Translate

Monday, December 06, 2010

Poor Me?

The other day I my spoke to my old accountant and friend who is based in Toronto. We haven't talked for 13 years! I knew Mark back in the day when I was a young entrepreneur earning mega money in Toronto. We belonged to the same weekly business networking group. That was the height of my earning - I was 22 years old.

It's incredible just how much I've changed. At the time, I was doing what most people did in Toronto - I measured my success by how much money I made and which neighbourhood I lived in and how nice my house and car were.

Then I went on my first big trip overseas. Three months backpacking through Europe on my own changed my entire perspective on life and what I felt was important. When I returned to Canada I just could not seem to settle back into that money making routine. My priorities shifted. The only thing that seemed important was living life... material "stuff" just didn't give me the same satisfaction.

12 years later I moved to New Zealand where life is viewed VERY differently. It makes more sense to me. You can get a job if you have the right personality, not the right qualifications. Houses are smaller, you spend more time in the garden. You own less "stuff". It's okay to have one television... they're expensive!

But the biggest difference is the fact that people seem to worry less about their future. The Kiwi Saver plans are slowly taking off but I think in general there is a very different take on money here than back in North America.

Until I had that conversation with my accountant, I was thinking that my life was pretty damn amazing. I live in a really cute cottage near one of the best beaches in the world. I don't have to worry about paying rates or taxes and if anything goes wrong, my landlord happily comes to fix it. If I want to save some money, I rent a room out to travelers. If I want to travel, I find someone else to move in while I'm off galavanting around. I work from my back garden and I make enough to comfortably pay my bills. I don't own a car but I drive a really sweet scooter - pink of course - which costs $8 to fill with premium petrol (and that's at $1.88/litre). I take care of myself mentally and physically by going to the gym (yoga class mainly) about 6 times each week. I volunteer whenever I can - which is often - for charities that feed my soul. I have a massive garden where I grow fruits and vegetables year round (pumpkin has become my favourite veg).

I don't have a lot as far as assets go but I also don't have any debt. If I lost everything in a fire or a tsunami or whatever, I know I'd be fine. I'm sensible, I have insurance. I have some money saved - not a lot - but plenty enough and I continue to save. I think I'm better off than most people I know.

BUT... that's not at all how I felt after talking to my accountant. He told me he was worried about me. Am I making enough money? Do I have a plan for my retirement? I felt inadequate because I don't have any assets. What happens if I can't work?

Don't worry, I have a plan! If everything turns to custard, I am going to move to Cambodia (or Thailand or Bali) and live in a hut and work with orphans! My accountant was horrified.

My friend Jen was over the other day for lunch. She has recently bought a lifestyle block (a small farm) with her husband. They were once big city people from the UK but always wanted a big piece of land to live their dream. She is working in a honey factory down the road... a honey FACTORY! She can't believe it herself. She is a little embarrassed to tell her friends back in the UK that she's a factory girl but she admits that she's happier than she's ever been. She has no workplace stress, she enjoys her job and it's 5 minutes from home. She is living the simple life. She doesn't have to worry about what she wears or how she looks. It just doesn't matter. She has more time at home and more time for herself. Isn't that all we really want? For some reason we think that we're meant to work hard now, save lots and lots of money so that we can take time off to retire... but why not just work in the honey factory a few hours a week?

Then I hear about people who earn hundreds of thousands of dollars a year, have exorbitant mortgages and car payments on ridiculously impractical vehicles, live WAY beyond their means and actually OWE more money than they are worth. I just don't get that. How does someone let that happen? But it does... more than a lot of us realize. The price that is often paid to be wealthy is the lifestyle that you have to maintain once you have it.

Recently I was talking to a male friend of mine who has met this amazing girl. The trouble is, they live in different countries - but he's never met anyone like her. I know he likes this girl a lot, so I asked him, "Can you see a future with her?" His response was, "How could I possibly know that?" Haven't you thought about it?

Yet we live in a world where we're expected to put our money into a retirement fund. We're supposed to be planning for a future that isn't even guaranteed. It's easier for us to think of money than it is to think about investing wisely into our future with a person who awakens feelings in our heart. Now don't think that money doesn't provoke feelings... just ask someone who has won heaps of it or who has lost heaps of it or who needs some of it. Money has become more important than love.

People say you can't live on love. Oh I believe you can. What good is it to be stuck alone with bucket loads of money? When you're in love, it doesn't matter where you go or what you do, all that matters is being together.

What if I don't live to 65? Boy, I'll be really ticked off knowing I could have traveled more while I had my health.

If I'm still alone and I have no money in savings at 65 I'll be living with my friend Jen on her lifestyle block working at the honey factory down the road... unless something really terrible happens... then I'll be working with orphans.

But that's assuming I'm going to be an old maid! I hardly think that's possible. I'm gonna be JUST FINE. I just have to not worry.

Wednesday, October 27, 2010

Atonement

I go through periods of writers block.  I need to take the time to process my thoughts until they make more sense. Sure, I could write about whatever comes into my head (which is what I'm doing now) but often it reflects a time that is clearly what I'd like to call "a growth spurt".

It bothers me when I don't write. I can't seem to formulate words to describe anything that is going through my head. I have a zillion thoughts but not one word.

As always, I think about life - my life - and my purpose. What am I truly doing here? Have the choices I've made been smart ones? Am I living my life to its fullest potential? Am I truly following the path that I'm intended to follow? What is next?  Then I must remind myself to live in the present and stop thinking about the past and trying to predict the future.  I'm getting so much better at being grateful for now.

Last week my dear friend Chalium preached a sermon at church. It was a wonderful sermon... but what really resonated with me was the word "atonement". That's the word I've been searching for. The rest of the sermon (as wonderful as it was) escapes me... but the word atonement repeats over and over in my head.

