The Secret To Happiness Is....

I've had a few people tell me that I have a positive outlook on life, or tell me how inspired they are by the way I am handling cancer, or that I am doing a great job of still smiling. People ask me how I do it. It's easier than you think. You will be surprised at how easily you can adapt to life's ever changing moments. We do it daily without even realizing it. It's the slow process of evolution. We do evolve. We evolve and adapt to our new realities, whether it's a new career, the end of a relationship, or a physical change in our appearance over the course of a lifetime. You are stronger than you think you are, and the will to live is deeply ingrained in our own biology.

But let me say, I am not always giggles and sunshine. Far from it. However, I restrain from constantly whining or bitching about life or my circumstances or the weather or any of the other hundreds of things there are to complain about. What's the point? It's not going to change anything. All that's going to accomplish is make the people who are around me miserable having to listen to it. (Just get on any social media site as an example.) Occasionally I do complain. And whine. And sometimes my friends probably get tired of hearing it. Too bad. They are my friends. That's part of the unspoken friendship contract. In return, I listen to them when they want to unload a full day's worth of crap. But for everyone else, I try to put a cap on it.

I figured out a long time ago, that happiness really is an inside job. It's not something you can buy at Wal-Mart or TJ Maxx or even The Bass Pro Shop. It's not hidden inside a lottery ticket. And it most certainly is not found in the arms of someone else. At the most, all you will find in any of these places are fleeting moments that at the time may look like happiness and may even feel like happiness, but it's not. And I know that some will argue, but Jennifer, I love my spouse/boyfriend/lover/significant other and being with them makes me happy. Nope. That's still not real happiness. If your "happiness" resides solely on a new gadget or a friendship or a social status or a reputation or a career or a car or money - then hear me now - it will not last. Because every single one of those things can be taken from you at any moment. Then what? At some point in life you have to find happiness inside yourself. Be happy with who you really are and embrace it. Love life. Love yourself. That's where happiness is.

I wouldn't wish cancer or any disease on anyone. I damn sure wouldn't have wished it upon myself. But it's here. And I can't change that fact. I can try to fight it (which I am) and hope to overcome it (which I will) but I can't erase what has already been. This is the hand I was dealt, and I will play it. And even if I have to bluff from time to time, I will not fold. If I am beaten, it will be with grace and dignity. But I'm going to make sure it's one helluva game before I bow out. In the meantime I'm going to keep on smiling that Cheshire Cat smile, just to make them wonder if there's still an ace in my sleeve.

But the real secret to happiness is

June 8, 2015

Trying to decide what to write about tonight. Do I pick up where I left off telling my tale of how I got to this point? Or do I write about what it is I am feeling at this very moment? It's hard sometimes to write about the past, and give it due justice, while still struggling to juggle the present. So, today wins. This is my story; slightly out of order.

I had perhaps a moment of clarity today, or maybe it was a complete come apart. I guess that depends on how you look at it. I was on my way to a small event, called Look Good, Feel Better, to be held at the West Clinic in Corinth, sponsored by the American Cancer Society. Basically they bring in a few cosmetologists who give makeovers and hand out free makeup. Chemo does hellish things to your body, and it also takes a toll on your skin. So, the idea is to cheer us up and make us feel all pretty again. It's a nice idea. And I was delighted to be invited to attend by one of the nurses at my chemo session last week.

The thing is, front the time my feet hit the floor this morning, I was already in a foul mood. I've been trying feverishly to get some home improvement projects completed that have been on going for far too long now. I bought my house a little over four years ago, and have been plugging away at it continuously, adding something here, redecorating there. For the most part, it's been an enjoyable process, and I love seeing the efforts of mine (and other's) hard work pay off with each small remodel. Well, the latest "big" project has been to enclose my patio space on the back of my house. It hasn't gone well, and by that I mean, it just hasn't gone - mostly due to the incredible amount of rain we've endured the last couple of months, which has delayed everything and everybody. Plus, as I have found out, contracting work out is a headache all on it's own. But alas, I finally had the roots, so to speak, of my patio laid out and someone hired to pour the concrete. And after a few sunny days, I felt sure today would be the day when they could actually get the concrete truck onto my yard and pour. But no, I awoke to dark clouds and thunder rolling. Here's the kicker, I no longer cared. It's like I finally just said, "enough" and honestly at this point, not real sure if I care if the damn thing gets built or not. (Okay, that's probably not completely true, but it's how I feel at the moment.) I'm over it. If it gets completed before the end of summer, fine, great. And if not, oh well.

Plus, my house was a wreck. Being sick all last week, plus going out on the lake this weekend, I had gotten far behind on housekeeping. People ask what chemo is like. To be honest, it's unlike anything I've ever experienced before and sort of hard to explain. The particular kind I am on now is called FolFox and it's one bad mama. I guess the closest way I can think to describe it is, pretend you have the flu. Now pretend you have the flu every other week. That's how it goes for me. I pretty much just try to load up on anti nausea meds and sleep through as much of it as I can. And I also lose the majority of a week of my life every two weeks. Of course, I still have the normal daily to do's, just like everyone else - clean the house, feed the dogs, pay bills, run errands, buy groceries, etc. Add to that, endless doctor's appointments and tests out the wazoo. I'm soon to be scheduled for even more, since my last tests only further baffled my doctors. And of course, it's summer, and I want to be able to enjoy time with friends, boating, and general moments of fun and pleasure. But when you try to cram it all in a week, it becomes absolutely exhausting. I feel like I'm marathon running every other week, just playing catch up. Even the "fun" times, start to feel like a chore. Adding to this, the whole home improvement fiasco, and well, maybe you get the idea.

