Archives for posts with tag: emotional support inspiration

There I was, just sitting in the chemo lounge, politely minding my own business. All dandy in my barcalounger, port numbed and plugged in for my five hour poison infusion; a couple of Star Magazines and a National Enquirer in my lap, blanket nicely tucked in, ginger ale and a box of DOT’s (aka anti nausea meds) at the helm.

That was at least how she left me. But that is not how she found me.

Chemo Nurse Extraordinaire Marci was quite used to finding me engaged in the bizarre rituals I used to manage my anxiety. But even a seasoned pro like her was not prepared for what she saw when she turned the corner to find me well, lets just say, far from how she left me. National Enquirer splayed on the floor, tears streaming down my face, fingers in both ears, frantically and loudly humming the theme song from the Flintstones. Without skipping a beat (as if she saw this every day) she calmly said, “Lauren, what in the world is wrong now?” Note the word “Now.” If I thought 15 months of chemo was never ending hell, well imagine poor Marci…but I digress. Read the rest of this entry »


My 84 year old neighbor Frances has taught me a lot about the world, like the difference between lima beans and butter beans and that you need to wrap a folded paper towel around a can of Coca Cola to have with your pack of Nabs. One of the more important things I have learned from her is the difference between “over yonder” and “way out yonder.”  Over yonder is someone up the street from us, you can walk over yonder, but way out yonder is like someone in Missouri.  I just love Frances. Read the rest of this entry »

Mammogram today….upstairs first, back down here for chest xray…new insurance card…copay 40 dollars…change in here… locker won’t work try another… here take your key Read the rest of this entry »

Once, when Colton was just learning to read he was given an assignment by his teacher to write something about one of his grandparents. He brought me a piece of paper, which still hangs on the fridge to this day. Penciled in little boy hand it said, “Grandma Ellie was my mom’s mom. She loved dogs. She is in heaven.” Boy did she.

Scout claimed me. I had been trolling on the SPCA website pulling up pictures of available dogs and to be honest, I was really looking for a Basset Hound as that was all I had owned for years. Amelia, who was only about 3 at the time, stood next to me as I scrolled through the pictures. When the picture of this white fluffy dog flashed up on the screen she blurted, “Oh! Look how cute that one is!” Read the rest of this entry »

Last week I sat in the home of a very wise woman; okay so she is my therapist but I prefer to think of her as a wise sage, like Grandmother Willow in Pocahontas. This woman has seen me through a rather nasty and painful divorce and breast cancer, job loss and creating a new life…several times. She has held my hand through oodles of cases of the willies and frequent niggles of self doubt. I have grieved openly and rawly in her presence. And last week, after I informed her that in December I had crossed into year five of of breast cancer survival she said for the gazillionth time, “You know you have a book in you, it’s time.” “I can’t,” I whined, “I just don’t know how to tie all these things together in a meaningful way,” and she said, “Blog.”

Anne Lamott offers in her book Bird by Bird, that while growing up, her brother was once faced with the overwhelming task of writing an entire paper about birds. She writes, “…he was at the kitchen table close to tears, surrounded by binder paper and pencils and unopened books on birds, immobilized by the hugeness of the task ahead. Then my father sat down beside him, put his arm around my brother’s shoulder, and said, ‘Bird by bird, buddy. Just take it bird by bird.'” So, here standing bird in hand at the place where many of us are “immobilized by the hugeness of the task” that is breast cancer, I will begin this blog. Launching a bird at a time from my cupped and loving hands, setting them free to carry the lessons and hope and insights I have learned navigating breast cancer…after five years.

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