That's exactly where I am. I'm in atonement.

I went to see the movie, Eat Pray Love last week (and I'm going to see it again tomorrow). I can relate SO much to the main character, Elizabeth. She goes off on a journey to discover herself after realizing that she was in the wrong life. The only major difference is that she found herself after one year... and here I am how many years later? I'm still finding myself.

My life was so restless for so many years. I was SO terribly dissatisfied, unhappy, unsettled. As a result, I couldn't just stop and allow anyone in. Looking back, there were some really wonderful teachers who came into my life who wanted to show me how lovable I truly was. The trouble was, I didn't love myself then. I was a funnel, love came in and just went right out the other end. I didn't even realize it was happening. I had no idea how lucky I was that there was always another wonderful teacher wanting a chance to love me... it was fruitless. I could not open my heart to love no matter how great that love was on offer.

Hindsight is always 20/20. I took love for granted. I thought everyone had offers of love like I had. There always seemed to be opportunities to find love around every corner. I was lovable but I couldn't see it! I was blind and I was spoiled. I was clearly not ready for it.

It was imperative to my personal growth to change my environment... and that's when I came to New Zealand. My experience with love was TOTALLY different here. So the lesson began...

One of the first things I noticed when I got to New Zealand was that I wasn't getting hit on by men. In fact, when I walked down the street I seemed virtually invisible. It was such a strange feeling, I liked it at first. That NEVER happened in Canada. Everywhere I went, men would stare, honk their horn, chat me up at Tim Hortons... but not here in New Zealand.  And it had nothing to do with my age either.  When I went home to Canada I lost my invisibility shield and I was a a walking target for loose flirtation.  My options here in NZ got narrower. Before I knew it, I felt desperate. In the blink of an eye, I forgot how lovable men thought I was, because I never saw it in myself.

So that's when I went from being oblivious to love, to swinging the pendulum all the way to being desperate for love. I love this paragraph from Eat Pray Love, it pretty much sums up who I became when I moved to NZ:

Moreover, I have boundary issues with men. Or maybe that's not fair to say. To have issues with boundaries, one must have boundaries in the first place, right? But I disappear into the person I love, I am the permeable membrane. If I love you, you can have everything. You can have my time, my devotion, my ass, my money, my family, my dog, my dog's money, my dog's time - everything. If I love you, I will carry for you all your pain, I will assume for you all your debts (in every definition of the word), I will protect you from your own insecurity, I will project upon you all sorts of good qualities that you have never actually cultivated in yourself and I will buy Christmas presents for your entire family. I will give you the sun and the rain, and if they are not available, I will give you a sun check and a rain check. I will give you all this and more, until I get so exhausted and depleted that the only way I can recover my energy is by becoming infatuated with someone else.

My "love" experiences in the 8 years I've lived in NZ have not been pleasant. I've had two very bad relationships. One relationship was incredibly controlling and became physically and emotionally abusive after I loaned him a very large sum of money (the abuse started when he claimed the money was a "gift" and he didn't owe me a cent).  In the second relationship I tried to save him from his own toxic life in hopes I could make a difference.  It worked for a while, he gave me complete control of his life (which I never asked for or wanted). Then there were a few "obsessive" love experiences thrown in for good measure. Men who desperately wanted me to love them and I desperately wished I could.  And my all time favourite - the emotionally unavailable men (who I am drawn to like a bee to honey) who happily string me along but have absolutely no ability to love anyone but themselves. I am beginning to wise up and realize that love IS a two way street and that I'm not actually desperate after all. I needed to experience those bad relationships in order to truly appreciate when a good one comes along.

So now comes my period of Atonement... which has been ongoing for more than 2 years... but has really only hit me recently. I have been feeling tremendously guilty for the way I rejected love. I needed to make amends, to acknowledge the hurt I caused and to ask for forgiveness. My recent trip to Canada brought closure to every one of my past relationships. As painful as it was for me to accept, they have all moved on and they are all in happy, solid relationships now. They all have loving long term partners and they all have families. They forgave me a long time ago. I was the one who hadn't been able to forgive myself. I was finally free to move on.

I am such a different person now than the person I was.  These last two years have been especially important in my personal growth. It's been the first time since I was 14 years old that I haven't had a boyfriend. I've been entirely on my own - quite a humbling experience when you aren't used to being alone. In many ways I've really enjoyed it. I love the freedom of my independence. I love not arguing or having power struggles with someone. I love the things I've accomplished on my own.  I have impressed myself with what I can achieve and do.  I have totally and completely fallen in love with the woman I have become. I couldn't say that before. I really didn't like the girl I was.

I went from being a taker, to being a giver (to everyone but me).  Now I'm finding the balance between both by listening to my own needs and giving them freely and generously to myself, no more void to fill for anyone else. I am doing yoga every day and discovering the amazing changes it's made both mentally and physically. I'm saying "no" to others and saying "yes" to myself. I'm putting my needs first for a change.

But I have missed having companionship. I miss sharing all the exciting moments with that one person. I miss having someone around to take care of (cook dinner for, mend shirts, scratch their back) and who is there to take care of me. I miss the physical intimacy. I miss the partnership. I'm afraid that I'll never find that again. But I don't miss it enough to go out with any man who comes along. This time I'm going to be choosy. My greatest mistake was not being choosy enough. If you wanted to love me, I'd take you on board, either to fill the void or because I needed a project.

