Gail G

Wow!  I just dropped by to share this site with a newly diagnosed acquaintance.  Your story is such an inspiration – thanks so much for sharing and sending good vibes and prayers that your triump continues for a long..long…long…etc etc time 🙂

Gail (15 years out NED)

Wow!  I just dropped by to share this site with a newly diagnosed acquaintance.  Your story is such an inspiration – thanks so much for sharing and sending good vibes and prayers that your triump continues for a long..long…long…etc etc time 🙂

Gail (15 years out NED)

Wow!  I just dropped by to share this site with a newly diagnosed acquaintance.  Your story is such an inspiration – thanks so much for sharing and sending good vibes and prayers that your triump continues for a long..long…long…etc etc time 🙂

Gail (15 years out NED)

Your post really caught my eye, because I often used the same imagery of the other shoe dropping. I am 15 years NED – but spent a few years after my diagnosis and treatment being hypersensitive to any change in my body. As life went on, I realized that the fear and anticipation of something else bad happening was robbing me of my todays. Living in the moment and conciously choosing to not look at my daughter and wonder who would raise her when I was gone helped me move forward.

After my diagnosis, I had the privilege of being my Dad's primary caretaker through a multiple myeloma diagnosis where at age 70, they told him he had 90 days to live tops – and chemo put him in remission for the rest of his life. Then he had stage I colon cancer and major surgery at age 73 was no picnic. He was not a candidate for follow up chemo because he was too weak – but he rebounded. Then at age 77, he was diagnosed with lung cancer and was not a candidate for traditional lung removal, but had pioneering minimally invasive surgery in a clinical trial in what is now the standard of care – and he rebounded.  At the begining of his challenges with cancer, I would wonder how I would live without him – we were so close after my Mom died young – but then I had to choose to focus on each day as a gift – and not think about the next day or the next month – to keep from ruining the time we had together.  At age 78, he was diagnosed as Stage IV – they never decided if the origin was the colon or the lung – he was put in pallative care and we lived each day as if he was going to make it to 100. We spoke of it and made the choice to look forward and not let our lives be governed by the dread of the separation that we knew was coming and that allowed us many "normal" days together over his last year. We made long term plans, many of which were never fulfilled, but many were and we cherised them – planting a vegetable garden, buying a new car, planning and making day trips.

Maybe I'm capable of extreme denial – but each time I felt myself sinking into a depression and fog of worry – I made myself stop thinking of the negatives, and choose to refocus on something – anything – else, and through self-talk – I made myself make that choice.  When I lost my Mom suddenly and I couldn't snap out of my depression, I went to therapy and they helped me learn several coping strategies that really came in handy with my own disease and in managing my mental health as I supported my Dad. I strongly urge you to seek therapy – whether your church has resources, or your husband's job has an Employee Assistant Plan – there are some great resources out there to help you learn to rise above the grieving we experience when disease interrupts the sense of complacency we enjoy. Not to mention the therapy we all provide through MPIP 🙂  Best wishes in seeking a new normal that isn't filled with fear!

Gail

Your post really caught my eye, because I often used the same imagery of the other shoe dropping. I am 15 years NED – but spent a few years after my diagnosis and treatment being hypersensitive to any change in my body. As life went on, I realized that the fear and anticipation of something else bad happening was robbing me of my todays. Living in the moment and conciously choosing to not look at my daughter and wonder who would raise her when I was gone helped me move forward.

After my diagnosis, I had the privilege of being my Dad's primary caretaker through a multiple myeloma diagnosis where at age 70, they told him he had 90 days to live tops – and chemo put him in remission for the rest of his life. Then he had stage I colon cancer and major surgery at age 73 was no picnic. He was not a candidate for follow up chemo because he was too weak – but he rebounded. Then at age 77, he was diagnosed with lung cancer and was not a candidate for traditional lung removal, but had pioneering minimally invasive surgery in a clinical trial in what is now the standard of care – and he rebounded.  At the begining of his challenges with cancer, I would wonder how I would live without him – we were so close after my Mom died young – but then I had to choose to focus on each day as a gift – and not think about the next day or the next month – to keep from ruining the time we had together.  At age 78, he was diagnosed as Stage IV – they never decided if the origin was the colon or the lung – he was put in pallative care and we lived each day as if he was going to make it to 100. We spoke of it and made the choice to look forward and not let our lives be governed by the dread of the separation that we knew was coming and that allowed us many "normal" days together over his last year. We made long term plans, many of which were never fulfilled, but many were and we cherised them – planting a vegetable garden, buying a new car, planning and making day trips.

