Our Cancer: Doing A Little Growing

"Life is change. Growth is optional."

That's what the sign on the firehouse lawn said, in old fashioned black plastic letters that were a little crooked. The billboard had seen better days, too. But the message was right on target.

It doesn't matter where we fit in cancer world. Our life has changed. It's the growth part that is up to us. Do we decide to keep on fighting? Remember Leroy's words, "It's still a life worth living." It's also a life that is still worth growing.

We're going to do a little growing on the blog in the next few weeks, too.

Eventually, this blog will change names. When Leroy began writing, it was "My Cancer," because it was. Now it's become "Our Cancer," and that's what we'll be calling it when it takes on a new face.

It will have a new home at NPR. A place they call a Community Forum. A place where this community will be able to continue to share personal stories, but also open a dialogue on the many faces of cancer.

The technical details of this, I will leave up to Andy Carvin. He's a digital wizard at NPR. So when the time comes, Andy will join me here on the blog to guide you through the new steps of finding "Our Cancer."

-- Laurie

7:00 AM ET | 01-15-2009 | permalink

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My 'Dumbo's Feather'

Tomorrow will be five months since Leroy's death. And you're still lifting while I struggle through the pain and loss and the emptiness of missing him.

To steal a page from Walt Disney, this community has been my "Dumbo's feather." The cutest little elephant with the great big ears who needed his friends to convince him he could fly. Dumbo had no confidence. His faith had been shattered. But his best friend, Timothy Q. Mouse, and a community of crows gave Dumbo a feather and convinced him it held magical powers. With it, he could soar above the circus crowd.

That feather worked its magic until one day, it fell from Dumbo's grasp. As he plummeted to the ground, Timothy confessed to Dumbo that the feather really wasn't magic at all. He had the ability to fly all along. He just needed a little "lift."

My feather, your lifting, has been put to good use these last few days. And believe me, it's been tested. Just being back at work. So many times wanting to call or email Leroy. It had always been a natural part of the work day.

So I'm still holding on to the feather you've given me. Some day I will be able to put it in a safe place or maybe even pass it on to some one else. But for right now, Dumbo's feather is working overtime and I'm holding on tight.

-- Laurie

7:00 AM ET | 01-14-2009 | permalink

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Back At Work, Leroy Is All Around Me

Life has changed again. I went back to work. I mean, I actually drove to the office and sat down at my desk.

When Leroy's cancer required more care, I was able to stay at home and do my work. Since he died, I've been trying to patch the holes he left in my heart and in my soul. The time away from work was absolutely necessary.

So I've done all the things that you do after being away for so many months. Got a new phone pin number. Cleared off the desk that was full of old newspaper clippings. Said hello to old pals.

But Leroy is here, too. I look up at the wall and see him in Iraq. I see him in Hawaii . There he is in the emergency truck he drove during Hurricane Katrina.

He's all around me. I need to believe that as I take another step forward.

-- Laurie

7:00 AM ET | 01-13-2009 | permalink

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Finding A Cure With Sacrifices

I was at Hopkins last Friday. It was a business trip, but there I was, tripping over hundreds of images of visits with Leroy. There was just no way to escape it. It was our life for such a long time.

I try to soften the memories of the really tough days there. What I want to remember is Leroy looking at his doctors and saying, "Use me. Let's give it a shot." He had the courage to put himself in a place others were not as willing to go.

I guess he always knew the cancer would take his life. But if there was a chance that something he did would open up new kinds of treatment for others coming in that door after him, he was willing to try.

The flip side of that was true too. We would hear about treatments in early stages of development on our visits to the clinic. Promising attempts at killing cancer and prolonging life. Some of those procedures are being used now. They weren't quite ready for prime time when Leroy was a patient. Would they have given him more life? Maybe.

So, I find myself wondering, when the day comes and I hear that researchers have found the key to knocking out colon cancer, or discovering some new drug that devours cancer cells and makes the disease an annoyance instead of a death sentence, how will it feel?

If it means a world with less cancer, it can only be good. But I'll quietly thank Leroy and all the others who paid if forward. Without their sacrifice, it will never happen.

-- Laurie

7:00 AM ET | 01-12-2009 | permalink

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A Trip Back To Hopkins

I've filled up the gas tank to make the trip up I-95 today. It's been a while, but those instincts are sure to kick in once I get on the road. I'll look over to the passenger side of the car, to the empty seat where my co-pilot used to sit, sipping on his iced venti, non-fat mocha. The image is crystal clear.

Johns Hopkins, here I come.

It's time to check-in with the folks up there and see how the Leroy memorial fund is doing. What's the next thing we can do to contribute to the patients and their families fighting cancer? It's a good feeling knowing that those double-X, Leroy-sized gowns have made a difference. But there's a lot more to do.

I'm not sure why, but one of the hardest parts of going there is pulling into the Weinberg Center parking lot. Driving down that ramp just haunts me. It must trigger memories of anticipating long days filled with treatments and doctors and sad news.

It's a mixed emotions kind of day. I like seeing familiar faces. Old friends, medical wizards who worked their hardest giving Leroy quality as well as quantity in his shortened life.

And it's "Purple Friday." Few towns love their NFL teams like Baltimore. The Ravens have a big game against the Titans in Tennessee this weekend. Most of Hopkins goes purple. Even the chemo room takes on a purple hue.

It's all about team spirit, isn't it? In football or in cancer.

-- Laurie

7:00 AM ET | 01- 9-2009 | permalink

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An Exclusive Club

Our president-elect went to the White House yesterday. It was an invitation to lunch at an exclusive club he's about to enter. Only current and former U.S. Presidents attending. Barrack Obama collected advice, good counsel, and fellowship, he said, from these men who have lived the unique life of a U.S. President.

