The Day Awaits

Today was my last day of work for the next six weeks. I am gearing up for surgery Monday afternoon, and shifting my focus to what is hopefully the last leg of this cancer journey.

I would be lying if I said that I wasn’t nervous about the three-hour procedure as well as the recovery and ileostomy that will result, but like every other step in this process, I know I have to do it. And better to do with a positive attitude than a dismal one.

I would also be lying if I said my head hasn’t gone to some scary places in the last couple of weeks. I think I am almost panicking a bit that my treatment is almost over. And then what if it comes back? I actually asked my oncologist last week if it made sense to get some additional chemo after surgery just as an “insurance policy”. He and my nurse navigator Carrie assured me that I didn’t need more chemo at this point and urged me to stay positive. I needed that reminder.

It’s shortly after that, where I came upon a piece of writing seemed all too timely. As part of my book club at work, I was reading a chapter of “More than Enough” by Elaine Welteroth. In this chapter, as Elaine was reflecting on some of her personal experiences, she wisely noted, “What’s done in the dark will come to light”. And then it dawned on me that I was coming to the end of this darkness. And I believe that I will emerge healthier, more appreciative, stronger, and more courageous than when I started this journey last February. I will have found my own personal light.

When I was a freshman at Notre Dame, I received a prayer book at Freshman orientation from my rectress Nancy Cook. Because I am very sentimental (and probably a bit of a pack rat), I have kept this book with me and still look at it from time to time. Several nights ago, I went back to a prayer I had ear-marked back in 1998. Little did I know, it would be so relevant to my life 20 years later. Called, “I am a Mirror”, it goes like this:

God of Light,

I am a mirror, giving back to you

the opposite and reverse of all you give to me.

Make me a glass- stained glass – or a prism.

Let me take your gifts and diffuse them

in splashes of dancing color,

of brilliance, joy, and delight.

Amen

So here’s to Monday, saying good-bye to cancer for good, and getting a point where my mirror is dancing with color and I can share my light.

XO-

Mary

PS – Surgery is scheduled for 4p EST on Monday. I will accept any prayers and positive vibes you can send my way during that time. Brian and I will keep you updated on how things go.

Straight Outta Chemo

Since the last time I wrote, I hit a very important milestone in my cancer journey: my last chemo therapy treatment. Overall the treatment went smoothly, and since I wasn’t getting the Oxaliplatin on round #8, it made for a pretty quick visit as well. Lucky for me, I was placed in the clinic right across from my favorite cancer buddy in crime, Chelsea Boet.

As my infusion was winding down, I moseyed over to Chelsea and the two of us carefully choreographed a hug, keeping our IV poles, pumps, and ostomies from tangling – LOL! As I hugged her, I was overcome with emotion. I was so grateful for her friendship and mentorship through this journey, all while she is fighting her own battle. I was grateful for my amazing chemo nurses. And I think I was also relieved and in disbelief that I was done. I had trouble getting a hold of my tears.

After also hugging (and crying on) my nurse Alex, Brian and I headed over to infamous “bell”. This is a bell that cancer patients ring when they have completed their chemo therapy treatment. But I will be honest. I was a little scared to ring the bell. It felt like a jinx. The bell is also centrally located in the chemo clinic, and I wanted to be sensitive to the fact that hearing the bell ring for somebody else could be really hard, especially if the end to chemo for them is indefinite. So I took my picture standing next to it with a tear-streamed face and called it day.

file1-2

A week after finishing chemo it was time to go back in for a round of scans. This was both exciting and nerve wracking, since my last set of scans was in April. In this round of scans, I received an MRI and CT Scan. The MRI gave very detailed photos of the rectal tumor itself. It showed that the tumor had shrunk by 1.5 cm and that it had not spread into the fascia of the rectum (thumbs up… this gives the surgeon a better chance of getting clean margins when removing the tumor). The CT confirmed that the cancer had not metastasized to any other organs (also great news). It did, however, show a couple of enlarged lymph nodes in my chest around the bronchial area just above the lungs. From the scans it was unclear if these lymph nodes were cancerous, which meant I would need to undergo another procedure called a bronchoscopy the following week.