This blog entry is my most revealing, most vulnerable piece yet. Writing it is a cathartic experience, providing relief from held-in, deep emotional trauma. I know that it's important as part of my letting go. My life has always been an open book, I've written about my childhood, my relationship with Brian, my hysterectomy, my faith experiences, etc.  Writing about my heart should be no different. It's my life and it's here to share with whomever wishes to listen.

I am no longer looking for love. I'm going to stop worrying about whether someone is out there or not, because deep down I know he is and he will appear at just the right time and he will have no trouble loving me despite my quirks.  I will know him because I too will be able to love him easily.  It shouldn't be a struggle.  I love my life just how it is and I'm in no hurry to change it. I am however, open to receiving it if it happens to cross my path - but only if cupid's bow hits both of us in the heart.  No more one sided love! I will recognize it as the real thing and I will cherish it.

Until then, I'm happy to see where life takes me. I may not understand it at the time, but just like my writer's block, there's always a good reason for it to turn out the way it has.

CanTeen Wax Wars

On Saturday October 23rd CanTeen held another big fundraiser - Wax Wars. Our local Police and Fire Departments raised over $5000 for the single event and our brave boys in blue stripped down to their superman boxer shorts to have their legs, backs and chests waxed for a good cause - young people living with cancer.

There were also opportunities to have moustaches, beards and heads shaved. Men gave up their Tom Selleck look to reveal a younger, softer side. Imagine not knowing what you look like without facial hair... the last time this gentleman saw his upper lip he was starting puberty!



And let's not forget the wonderful brave souls who shaved off their gorgeous manes, who worried whether they had a nice round head or not. This shows dedication and tremendous support to those who don't get a choice in the matter.




Even our local MP Simon Bridges came out to support the event. He hardly flinched when his legs were being waxed... at one point he said it was actually a fairly pleasant experience. The girls from the beauty school admittedly did such an amazing job to try to make this as painless for the boys as possible... but Simon had far less "fur" than this...



Ouch is right. Poor lad. He won't forget this experience.

I was there to offer pre-waxing massage to help ease the tension. I was surprised more of them didn't take me up on the offer - but apparently they couldn't tolerate a distraction from the mental preparation they needed to "psyche" themselves into it. Still I found a willing participant or two...

Take THAT for the speeding ticket I got doing 57kms/hr in a school zone! ;-)



But when you think about what it feels like to have cancer, this pales in comparison. If this is all it takes to raise awareness and funds to send 30 teenagers to camp or a group of survivors and their peers off to jump out of an airplane or to swim with dolphins... well doesn't it seem worth it?

Thursday, September 09, 2010

White Water Rafting vs. The Lake


I've just spent the last 5 weeks in Canada. The number 1 question people ask me is, "Why do you live in New Zealand?" Many people couldn't imagine living so far away from their family. So I thought I'd write about why I decided to make New Zealand home.

First of all, I just want to say that I have strong instincts (and learning to trust them more and more). For whatever reason, I always felt very restless living in Canada. I was the sort of kid who always suspected I was adopted because I never felt like I fit in. In school I was "popular" but I didn't fit in to any particular "clique". I floated around and made friends with everyone. I changed highschool 4 times. I made loads of friends but not a lot of very strong bonds... that came later... with lots of work... and facebook.

Recently there was an article published from CBC saying that facebook attracts narcissists with low self esteem. Of course I am going to disagree (being the narcissist I am - yeah right). Facebook has allowed me to get to know my friends on a much deeper level. I love people. I am friends with every person on my facebook page. I like to think that they are on my page because they like me too. I don't think there is anything wrong with your friends posting a comment on your photos telling you that you still look great after 20 years or living vicariously through your travels. Friends are there to boost your confidence. When did that become a bad thing?

Sorry... I digress... back to my blog;

I moved a lot too. I could never really figure out where I wanted to live. My problem is that I like everywhere. I am one of those people who wants to experience everything. It's a blessing and it's a curse. I had moved 15 times in 13 years. It really started to get to me. With each move, I had to start all over. Having my own business helped but if I had stayed put I would have established myself in my career... but that's not what I wanted. At the time, I had no idea WHAT I was searching for.

So when I took a trip to Australia and New Zealand in 2003, my expectations were low. I knew very little about NZ and came here only because so many people told me how beautiful it was. I planned a little jaunt over from Aussie, intending to stay for a few weeks tops. It's hard to explain what I felt when I got here. All of a sudden, it became clear that this was where I belonged. For the first time in my life, I felt switched on.

New Zealand makes sense to me. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE Canada and I had a lot going for me. I had settled in Stratford Ontario which I absolutely loved, my business was thriving, I had great friends... but I was so dissatisfied. I enjoyed my job but I needed more freedom. I was TOO busy and I couldn't turn business away. The busy-ness of life felt overwhelming. I was always off to do things with friends on the weekend or chasing after family that it hardly felt like I was ever able to just relax. I was absorbing all the stress. Thing vibrate at a higher frequency in Canada and so was I.

Life in New Zealand ticks along at a much slower pace. The vibe is slower and I can feel it inside of myself too. It actually took me some time to learn to allow my body to slow itself down but ultimately I knew that I would extend my life on this frequency. There are fewer people, fewer cars, fewer options, fewer distractions... and that's just what I needed.

Allow me to use this metaphor to explain it:

To me, Canada is like a white water rafting trip. It's a lot of fun when you're in the raft (often with lots of other people). You have to keep alert because the rapids can get really fast which causes the adrenaline to pump in your veins. But if you aren't careful, the raft could tip and then all of a sudden you're traveling down the rapids on your own trying to keep your head above water. It's a thrill but I always felt like I was drowning.

New Zealand is more like a lake. It's vast and clear and safe to swim in. You pretty much know what to expect the moment you step foot in the boat. It will be a smooth and pleasant (and dare I say it, boring) experience. I have been learning to swim here for 7 years. I am pleased to report that I am very gifted at treading water.

