A New Guide (dog)?

On January 19, a black Labrador retriever came to our home. Yes, typically I'm the one who goes out and finds the homeless animals, but this time he came to us.

We thought he belonged to a neighbor three-doors down, as it is extremely rare to see dogs off-leash in our area. This guy was full of energy (and testosterone), but without a collar or (as we found out later) a chip .

After realizing he was not our neighbor's dog, I spent the next two weeks trying to find this guy's family. It was very strange, as if he fell to earth and found us. We could not find his owner, and we couldn't bring ourselves to call animal control ... what's one more mouth to feed, right?

He was extremely smart, house trained and loving. He really calmed down after having him neutered.

After Shelby's Transition:
Little did I realize that only a few short weeks later, Shelby would be diagnosed with cancer . During the weeks ahead, Victor (as he is now named), was getting used to his new surroundings but would not really 'connect' with me. After Shelby made her transition, a very strange thing happened -- Victor has become my constant companion.

He now makes eye contact with me, follows me everywhere, sleeps with me, and even walks the treadmill with me! It is as if he was sent to me to help me through the difficult times to come.

My Guide Dog:
I used to meditate often, and I'm trying to make it a regular practice again. My favorite meditation technique involves visualization and finding a "guide" for help with answers to problems. I first learned of this through a book by Dr. Dean Ornish, entitled, "Reversing Heart Disease."

I just gave-it-a-shot this morning, and guess what...as I was walking along the beach (that's my 'happy place!') looking for my spiritual guide for answers to life challenges. As I was walking along, waiting for an "encounter," Victor showed up. He was in his dog form, and spoke to me (not through words but through thoughts). Perhaps that's why he appeared on our doorstep and became a part of our life.

He brings a calmness to my life and is constantly by my side. I believe he's the spirit of Chelsea and Shelby, and perhaps my mom and dad, sent to keep me focused on the "now" of each day!

Than you God, for the wonderful gift of Victor!

Namaste,
Chele

To My Wonderful Shelby, I Love You!

Ode to my sweetheart:

On September 17, 2007, I posted a blog entitled,"Pet Therapy" where I featured my loving golden retriever, Shelby. Since that time, Shelby was diagnosed with advanced stage lymphosarcoma. There was little we could do except keep her comfortable and hope to enjoy her for another six to twelve weeks.

In the meantime, Frank was out of town for a month to work his 'dream job' at spring training in Arizona. He was a parking lot attendant for the Oakland A's . She was diagnosed about a week after he left, and we had to say 'goodbye' to her about two weeks later.

Shelby was truly my friend 'who loved me when no one else did' -- even when I didn't love myself! She always had soggy head from my tears, but she gladly absorbed them for me. In my true 'woo-woo' thinking (as Frank calls it), I've wondered if she also absorbed my cancer.

A Peaceful Transition :

Shelby was my second girl we've had to make the decision to euthanize it's always an extremely difficult decision. The last time, we were 'talked out of staying with her' by our veterinarian -- a decision that I've always regretted.

This was an extremely important moment for me. Since my diagnosis and subsequent treatment for Stage I breast cancer, my mother made her transition the weekend of my first chemo treatment, a good friend from high school made her transition in March, and Shelby was diagnosed with and made her transition on March 20 (first day of Spring).

They say that God only gives as much as you can handle. My psychiatrist says that we have to face all of our 'issues' sometime. According to him, we have a mind that can handle so much at one time, the rest we compartmentalize. As we handle those things our mind is holding (and empties), it's then filled with those things we've 'set aside!' It could be months or many years later...but, we must eventually address those issues.

While I still have much to 'address,' this moment with Shelby was very spiritual and awakening for my mind. It would seem that I wouldn't want to revisit that experience, but because of the profound spiritual nature of it, it actually helps me to keep my life on track --- keep things in perspective.

To be with her, in that moment, all other thoughts vanished from my mind. I've tried to meditate, to quiet the 'noise' in my head, but I've never achieved the level of mindfulness and 'living in the now' as I did that Spring day in the vet's office with Shelby.

Going Home:

While our house is filled with other wonderful dogs and cats, there was a definite emptiness when I returned home from the vet's office. My other 'kids" didn't react to her illness, but there was a real sense of loss for many days after we said, "goodbye."

She's remains with us now. Her ashes are in a beautiful Mexican-pottery urn (that Frank brought back from Arizona), and her spirit is alive in my life ... as long as I stay present in the now and keep my mind from being distracted by shenpa (attachment), I can feel her presence and comfort.

Thank you, Shelby, for your beauty, love, happiness, spirit and loving kindness you graced us with for such a short while! God bless you, sweetheart!

Namaste,

Chele

Can't Sleep...

So much time has passed. So much has happened. I know it's important to keep moving forward, but if I don't deal with issues, they keep coming back to me.

I've been through 4 chemo treatments, my last one was January 11, 2008. I've lost all my hair, as they promised I would. I've gained weight, experienced mood swings that put my worst PMS episodes to shame. Gotta love the steroids!