Also to note, last night I watched a great movie called "The Judge". If you haven't seen it, I do recommend it. Spoiler Alert: Robert Duvall's character has stage four colon cancer. In the movie, he deals with one of the side effects of chemotherapy; dementia. Memory loss is just one of the many side effects. Just last week, my mother told me she had to keep going behind me to close the refrigerator, because apparently I would just forget I had opened it. This scared the hell out of me. I don't like the idea of not being in control or knowing what the hell I am doing.... unless alcohol is involved, and then it's kind of expected. And it could have been side effects from the drugs I am taking too. Ativan, prescribed for nausea, is in the same class as Valium, so it pretty much knocks me out and induces a 'fog' as I call it. But either way, it unnerved me. Point is, the movie, albeit a great film, hit a little close to home.

It's not much of a surprise then, that driving along highway 72, headed toward what should have been an enjoyable event, I had a mini breakdown. Here I am driving along, when it hits me that I have absolutely no desire to go this shindig. None. Nada. Zilch. As a matter of fact, the idea of going anywhere near the cancer center and watching other cancer patients get facials, seriously depressed me. So much so, that I started crying. I kept driving, tears pouring, when I had "that" moment. And I thought, "Why am I doing this? I don't want to do this." That's when I asked myself out loud, "What do I want to do?" Right now, at this moment "What do I WANT to do?" I have spent so much timely lately doing things I don't really want to do. Some because they are necessary. Others, because I feel like I should. And even some still, just because someone else wants me to, and I'm trying to make an effort to make them happy. Turns out, the answer to my question was ice cream. I wanted some damn ice cream. So I turned around on the highway and headed to Sonic. I ordered a caramel sundae with nuts - hold the whipped cream. I sat there and ate every single bite of it. Car turned off, window down, no music, no real thoughts. Just me and my ice cream. It may really be the best sundae I've ever had. I did the polite thing and called to inform them I wouldn't make it, and hopefully someone else got to go in my spot, as space was limited. I did feel slightly guilty about that, but not enough to give up my delicious treat.

So what's the point of telling you this? I really have no idea. There certainly isn't a moral to the story, except maybe sometimes you just have to do what you want to do. Find time to make yourself happy, even if it's nothing more than a caramel sundae from Sonic. And maybe that's why I'm telling you this story... because it make me happy to do so. It's my story. I will tell it however I want to.

Oh, by the way, after my Sonic treat, I came home and cleaned my house with some kind of fury. And it didn't exhaust me or wear me out. Instead, I actually felt rejuvenated when I was finished. So much so, that I took a shower, and got out my laptop to do a bit of writing. And to all you who follow this blog, I want to say thank you for listening to my ramblings as I muddle my way through this chapter in my life, one small moment at at time.

The Thing Is

The thing about cancer is that it consumes your life. It invades every aspect of almost everything you do. It becomes the thing that defines you. People no longer think of you as you once were; all of a sudden now you're the 'girl with cancer'. You live it every single day. And even when you try to forget, someone or something is there to remind you. "Oh, yeah, that. I had almost forgotten." People are suddenly much nicer to you. You get hugs from casual acquaintances in the grocery store. You get messages from complete strangers offering their condolences. It's the first thing people want to ask you about. You find yourself repeating the same brief synopsis over and over. There are endless  doctor appointments. It can be overwhelming at times. And tiresome.

And that's not to say I don't appreciate the support I have been given. I do. I really do. I can not imagine having gone through this without the love I have been shown by my friends and family. They have listened to me when I needed to vent, they have provided shoulders for me to lean on, they have cried with me, laughed with me, held my hand, traveled to appointments with me, donated their time and money, and cheered for me with each small victory.

At the same time, it is a strange experience to be semi-famous (in a small town) for something I would rather not be known for. I guess if I had to sum it up thus far, I would call it "surreal". At times it still seems like some strange dream that I will wake up from and laugh about. "Wow. You won't believe this crazy dream I had." "I had cancer and it was this big, long, sort of terrible, but not all bad,  adventure - you were in it, too -  and it seemed soooo real." "Haha." But then the nurse jabs a rather large needle into my chest, and I'm all like, nope, this is definitely not a dream. That shit hurt.

Someone once told me that cancer was as much a mental battle, as a physical one. I know now what they meant. It wears you down. Some days it gets the best of you, too. I have turned to God and prayer many times, mostly at night, when the house is quiet and darkness has settled in; when the only sounds are the dogs snoring and the insects doing what insects do. The meditation has helped me keep my sanity. These quiet moments have become moments I treasure. I do hope there is a happy ending to my story. But I am determined, to make happy the life I have while I still have it, whether it's only days or many, many years. A good friend gave me a card a few years ago, with a quote on it, that I loved so much, I framed and placed on my coffee table as a daily reminder. It's the most simplest of statements, and perhaps one of the truest. And I shall leave you tonight with this quote:

"Life is what you make it. Always has been. Always will be."
      - Grandma (Anna Mary Robertson) Moses