During the bronchoscopy, I got a nice little Propofol nap, while a pulmonologist put a tube with a camera down my airway to examine and biopsy the lymph nodes. It was a little stressful to have to undergo an additional unplanned surgical procedure, but everything went smoothly, and results from the bronchoscopy confirmed that the lymph nodes were not cancerous.

So needless to say, it’s been another crazy couple of weeks, but the good news is that I am now marching toward the last step in my journey, which is surgery. I met with the surgeon last week, and we have a plan to do a lower anterior resection (removal of rectum and sigmoid colon) on September 23rd. I will receive an ostomy during this procedure, which will be reversed in about three months. I am nervous about the recovery from surgery (5 days in the hospital, 6 weeks off work) as well as managing the ostomy, but like everything else, I will take it one day at a time. And that will be one day closer to full recovery.

At this moment as I am reflecting on the last few weeks, I continue to be completely overwhelmed with gratitude. I have so many people to thank, and it’s hard to find the right words. This is especially true when it comes to my husband Brian. He has been with me at EVERY chemo treatment and every surgical procedure (the poor guy stayed with me while I had a sigmoidoscopy… that’s love). When I was hospitalized for the weekend, he somehow balanced watching the boys, while also keeping me company and saving me from hospital food. He has taken on the brunt of cleaning, cooking, and childrearing for the last six months, when I simply did not have the energy to do it.

When Brian was 24 years old and promised to love me and honor me in sickness and in health, the poor guy had no idea what he was in for. But he has more than lived out his vow. It was with this experience in mind, that I wrote the speech I gave at my brother’s wedding. I will leave you with this excerpt that sums up Brian and why I am so lucky to have him:

As I reflect on this wedding day today, it has me recollecting the many times I have heard people say that marriage is hard. But honestly, I think that actually it’s life that is hard, and that marriage is a gift. How lucky to have a partner that you can be with in the great times and horrible times, and that has your back no matter what? How beautiful to have someone that knows you at your best, but also loves you at your worst?

To Brian, and to all of you, thank you for sticking with me. Plain and simply put, I am grateful.

XO-

Mary

Nobody Puts Mary in the Corner!

I have to apologize for the tardiness in this blog post. The last six weeks have been such a whirlwind. And within the matter of the last 14 days I have had inpatient chemo therapy, my company sold to private equity, my brother got married, my grandpa died, and I completed (sort of) my second to last outpatient chemo. With all of this going on, I am just trying to keep my head above water and breathe.

At the end of July, I completed 28 rounds of chemoradiation therapy. That encompassed four chemo pills everyday of a drug called Xolota and 3D radiation treatments. The treatments themselves where painless and the staff was nice (they knew that warmed blankets were soothing to me and always had them ready each day when I walked in). A few weeks into radiation treatment, I did begin to suffer from fatigue, bowel issues, and a mean diaper rash, but all of those symptoms are slowly fading now.

After a couple of weeks, it was then time to start my last three chemo therapy sessions. Given that my last round of chemo in May resulted in an allergic reaction to the Oxaliplatin, my 6^th chemo was given inpatient at Spectrum Health during a three and half day stay. It was LONG three and half days, including unexplained fever and a bout of pleurisy, but I received excellent care from the oncology nurses that weekend, and was able to win the challenge over Oxaliplatin with lots of premeds and a careful and long titration of chemo drugs. As my oncologist, Dr. Chandana, came in to release me, he was feeling confident that I could finish out my last two chemos in the outpatient clinic over a longer infusion time. He also shared with me that he was really encouraged and excited to see my next set of scans, with hopes that the tumor is gone or significantly smaller going into surgery.