As much as I enjoy white water rafting, I couldn't to do it every day (I'm the rowdy one in the middle of the raft in the photo above btw which was actually taken in the Swiss Alps which is a pretty laid back sorta place). The constant adrenaline isn't healthy. My blood pressure was through the roof and I needed to look after myself. I have less in New Zealand - less stuff, less money, less options, less stress. When I want more, I just go to Canada for a few weeks and that does the trick. I feel like I've made the right decision. The swimming lessons are paying off. I've toyed with the idea of moving back to Canada but I'm still testing the waters. I'd definitely need a swim coach.

Another thing I love about living in New Zealand is that I actually feel like I can make a difference here. It might be the simple fact that there are fewer people therefore less competition but it is also a place where personality goes a long way. My community needs me and I feel valued being here. I'm not saying I wasn't needed or value in Stratford (because I know I was) but it was more about gaining confidence to make a difference through volunteering my time on whatever needs doing whether its on a charity committee, helping at church, visiting rest homes and running errands for people, or just popping in to have a cuppa tea with someone who needs company. The biggest difference between NZ and Canada is the amount of extra time I have in a day. I don't necessarily want to get paid to do these things. I do them because they make me feel really good. It's amazing how many people just don't get that. I wonder if it has anything to do with not growing up in a close family (we are close as adults but as kids not so much). Being in an environment where I feel loved, valued and respected makes me feel good about myself. It's ultimately what we need for a healthy self esteem. Of course it might also have a lot to do with age and maturity. I'm a different person now to who I was 10 years ago.

The big question I have to ask myself is, "where next?" I can't imagine treading water for the rest of my life - what does that mean? Do I even want to leave NZ? Is that just complacency talking? Am I getting too comfortable? All that talk about "living the simple life" but am I challenging myself anymore? These are the questions that I'm asking myself right now.

Going back to Canada this time has made me think that it might be time to start testing the waters again. I've been paddling around in this lake for 7 years now. I have come back from my white water experience feeling unscathed and refreshed. Is it time to think about doing it more frequently? Is it time to get out there for longer trips? Is it time to get out of my comfort zone? Am I ready to start over? Start over or fresh start?

All I know is that life is so good right now and I'm just taking it all in stride. I've got my eyes wide open to any opportunity that presents itself. I have a good life that I know so many people would give up their busy lives to lead. The truth is, I only seem to become conscious of how little I have when I return from the rafting trips, but living at the lake means not needing much at all. Somehow I feel the link lies somewhere in the whole self esteem issue. I need to mull that one over a little longer...

... in the meantime enjoy this photo from my hometown of Hanmer Ontario overlooking the peaceful Onwatin Lake from my best friends parents home. Note: there ARE lakes out there besides New Zealand (but there is also snow... and that is a whole other issue)!!


Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Tuesdays with Monty

Every Tuesday for the past 2 years I spend my mornings at the local rest home where I had a brief job for 3 months (I enjoyed chatting with the residents more so I quit).

One of the youngest residents has muscular dystrophy. She's only 60, has no living family and is living in a rest home with elderly patients. It's not easy for her but there is no where else she can go. She's incredibly lonely and under stimulated. She hasn't received adequate physio and her wheelchair is falling to pieces. She asked me if Massage Therapy would help and I said "definitely!" so every Tuesday morning I go to massage the edema out of her feet. We also chat and I help her with other tasks that she can't do. I know how much she cherishes our visits.

Next I'd go visit a sweet old man by the name of Montegue Bate. Monty was one of my favourite residents at the rest home. When I first started at Bernadette, Monty heard my Canadian accent and it reminded him of the time he spent in Halifax with the Royal Navy. Monty was blind but he had these huge blue eyes that looked right through you. He had a photo of himself when he was a young man wearing a tuxedo, sitting on the top of his wardrobe. I would always tell him how handsome he was... but I think he already knew it. Monty loved women. He was so charming, it was incredible how the nurses fluttered around.

Monty had a sad life. He grew up in England with a tyrant of a father who wouldn't allow his mother to show any affection to him - thinking it would "soften the boy". According to Monty, his father beat him very badly attempting to make a man of him. It sounded like Monty was a real rebel and didn't often do what his father wanted which resulted in more beatings. When Monty went off into the Navy, he didn't have much respect for authority which of course resulted in multiple reprimands and eventually he was suspended. You can only imagine how his father reacted. So it's no wonder that he left England for life in New Zealand. He married a woman whom he admits he didn't love and although he never admitted it, I'm almost certain he was a flanderer. He had a large family (I think he told me he had 5 sons). He was also an alcoholic and I'm almost certain he was a tyrant like his own father was.

Every week I would sit with him as he told stories of his past, the same stories over and over. I suppose that's what happens when you are aging and coming closer to the end, your mind recalls all of the suppressed memories. The brain seems to "short circuit". Monty was also convinced that his doctor was trying to kill him. Once again, there was that distrust of authority.

But the reason I loved Monty was the way his face lit up as soon as I knocked on his door and he heard my voice. I'd knock and say, "Hello Monty" in my singsong voice and his baby blue eyes would sparkle and he'd say, "Come in darling. I've been waiting for you." Monty was blind but I was never invisible to him. He truly appreciated my visit. One of his daughter-in-laws would visit occasionally but his own sons never step foot in the rest home the entire 8 years he was there. Monty never spoke kindly of them often saying that they were waiting for him to die so they could have his money. I'd like to think that wasn't the case and that they were probably afraid and angry at him for being so hard on them.

