I Hope You Dance, Douchebag

A lot of people like to create lists for me of things I'll never, "understand" because, according to them I am not a Mother.  Well, I am a Mother.  And just so we're clear kids, there are few things in this world that are more rude than telling a woman who is a full-time step-mother that she can't "understand" what it means to be a "real" Mother.  TRY ME.  The only thing I may not understand is how frustrating it can be to urinate every time you sneeze, but the love a Mother has for her child.  Yea, that I can comprehend.  And I totally sympathize with the sneezing, peeing thing.

However, here's one of the mysteries of motherhood that escapes me.

"I HOPE YOU DANCE" by LeAnn Womack.

I'm not cold blooded....I understand all parents want the best and EVERYTHING wonderful for their children under the sun.  We don't want them to hurt, and if they have to we don't want them to give up on love and life forever. We want them to always believe in the good of humanity and pray that they'll do their best to contribute something wonderful to the world.  But isn't their a better way to encourage a child to live life to the fullest and never give up then to belt a lame power ballad which begs the Universe, "please, let my child always be as naive and goofy as they were when they were 3...don't let them clue into the fact that some people are assholes and sometimes it's really friggin hard to make sense of this life.... instead, let them stand next to the ocean at 40 and still think they look 4, and no matter what goes wrong let them shrug their shoulders, stand up and do the macarena."  Amen.

Why the fuck do all mothers love that song?!?!?!  Why do they print the lyrics and frame them?  Why do they have blankets made for their children with the lyrics ironed on?  Why do they purchase greeting cards that quote the song? I hope you dance?! And has anyone bothered to watch the video?   LeAnn Womack is dressed in a prom dress from Fashion Bug, sitting in a cemetery, singing to scary kids after just having been tazed......I don't wanna dance! My Mom used to play us this song called, "If I Could"....now not only is it a tear-jerker, but it's a infinitely better sung ballad which speaks the truth.  Basically, it's a jungle out there and I love you so much that I would take all the pain and heartache you're ever going to know away if I could- but I am your Mom, not a miracle worker so I can't.  But I would if I could.  So go on out and do your best and understand that some days are going to suck, but you don't need to do a jitterbug when that happens. Just call me and we'll talk about it.

Happy Belated Mother's Day.

bisousxoxo,
Jac

Best Friends Forever

A very long time ago two little girls met on a lacrosse field.  One with chubby cheeks and the sweetest puppy you ever saw.  The other, just chubby, who had a cat.

They said, 'hellos' and played with the puppy together, discovering that later that year when they began middle school, they'd be in the same homeroom.  And almost instantly they were inseparable- after school bike-rides, weekend sleepovers, silliness and love. One day the one passed the other a note, "my Dad has cancer".  And when one hurt the other was there.  No matter how much time passed between separate high schools and colleges they could always pick up where they left off.  As my Grandfather's casket was lowered into the ground she held me and cried too.  I hurt, and she was there.  Through death, love, marriage and sickness they have remained inseparable.  And when one hurt the other was there. 

Unfathomable tragedies have struck in the last two years.  And when one hurt the other was there.  Because they were best friends, you see, and loved each other more than anything.  And so they had to be together.  Always.  Anything else just wouldn't be right.  There was more silliness and sleepovers to be had.  More life to live and more love to share. 

That's why last night when the phone rang at 10:13pm and it was her, my heart stopped and my throat closed.  And then she told me she would be alright.  I wept and wept and slept soundly for the first time in a long time.  This morning I cried again looking at the picture of us together.  Thanking her Dad.  Thanking my Grandfather. There is more life to live and more love to share.  And if she hurts I will be there and if I hurt she will be there.  Because we're best friends.  Because we love each other.  Because she is the very heart of me. 

Fuck you, cancer.

bisous xo,
JKD

Super Bowl Weekend

I got a personal trainer. 

This is like like 9th time I've done this in my lifetime.  But this one's different.  He makes me feel like a BEAST and I love it.  He looks like Hulk Hogan and sounds like Mickey from ROCKY and when I lift weights he tells me, "Don't be average! Be great!" And I spend our  entire session on some endorphin high and am convinced I'll be a fitness model by next year. He's just that good.  This past Saturday I was doing things I'd never done before.  I was bench pressing and doing flys and really watching my form and just putting in some hard work.  "C'mon Jac- gimme 5 more.  I'm sure you been through harder things then this in your life..." Jimmy called out.  I pushed through the last 5.  I finished, put my weights back and said, "a year ago today I was with my Husband at PENN for his first 4 day chemo treatment.  Believe me, this is nothing."

And so it was.  Just a year ago.