Fast forward two weeks, and I was back in the outpatient clinic yesterday, feeling positive. Unfortunately, 30 minutes into my infusion of Oxaliplatin, I began to have an allergic reaction again – shortness of breath, lobster red face, rash, etc. They quickly got a regimen of Benadryl going, and I was doing fine within minutes. Given that I reacted again, we will no longer be able to continue with the Oxaliplatin. But no need to worry. I am still able to finish out these last two rounds of chemo with my infusion pump of 5 FU. This is the heavy lifting drug that will make the most difference in my outcome, so this is very reassuring. As my nurse recently explained to me, “Your chemo regimen is like a cupcake. The 5 FU is the cake, and the Oxaliplatin is the frosting. But the 5 FU is doing 95% of the work.” Given that Oxaliplatin is one of the more toxic chemo options, it’s just one that not everyone can tolerate. But I was able to get 5 and half solid rounds of it, so I will take that to the bank. I am a little discouraged that things didn’t go according to plan today, but I know this is something I cannot control, so I am moving on.

And I have to say that in the last few weeks, though crazy, I have had some amazing and positive moments. A few highlights:

One day I arrived at work and my co-workers had arranged to wear purple shirts in my honor. They paid their own money to wear shirts that said, “Nobody puts Mary in the corner #yougot this”. They decorated my office with selfies of employees wearing the shirt, a big sign to match the shirts, and shirts for my husband and boys. As I walked around the office and production floor, I sobbed and received tons of hugs. I work with some of the most caring people, and it was so uplifting to have 100+ people cheering me on.
Our company recently sold to a private equity firm and will now be a standalone company once again. Though I will miss my Hillrom collegues greatly, this is a really positive thing for the Aspen team. In my 12 years with Aspen, we have never been in a stronger place operationally, and now we have an investment partner ready to support meaningful growth. On Day 1 after the close of the sale, we had a celebration with our employees, and the environment was electric. All the Aspen red and smiles in the building made me so proud. I haven’t been so excited to come to work in years. Aspen’s back baby!
My brother David and Jenn got married. Amid many other hardships for my family this year, this event was such a bright spot. Jenn was gorgeous, the church was gorgeous, and the reception site was gorgeous. Both Jenn and Dave seemed so happy, and the love in the room was contagious. I have also not danced so hard in my entire life. Backstreet boys, N’Sync, Whitney Houston, and Usher were all in the lineup. We were surrounded by close friends and family, including my Grandma and Charles that flew in from LA. My heart was full.
Although my Grandpa Frank’s death was a sad event, I had lots of great moments with him over the past 6 weeks. Two days before he died, I paid him a visit, and he was still able to speak and open his eyes. He was weak, but I was able to give him one last kiss and tell him I loved him. He told me he loved me back. He had 93 wonderful years, he knew he was loved, and he was ready to go be with his God. I am not sure I could ask for more out of such a scenario. I lived to be almost 40 with all my grandparents in my life. For that, I am so lucky.
I have been surrounded by the most amazing caregivers… When I left my radiation tech staff, I got into my car and cried (How demented, right? I should have been elated). They gave me a certificate when I finished by treatment and lined up for hugs. Then there is my oncology night nurse Lindsay… She made sure to ask for me to be her patient each night of my inpatient stay for the chemo rechallenge. She was so caring and smiley, and the consistency of having her there each night was really comforting. I was amongst a lot of sick people on my floor, which was hard to witness, and she kept me thinking positive. This is not to mention that my nurses on the infusion team at Hematology Centers of West Michigan are just the bomb. Lindsay, Alex, Claire, Hillary, and the MA Mike have now helped to save my life TWICE given allergic reactions to chemo. They simply rock. Last but not least, I have Carrie Gillette, my nurse navigator who is my bulldog and Dr. Chandana, my oncologist, who is my cheerleader. What a smart and creative doctor he is. He is the one who keeps reminding me that we are doing everything in our power to get to a CURE.

