, unbearable hot. The kind of hot that makes me sweat in an instant. The kind of hot that keeps me and my kids cooped up in the air-conditioned indoors for as long as we can stand it. The kind of hot that has me dreaming about cool, crisp, chilly days. I'd even take downright cold at the moment -- anything other than this treacherous heat.
It's only August, which in Florida means there's still a few months of blistering weather remaining. September will be hot, October could be hot -- last year's trick-or-treat extravaganza was pretty darn warm -- and then maybe in November, we'll get some relief. I don't prefer to wait this long for my favorite of all temperatures -- high 60s, low 70s -- but I'll make it. I might even enjoy the wait while I fantasize of wearing sweaters and jackets and long pants. There's something about anticipation that makes life exciting. The countdown is on.
Today, I am grateful for the promise of cooler temperatures.Posted Aug 28th 2007 9:00AM by Jacki Donaldson
Filed under: Cancer Survivors, Today, I Am Grateful
The following post is one of a series of posts appearing Monday through Friday on The Cancer Blog. This feature -- Today, I am grateful -- allows me to share with readers my appreciation for all the treasures in my life, both big and small. It's healing for the soul to be mindful of the good in our lives. It is my pleasure to share my gratitude with you.
Both of my little boys are in school now. Joey is in first grade. Danny is in Pre-K. And I am at home -- all alone, for four and a half hours, five days per week, in total and complete silence. I get to exercise, read, write, fold my laundry, wash my dishes, run errands, whatever my little heart desires.
It's been six whole years since I've been able to go to the bathroom by myself, take a shower without the distant sounds of fighting and tormenting in the background, and eat lunch with slow, purposeful bites. After all these years as a full-time mom, my new-found free time is glorious.
Today, I am grateful for the stillness and silence that fills my house when my little wonders are at school.Posted Dec 22nd 2006 10:00AM by Jacki Donaldson
Filed under: All Cancers, Cancer Survivors
I spend 10.5 hours every weekday on my own with some combination of my two little boys. My day starts each morning and extends through meals and playtime and laughs and tears and fights and struggles and snuggles -- but never a nap -- and even a part-time preschool job where one or two boys always tag along. Sometimes I try to write during the day while my boys are happy and occupied. Typically, I don't accomplish much. Interruptions are endless -- as they should be for a mostly stay-at-home mom who chooses to devote her daytime hours to raising children.
And so I go it alone until dinner time when my husband returns from work and selflessly takes over and sets me free. He cooks, serves, and cleans up dinner. He plays and entertains and wrestles and heads up bath and book time. And then he transports each boy on his back to their respective beds.
During my moments of freedom each evening, I lose myself in my thoughts -- and I begin to write. I love my mommy job -- and wouldn't trade it for any other full-time job -- but I also love being alone. And I love writing.
Helen Keller said, "I must have something besides husband and children, something I can devote myself to! I want to go on living even after my death! And therefore, I am grateful to God for giving me this gift, this possibility of developing myself, and of writing, of expressing all that is within me."
Writing -- mostly about cancer -- helps me develop my surviving self. It helps me express all that is within me. And maybe it's fitting that I don't get too much time to dwell on the disease that consumed me for two years. If I had to choose between two busy boys and a life busy with cancer, I'd take two boys in an instant. At the end of the day, a little bit of writing about a little of cancer suits me just fine.
Posted Oct 4th 2006 9:00AM by Jacki Donaldson
Filed under: Breast Cancer, Cancer events, Research, Fundraisers, Exercise
I am in awe at this very moment, after receiving a generous donation -- from a friend I have not seen in nearly five years -- for the
Making Strides Against Breast Cancer 5K Walk I plan to run in less than two weeks. I am not in awe simply because of this one donation. I am in awe of the combination of generous donations I have received over the past two months. My grand total right now -- headed for my local American Cancer Society team and earmarked for use in my own city -- is $3,808. My goal is $4,000.
I don't take any credit for this large sum of money that will earn me recognition on the day of the event. I merely reached out to friends and family and they delivered. Day after day, donations as high as $250 flow my way -- and while the American Cancer Society and cancer patients in North Florida stand to profit because of my giving support network, it occurs to me that I may be the biggest winner to cross the finish line. Me -- one woman, one cancer survivor, with one inspiring crowd rallying to support -- me.
It doesn't matter what I do on the day of the race -- although I do hope to accomplish my personal physical challenge -- because I have already done what I set out to do. I raised funds for a fabulous cause. And I gained a little something -- well, a big something -- in the process. I witnessed the wonder of overwhelming kindness. And for that, I am nothing less than grateful.
Posted Sep 15th 2006 9:00AM by Jacki Donaldson
Filed under: Breast Cancer, Daily news
Ryder Cup golfer Darren Clarke lost his wife Heather to breast cancer last month. Clarke has not played competitively since July 21 when he took time off from golfing to care for his wife. Since her passing, Clarke has been thinking and regrouping and mourning the loss of his 39-year-old wife and mother of their two young sons. Now, he is ready to re-enter the world of golf. He is ready, he says, for the upcoming Ryder Cup.