We woke up early. Our land line rang - which at that point usually signaled a call from Sallie Mae or Pennsylvania Oncology.  Neither of which we were too fond of at this point.  It was Pennsylvania Oncology and they told us to get in as soon as possible, we had a "long day" ahead so we needed to start the first couple of chemo drugs soon. 
We held hands walking in the bitter cold to the offices overlooking Washington Square Park.  It is a very strange feeling not knowing if you're walking toward the beginning or the ending of your life together.  All I knew of chemo was that it made you die.  You vomited. Lost your hair. You wasted away.  You evaporated.  And I didn't want that for the person I loved more than anything.  But I didn't want this cancer that had quickly whittled him down 20lbs in 2 weeks to overtake him either.  We had no choice.  So with green juice in hand we took our chances.  I packed his toiletry bag with all natural products and brought him a case of his favorite Honest Teas to escape the obligatory IV drip of ginger ale that hospitals love to force on all of their tenants.

After hours and hours of rituximab, prednisone and other concoctions- Mark had a stint placed in his arm and we finally had our room on the 6th floor.  The cancer floor- what our Nurse referred to as, "Hope Hall".  But the man next door to us was dying.  He was old and dying and his church choir would stop by everyday to sing for him while he died.  And I didn't want Mark to die.  "He has a very different cancer than you guys have" another Nurse assured us- "I'm gonna see you two here in June at our survivors picnic and this will be all over with" she smiled and rubbed our backs. It was midnight by the time they were ready to start the major chemo drug.  It was in a glass bottle and glowed bright yellow. It was terrifying and the warmth of June and the end of cancer felt years away. Not months. 

It was the 3 of us.  Mark, our Nurse, and me.   She turned the lights down and told us to take a minute, take a deep breath and make a wish.  My eyes welled up and Mark held my hand tighter.  The nurse pressed start and there we were.  Having chemo.  Eating ice cream.  A few nights later curled up together in his bed watching the Superbowl, sharing our favorite meal from a restaurant down the street that we loved that I'd played the cancer card and guilted the Chef into making past breakfast time.  Mark never let me stay the night on the recliner beside him.  He hated the idea of me sleeping in a hospital.  I cried myself to sleep in our bed every night he wasn't there so afraid this was how I would have to get used to sleeping. Alone.  But the four days passed.  The Giants won the Superbowl and Mark came home.
He didn't evaporate.  He was still there.  And we've fallen asleep in each other's arms every night since.



It's going to be hard for me to ever think of Super Bowl Weekend.  Super Bowl Sunday.  Any of it- without remembering that weekend and all of the awful attached to it.  Even though our ending was bright- we'd both be lying if we said we're over it.   No.  People with cancer and the lymphomaniacs who love them suffer from a very special PTSD. You look around and wonder why out of everyone else who still suffers you and your family don't anymore. And before you know it instead of being riddled with cancer, you're riddled with guilt.  More than anything it's the fear that life could ever return to that day.  That day you found out something was wrong and suddenly you were suffocated by uncertainty and fear.

This past Thursday night we sat side by side in our favorite restaurant enjoying our favorite margaritas and nachos.  We had gone their on our first anniversary. The night we got our marriage license. Valentine's Day.  When we thought we didn't have cancer.  When we beat cancer. And now for restaurant week though it quickly became another 'Cancerver-ssary'.  I'm not gonna lie.  I wanted free Churros -so I let the waitress in on our victory against the big c then before I knew it I was crying into Mark's shoulder.  "It was just so scary, babe" I wept.  "I know, but I'm here.  We're here. And it's over" Mark reminded me calmly.  And still I cried.  Just at the thought that I may not have been able to hear that voice- my favorite voice- every day.  And the thought that there were people out there- some of them I know and love- with that same fear.  A fear nobody should ever have to know.

But Mark is living proof that it will not always be fearful.  Life is uncertain. In fact I recently read the energy forecast for this month and was terrified to hear that was the "theme" of the month.  But what we endured and survived just one short year ago shows me every day how important it is to ground yourself in this moment.  And to be grateful for this moment.  This moment is your life.
 
bisous xox
Jac

The Sacred Space

Pain will likely be a common bond of many who commune here at BL.

I mean,,,,It's not like we're going to be a blog full of cutters, but ya know....we'll share war stories and do our best to heal.