So, as I reflect back on the last few weeks, I am going to hang on these positive notes. Yes, I have cancer, but I am so lucky in so many other ways. And there is light at the end of this tunnel. I have ONE MORE chemo in two weeks and then onto surgery in September or early October. I promise to keep you all filled in. But in the meantime, thank you all for the things you have done to support me and make my life full and beautiful. Oh… and I will continue to live by the motto, “Nobody puts Mary in the corner”.

XO – Mary

Both Sides Now…

When I was in college my close friend Maureen introduced me to the singer Joni Mitchell. I immediately fell in love with her melodic, and at times discordant, voice. She was a woman speaking her truth in her own way, and she really spoke to my hippie heart.

One of my particular favorite Joni songs is Both Sides Now. I personally love the version she recorded later in life, which has this beautiful melancholy and reflective tone. It’s a song that has always resonated with me, but has taken on new meaning for me with age as well as during this cancer journey.

If you haven’t heard the song, it goes like this:

Roes and floes of angel hair
and ice cream castles in the air
And feather canons everywhere
I've looked at clouds that way

But now they only block the sun
They rain and snow on everyone
So many things I would have done
But clouds got in my way

I've looked at clouds from both sides now
From up and down, and still somehow
It's cloud illusions I recall
I don't really know clouds at all

Moons and Junes and Ferris wheels
The dizzy dancing way you feel
As every fairy tale comes real
I've looked at love that way

But now it's another show
You leave 'em laughing as they go
and if you don't care, don't let them know
Don't give yourself away

I've looked at love from both sides now
From give and take, and still somehow
It's loves illusions I recall
I really don't know love at all

Tears and  fears and feeling proud
To say, "I love you" right out loud
Dreams and schemes and circus crowds
I've looked at life that way

But now old friends are acting strange
They shake their heads, they say I've changed
Well something's lost, but something's gained
In living every day

I've looked at life from both sides now
From win and lose and still somehow
It's life's illusions I recall
I really don't know life at all

I've looked at life from both sides now
From up and down, and still somehow
It's life's illusions I recall
I really don't know life at all

Joni’s sentiment in these lyrics rings so true for me. As I child I grew up with little to worry about and with a very innocent and idealistic view of life and love. Like many, as I have gotten older there have been more struggles and challenges – crippling anxiety, infertility, post partem depression, the loss of loved ones, family discord, and now, cancer. It can be easy to let reality and pessimism to take over… to become jaded.

Many of you have inquired how chemoradiation is going. So far, I am a little tired and have a bit of nausea/digestive woes from the combination of chemo pills and radiation therapy. But the radiation treatments themselves are simple and painless, and the staff is really nice. However, I do have to admit that walking into that cancer center every day and then going to work and coming home to care for two little boys is a lot. There are little moments where “my sun feels blocked”.

By no means am I denying my true feelings or my reality, but I also know that keeping in mind “life’s illusions” and staying positive is my personal way of remaining sane and finding my way back to health. On these days that are hard, I am not even going so far as to take one day at a time. I am taking one minute, one task at a time. I am celebrating the small wins (like being halfway through radiation after tomorrow). I am taking the breaks I need, but I am also putting one foot in front of the other and keeping a smile on my face. I am hanging on the words of people who are telling me that I am doing a good job.

So going back to the illusions of life and love… maybe they are not illusions after all. We live in a time where we are being led to believe that humankind is going in the toilet. But these last few months would say otherwise to me. One beautiful deed in my honor has bred another. I have been shown that what good you put into the Universe, you often get back. I have seen ONE person inspire another, who then inspires another… I am inspired and thinking about what more I can do to give back once I am well. These are the dreams and schemes and circus crowds that continue to envelope me. You have no idea how living in the midst of this is making cancer almost something I wouldn’t trade.