Last year Monty kept talking about marrying me. I didn't have the heart to tell him that he was too old for me. Then I realized he was plotting to marry two of the carers in the rest home as well! Here I thought I was special! He was clearly going through a marriage phase (fear of dying alone?) which eventually passed. One day he announced that regretfully he couldn't marry me because I deserved to be with someone much younger who could offer me more. I told him I would always be his friend. Phew.

Monty had two loves. Women and dogs. Once the talk of marriage ceased, he started talking about his chocolate Labrador. His eyes lit up when he spoke about this dog. I brought my cat Mac into the rest home a few times to sit with Monty. Mac is so big that he feels heavy like a dog. Monty just LOVED it. I even brought Monty to Pet Sunday at church. You should have seen the smile on his face. As Monty got more and more frail, I bought him a stuffed cat which feels quite real, which he kept on his bed.

Last month Monty fell and broke his hip. The hip replacement went well but Monty didn't do well at the hospital. I went to visit him a few times but I couldn't get there every week. He hated the doctors and nurses, wasn't co-operating with them at all. He stopped eating so they had to put him on a drip and luckily I happened to be there when they put it in because I was the only person who could convince him to allow them to do it. The last time I went in to visit, Monty didn't perk up when he heard my voice. He was grouchy and even I couldn't make him happy. The nurse at the hospital said they were thinking of sending him back to the rest home because he was so unhappy and he needed to be back to his familiar surroundings.

Last week he went back to Bernadette but it was too late. Monty passed away on Saturday.

I will miss him. Monty was probably so misunderstood. He lacked love as a child and was unable to open his heart until he was nearing his death. I am sure he had a lot of regret and ultimately he died alone. Let this be a lesson to all of us. Make amends. Take every opportunity to let those closest to us know how much they mean. Recognize our faults and take every measure to change them. God Bless you Monty. Rest in Peace.

Monday, May 03, 2010

Happy 25th Life-iversary to Me!

Today is May 3rd. I can never forget this day. In some ways it's more important than my birthday. Life as I knew it changed on May 3rd, 1985. Twenty five years ago, on this day, I was diagnosed with terminal cancer.

My life leading up to that day was fairly ordinary. I was the youngest of five children in a family that was pretty self absorbed. My mom raised us all solo. I only saw my dad once a year when he was passing through to see his mates and occasionally if there was time, he'd take me out for breakfast at a dingy old diner where we'd have greasy fried eggs and chips. My dad was my hero despite how little I saw him.   I had a free and easy childhood with very few rules or boundaries. I was virtually invisible. I could do what I wanted. I came and went as I pleased. No one seemed to notice if I wasn't around.  I never got asked where I was or who I was with.  I had an open curfew from quite a young age.

Then on May 3rd, life changed forever.  I went from being invisible, thrust into the spotlight.  I'll never forget that day or the 18 months that followed.

 I had been suffering from stomach pains for years which had progressively gotten worse.  They were particularly bad at night, waking me up.  I was also a bed wetter.  I didn't want to trouble anyone by waking them so I'd quietly sneak into my mom's room and lie at the end of her water bed on my tummy.  The warmth of the water bed soothed my pain.  I tried hard not to wet my mom's bed but it was almost impossible.   I struggled to eat breakfast, I felt sick and I felt full,. My mom took me to the doctor a lot, at least 3 times a month, but the doctor said I had growing pains and a school phobia, which didn't make any sense because I absolutely loved school.  She said bed wetting was a sign I needed more attention.  My doctor never palpated my abdomen.  This went on for months.

On May 1st I was in school doubled over with pain.  As the class lined up to go to gym,  I couldn't get out of my seat, the pain in my stomach was so intense. My teacher, Mrs. Labelle rang my mother. We went straight to the doctor who happened to be away that day so we saw another doctor. He thought it might be appendicitis and told us to go straight to the hospital.

The pain was intermittent so one moment I'd be doubled over, the next I'd feel fine.  My stomach was so distended, I looked pregnant.  I felt guilty but I didn't know why.  I heard the nurses whispering and called my mother over to ask a few questions before sending me in for an x-ray. The way they looked at me made me think I had done something bad. I wanted to cry. No one knew about the older neighbourhood boys who forced me to do naughty things to them when I was a little girl. My mom asked me if I had been fooling around with any little boys.  I was horrified!  I was pre-pubescent and I didn't have a clue how babies were made.

X-rays showed a large mass in my abdomen. That night my mother and I took the overnight train from my hometown of Hanmer, Ontario to Toronto where I would be admitted to the Hospital for Sick Children for immediate surgery.  It was a 6 hour journey one way.


Me and my cousin Karin an hour before surgery
What an adventure! I was so excited. I got to travel on an overnight train. I got to skip school, indefinitely! I got to go to Toronto and my brothers and sisters had to stay home! I got to see my awesome cousins (that's a photo of me with my cousin Karin just before I was prepped for surgery) and stay with my Auntie Debbie in the big city! I got to go to this really cool hospital where the doctors and nurses actually talked to ME and made me feel like I was important! It was one of the most exciting experiences of my life.  Of course at this point no one had any idea how sick I was.

We arrived in Toronto in the wee hours of the morning, it was pouring down with rain. My mother was advised to pack for a reasonable period of time so we had 4 big bags (back in the day before wheels on suitcases). My mother knew very little about Toronto, much less about how to catch a cab.  She asked someone to point us in the right direction and we walked from Union Station to Sick Children's Hospital. It was a very long walk and my tummy really started to hurt.  I had to walk a few steps, put the bags down to rest. I started to cry and told my mom I wanted to stop.  She just kept walking saying, "It's just one more block."  We were both exhausted.

