A New Normal - My Guest Post for the SAMFund Blog

A New Normal: Adjusting to Life as a Cancer Survivor

For cancer survivors, life can be broken down into a two distinct time periods: Before Cancer (BC) and After Diagnosis (AD).

In your Before Cancer life, you go about with your normal daily routine, dealing with hassles, problems, conflicts, and other annoyances without thinking that you might be wasting time “sweating the small stuff” – because life looks to go on indefinitely, the little things are treated as BIG things, while the BIG things are often glossed over or paid little attention. The pumpkin your toddler paints right before dinner makes a huge mess but is utterly adorable; in Before Cancer life, you probably ignore the cuteness and obsess over the sloppy table you now have to clean up before you can feed your family.

After Diagnosis, however, a New Normal takes over. Suffering the pains and humiliation of surgery and treatment, you find that life is too finite, too precious to be wasted on complaining, criticizing, and crying… suddenly, that right-before-dinner arts-n-crafts project you child splashes on the table is just what you need to see, creation, beauty, innocence, potential. You love your job just a little more than you did Before Cancer (or you quit it if you don’t). Each kindness you receive through the physically and mentally grueling first months of your Life After Diagnosis seems greater than the one before. You survive, despite the dark times, through sheer grit and will, and the spirit to forge on, to fight for your life and all that is righteous, becomes ingrained in your psyche. This disposition becomes the New Normal for a cancer survivor.

Jealousy will rear its vicious head; people who witness your valiant struggle will envy your life’s successes. You can’t understand how anyone could be jealous of a cancer survivor. It’s likely that your surviving cancer wasn’t your only success; the spirit of the fight, the spirit of renewed drive has likely taken over other parts of your life, and those accomplishments are likely to be fodder for the insecurities of others. Embrace your haters, for they do not yet know the value of their own lives.

So, to my fellow survivors, I am humbled that you have joined me in this journey into the New Normal, the life you wouldn’t have led without cancer, the life you now embrace as a vital part of your human spirit.

Lucky to be a tenured teacher (with National Board Certification)

According to the NY Times, teacher hiring appears to be in dismal shape right now across the country. Here in Philadelphia, we are in the midst of a hiring freeze, most likely due to an overhiring of teachers last year and the emergence of "Renaissance Schools" - whereby most of a school's staff needs to be let go. Being protected by a union, these staff are placed at other schools throughout the district; hence, no we don't need any more teachers (but the schools who have let go of their staff do, right?).

It's all statistical shenanigans, if you ask me. At my school, we are about to go from 100 teachers to roughly 60. I can't even imagine how this thing will looks next year.

In these times of uncertainty, it's good to be a tenured teacher with skills and credentials that others don't have. It's easy as a teacher to hide out in your classroom and do your own thing, but if no one ever sees your face, if you don't make your presence known in your school, you're dead weight.

PS. The NY Times article quotes that "most of the 90 graduates" from UPenn's Ed School have not gotten jobs yet. My student teacher, Deep, however, is NOT one of them. She'll be rocking AP English down in DC!

Five Years Ago...

... it was cancer. I was wrapping up my first year of teaching (and wishing I had remained a secretary instead of undertake a Sysiphean task like educating teenagers) and was trying to integrate a new identity as a survivor while the cancer was still in my body. My surgery was scheduled for June 2005 - double mastectomy and reconstruction. I was so overwhelmed with the entire process of becoming a patient, but I fought on, doing my best to raise my infant child while my husband was away at his 5th rehab.

That was the year I turned 30, the reason I started this blog, to reconcile being a young adult with a deadly disease - and to avoid talking to people on the phone about my personal devastation.

For me, five years is now a lifetime away. How much has changed, the downward spiral that was my life now on an upward trajectory I could have never predicted.

Having cancer, not one but TWICE (local recurrence in Fall 2007), has humbled me, signaling to me that life IS wildly unpredictable and too short, showing me that pursuing altruistic goals is a way to also help myself. To be a conduit of kindness, to be present in the service of others... how rewarding it has been to make myself, my skills and knowledge available to others so that their lives can be better, even in the smallest of ways...

I truly believe that none of this would have been possible without cancer in my life, not that I wanted cancer, but apparently, the Universe needed me to find myself through the cancer experience.

Where is this coming from, this cancer nostalgia? A friend from elementary school was recently diagnosed, and I am writing this for her.

Plus I am breathing life back into this poor, neglected blog. Yes, I do love my Facebook, but it only scratches the surface, you know?

(Image courtesy of Postcard From Provence - check it out here!)

Here is the result of a perfect Indian Summer Day -

The Seventh Day

Should I be upstairs with you?
I should be upstairs with you.

Sunday night
And the weekend’s last delicious moments
Leave a satisfying taste,
Like sunshine bubble gum –
If such a thing existed.

I don’t want to spend
The last minutes of Sunday
Watching a western.

I want the quiet,
The time between dinner dishes
Loaded into the dishwasher
And when my mother deposits
My daughter on the front stoop
Red-cheeked from her
Visit with her grandparents.

Should you be downstairs with me?
You should be downstairs with me.