It was about 6 months ago when it seemed that pain had begun to interfere with me living a normal life.  My, "lymphoma neck" - as I had nicknamed it, had now turned into lymphoma back, side, and migraine pain. (At least I could say it was a triple threat.) And  just so we're clear- I wasn't the one who had lymphoma - my Husband was.  But my pain was the physical manifestation of all the emotional pain, sorrow, and anxiety I had taken on over the course of our journey to heal him.  Somehow the pain was manageable- a non-issue really- while Mark was in treatment.  It wasn't until treatments ended, we were on our own, and the douchey 'new normal' was supposedly our new path, that my neck began to ache.  Began to burn.  Began to weaken to a point where I couldn't hold my head up.  Couldn't fall asleep without crying. Vomited in the mornings. I felt like Lindsay Lohan. Without the meth induced svelte figure.

Mark was well but I had my mind made up that any moment it would be time for a cancer crisis to begin again.  I found myself standing in the kitchen early each morning- I could still be sleeping but instead I was awake after a fitful nights sleep to ensure everyone ate, supplemented and had what they needed to sustain and survive another day in the big bad world.  Yet,I took no supplements.  I drank coffee.  I ate bagel sandwhiches from convenient stores if it wasn't a morning I found myself vommiting in between dressing myself and doing my make up (thats so 80's).  I skipped lunch because I wouldn't make myself one.  The hours of 1-6pm at work were filled with a firey pain across my shoulders, down my neck and I would cry in the car on my way home listening to showtunes and Howard Stern.  MESS.  Mark was wonderful and supportive.  Providing me with the worst best back rubs chock full of the good intentions and love.  I iced.  I heated. I soaked in tubs.  Sometimes my blessed Chiropractor, Dr Molly Phillips, could get in at that shit and provide me with a little relief but when even she declared, "I don't like what's going on in here" I kinda figured I was fucked.  Because one of the things I know for sure, Oprah, is that if Dr Molly can't fix it....it's probably really bad.

I was in a bad spot.  I remember laying in bed one night with Mark holding me and just weeping, "I don't feel well and I can't live in this kind of pain all the time!!".  And my sweet, precious lamb of a husband said, "well you're not taking care of yourself".  SHAREALLY!?  I am a healthcare professional (sorta, kinda, one day, almost) and taking care is what I do best! Of everyone else, that is  "You can't take care of all of us and make lunches and figure out the right medicine for everyone to take and not do the same for yourself". Woof. When ya put it like that....Mark suggested the focus needed to shift and that now it was time for me to let him play caregiver.  I reluctantly agreed because something had to give and I decided more than anything, I needed to talk the talk and walk the walk.

I resolved to start listening to the 900 meditation podcasts I had downloaded.  To start packing healthy lunches for MYSELF again.  To break up with the WaWa bagel sandwhich. And perhaps most important, create a sacred space.  What is a sacred space?  For many it's a place of prayer.  An alter. A place to meditate, pray, listen, read.  My sacred space is a all of these things.  It's where I go for escape but also to "come home" to myself- I can regroup and do what I need to do and I'm almost always the better for it.

 This is my teeny, tiny sacred space.  Made out of a tray table my sister gave me - I've covered it with some of my most treasured possessions.  A beautiful piece of coral I found while snorkeling in the Cayman Islands (under water was the only place I could escape my wretched x boyfriend) to remind me of how incredible nature is.  A pencil holder from my Pop-Pop's office.  I loved him to the stars and back and miss him everyday and dream that I make him proud.  I love to have his things around me- two rings he gave me sit in the glass dish that belonged to my Grandmother (his wife) who I never got to meet.  A celtic cross made from palms - my Mother In Law made these by the dozens- they are so perfect.  I feel my Mother In Law's presence very strongly even though we never met.  My Husband tells me how much a like she and I are and it warms my heart.  When he was sick I would constantly ask her to protect him and he would talk to her during his ct scans.  Without a doubt she's my guardian angel.  I have a ring my Mom Mom gave me.....I loved her so much.  She was my everything when I was little and I felt her love for me radiate from her.  I have a picture my Husband took on a trip to Ireland he shared with his Mother before she died. And finally, my constant focus, my heart, my best friend and I.  Wearing our matching onesies and laughing at Christmas years ago. I focus on her and meditate on her healing and send her all the love in the world when I sit there.  I dream of better days ahead for us when we will sit on our couch in California, wearing matching onesies and thinking how incredible we are having endured what we have.

  Creating my sacred space gave me a beginning. A place to start the healing journey.  A place to go to cry. To Laugh. To reflect. Through my meditations I was starting to walk through my fears. Fears that Mark would get sick again. That I would be alone without the person I loved most.  That I would be alone. Alone. All alone.  That no one would ever compare to the person I'd called my Husband and I would be alone. Alone. What would that look like? I started to visualize the grief. The loneliness. I realized that even though it would hurt. Unimaginable pain and loss. It would pass. And if it would happen there would be a reason for it to happen. And it would happen because it was supposed to. And then other parts of life would keep happening. And I realized that was the point - there was nothing I was going to do to stop the life I'm supposed to live from happening.  And suddenly my neck stopped hurting.
And that night it wasn't so hard to sleep.
And my butt stopped bleeding when I pooped. (too much?)
It seriously seemed as though I had taken a few deep breaths and exhaled negativity and pain and the cinder blocks that I was carrying on my shoulders.