There was queue of families lined up out the admission entrance.  It was fascinating to watch all these sick kids.  I felt very privileged to be there.  A few hours later, I was in a meeting with my team of surgeons.  They all talked about stuff I didn't understand and arrangements were made that I'd be prepped for surgery early the next morning - on May 3rd, 1985.  I didn't fully understand what was happening but I definitely felt important because for the first time adults were talking directly to me and being super nice.

I went into surgery feeling euphoric - my first hit of laughing gas. My attending surgeon's name was Dr. Zultz. He was young, handsome and funny. I thought we were the perfect team - Pepper & Zultz. As the anesthesiologist started to put me under I remember telling jokes and had all the doctors and nurses laughing.

After surgery with all the flowers and gifts people sent to me in hospital.
My mother's experience was much different. She waited in the family waiting area as I underwent surgery. Families were gathered together waiting for news of their children. My mother sat alone. She recalled the date. Thirty years earlier, on May 2nd her own mother passed away from a pulmonary embolism at the age of 42. My mother was only 8 years old at the time. She prayed that her mother would keep me safe. One hour went by. Doctors came through the door and she sat, expectant that her turn was next. Two hours passed. The room was quiet.  Finally she was the last person left, the doors opened and two doctors walked through still wearing their surgical gear. Their gowns were speckled with blood. She recognized them as my surgeons. Dr. Zultz motioned her to a quiet corner where they could sit down. She looked at them expectantly. "I'm sorry, it's definitely cancer. The tumour was quite large and aggressive, it was twisted around other organs but we managed to remove it. She was a real trooper." My mother asked, "How big?" Dr. Zultz threw his surgical cap on the table, "About that big" the size of a football. It weighed 2.2kgs.

A series of questions were asked... what type of cancer? What is the prognosis? It was all very vague at that stage. I had stage 3 ovarian cancer. I was born with it - it was a very rare germ cell tumour also known as a yolk sac carcinoma or an "endo dermal sinus tumour". Something didn't develop properly while I was in utero and I had an ovarian dermoid cyst which left undiagnosed developed into cancer.  This type of cancer develops in the egg producing cells of the ovary.  The rareness of the type of cancer meant that the diagnosis was poor. At the time, there were only 19 diagnosed cases (I was the 20th) and no survivors.  I was not expected to survive the week.

Clowns visited and painted my face.
However, there was hope. Chemo drugs had just been approved by the Canadian Drug Association which had not yet been tested on humans. My mom was given the option that I be used in a clinical trial to test these drugs. Trialing the drugs increased my chance of survival by 30% but the side effects could be fatal. Some of the side effects were; kidney damage, lung damage, hearing loss, seizures, memory loss, liver damage, tremors, depression, brain damage, nerve damage, heart failure, death. Long term side effects were virtually unknown. Without treatment, the cancer would spread rapidly as the tumour had metastasized and there was evidence that it was already in my lymphatic system and liver.  It was a long shot but at least I could be used to find the cure for other ovarian cancer patients.  My mother agreed and she donated me to science.

I was in the surgical recovery ward.  I loved that place. I was so happy in there, eating popsicles and doing crafts.  I still had no idea how sick I was and for that reason I didn't really act sick.  I felt better than I had in years.

Forcing a smile for the camera with my new Cabbage Patch Doll - a gift from my school.
I started my rounds of chemo two weeks after surgery. I cannot even begin to explain how awful chemotherapy was. Back in those days all chemo was administered through IV needles directly in veins in my arms. I would trial up to 4 different drugs at a time for a whole week, which meant I'd have 2 needles in each arm and my arms would be strapped to boards to prevent the needles from being pulled out when I was sleeping. That was tough. I was very good at putting on a smile because it made me uncomfortable if someone started to cry or feel sorry for me.

At the airport ready to get back to school to see my friends.
After a month in hospital, I was discharged to go home. I got a nice stylish pixie cut, hoping that it would help prevent it from falling out in clumps. I was so excited to get back to school and see my friends. I brought a big bag full of candy to share with my classroom (my Aunt worked for a major candy company at the time).

It wasn't long before my hair started to fall out. There would be piles of hair around my desk at the end of the day and I'd wake up in the morning with clumps of hair on my pillow. One day I went to school with a little page cap and didn't take it off.  That was weird and the kids couldn't understand why I was allowed to wear a hat in class. Suddenly, I became invisible. They just didn't know what to say, so they acted like I wasn't there. If I wasn't invisible, I was teased. Those were tough times. All I wanted in the whole world was to feel "normal" with my friends.  I would act as normal as possible.  I participated in sports when I could.  I went to school whenever I could.  I did my homework and kept up my grades. I didn't slip in my studies and although I missed almost half the year, they didn't hold me back.  I certainly didn't act sick.  Cancer was a huge inconvenience so I pretended it wasn't there.  I used to get frequent nose bleeds which I would deny and hide from my mom.  I knew nose bleeds weren't a good sign and I wouldn't be allowed to go to school.  So I dealt with them in my own way. This is when I taught myself meditation.  I could do anything with my mind... include kill cancer cells.  It was like a mental Pac Man game.

After my second chemo, the veins in my arms and hands collapsed. They tried any vein they could find but I fought them off.  I was pretty feisty.  I could not stand the thought of needles in my feet.  My little body couldn't handle the strength of the chemo. It left burn marks up my arms from where it literally fried my skin. I can still remember the metallic taste as the drugs entered my body. I was selected to be the first recipient of a new gadget called an "infuse-a-port" which would forever change the way chemotherapy is administered. The gadget is inserted under the collarbone on the front of the chest through a minor surgical operation. It feeds the chemotherapy directly into the jugular and carotid artery and the best part about it - only a single needle for all chemos!  My arms were free and that made the world of difference.  The infuse-a-port (now known as a port-a-cath) wasn't supposed to hurt but it did.  They scraped the nerves away from under the skin but my nerves regenerated quickly. This was also all in the name of science experimentation.  They did things differently after that.  My scar is higher under the collar bone than those after me.  There wasn't much fatty tissue there which might explain the sensitivity.  Now they install the port-a-cath lower in the chest.

