A Matter of Taste

July 20, 2013

Ben and Jerry's peanut butter cup ice cream. It was all I could taste while I was on chemo. I couldn't drink tap or spring water; it had a metallic taste. I preferred purified water. I drank gallons of it and still couldn't quench my thirst or get that awful chemo taste out if my mouth. The ice cream cooled the sores in my mouth and throat and gave me the calories I needed, I suppose. 

When mom came to visit she made Sinigang full of spinach. She made Ox tail soup: the marrow was to help increase my blood count so I wouldn't end up in the hospital again. But after she left, it was always back to the ice cream. It was the easiest thing to get, and I didn't have the energy to make a meal. 

On this day I'm at yogurt land with my favorite girls. I put little peanut butter cups on top of my pistachio, coconut, mango and chocolate yogurt piles. I savored each flavor. I enjoyed the mixtures of sweet, tangy and chocolatey goodness. I crunch the peanut butter cups and make them blend with the other flavors already in my mouth. And I taste them all. Enjoying each spoonful and flavor as they make my senses come alive. In this moment, I am happy.

Today this exercise in mindfulness has reminded me of how important it is to enjoy the many flavors of life, and to remember to appreciate them. And Today,  I am grateful, I got my "taste" back.

Another Year Around the Sun

Today is my 48th birthday.  I had to keep doing the math because I sure don’t feel like I’m that old.  When I look back at my life all I can remember doing was being a wife and a mom.  Right after high school I got married and started my family.  I didn’t have a career until after my kids were grown and I was separated after 14 years of marriage. All knew how to be was a mother.

Well, 2 years ago (2 years after my cancer diagnosis) my adult son moved out on his own.  He had finished college, had an excellent job and it was time for him to leave the nest.  To me, it was too early.  I had just finished my cancer treatments and was starting to feel more like myself; But still...it was too early, for me.  He was the baby, the last one at home.  I was single.  Who was I going to take of?  Who was going to take care of me?  If all I knew how to be was a mom, then what was I going to do with him gone?  I couldn’t hold him back, I knew I was in for a tough time.  I had to let him go, because it was the right thing to do.  Now all that I had left, was myself.  What did I like to do before I was a mom?  Well, that would be impossible to revisit since it definitely was more than 26 years!  So then the question had to be:  What do I want to do with my life...now?

When we face transition challenges, we struggle to find aspects of what we used to enjoy or how we used to be because it is our anchor.  It reminds us that even though this big change is happening, I’m still the same person on the inside.  So we begin by shedding the layers of who we’re not, and reach deeper into ourselves to find the person we were before (before being a mom, before having cancer) and because it’s familiar, that’s what we strive to become (again). It serves as a comfort for a person facing a transition in life.  When there is a change and the outcome is unknown, it can produce tremendous anxiety.  Some stay trapped, because if it’s all you knew how to be, what else is there?  What’s left of you when the kids are gone, or when the cancer is gone?  Well, it’s you that’s left.  Everything you had become was a result of growth.  Now, is just another time to grow.

Today I'm 48 and 4 years Cancer Free

Well, today’s my birthday, and I’m still cancer free and I still have an empty nest.  It’s been a series of adjustments, but I’m moving forward, learning and growing every day.  Someday’s are tougher, someday’s are bliss.  The way I look at it, as each day goes by, the farther I get away from the past.  The past is what I was, I am not that person anymore.  Everything changes, it’s inevitable.  Nothing ever stays the same, it’s just not possible.  Just move on, don’t look back, you’re not going that way.