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I’m Still Here!

Dear Readers and Friends of The Tarnished Years,

I know it has been close to two months since I posted an entry. Some of you may wonder whether this means I am no longer publishing the blog. Let me assure you this is absolutely not the case.

As you know, life has a way of throwing curveballs at us, and redirecting our best intentions along an unanticipated detour.  After my son’s wedding in October, I found myself running in circles to catch up on things I had let slide during the period leading up to the big day.

Once I felt I was ready to make my re-entry into my pre-wedding routine and get on with my life, I was hit with what I have come to call “the plague.” I imagine many of you have gone through, or are in the midst of experiencing, this illness that seems to take its cues from the invasion of the body snatchers. Mine started as a slight soreness on just one side of my throat, followed by a full-blown sore throat that made me wince every time I swallowed. Soon the stuffy nose, rattling cough, headaches, and numbing fatigue showed up to the party.

One doctor diagnosed it as a virus that I just had to wait out. She gave me the good news that it would get much worse before getting better. Yippee! After a few days, she sent me to an ER doctor who said I had either bronchitis or pneumonia—they are really the same thing, he explained—and prescribed an antibiotic.

Nearly two weeks later, the sore throat is gone but the other symptoms remain. When I cough, it sounds as if someone is popping bubble wrap inside my chest. I go through more than one box of tissues a day, and the headache is relentless. I still need to nap at least once or twice a day.

“Why is she complaining to us?” you may be wondering. First of all, who doesn’t like to complain when they are sick and tired of being sick and tired? But the primary reason is that I want you to know that The Tarnished Years is still very much alive, and I hope to have a new post—one that is not a litany of maladies—in about a week and a half. I hope you will hang in there, and I hope none of you have this same bug or, if you do, that yours comes and goes more quickly than mine.

Meanwhile, Happy Chanukah, Merry Christmas, and a wonderful holiday to those who celebrate something other than those two. As always, thanks for reading.

Be Kind…Be Patient…And Smile

When I was diagnosed with lymphoma in November 2010, I made a promise—to myself, to G-d, to the universe. I vowed that if I were to make a complete recovery, I would never, ever, ever again sweat the small stuff, or be rattled by petty annoyances. I also pledged to use all my senses to experience life on a visceral level, rather than going through the motions in a preoccupied, disconnected state.

From now on, I would revel in experiences through which I had previously sleepwalked: the warmth seeping into my pores on the first sunny day of spring; the joy and wonder of a baby wrapping her soft fist around my finger; the decadent delight of a food coma brought on by a sumptuous meal; the satisfying crunch I hear when walking through piles of dried leaves on a chilly November day; the consuming love I feel when both my boys are home and the entire family squashes itself on the couch to watch National Lampoon’s Animal House (or some similarly silly movie). Cancer had slapped me upside the head and hollered, “I hope now you realize what’s really important in life.” I had no doubt I would straighten up and follow those instructions.

I’m sure you can guess what came next. Once my doctor declared me to be “cured,” I went back to my former life, in more ways than one. I could go out and run errands because I no longer had to worry about being exposed to other people’s germs. I could eat salad and fresh fruit again. I didn’t have to go to the hospital every day for radiation treatments. I could get manicures and pedicures, and go to the dentist (yippee!). Eventually I could walk around without a cap and not resemble an egg.

But it wasn’t just the rhythms and activities of my daily life, that reverted to the way they had been before a routine CAT scan showed a misshapen lump growing under my left arm. Little by little—like an icicle melting as the weather warms–my outlook, my attitude, and my ability to tolerate inconsequential irritations returned to their pre-November 2010 state. I became angry when the cable guy was an hour late and called the dispatcher, saying awful, condescending things to him.  When we went to see Hamilton, and the understudy (who by the way was excellent) was substituting for Lin Manuel-Miranda, I fumed for the entire show. Instead of being appreciative that I had hair again, I cursed its frizzy texture. In fact, I hadn’t learned much from my life-threatening illness.

I recently made the acquaintance of a young woman named Aubin Mandel. She was diagnosed with esophageal cancer on October 27th, 2016. Aubin is 37 years old and had become engaged shortly before her diagnosis. This past winter, she underwent five rounds of chemotherapy and 28 rounds of radiation. On February 14th of this year, she had major surgery. Two months later, in April, they found a new mass on her liver, later diagnosed as stage 4 metastatic cancer for which she is currently undergoing another round of chemotherapy.

Aubin is remarkable in many ways, not the least of which is her optimism. She recently wrote a piece that she has graciously allowed me to share with you:

“Be kind. For everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about.”

This quote really resonates with me, and is something I try and do everyday. Everyone leads a different life with different struggles. I believe we are all struggling in some capacity and I know for certain that we will all face adversity and hardship in our lives, some more than others.

I have been able to keep my hair, this round of chemo and the last, and I look relatively healthy. I hear it all the time: “Omg. You would never know!!! ” I am extremely grateful for this, for my own mental strength, to not be reminded every single time I look in the mirror, and for being able to go out and face the world and not be looked at and treated as “sick.”

From the outside, for people that don’t know my story, life looks pretty darn easy, yet nothing could be further from the truth. Life is difficult right now. I struggle, I feel terrible for weeks at a time, I get sad, I have sleepless nights, I am scared, I am confused, I get angry with life and for everything I have had to go through, and for everything that has been taken from me. A lot goes on behind closed doors that most people know nothing about. And this is true for ALL of us.

“We have NO idea what it took for someone to get out of bed in the morning, to look and feel presentable, and to face the day.”

Be kind and good to those around you. The taxi driver. The waitress. The barista. The person in line in front of you. Your spouse. Your friend. Your mom. Have patience. Be understanding. Be compassionate. And, smile. We all have the ability to bring light and energy into someone else’s day. What a powerful thing.

“We cannot change the cards we have been dealt, just how we play the hand.” I am beginning to embrace my journey when I view it as a learning tool for myself or an inspiration for others.”

I am thankful everyday for the people that show me kindness. ❤️🙏🏻

Round 4, here we go!!!!

I have read Aubin’s powerful words again and again and again. They inspire me, as well as cause me to reflect on myself. My friends and I often bemoan the fact that we are getting “so old.” We wish we were teenagers, or back in college, or new parents enjoying our sweet little babies. We want to look young and feel young, be attractive and energetic. Truthfully, youth is beautiful. However, thinking about Aubin reminds me how vain and foolish and superficial these yearnings are–and how lucky I am simply to be alive.

Aubin embraces everything in her life, both the good and the awful. For me, the takeaway message is this: When you spot a new wrinkle on your forehead, or turn away from the mirror so you don’t have to see the skin under your arms sagging like an empty pouch, don’t beat yourself up. The paunch many of us now have, courtesy of time and gravity, is not a calamity. In fact, we are in a way fortunate to be saggy and have cellulite and gray hair, as the following quote reminds us:

“Do not regret growing older. It is a privilege denied to many.” (Anonymous)

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To end on a lighter note, in my last post I promised to “translate” the acronyms in the sample conversation at the end of the post. So here we go…SFLR: Sorry for late response; AFK: Away from keyboard; NP: No problem; WU: What’s up; NM: Not much; CYT: See you tonight; SLAP: Sounds like a plan; GR8: Great; GTG: Got to go; POS: Parent over shoulder; TBC: To be continued; TTYL: Talk to you later. Thanks for reading.