Clarke says his game is good and while his decision to return to his sport was tough, he is returning only because he knows he can fully contribute. And he knows his wife would have wanted him to play so he made himself available for selection. Clarke could not have qualified automatically due to the time he took off to care for Heather but he was eligible to be selected -- and he was. Clarke is grateful and prepared for the challenge. "I am stronger altogether," he says. "I've had to face up a lot of tough things. I hope I've come through it a better person."
Posted Aug 14th 2006 7:00AM by Jacki Donaldson
Filed under: Breast Cancer, Chemotherapy, Radiation, Cancer Survivors
I don't take for granted that I am alive. I am fully aware of it, consciously grateful for it, continually amazed by it. Before I was confronted with breast cancer, I still knew I could die -- in a car accident maybe -- but I thought chances were pretty good that I would make it to a ripe old age. Death was never at the forefront of my mind. I had no reason to believe that life could be snatched from me. And because of this, I am sure some pretty important moments slipped by me, virtually unnoticed. But now -- after a breast cancer diagnosis, surgery, chemotherapy, radiation therapy, and then more therapy, I realize life is not a guarantee for anyone. Me included. Even at age 36, I am not safe. I feel confident about my future -- and I believe cancer has left my body -- but my life has been threatened like never before. And that makes me wake up and take notice -- really notice -- the moments that are too important to take for granted.
My first baby boy starts kindergarten today. Before cancer, this still would have been a monumental day for us both. But now, after cancer, it's even bigger. Because I know of several moms who did not survive cancer long enough to see their children walk through their first classroom doors -- moms who thought, like me, that they would surely beat cancer and would see their kids off for every first day of school. So I am lucky to have made it to this day -- to witness the wonder of my sweet, shy, sensitive, challenging, demanding, loving boy as he leaves the comfort of home for the real world.
Two days ago, my littlest guy said, "Mommy, I love you and want to keep you forever." Joey -- the boy whose wisdom should guide him right through his first day of school -- said, "Danny, you can't have mommy forever. One day she will die, and you will never see her again." Fortunately, his harsh meaning was lost on three-year-old Danny who kept playing with whatever toy was occupying him at the time. But his meaning was not lost on me. He spoke the truth. And so I plan to soak up the kindergarten moment this morning -- and photograph it and write about it and cherish it for my days to come. And in two years, I hope to do it again with Danny as he starts off on the same path. With me by his side.
Posted Aug 6th 2006 10:00AM by Jacki Donaldson
Filed under: Breast Cancer, All Cancers, Sunday Seven, Cancer Survivors
When I was first diagnosed with breast cancer almost two years ago, my greatest fear was losing my hair. The fear was consuming, painful, over-the-top. That was long ago -- and I survived. I can look back now and realize that the panic about losing my hair was such a small-scale fear -- compared to what I fear now. Now I fear a recurrence of cancer. And it's a whole lot more disabling than a little worry about being bald.
I have a few techniques for settling my fears when they get out of control. Sometimes I take deep breaths. Sometimes I distract myself and occupy my mind with something more pleasant than anxiety -- like writing, exercising, playing with my little boys. And sometimes I read about others who have come before me and have handled the same distress I sometimes feel about cancer taking up residence in my body again. Mostly I learn from stories of other women who have survived breast cancer. And I learn that I
can handle the fear, that I
can handle cancer if it does come back. And the women I find most inspiring are those who have had a recurrence -- or two or three -- and who still manage to happily tackle the life they have in front of them. They give me hope that if a recurrence comes my way, I too can conquer it. And here are seven snippets of hope from the book
Hope Lives! The After Breast Cancer Treatment Survival Handbook -- from women who keep on surviving breast cancer.
Continue reading Sunday Seven: Seven survivors speak about recurrence
Posted Jul 9th 2006 8:00AM by Jacki Donaldson
Filed under: Breast Cancer, Sunday Seven
I sometimes complain about the lack of warmth I've encountered from medical professionals throughout my journey with breast cancer. There have been glimpses of compassion. And there are a few who stand out as truly caring and concerned. But there seems to be a general lack of sensitivity. Maybe it's a side effect of the job -- distance -- that I should have been prepared for. But instead I was shocked by how I often felt forgotten, like a number, just one of many in my same boat. And this makes me sad -- for me and for all the others who sail rough waters in search of health. I have waited in lobbies for hours -- four hours one time -- and I've been encouraged to
toughen up. I've rarely felt comforted -- except by a few who have hugged me or placed a hand on my shoulder. That's all it takes. A simple gesture or kind word.
Continue reading Sunday Seven: Seven sentiments that help me survive