Maybe I'm capable of extreme denial – but each time I felt myself sinking into a depression and fog of worry – I made myself stop thinking of the negatives, and choose to refocus on something – anything – else, and through self-talk – I made myself make that choice.  When I lost my Mom suddenly and I couldn't snap out of my depression, I went to therapy and they helped me learn several coping strategies that really came in handy with my own disease and in managing my mental health as I supported my Dad. I strongly urge you to seek therapy – whether your church has resources, or your husband's job has an Employee Assistant Plan – there are some great resources out there to help you learn to rise above the grieving we experience when disease interrupts the sense of complacency we enjoy. Not to mention the therapy we all provide through MPIP 🙂  Best wishes in seeking a new normal that isn't filled with fear!

Gail

Your post really caught my eye, because I often used the same imagery of the other shoe dropping. I am 15 years NED – but spent a few years after my diagnosis and treatment being hypersensitive to any change in my body. As life went on, I realized that the fear and anticipation of something else bad happening was robbing me of my todays. Living in the moment and conciously choosing to not look at my daughter and wonder who would raise her when I was gone helped me move forward.

After my diagnosis, I had the privilege of being my Dad's primary caretaker through a multiple myeloma diagnosis where at age 70, they told him he had 90 days to live tops – and chemo put him in remission for the rest of his life. Then he had stage I colon cancer and major surgery at age 73 was no picnic. He was not a candidate for follow up chemo because he was too weak – but he rebounded. Then at age 77, he was diagnosed with lung cancer and was not a candidate for traditional lung removal, but had pioneering minimally invasive surgery in a clinical trial in what is now the standard of care – and he rebounded.  At the begining of his challenges with cancer, I would wonder how I would live without him – we were so close after my Mom died young – but then I had to choose to focus on each day as a gift – and not think about the next day or the next month – to keep from ruining the time we had together.  At age 78, he was diagnosed as Stage IV – they never decided if the origin was the colon or the lung – he was put in pallative care and we lived each day as if he was going to make it to 100. We spoke of it and made the choice to look forward and not let our lives be governed by the dread of the separation that we knew was coming and that allowed us many "normal" days together over his last year. We made long term plans, many of which were never fulfilled, but many were and we cherised them – planting a vegetable garden, buying a new car, planning and making day trips.

Maybe I'm capable of extreme denial – but each time I felt myself sinking into a depression and fog of worry – I made myself stop thinking of the negatives, and choose to refocus on something – anything – else, and through self-talk – I made myself make that choice.  When I lost my Mom suddenly and I couldn't snap out of my depression, I went to therapy and they helped me learn several coping strategies that really came in handy with my own disease and in managing my mental health as I supported my Dad. I strongly urge you to seek therapy – whether your church has resources, or your husband's job has an Employee Assistant Plan – there are some great resources out there to help you learn to rise above the grieving we experience when disease interrupts the sense of complacency we enjoy. Not to mention the therapy we all provide through MPIP 🙂  Best wishes in seeking a new normal that isn't filled with fear!

Gail

Your post really caught my eye, because I often used the same imagery of the other shoe dropping. I am 15 years NED – but spent a few years after my diagnosis and treatment being hypersensitive to any change in my body. As life went on, I realized that the fear and anticipation of something else bad happening was robbing me of my todays. Living in the moment and conciously choosing to not look at my daughter and wonder who would raise her when I was gone helped me move forward.

After my diagnosis, I had the privilege of being my Dad's primary caretaker through a multiple myeloma diagnosis where at age 70, they told him he had 90 days to live tops – and chemo put him in remission for the rest of his life. Then he had stage I colon cancer and major surgery at age 73 was no picnic. He was not a candidate for follow up chemo because he was too weak – but he rebounded. Then at age 77, he was diagnosed with lung cancer and was not a candidate for traditional lung removal, but had pioneering minimally invasive surgery in a clinical trial in what is now the standard of care – and he rebounded.  At the begining of his challenges with cancer, I would wonder how I would live without him – we were so close after my Mom died young – but then I had to choose to focus on each day as a gift – and not think about the next day or the next month – to keep from ruining the time we had together.  At age 78, he was diagnosed as Stage IV – they never decided if the origin was the colon or the lung – he was put in pallative care and we lived each day as if he was going to make it to 100. We spoke of it and made the choice to look forward and not let our lives be governed by the dread of the separation that we knew was coming and that allowed us many "normal" days together over his last year. We made long term plans, many of which were never fulfilled, but many were and we cherised them – planting a vegetable garden, buying a new car, planning and making day trips.

Maybe I'm capable of extreme denial – but each time I felt myself sinking into a depression and fog of worry – I made myself stop thinking of the negatives, and choose to refocus on something – anything – else, and through self-talk – I made myself make that choice.  When I lost my Mom suddenly and I couldn't snap out of my depression, I went to therapy and they helped me learn several coping strategies that really came in handy with my own disease and in managing my mental health as I supported my Dad. I strongly urge you to seek therapy – whether your church has resources, or your husband's job has an Employee Assistant Plan – there are some great resources out there to help you learn to rise above the grieving we experience when disease interrupts the sense of complacency we enjoy. Not to mention the therapy we all provide through MPIP 🙂  Best wishes in seeking a new normal that isn't filled with fear!