Because "Gatsby" is not a great book - Really, it's not...

How Much More

When Zelda died
She was in the hospital –
Of course, where else was one to die
In 1948?

She didn’t die of disease
Or illness
Or pregnancy
Or injury.

She died from fire.
How ironic she must have found it,
Dead as the result of incineration
Rather than her original ailment?

And her husband?
Long gone
And destined for literary fame
Bound to torment teenagers
In perpetuity.

At some point
Someone must say no.

At some point
We must stop indulging
The ramblings
Of alcoholics.

At some point
We must choose better books
For our children.

Arts & Crafts Shopping Inspiration

My Meditation

One blue bead
Two white beads
One blue bead
Two white beads
One blue bead

And on it goes
Until it is the right length

I intuitively know
When I have reached the right length

The mind can be quieted
Through the act
Of purposeful repetition

I create a piece of jewelry
A piece of generosity
A piece of gratitude
A piece of peacefulness

It is both for me and for you

Thank you, Friends' Central Lower School, for today's musings:

Time For Play

Once upon a time,

there was a princess.

One day she woke up by a prince kissing her

after a dragon made her fall asleep.

Then she made dinner for her princesses.

Then she woke up her Queen and King

with a tickle feather.

Our first book –

Mommy and Tabby

digesting our alfredo rontini dinner at the table

when inspiration interupts.

I put my hair in pigtails.

I take pictures.

Envy ensues –

Mommy! Those are mine!

Exactly what those means,

I can only speculate.

All this joy

the result of searching

for the right elementary school

(and I’m not afraid to admit private)

for my only child

whose orphanhood is one parent away,

who will get everything I can give her,

who will one day

be cognizant of her losses.

Till then, let’s play pretend.

And Another - The Result of Meditating in the Shower

As If A Life Depends On It

If you can recognize yourself in these lines,
then this was written for you.

It doesn’t matter, you say.
It doesn’t count, you say.
They can’t do it anyway, you say.

We tell a child that
can’t and don’t are forbidden words,
that life requires a CAN DO attitude.

So are you still a child yourself,
surrounded by your peers,
indulging in a power-trip while standing
in front of a class pretending to be a teacher?

You must teach as if a life depends on it.
This is not negotiable.

The difference between answering
5 or 6
is the difference between
a bullet in the head
or a fist bump.

Choosing the right word
means winning a scholarship
or staying in the hood
in perpetuity.

Picking the right answer to that final question
on a national exam
determines whether or not
a student gets to pick a major in the fall.

You must teach as if a life depends on it.
You wouldn’t let someone
kill your child, would you?

This is not a rhetorical question.
This is not negotiable.

I've decided to write a poem every day. Day 2:

The Foundations of Generosity

She needed my assistance
to open the picture frame,
A mere plastic rectangle from the dollar store,
An after-thought bought while finishing
my Christmas shopping –
What grandma doesn’t want
A framed photo of a child?

She needed to open the picture frame.
She is five.
Her friends are five.
She wants to frame pictures for them.
We’ve moved beyond
construction paper and Scotch tape, I see.
These creations are meant to be significant.

The gifts for her tiny peers
Were not my idea.
She has formed her own concept
Of giving,
Of generosity,
Of kindness.

I know I am a blessed and fortunate mommy.
I know those dollar store frames
Were meant for a higher purpose.

My First Poem In About Five Years - For Real (Thank You, Inspiration)

Write-Time Wishes

I close my eyes and wish for
A mind that never ceases,
Thoughts that whirl in perpetuity,
An eyelash on my thumb to blow into oblivion.

I close my eyes and pray for
The return of the words I could not hold back
When I was 18 and full of ego,
A mere wisp of a woman with nothing to lose.

I close my eyes and plead for
My voice,
My voice,
My voice,
And yours.

I close my eyes and dream for
The future of my child,
A collection of thoughts to share with her,
The reason I opted for life
Instead of a drunken duel
With self-induced hypothermia
On my apartment balcony
In the middle of January.

Another Waste of a Lawsuit

So an 8th grade girl in PA decides she is going to post a fakie MySpace profile of her principal. The profile includes words and actions that I am not even comfortable enough as an adult to retype here (but that can be read here). In short, "I'm a pedophile and sexual aberrant" will suffice as a summary of the profile.

As kids do, rampant talking about said profile ensued at school, principal found out, kid was busted and received a 10-day suspension. Pretty nice deal, right? She could have been locked up, charged with identity theft and libel, so 10 days at home for being a douchekid is a far sweeter punishment, RIGHT?

No. Her parents don't want her to miss ten days of school, so they sue the school district. Claim: They should have the right to punish their child as they see fit, that it's not up to the school to decide the punishment for them. For real.

WHAT? The girl set up an impostor profile of her principal which contained graphic sexual and illegal activities, set up this profile at her own home (where her parents presumably live and keep an eye on her), and she should not be punished for it by previously offended school authority(because, really, how can you trust these parents to follow through on any kind of punishment)?