With that in mind, as you turn in tonight, I leave you with Joni in her own voice…

XO- Mary

Little Big Shoes to Fill

Since my cancer diagnosis in February, I have received many beautiful blankets, afghans, and prayer shawls from friends, co-workers, and loved ones. I have literally snuggled with every single one of them, taking in the warmth and comfort. It’s like getting a hug from the person who sent it, and I have basked in the sentiment.

Several weeks back I received a package in the mail from our friends Mandy and Chris. In the package was a small hand-knitted blanket in a beautiful array of colors (about the size of place mat). I studied it for a bit, unsure exactly what it was, and then read the card. The card explained that this was actually the prayer shawl that was given to Chris and Mandy for their infant daughter Lucy. And now they were gifting it to me. It was then that I realized how much love and strength could be packed into something so small.

With the permission of her parents, I would like to tell you a little bit about Lucy. Lucy was born 9 weeks early, weighing just 2 pounds, 3 oz. She spent 3 months in NICU at Lurie Hospital following her birth. Unfortunately, after she was sent home, Lucy contracted RSV, Pneumonia, H1N1 Influenza, and a number of other infections. She was hospitalized and had to be intubated, receive several blood transfusions, and have a feeding tube placed due to her “failure to thrive”. I remember watching Lucy’s journey through social media, and trying to figure out how her parents were holding it together and balancing the rest of life and their other three children. But they fought hard for Lucy, and Lucy fought hard for herself. After three months, she was able to return home.

Today, Lucy is two and half. Her feeding tube has been removed, but she still remains a tiny 22 pounds. Overall she is a healthy, strong, and independent girl. This past summer her family came to visit, and I was amazed at how well she kept up with the big kids, one little step at a time.

This is a little girl with grit, and a little girl that fought with all of her being to overcome incredible odds – twice. And her parents chose to gift her prayer shawl to me… What an amazing symbol for me to cling to. It’s fights like Lucy’s that inspire me and remind me that I can do this. She has some little big shoes to fill! I will hold tightly to this shawl until I win this fight. And then I commit to Mandy and Chris that I will send the gift along to another soul who needs some strength and inspiration.

All in all, if I have come to no other conclusions in the last few months, the one I can certainly speak to it that human kindness is the medicine that is keeping me going… through chemo… through radiation… through the fears… through the doubts… and through the crazy balance of work, motherhood, and cancer. Thank you Mandy and Chris. Thank you Lucy. And thank you to all of you who remain in my corner.

XO –

Mary

I’ve Got to do This!

I am slacking recently on my blog posts, and I apologize for this! The last month I have been lucky to have a break from treatment while my care team got things squared away for my chemoradiation treatment that will start this coming week. It was nice to have a few side-effect free weeks to enjoy occasions like Mother’s Day and my future sister-in-law Jenn’s bachelorette party weekend.

Now, I am gearing up to get back to reality… About two weeks ago, I had my radiation simulation and associated CAT scan. They did my tattooing to prepare for where the radiation would be administered. They used ink and a surgical needle to apply the tattoos (which Brian says makes me “super hard core” – LOL). To my dismay they are just three little tiny dots, one at the tip of the tailbone and two in the glute area. I was at least hoping for something more fun like a shamrock. Maybe someday ;).

After reviewing the CT scans, my care team determined they wanted to use a method of radiation called IMRT, or Intensity-Modulated Radiation Therapy. As Memorial Sloan Kettering defines it, “IMRT is a type of cancer treatment that uses advanced computer programs to calculate and deliver radiation directly to cancer cells from different angles. It allows people with cancer to receive higher, more effective doses of radiation while limiting damage to the healthy tissues and organs around it. This increases your chance for a cure and lessens the likelihood of side effects.” I am excited to be able to benefit from this technology, and glad my insurance company finally approved it.