Gail

Your post really caught my eye, because I often used the same imagery of the other shoe dropping. I am 15 years NED – but spent a few years after my diagnosis and treatment being hypersensitive to any change in my body. As life went on, I realized that the fear and anticipation of something else bad happening was robbing me of my todays. Living in the moment and conciously choosing to not look at my daughter and wonder who would raise her when I was gone helped me move forward.

After my diagnosis, I had the privilege of being my Dad's primary caretaker through a multiple myeloma diagnosis where at age 70, they told him he had 90 days to live tops – and chemo put him in remission for the rest of his life. Then he had stage I colon cancer and major surgery at age 73 was no picnic. He was not a candidate for follow up chemo because he was too weak – but he rebounded. Then at age 77, he was diagnosed with lung cancer and was not a candidate for traditional lung removal, but had pioneering minimally invasive surgery in a clinical trial in what is now the standard of care – and he rebounded.  At the begining of his challenges with cancer, I would wonder how I would live without him – we were so close after my Mom died young – but then I had to choose to focus on each day as a gift – and not think about the next day or the next month – to keep from ruining the time we had together.  At age 78, he was diagnosed as Stage IV – they never decided if the origin was the colon or the lung – he was put in pallative care and we lived each day as if he was going to make it to 100. We spoke of it and made the choice to look forward and not let our lives be governed by the dread of the separation that we knew was coming and that allowed us many "normal" days together over his last year. We made long term plans, many of which were never fulfilled, but many were and we cherised them – planting a vegetable garden, buying a new car, planning and making day trips.

Maybe I'm capable of extreme denial – but each time I felt myself sinking into a depression and fog of worry – I made myself stop thinking of the negatives, and choose to refocus on something – anything – else, and through self-talk – I made myself make that choice.  When I lost my Mom suddenly and I couldn't snap out of my depression, I went to therapy and they helped me learn several coping strategies that really came in handy with my own disease and in managing my mental health as I supported my Dad. I strongly urge you to seek therapy – whether your church has resources, or your husband's job has an Employee Assistant Plan – there are some great resources out there to help you learn to rise above the grieving we experience when disease interrupts the sense of complacency we enjoy. Not to mention the therapy we all provide through MPIP 🙂  Best wishes in seeking a new normal that isn't filled with fear!

Gail

Your post really caught my eye, because I often used the same imagery of the other shoe dropping. I am 15 years NED – but spent a few years after my diagnosis and treatment being hypersensitive to any change in my body. As life went on, I realized that the fear and anticipation of something else bad happening was robbing me of my todays. Living in the moment and conciously choosing to not look at my daughter and wonder who would raise her when I was gone helped me move forward.

After my diagnosis, I had the privilege of being my Dad's primary caretaker through a multiple myeloma diagnosis where at age 70, they told him he had 90 days to live tops – and chemo put him in remission for the rest of his life. Then he had stage I colon cancer and major surgery at age 73 was no picnic. He was not a candidate for follow up chemo because he was too weak – but he rebounded. Then at age 77, he was diagnosed with lung cancer and was not a candidate for traditional lung removal, but had pioneering minimally invasive surgery in a clinical trial in what is now the standard of care – and he rebounded.  At the begining of his challenges with cancer, I would wonder how I would live without him – we were so close after my Mom died young – but then I had to choose to focus on each day as a gift – and not think about the next day or the next month – to keep from ruining the time we had together.  At age 78, he was diagnosed as Stage IV – they never decided if the origin was the colon or the lung – he was put in pallative care and we lived each day as if he was going to make it to 100. We spoke of it and made the choice to look forward and not let our lives be governed by the dread of the separation that we knew was coming and that allowed us many "normal" days together over his last year. We made long term plans, many of which were never fulfilled, but many were and we cherised them – planting a vegetable garden, buying a new car, planning and making day trips.

Maybe I'm capable of extreme denial – but each time I felt myself sinking into a depression and fog of worry – I made myself stop thinking of the negatives, and choose to refocus on something – anything – else, and through self-talk – I made myself make that choice.  When I lost my Mom suddenly and I couldn't snap out of my depression, I went to therapy and they helped me learn several coping strategies that really came in handy with my own disease and in managing my mental health as I supported my Dad. I strongly urge you to seek therapy – whether your church has resources, or your husband's job has an Employee Assistant Plan – there are some great resources out there to help you learn to rise above the grieving we experience when disease interrupts the sense of complacency we enjoy. Not to mention the therapy we all provide through MPIP 🙂  Best wishes in seeking a new normal that isn't filled with fear!

Gail