As I sat down to post today’s blog, I already knew what I was going to write. I’m going to share with you one of many emails my mother’s friend Connie sent to my mom when Connie was first diagnosed with ovarian cancer. She is such an exceptional example of how humor and dedication can help you overcome the unthinkable.
Then I realized what today was: September 11th. Who among us can’t remember exactly where we were that day? What we were doing, who we were with, and those people we knew who were affected by the tragedies in New York, at the Pentagon, and in a lonely field in Pennsylvania.
I realized that, like Connie, we are all survivors of one thing or another. For some of us, it’s a health condition, for others it may be abuse, and others may be reeling from an unexplainable tragedy that is out of our control. Whatever your tragedy, may you find the strength and support you need to reclaim you life…just like Connie.
Journal Excerpt from an Ovarian Cancer Survivor
Here is the excerpt of an email Connie wrote to my mom and another friend. I love the humor, honesty, and positive attitude she shares. May it serve as a reminder for all of us.
Hi Sue and Lu,
Well, dinner with the Ovarian Cancer Awareness Coalition members was very good on all levels. Met some interesting women, talked at dinner with a nurse, a psychologist, and another woman whose profession was not mentioned.
I started off full tilt, glass of delicious red wine in hand, and almost insulted the psychologist. She was a bit too sensitive regarding folks who disagreed with her, but got over it after I told her she was amazingly beautiful, yada yada.
The nurse and I went toe-to-toe relating funny hospital stories. Her mother died of “OC.” She trains nurses in oncology, and since she was a patient and had a terrible nursing experience, she is ready. I really liked her.
There were lots of women to get to know. We all stood up and did the, “Hi. My name is Connie and I am…vital statistics, etc., including ‘staging.’” I don’t remember what “stage” I was finally pronounced as being, and my “vitals” weren’t very normal.
And since I don’t like to say the word, I described my experience as something like, “I was diagnosed as sick in October, had surgery, and chemo treatments, which were over in February. I don’t know what my stage is. Don’t remember or care to know. I just know that I was told I was okay, and I’m happy with that.” I thought I saw the psychologist jotting down notes on her cloth napkin.
I recognized another woman from an article in the newspaper. She has organized an annual benefit run in memory of her sister who died of “OC.” She is someone I’ll get to know later.
There was lots of information shared. I have a purse full of papers to look at. By the end of the night I was getting a bit of meeting fatigue. But the food was fabulous, so that really added to the general feeling of well being that comes from being with veterans of the same war.
So went my great adventure into joining a group whose name I don’t like to say and whose cause I don’t like to discuss. This will be interesting. The psychologist will need lots of cloth napkins.
Love to you,
Connie
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