This coming Tuesday, I will have my first round of IMRT. Along with this, I will take oral chemo pills called Xolota daily. This regimen of treatment will be every week day for six weeks. I understand that side effects for this type of therapy usually start out ok and then worsen overtime – things like fatigue, diarrhea, nausea, and peeling hands and feet. I will admit that I am nervous about this impending treatment. Unlike my chemo, each day will be less predictable in terms of how I feel. I will also be balancing appointments for treatment every day, additional doctor visits, work, and being a mom all at the same time.

But I think my oncologist gave me the best advice in regard to this treatment. He said, “You have to do this.” He urged me not to go to the Internet to read horror stories or get too worked up about side effects because in the end, this is something I have to do to become well. And he is so right. I need to do this. I will do this. I will take it day by day, and promise to keep you all posted along the way.

XO – Mary

PS – Tomorrow I am so excited to be participating in Milan’s Miracle Run in honor of my favorite fellow warrior princess, Langley Lou Schillim 🙂 More on that in my next blog.

My brother Mark and Sister-in-Law Hailey put a love lock on the bridge in Paris for me 🙂

Chemo #5ish

Well, at some point it was probably inevitable that I would face a challenge or a setback in my cancer treatment, and last Friday was that point. About 30-45 minutes into my chemo infusion, I suffered an allergic reaction to the Oxaliplatin (one of the two chemo drugs I am taking). My face became bright red, I was having trouble breathing, and my heart rate was 148! I thought maybe it was just in my head, but then Brian took note of my horribly red face, and I knew something must be off. Luckily I was in the care of great nurses, who knew exactly what they were dealing with. They immediately unhooked my chemo and administered IV Benedryl and steriods. Within minutes, I was feeling better, albeit sleepy and unable to make a sentence with thinking very hard about it first (that IV Benedryl is no joke)!

Some have asked me if this it is normal to have a reaction 5 treatments into the process. I had the same question, and the nurses told me that sometimes it isn’t until the drug has built up in a person’s system after several rounds that they face a reaction like this.

After this episode, they stopped my Oxaliplatin infusion for the day, but I was able to go home with my 5FU pump and at least continue with that part of the treatment. My oncologist happened to also be onsite at the time of the reaction, and he felt it best that we switch gears for a bit. This will mean 6 weeks of radiation treatment 5 days per week. After that, we will finish out my last three rounds of chemo while admitted to the hospital, so I can be carefully monitored. They will infuse the chemo more slowly over 8 hours and administer IV Benedryl and other steroids prior to the treatment.

I will be honest, that it was a little bit mentally hard to switch gears on the treatment plan, but I know this is the best thing. It is also hard to know that I am up against 6 straight weeks of radiation. The side effects could be different from day to day and become more severe over time. I am a bit nervous to think about navigating my work day with radiation and the impending side effects – some of which include some bowel issues. But my co-workers have been VERY supportive, and I will just take it day by day.

I have my consultation with the radiological oncologist on Wednesday and should know a lot more after that. At that point, I will either be more or less nervous. We will see – LOL.

Over the last couple of weeks, there were days that I wished I could forget I have cancer for awhile, but it always seems to be in the back of my mind. However, at the same time, after recovering from my allergic reaction, I have felt pretty good physically. I have been able to enjoy the zoo with my boys, celebrate my friend Katie’s 40th birthday (she was kind enough to bring the “party” to me and didn’t mind that my 4-yr-old joined in), and had an excellent Mother’s Day starting with family time and ending with yoga. For these things, I am grateful. I am choosing to continue to focus on gratitude because at the end of day this could be so much worse and the good moments are still outweighing the bad.

I recently read Man’s Search for Meaning by Viktor Frankl. In this book, he says, “The way in which a man accepts his fate and all the sufferings it entails, the way in which he takes up his cross, gives him ample opportunity – even under the most difficult circumstances – to add a deeper meaning to his life.” In this journey, I am allowing myself to feel sad, angry, and defeated, but I am also putting that in its place. I am thinking hard about how I have accepted this fate and am embracing the opportunity to understand how it will strengthen me and add depth to my life and my being. This is yet to be seen, but I am looking forward to beating this so I can see the result.