All-in-all, I had very few problems with the treatments ... for which I thank God and my family. The worst experience of all was the passing of my mother during my treatments.

She "made her transition," the Monday following my first treatment. She'd suffered with dementia for several years ... actually, we all suffered with her, in our own way. We lost her completely to dementia about 3 years ago. I had a very difficult time going to see her, especially during her last year.

I would visit her when it was less painful to see her than the guilt of not seeing her.

When I learned of my breast cancer diagnosis I was mad at her. Actually, I was mad at her dementia. It had robbed me of my mother, with whom I needed to talk with. I always talked with her about life issues, she always made things better. She was my mom.

My last visit with her was just before Halloween, 2007. I was to start my chemo treatments on November 9. I wanted to visit her before I started the treatments, because I knew I wouldn't be able to see her once they were stared.

I also wanted to tell her about my diagnosis, but I didn't want to worry her...if there was any chance that she possibly knew. I really her. I needed the comfort of my mother and her assurance that everything would be okay...just as she did when I was afraid as a child.

I brought her some things she needed plus "fun stuff." Mom always loved to decorated for holidays, so I wanted to take her some Halloween things ... including candy corn. The nurses also advised that I should buy her a baby doll, because she liked holding them.

For the first thirty minutes of my visit, she was asleep. She finally awoke as I finished marking her name on all of the items. She awoke with that far-off, frightened look. The look that always broke my heart, because there was no recognition of who I was.

She finally sat up, and made her way over to a chair next to me. I gave her some candy corn, and she brightened up. Mom always loved candy. At that point I decided to 'go for it' and tell her about my diagnosis. As I was explaining it, she seemed to connect with me.

I explained that they had successfully removed it and I was about to start treatment. I told her that I was scared, but that I felt that everything was going to be okay. At that moment she looked at me, and with the most clarity I'd seen in years, said, "Of course it will!"

Then, just as quickly as she seemed to be in the moment, she slipped away...back into the recesses of her dementia. I wanted to talk more...I wanted more from her...but that's all she could give. And, it was more than I could have ever hoped for.

I didn't realize that it would be my last visit with her, but I'm sure she did. She made her transition on November 12, 2007, but left me with parting words that keep me moving forward on my road through treatment and recovery.

I love you, mother. Neither of us are saints and we had plenty of difficult times and hurtful words...but, you were there for me when I needed you the most!

God bless you and keep you in his loving arms ... and, tell Dad "hi!"

Namaste,
Chele

Breast Cancer Awareness Month --- It's October!!

Good grief, October's almost over already -- and that means breast Cancer Awareness month is drawing to an end. So, in keeping with the "harpy" that I've become...(if you haven't already done so) GET YOUR MAMMOGRAMS THIS MONTH!!! NO EXCUSES!!!

There are some great sites out there with lots of activities to help inform everyone about the risks and early detection of breast cancer:

breastcancer.org is hosting a "Virtual Tea Party" on October 26 to raise awareness and funds for ongoing research and eventual cure of breast cancer.

Schedule your mammogram and support the cause through whatever source you choose. We're all counting on you!

Namaste,
Chele

Breast Cancer: Mood Swings, Lifestyle Changes, and Filling the Voids

MOODS:One of my favorite books (and movies) is, “The Shipping News.” The opening line from the movie is, “I’ve been given to the wrong family at birth and somewhere in the world my real people longed for me.” This epitomizes my sister’s view of her life in our family. She coped through convincing herself that she was an orphan.

Not me, I know I was born into our family. Just like the story, our family dynamic can be viewed as depressing, but it's really a tapestry with many layers of drama and comedy. And, although I feel I’ve been robbed of my self-esteem, I know I can gain it back. It’s all fixable – through that connection with my restless spirit I can open up and surface as a woman who understands my own possibilities and strengths.

The setting for the story is Newfoundland – which is a beautiful, fascinating place like no other on earth. It's a harsh environment where it's said you can encounter rain, hail, storm, and snow in a matter of 6-minutes. The locals even joke about the 4 seasons of Newfoundland: Fall, Winter, Misery and Summer.

Emotionally, I’m Newfoundland -- I'm not easy to live with as oft times I'm an emotionally harsh environment! But, I’m learning to embrace my moods and stop apologizing for them – for they are me and I am them!

SCARS:I just finished an article entitled, “Scars Fade,” in Fall 20086issue of Every Woman magazine. Some women view themselves as ‘scarred forever,’ or that ‘their bodies have let them down.’

I view my scars very differently. My scars are a sign of healing, hope, support, and purpose. I feel that I've let my body down! But, each time I view my scars (or, get a twinge of pain), it strengthens my resolve to take better care of myself. The marks on my skin are reminders of my gratitude for the many people who provide healing, hope and support.

Just like the yin-yang tattoo on my left breast, the surgeon-made ones on my right breast remind me that I am an integrated spiritual being of mind-body-spirit. My body cannot betray me and I cannot betray it. My mind cannot betray my body; and, my spirit is not "out there" someplace. As I meditate on this, I become more centered in my life.