That's good, because he's going to need all of it, stepping into a world as complicated as the one we live in these days.

Listening and learning from experience always pays off. This community does it every day. I look at this blog as kind of an exclusive club, too. Leroy created it so he could express his day-to-day life with cancer. He helped so many through his experiences with the doctors, the treatments, and the daily ups and downs of living with the disease.

You shared back. Sometimes there was fellowship, sometimes advice, sometimes good counsel. Whatever the daily posting was, it gave this cancer club the power and knowledge to face another day in a world just as complicated, in different ways, as the one our next president is facing.

These last few days, this community has shown its strength through experience. The suggestions to Sasha and others in times of need can't be matched.

In this club, you all rock! I'm proud to stand with you.

-- Laurie

7:00 AM ET | 01- 8-2009 | permalink

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Cancer World Resolutions

There's one more piece of holiday business to deal with now. I'm not talking about returning sweaters and shirts that don't fit, or the dismantling of the Christmas tree.
This is the season of resolutions.

Watch any morning television? There are parades of people who have lost hundreds of pounds. They resolved to lose the weight and the message is, you can too. Losing weight in the new year is a slam-dunk resolution.

The experts tell us it's better to wait a few weeks before we make these promises. I'm not sure what the benefit of that is.

So what kind of resolutions can we make if we're living in cancer world? Patient or caregiver, do we vow to take better care of ourselves and each other? Do we resolve to find a way to stay in touch with the world we left behind?

Then there's the bucket list. That's a special kind of terminal illness resolution pact. Leroy didn't really have a bucket list. He always said he'd had a good life with lots of adventures.

He just wanted his life to stay as normal as possible. If he had resolutions, they revolved around cheeseburgers and chocolate.

Sometimes resolutions don't have to be about weight loss and exercise.

-- Laurie

7:00 AM ET | 01- 7-2009 | permalink

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Getting Through It With Help

She's "worn to the bone." Her "head is spinning." She says she "doesn't want to lose John, but yet sometimes, I can't wait for it to be over." That's how Sasha agonized over her situation yesterday.

Did you feel your stomach tighten? Did that overwhelming emotion of dread creep back into your head? I felt it when I read Sasha's comment. Any of us who have walked in those shoes feel her helplessness.

Sometimes, Death knocks on the door and then steps back. But while it lingers, it causes such anguish in the heart. There were hours when I looked at Leroy and wondered, did I do enough? Did I push him too much? Should I keep trying
now, or is it better for him to slip away under a blanket of morphine, free from the pain?

All the fighting, the treatments, the surgeries, the scans. The cancer had worn down that mighty strength. And that's when the cracks in my armor started to show, too.

Sasha, you are exhausted and you're hurt. You put everything you had into this fight, too, and this nasty disease will still take John's life. How can that be?

For as long as I thought I could do it alone, there finally came a time when I realized I needed some help. Feeling your words, you are there, now. This community is always here to give you support from a distance. If we could spare you this pain, we would. But you need someone to help pull back those covers. John still needs you. It's a very hard time.

Hospice, family, friends. You can't do it alone.

But you can do it.

-- Laurie

7:00 AM ET | 01- 6-2009 | permalink

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A Reminder That Keeps Me Connected

I'm constantly looking for "connections" to Leroy. I haven't lost it. I'm not expecting to find notes on a foggy mirror or an empty gallon of milk in the refrigerator. Just some gentle reminders that keep him close.

After almost 25 years together, there were times when one of us would be thinking something and the other one would say it. We could finish each other's sentences. So now it's especially nice when something triggers a flashback.

I've always loved orchids. When we lived in Miami, we had many varieties scattered around the house. Leroy would bring them home as gifts and they flourished.

Foolishly, I thought I had the touch to keep them blooming and beautiful. It wasn't me at all. It was hot and humid in Miami. The perfect environment to grow orchids.

So when we moved north to Maryland, it became apparent, quickly, that my orchids would suffer, curl up, and end up in the mulch pile. But Leroy would bring me another one, encouraging me to try again and hope for better results.

Gradually, I found a formula that worked. This is orchid spiking time, when the plants stretch out their new stems and begin to wake-up. The first of many of those Leroy plants has buds, and this morning, a new flower is beginning to open.

His words of encouragement paid off. And I have a wonderful reminder that keeps me connected.

-- Laurie

7:00 AM ET | 01- 5-2009 | permalink

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'Calm' And 'Flexible'

There are so many ways to start fresh. We've said goodbye to 2008 and greeted the new year.

Among other things, I've decided to paint a few rooms. It's such a labor-intensive chore. Before the painter strokes the walls, I'm clearing the way by carefully removing all the pieces of our two lives that have gathered on shelves over the years.

Every picture has a story. Almost every item comes from somewhere that was a story on Nightline or, in my case, NBC News. A good producer always makes time for good shopping.

So there I was, remembering trips to the Middle East, past Olympics, even old hurricanes. And then it came time to unplug the neons. Two neon lights I had made for Leroy the year we remodeled this house. One said "calm" and the other said "flexible."

He kept reminding me to "stay calm and flexible" during the construction. Not so easy to do. We were promised we'd be moved in by Thanksgiving. That year we ate pumpkin pie sitting on a blanket on a cold cement slab with no windows or doors. Not my idea of being moved-in. You get the picture. Leroy unwrapped those neons that Christmas morning and I can still hear him laughing.

"Calm" and "flexible." Good advice then. Good advice now.

-- Laurie

7:00 AM ET | 01- 2-2009 | permalink

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