XO – Mary

PS – A piece of good news! CT Scan results post Chemo #4, show no metastasis and tumor is stable (so no further growth). Woo hoo!

A Time to Mourn and a Time to Dance

Some of you may know that my mom’s oldest brother Dick died this past week. I have determined that getting older brings with it many hard things and realizations. But losing aging or ill grandparents and aunts and uncles is probably for me one of the hardest, especially growing up in an environment where family is the center of everything.

But as mentioned in my blog last week, I am lucky to have had my uncle in my life for almost 40 years, and he and my Aunt “Shoe” (Sue) have been an ever-present part of that life. With this presence, brings memories of Dickies love of Motown music and the dance the “Tighten Up” as well as his love of old scary movies and TV shows. I have a very recent memory of him convincing my two little boys (age 3 and 4) that Stanley the Friendly Ghost lived in my parents’ back yard. They are still convinced he is there and will be forever looking for him. Dick was a tremendous story teller, and I will truly miss his animated stories about old family members, growing up on Lotus, and Sr. Catchatin. I am honestly not sure how many of the stories were real, but they never got old.

Today’s funeral was the perfect send-off for Dick. Everything about seemed just the way he would have wanted it. During the Mass, I was asked to read the following passage:

There is an appointed time for everything,
a and time for every affair under the heavens.
A time to be born, and a time to die;
a time to plant, and a time to uproot the plant.
A time to kill, and a time to heal;
a time to tear down, and a time to build.
A time to weep, and a time to laugh;
a time to mourn, and a time to dance.
A time to scatter stones, and a time to gather them;
a time to embrace, and time to be far from embraces.
A time to seek, and a time to lose;
a time to keep, and a time to cast away.
A time to rend, and a time to sew;
a time to be silent, and a time to speak.
A time to love, and a time to hate;
a time of war, and a time of peace.

I have heard this verse so many times, but in the last few years, and especially few months, there is so much about this passage that rings true to me. The challenging and sad moments in life, I think we often want to wish away or avoid, but there is so much to be learned and gained from truly living and being in those moments. This week was another opportunity to remind myself of this and to receive what came with this experience of death and sorrow. Following on the heels of this sorrow and loss was a wonderful celebration of Dick’s life, a chance to be with family and friends, and more importantly to remind me how grateful I am to have my family. As my siblings and I were walking down the isle to bring up communion today, I had my two sisters-in-law at my sides. I kept thinking how lucky I am to have them, my brothers, my husband, my parents, and our extended family to lean on not only today, but also in my cancer journey.

Days like these also are a great reminder that we are stronger than we think. We march on. We laugh. We cry. We do wonderful things. We mess up. We try again. Because we have this opportunity to live. And when die will do so knowing we have done our best. And I am not sure that we or God could ask for anything more… XO – Mary

Cause I Gotta Have Faith…

From the time that I was a little girl, I was always interested in faith and religion. I am a Catholic and grew up going to Catholic school, but I was fortune to have experiences attending the Baptist church of my babysitter Sandra and also partaking in some Jewish services and traditions with our close family friends, the Berlins. As I grew older, I took classes in college on theology and world religions, and in my work life have been fortunate to have co-workers of different faiths to share their thoughts and experiences with me.

Now in this cancer journey, I am so grateful for the prayers of many faiths – various denominations of Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Buddhist, and agnostic but spiritual. I have been told of friends praying with their pastors and rabbis and the Dominican nuns (with whom my Aunt works) praying for me in community. There have been candles lit at the grotto at Notre Dame and in churches around the country. I am moved by stories of families praying around the dinner table, and the nine-year old daughter of my friend Laura kneeling before her bed on a regular basis to say a rosary for me. There have been prayer circles at the church where I grew up, Eucharistic adoration, masses said, and even yoga intentions. This last week, my co-worker Howard offered a Hebrew prayer for me at the Western Wall in Israel.