 I was to receive six cycles of chemo, with each cycle lasting a week.  I'd be given a rest between cycles for 3-4 weeks where I would travel back home and try to resume a normal life.  Occasionally we'd fly down to Toronto for my course of chemo, only to be sent home because my blood counts were too low and it would be too risky having treatment.  This dragged my chemo out over 18 months.  

Toward the end of my treatment, I distinctly recall feeling isolated and alone.  People stopped visiting while I was on treatment. I was moved to a quiet ward and shared rooms with the sickest kids kids who died.  Every week I lost a new friend.  I was no longer allowed to go to school when I was home between treatments. I couldn't have friends over... not that my friends wanted to sleep over anymore anyway. I was bald, skinny, grumpy, sick and I slept a lot. It wasn't fun and I wasn't all that pleasant to be around I was told.  There was no such thing as organizations like "Make a Wish Foundation" in those days.  My siblings got absolutely no support and that wasn't easy on them.  Our family was crumbling and I felt guilty about it.  My mom was never home and they were all expected to look after themselves.  It's no wonder they resented me.  Every time we'd go to hospital, they'd wonder if I'd come home.  They just wanted life to return to some kind of normal.  This affected my mom as well.   She had  very little support at that time, so she turned to alcohol for comfort.

Between chemos, spending time at my Grandparents in London doing my Aunt's hair and make up.
What I didn't realize (because no one told me) was that I was not responding to treatment. My alpha-fetoprotein levels were high indicating the cancer was in the liver.  Eighteen months passed, I completed the trial.  There was nothing more that they could do.  They told us to pray.  I believed in God and I knew I had a team of angels watching over me (including my grandmother Ann Catherine and Saint Therese). I "felt" them, I even had moments when I saw them and I always talked to them.  .

I had my last chemotherapy treatment at Sick Children's Hospital in November 1986. The nurses made me a big cake - which seemed odd, I couldn't eat any of it because it would make me throw up. It was their way of saying good-bye.  There were a lot of tears that day.  I didn't want to leave.  I was going to miss that place.  I felt more at home there than anywhere.

I was discharged from Sick Kids but was admitted straight into Laurentien Hospital in Sudbury.  I had no platelets, zero white blood cells and suffered severe anemia. I couldn't fight off an infection and if I was knocked I could bleed to death. I looked beyond pale... I was grey. Ten days later, they sent me home (to die).

I slept in my mother's water bed for three days in a cancer coma. My brothers and sisters had all moved out of home. My mom would come in to check on me just to make sure I was still alive. My breathing was so shallow that she'd have to hold a mirror under my nose to see if my breath would fog it up. She said I looked like a corpse. She called Sister Fredrika and Father Tait over to give me a final blessing. They lived in the house across the road.  Sister Fredrika was called on a lot that year, often in the middle of the night when I was having some sort of reaction.

My mom decided to get into the garden to do some therapeutic weeding. She was angry, frustrated, sad and felt all alone. She was so angry at God for turning his back on us.  As she ripped out the flowers and prepared the beds for winter, she thought of the rose bush that my dad planted under my bedroom window the year I was born. I was named after Saint Therese - the little flower - who sent roses from heaven. I wore her pendent around my neck and I prayed to her all the time. The rose bush had never flowered, my mother decided it was time to take it out.

When she walked to the front of the house where the bush was planted, there was one single rose blooming.  She knew instantly it was the sign she was waiting for.  It gave her an immediate sense of peace. She cut the rose from the bush and placed it on my bedside table. I opened my eyes and was feeling very hungry.  I asked mom if she would make me my favourite - broccoli and rice.  As she walked out I asked her curiously, "Mom, am I going to die?"  She simply said, "No."   From there, I started getting better.

I believe in the power of the mind.  I believe that when our mind is strong, you can achieve absolutely anything.  I believed anything my mother told me, so if she said I wasn't going to die, then I wasn't going to die.  That was that.  I was sick and tired of being sick and tired so I ate my broccoli and rice and I started getting back to normal.  I was itching to get to school and grow some hair!

I am often asked whether people should hide the "truth" from children.  What is the truth?  Who says that dying is the truth for any cancer patient?  I believe that suggesting death is planting a toxic seed in the mind.  Once that seed has been planted, there is a very good chance it will grow.  Of course, it depends on the fertility of the soil and on how much water it's given.  Without encouragement of growth, that seed can just shrivel and die but it's risky.  All you have to do is think about the seed and it's giving it life.  In my case, my mother chose not to sow the seed at all.  I'm incredibly grateful for that.  I didn't have to try to avoid negative thoughts about dying because I had no idea it was an option.

The doctors say it's a miracle. There's no scientific answer. When I had a biopsy, my body showed absolutely no sign of cancer. The surgeon told my mother that if she had not done the initial surgery, she would never believe I was the same child.

I'm humbled by my experience and I try to give back as much as possible because I know that my life is a gift and I mustn't waste it.  I paved the way for Ovarian Cancer. The chemotherapy combinations I trialed are now used worldwide to cure women and children from the disease. Ovarian cancer is becoming more common - likely due to the effects of pollution and chemicals in our environment. Endodermal sinus tumours are the most common type of ovarian cancer in children today - but now the prognosis is good.  They know which drugs work.  Ovarian Cancer is the most fatal women’s cancer, there is no screening test for the disease. Signs and symptoms can be vague and often ovarian cancer is detected in late stages leading to survival rates of less that 30%. Yet, when found and treated early, survival rates increase to 90%. 

