Cancer was a real drag. At its best, it was a significant interruption to whatever I had planned for 2023. An unwelcome curveball interfering with my otherwise pretty great life. At its worst, cancer put my mortality front and center with all the accompanying questions about whether I've lived a worthwhile and meaningful life. I wonder how many philosophers were born of trauma? I read Viktor Frankl's Man's Search for Meaning and concur with his assertion that suffering can be a source of meaning. Most of the time, cancer is just a downer.
One of my tactics to control the speed and shape of the cancer curveballs was to have a set of pleasant rituals for cancer day. That transformed the weekly cancer treatments into something with positive associations. For what it's worth, I also called them cancer obliteration days since that's what was happening. But it's still a long, repetitive, and sometimes lonely haul.
My sister's birthday is very close to Christmas. She'd receive "holiday + birthday gifts" throughout childhood and navigate holiday plans to celebrate her special day. As a result, she became adept at celebrating her birthday multiple times during her birthday "season." She would celebrate at dinners with one group of friends, go out to karaoke with another, do something with family, and perhaps have a day of self-care. It's inspirational. It inspired me.
Jessica and I had talked about a bye-bye boobies party and planned it for January 9. Still, my cancer diagnosis that day put a severe damper on those plans, and we canceled the party until further notice. Once I had an idea of the type and speed of the pitches I'd see during my treatment, I started to think about when and how I would add milestones to it beyond the therapeutic ones. Therapeutic milestones were the MRI after week 12 of carbo-taxol to see if I was going to surgery or to AC. Surgery was another milestone.
I wanted micro-milestones.
My son's baseball team has an iconic spring baseball trip to Florida, where they play many games in a short period. Before cancer, my husband and I planned to go to Orlando, cheer our son, and get to know the other baseball families. With Wednesdays as cancer day AND our daughter's birthday in the middle of the trip, we identified one long weekend where we could head across the country, stay in an Airbnb, and enjoy early-season baseball. Setting the objective to be healthy enough to travel from California to Orlando in mid-March was a micro-objective. Knowing that I could see my son and he could see I was ok was another primary motivator.
There were the team t-shirts Jessica's daughter designed that everyone wore in photos and for the chemo completion celebration.
There were visits from Shira, Julie, Heather, and Michelle.
The halfway-through chemo dessert quest was with Jessica, Ariel, Sivana, and me (we found Japanese desserts!).
My daughter organized the Play for Pink fundraiser with the support of the Menlo School's Boys and Girls Lacrosse teams, their competing teams, and the parents in the Menlo lacrosse community.
There was the "chemo's over" toast with my girlfriends - first champagne (or alcohol) in four months!
There was a bye-bye boobies party - in May rather than January.
There was Mother's Day - after surgery - with all my kids, my parents, and my sister's family.
In fact, there was something to celebrate every couple of weeks. They were small celebrations, but they made the six months of treatment and recovery (not including the six more months of immunotherapy because, for me, that just wasn't a big deal) go faster. There was always something to look forward to doing or someone to look forward to seeing. These drug-free uppers slowed the pitches and, at times, even made swinging fun.
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