This lawsuit is a prime example of why our country is falling apart. When parents defend the illegal actions of their children to degrade the reputations of others, we tell kids it's ok to be a self-abosrbed a**hole without compassion or control.

At least, the courts made the right decision, as if it was a hard one to make.

It's Just You & Me, Blog...

Dear Tabsmom Blog:

It has been too long since you and I had a meaningful conversation about the pursuits of life - career advancement, advocacy, child-rearing, cultural commentary, social commentary, the meaning of life, etc., etc. I apologize for the distance as of late. Blame it on Facebook.

Blog, here it's just you and me, a blank screen awaiting content, wit, insight, photos. If what I compose sucks, oh well. I don't think too many people specifically read this blog. You were created in May 2005 at the onset of my cancer chronicles. You were a bastion of communication and networking, and you saved me many minutes on my phone.

Now, my ADD-rattled psyche is quite at home on Facebook. My urge to entertain, to craft snarky comments, to question and receive answers - all those needs are met by Facebook. To what end are you useful anymore, dear blog? You are the equivalent of an empty journal. The pressure to fill you can be overwhelming.

Ok, not really, dear blog. I'm just busting your stones. I do plan to write a whole lot this summer, now that I have caught up on my rest and shifted my frame of mind. Tabsmom Blog, you are my original on-line home. I could never really leave.

Love, Tabsmom

School Year 2008-2009: By The Numbers

As the school year draws to a close (and that can't come soon enough), I present to you -

Ms. K's Annual Data Report

# of senior students I taught this year: 150

# of senior classes I taught: 5

% of this year's graduating class that I taught: over 50%

# of graduation projects I read: 140

# of pages in an average graduation project: 20

# of teen parents I taught: 7

# of teen parents who failed my class: ZERO

# of days I was out with pink eye (including days that my daughter had it): 5

# of days I was out for cancer treatment: ZERO!

% of my students who will be graduates of the Class of 2009: 93%

# of figurative hats I wore this year: at least 20

# of days till Summer Vacation BEGINS: 9!!

Congrats to the Class of 2009. You've made me proud (and tired).

Love, Ms. K

Dear Dunkin Donuts on City Line & Haverford Avenues:

Our encounters are on a near-daily basis, and yet every so often, you decide to mess with my morning and screw me over.

On occasion, you will yell at me, because I don't have my money ready. Being as though I am not a mind-reader, I can't give you money if you don't tell me what the total is! Duh! Plus, you seem to forget the fact that you are NOT a necessary service. I am GIVING you MY money - you should be grateful. Don't take me for granted. There are plenty of other places to get my breakfast in the morning, particularly from my own house.

Other times you will deceive me unknowingly... like this morning. When you handed me my coffee this morning, the napkin around the cup was wet. This could only be because you didn't put the lid on properly, right? Isn't that what I pay you to do, to put the lid on my coffee cup correctly? I adjusted the lid, and yet my cup continued to leak. Why would this be? There was no obvious explanation - until I took off the lid. My cup was broken!!! Even the smallest of cracks or breaks in a cup ruins the whole coffee experience. See evidence below.

DD, I will give you the benefit of the doubt. You are not that smart, for otherwise you would not be in business shlepping donuts and coffee. You would be doing something to help society, like create sustainable transportation or save the chinchillas or educate our youth. HOWEVER, next time my coffee cup has even one drip on it, I will block up the drive-thru line until the issue is resolved. And I don't care how much you yell. My daughter is 4 - I can withstand your whining.

kluvyacya2morrow - Tabsmom

Because I have worked too much and not had enough fun...

Being a responsible and together grown-up sucks sometimes. Not on payday, of course, when my bank account reflects my strong work ethic and successes - and not after I have paid the bills and still have a good chunkachange left over.

Being a grown-up sucks when I want to spontaneously take a drive to Atlantic City, stroll the boardwalk, and watch the sun go down... and I can't, because there is a child to be picked up from daycare, dinner to be cooked, dishes and laundry, and several hours of work to be done in order to maintain my reputation.

Being a grown-up sucks when the alarm starts going off at 5 a.m., and I still need another 5 hours of sleep to feel fully rested.

Being a grown-up sucks when you have to deal with varied unsavory and uncouth grown-ups who squash every morsel of joy and happiness out of everyone and everything they encounter.

Call me disillusioned. I am. I am eagerly anticipating my summer vacation when my time will be my own, not dictated by an alarm clock (Tabby is technically NOT an alarm clock, although the argument could be made otherwise), not bound by the mandates of work (any work I do will be of my own volition). This all sounds horribly self-indulgent. You could make the case.

Frankly, it's been so long since I've written that I'm slightly constipated with emotional word sludge (ew, disgusting image!). I think I might need to start writing poetry again. Yeah, I should do that.

PS. I need to reclaim my inner happy.

My Entry for the Google Photo Contest

My Entry for the Google Photo Contest

A Tourist's Eye - From the Edge

Picasso's Southern France Studio - Open to the public at last!

As always, I'm loving the artwork @ Postcard From Provence: Dark & Delicious!

Beautiful Brazilian Cuisine (courtesy of the NY Times Travel Section)