This experience has enriched my life so much and allowed me to mentor many young people who were dying from cancer themselves... like Krista who died in 1992 and Sally who died this past February. I was there to  comfort their families and I was with the girls right through to their deaths.  I got to know hundreds of others through camps like Camp Oochigeas and CanTeen. If that's not what it's all about, then I don't know what is.

When I work with these kids I am reminded of how lucky I am to be alive, and not just alive but virtually unscathed.  So many kids and young adults I've met have disabilities from the result of their chemo, hearing loss, severe depression and learning disabilities are all very common.  I can't have children but that just means I'm able to give my time to hundreds of them. I was diagnosed with high blood pressure in my mid twenties.  The tests showed that my organs were functioning like someone in their 50's. I've lived much longer than they expected. I am grateful for the life I have, in whatever state it comes. I look after myself by eating well, exercising and avoiding stress.  This is one of the main reasons I moved to New Zealand - in search of a simple life.  Earlier that same year, in the summer of 2003, I had had a heart to heart talk with my childhood Oncologist after being diagnosed with Essential Hypertension.  I was having inexplicable malignant flare ups (BP was 210/170) which scared me to death.  He will always be the man who saved my life, he's like a father to me.  I'll never forget what he said.  "Live your life to it's absolute fullest, because you never know when it's going to end.  And get life insurance."

I took his advice and here I am, living my life to it's fullest and experiencing everything I possibly can by saying YES to everything that presents itself. I walked away from a life of material possessions, where you measure your success by the things you have, not by the life you live or the sort of person you are.  I wasn't a happy person in Canada.  I had everything I possibly wanted, I was spoiled and it was evident.  I was moody and bitchy and very restless.  I wanted out of that cycle.  I knew I needed to change, so I did.  I came to New Zealand with virtually nothing but an old sick cat (who got diabetes shortly after we arrived).  I started my life all over again at the age of 30.  It wasn't easy but  I have no regrets.  I am so blessed to be here and live the kind of life I get to live.  I live in my happy bubble.

I managed to sort out my blood pressure.  You can read that amazing story here.

I will continue to provide support and offer words of hope. If anyone is out there reading this knows where I might be needed or an organization who needs a guest/motivational speaker, please don't hesitate to contact me. It's my life's mission to bring a message of hope when someone has been told there's none.


Friday, February 12, 2010

Never Take Life For Granted

It has been a year, a WHOLE year that I have actually been able to sit down to think and write about what has been going on in my life. All of a sudden, when life wasn't already busy enough - it got busier. Now I will spend the next few months recounting all of the amazing adventures I have been having in 2009.

I have been truly blessed and I am so grateful for life and everything that I have been able to achieve in it.

But in order to really appreciate life, we must find balance, which for me, is finding time to sit and reflect on the lessons I've learned from the experience I have gained... and write it all down so that I can always look back and remember how lucky I am to be here.

Today I received the tragic news that my cousin Katie died. At the age of 22, in the prime of her life, driving home late from work, she was struck head on by a drunk driver. She died instantly. Her 18 year old passenger lies in critical condition and the 25 year old drunk driver (who entered ongoing traffic to avoid being pulled over by the police) received minor injuries.

Once again I contemplate life and why must it be so unfair sometimes? Katie is the youngest in her family, the only daughter of my Aunt (my Uncle has two daughters from a previous marriage). She was a glorious gift to her family. My Aunt will never see her only daughter get married and the thought just breaks my heart.

Why do some of us live and some of us have to die in order for life lessons to be learned? What is the lesson in this tragedy? Who is it for? How many people have to die from drunk driving accidents before people actually STOP doing it? Why must it hit close to home before it registers? The rules are simple... if you drink, do not drive. You are playing Russian Roulette if you do... and that makes you a calculated murderer.

In this past year I have been hit hard by three separate drunk driving incidents. In my hometown, Hanmer Ontario, three teens were hit by a drunk driver when they were walking home from a night at the movies. Two were killed instantly as the car drove into them like bowling pins. The third was dragged under the car a few hundred feet. The driver slammed his vehicle into the side of a house and tried to run away. He escaped without any injuries. The tragedy shook the small town - even those of us who didn't know the victims.

Then a few months later another cousin of mine lost her boyfriend to a hit and run (suspected drunk driver) when he was walking alone back to their campground. They had just bought a house and were about to move in. He had a lot more life to live. I still can't even fathom the loss she feels and will carry with her forever.

Now Katie is gone. Once again reminded that life is so precious and in an instant it can end. We are all on borrowed time and none of us know when we will be called back to meet our maker.

Everyday I am grateful for my life, especially when tragedy strikes. 25 years ago my life was threatened by cancer and for some reason my life was spared - defied the odds - so that I could help others who are affected and need support from someone who understands exactly what they are going through. Each time another young person passes away with the disease, I thank God and pray that I am doing good work of this gift of life he has given me.

And sometimes when I feel that it's unfair that I could not have children, I have to remind myself that I am here to help hundreds of kids. I will never feel the love that is only shared between a mother and her child, but I will also never have to experience the pain of losing a child either. I'm sure it's a pain I would never want to bear. So Auntie Lise, I am praying for you and sending you all my love right now. You have the strongest heart of anyone I know and somehow I know that it is going to end up even bigger.

Katie is going to look after Grandpa and Nanny, Uncle Ray and Cody. I think they all needed some sunshine. She'll bring lots of it to them.