Namaste,
Michele

A Glimpse Into My Past

Still in search of "dad's nipple," I attempted to get information from his most recent doctor ... Dr. Tietze (yes, it's pronounced teats!), but the information is too old to retrieve. About dad's doctor's name, this really is a strange mix of coincidence ... my mother's maiden name was Titman, my father had a mastectomy, and his doctor's name was Teitze ... now, I have breast cancer! Hmmmm!

I got a "how are you doing call" from my sister last night. It's always great to hear from her...we laugh together! We ended up talking about memories of our past ... why are some things so difficult to delve into? Why do they make me sad? Perhaps it was the dysfunction of the family or just the thought of how quickly time goes by. Talking with her about it is sometimes better than therapy.

Memories of things that seemed to normal at the time are bizarre in present light. Our parents didn't buy their first house until I was 12, so during the "rental times" we could not have dogs or cats ... but, we had a bird! Buddy Boy -- a little green parakeet.

It's very difficult to walk parakeets, and they're really not too adept to learning "tricks." We, of course, figured we could teach him to talk. I think we taught him to say his name...but mostly he just spit a lot! Not unlike most of our stuff, he was just slightly defective. Sometimes we would let him out to fly around the house, but he suffered with a mild case of diarrhea. Obviously we didn't let him out too often!

His "problem" could have been caused by the trauma induced by my brother and sister when they decided to put him into an empty potato chip bag to see if he could "peck" his way out. I was mortified! At this point, I believe, they sat me in the sink full of dishwater ... threatening that if I told mom and dad I would suffer a far worse fate. Hey, maybe I'm gaining some insight into why I've blocked out many of my past memories!

My Chatty Cathy doll had a speech impediment ... not a stuttering problem, just a slight hair lip. This was probably caused from upon being asked if I wanted her for Christmas I responded with repeated,"would, I! would I!" (resulting in her "hair lip, hair lip!") Sorry, bad joke...not very PC, and not intended to offend anyone.

I was a very imaginative child (oh, let's call it what it was ... I was a strange little kid). Since I couldn't have a real dog, my sister drew a collie onto a piece of cardboard box ... a pretty good likeness to Lassie, I must say! One of my favorite shows! I would run around the house (and, yes, sometimes even to outside) with this 2 dimensional cardboard dog ... one side colored the likeness of a beautiful collie, the other still bearing the printing from the box ... Charmin! But that didn't bother me...this was my dog, my pal, my friend. He was, of course, a fair-weather friend because he tended to disintegrate during periods of rain!

After moving from that phase, I decided on a career in musical theatre...that would be my front porch! I would bellow out tunes from the "HMS Pinafore." I really needed to be watched...why did they even let me out of the house?

I would play one-on-none basketball ... and, would lose every time!

I was a very active child...and for the most part had a fun childhood. Even if I inherited a mutant gene from my father, at least I also inherited his mutant "humor gene!" That's what keeps me going! Thanks, dad! -- By the way, is that "felt?" (one of his many great lines ... he would feel the material on your shirt and ask, "hey, is that felt?).

He would also put a small mirror in his hands and come up to me and ask, "hey, want to see a monkey?" ... then he would open up his hands and ... well, you know the rest!

Shortly after he passed away I was looking around his tool bench and found a small dime store photo-booth picture of me...goofy grin, cat's eye glasses and all! It made me laugh and cry at the same time...he used to tell me he kept it there to "keep away the mice!"

Another thing that keeps me upbeat is listening to Steve Martin cds. I've started playing them in the car...he's always made me laugh. Not only does his humor make me happy, but it takes me back to those times when things seemed so much more simple and carefree!

So, keep smiling and keep laughing...life's too short to be taken seriously!!!

Namaste,
Chele

Pet Therapy

Another "bad Monday." The emotional drain of trying to locate information about my father's surgeries, flashes of excerpts from my pathology report that float through my, worries about treatment options, angst about genetic mutations, recurrence and general panic about what the future has in store for me sent me into a tailspin.

We are blessed to share our house with several cats and dogs...each one a blessing in their own right. As I'm writing this blog, my short-legged, slightly plump black cat, Gus, is sitting on my shoulder. He's my "mantra" cat, with a very loud, soothing purr. I call him my "hat cat" because I usually awake with him sleeping very near my head.

My true caregiver and spiritual guide is Shelby, our 9-year old Golden Retriever. Dr. Jean Houston, renowned scholar, philosopher, and teacher describes the spiritual quality of pets in her book, "Mystical Dogs."

Shelby is very attentive to my emotional needs and sensitive to my crying, but above all else, she keeps me in the moment. Her therapy methods are simple ... she just simply "is." When I pet her she helps me slow down my breathing. When I look into her soulful eyes, she calms down my "chattering mind," and brings me back to the awareness of the now -- no worries about my cancer, treatments, prognosis, finances, work issues, or relationship challenges -- just the experience of interacting with her.

And, her love is unconditional. I once saw a poster that read, "Your dog loves you even when no one else does." Amen!

Namaste,
Chele