Here is what I say when I sit down, light a candle and relax into my sacred space.  "I accept.  I accept it all. What it is and what it will be because I know where I'm going is where I am meant to be. I accept and I let go" and then I let go and exhale.
Some nights I listen to music. Some nights I do yoga poses. Some nights I cry and then rest in the source.

What does your sacred space look like? What do you do?

Is anyone reading this?

bisous xo
JKD

 

The Fiscal Kick in the Dick

I was already having pangs of under appreciated woe at my job.  It was just one of those weeks where I came home with blisters on my feet and other people's pain on my heart and I didn't have a checking account that would justify retail therapy as we were still recovering from Christmas and prior to my new found interest in my health and fitness (more on that later) I had decided to eat my feelings across the Tri-State area and rack up some rather hefty debit charges at Dunkin's, McDonalds, Starbucks....oh my!

Then my paycheck came.  I felt like I had worked extra hard, extra long hours and of course didn't have any deductions for Holidays off this go round.  But as I opened my check it was hard not to ask if I was being 'punked'.  My paycheck was some sort of cruel joke, right?

where is the rest of it????

Then I remembered.....fucking fiscal cliff. 

Yup.That's exactly how I felt.

Get it together, America.  I want to buy Almond milk without feeling guilty and take myself on vacation before I die. dicks.

bisous,
JKD
 

What in Gay hell?

Who let this happen???



If baby Skye Skye saw this it's likely his little baby soul turned into bat droppings and that he cried the tears of a thousand homosexuals.  This is painful. And there is no excuse.

New Years and Nervous Breakdowns

With New Years come New Years resolutions.  An idea riddled with hope, angst and irritable bowel.  New Years Eve brings the hype the same way my mother brings the green bean casserole.  There's way too much of it and if you take it all in you feel like you're going to vomit.


And now with this New Year I've noticed more than ever the insults and the rudeness toward the masses of people determined to change, to better, to become, to grow.  The jokes by the MONSTER drinking, muscle heads that 'their' gym will be crowded, "at least for the next two weeks'. Sorry guys,  I guess there will be less room for you to grunt like a whiney little bitch and throw your weights down (the sign says you're not allowed, assholes!) after 2 sets of 1.  Back to the gym we go, wearing the new workout gear we got for Christmas- confident this will be the year we tackle six pack abs and forgiving that bitch our old boyfriends cheated on us with.  Oh...Is that just me?
I don't know about you...but this year I'm not letting a bag a dicks take the wind outta my sails.  I've got my reasons.

Through my Husband, my pretty posse their  illnesses and health struggles
and now my best friend's journey with cancer (that filthy bitch)  - it became so clear to me that I am on my path.  I am where I belong.  Following my personal passion to help and heal. Heading back to school to earn more nutrition certifications and my Reflexology license I feel at invigorated but also at peace.   I am so excited that 'health care' is on the track towards becoming what it has always needed to be, 'preventative medicine'.  Where the goal is to be healthy and prevent illness rather than have a health system that revolves around treating diseases not preventing them and pushing pills to baby the symptom and not get to the root of the problem.  I'm encouraged daily by what I see.  More people embracing all forms of healing and medicine.  I'm excited to be part of the revolution.  I only wish we were moving faster but I know we're moving. 

I also know I need to get moving.  Like, Olivia once belted, "lets get physical"
I recognize now more than ever that I must be both mentally and physically strong to fight the fight.  My guru and massage therapist Rob and I were knee deep in my cranial sacral therapy and my fear of gluten when he reminded me, "You need to be in better
shape to treat clients the way you want to everyday".  So simple and yet so sassy and profound.  just the kick in the ass I needed. 

but the shift is that this time instead of working out being a 'punishment' its the reward.  it's part of rewarding this body- my temple- for all it gives me everyday and giving back in so many ways.  Giving back to clients to heal and rejuvenate them. Giving back a healthy, sexy, happy wife to my husband. giving back to ME, dammit.  Who wants a case of the womps every time they look in the mirror! Who wants to be 27 and feel 72? Not I, said the cow.  I mean the GODDESS.  I forgot, Rachel and I promised we'd be kinder to ourselves this year.
woops.

bisous ox
jaclyn