I say this not to brag, but rather to tell you that no matter your faith, religion, or spiritual path, you have lifted me up. The outcome of this journey will be what it will be, but with this support, I will carry on.

During a Holy Thursday service this past week with the Dominican Sisters, I heard one of the best sermons of my life from Sr. Maureen Geary. During this sermon she quoted Gabe Huck who said, “But we are church, and we are forever trying to love the world the way God loves it.” I thought this sentiment to be so beautiful and true. And in my cancer experience, today and over the last two months, I have lived it and felt it from you. May I model that same love…

XO – Mary

Candle Lit at the University of Notre Dame Grotto

Hebrew Prayer Offered at the Western Wall

Lessons I Learned in the Little White Car

When I was a little girl, my Aunt Mary would often pick me up in her little white car. I was extremely chatty and inquisitive, so these rides in the little white car were pretty much a dream come true. Mary and I would listen to “The Boss”, the Rolling Stones, and Peter, Paul, and Mary (to this day, I love Stewball and Lemon Tree) while making our way to the beach in Grand Haven, Kingmas Market, or Grandma Muffy’s house.

On these rides over the years we covered so many topics from the reality of Santa, to fitting in, becoming a woman, feminism, faith, race, social justice, and poverty and hunger in Africa. Mary talked with me about her experience with the Big Sisters program and introduced me to her idols, Mother Teresa and Gandhi. In addition to the values instilled in me by my parents, I think these conversations helped to shape the woman I am today, the things that I passionate about, and most definitely what I often describe as my “hippie heart.”

As we rode along, Mary would remind me of two important rules and ask me to repeat them: Be nice to people and act like you own the joint. Over the years she has told me that she would rephrase these, but regardless of the exact words, the essence still holds true. Confidence, kindness, and emotional intelligence have been absolute “north stars” for me as I have traveled through life in jobs, in relationships, in motherhood, and in my community work. And now, these values are even more important as I journey through cancer.

If I am being honest with all of you and with myself, chemo #3, wasn’t as easy as the first two. The chemo day itself was fine, and overall, I am finding mechanisms to cope, but the side effects lasted a few days longer, and I didn’t feel back to myself for about a full week. But I did my best to power through and not let cancer stop me from doing the things that feed my soul. I was able to attend a fundraiser for my good friend Mindy Ysasi, who is running for a city commission role. I also went to a 40th birthday celebration for one of my oldest friends from my childhood, Alicia Korreck (Williams). By Saturday, I was feeling much better and the sun was out, so I got to enjoy a walk in the woods with all my boys, including Gus.

This week, I am feeling great, and I am ready to tackle chemo #4 with confidence. After this round, I will be halfway done with chemo. Scans on Tuesday will track the progress of the chemo and ensure all other areas outside the rectum/colon still look clear. Soon, my doctors will also make the call to continue chemo straight through round #8 or “sandwich” the two weeks of radiation in between.

There are big things to come this week, but I will do it with the continued support of all of you. I am so grateful that your prayers, texts, cards, and well wishes continue. I am also grateful for the lessons I learned in the little white car, from my parents, and from all my aunts and uncles. I consider myself to be the lucky recipient of 6 aunts/uncles on my mom’s side (plus their significant others). Their path in life for one reason or another did not include children of their own. So they have poured their focus into me, my brothers, and their grand nephews and niece. They have been there for us during some of the hardest, most pivotal, and joyous moments, my cancer journey being just one of those. To Mary, Jimmy, Tracy, Sue, Dick, Mike, Sharon, and Annie, thank you for being in my life. Families are complicated and we aren’t always perfect, but we do our best, and I am grateful for you whether the times are perfect or imperfect.

XO – Mary