Best Laid Plans

Best laid plans have a way of falling apart. They spiral quickly out of control. They change shape fast. They morph and wiggle and are hard to pin down. They’re like stubborn little cells sometimes under a microscope, fine grains of salt that spill all over.?

I need to just get this out.?

On Thursday, Dec. 30 I was told I have breast cancer. Over the phone by a radiologist while I stood in the middle of Honda World. There was no place to scurry to or hide for a private conversation. And when someone begins with, “I wish I had better news…” your mind starts to black out. It’s nothing short of a baseball bat whack to the head. Her voice was tinny and impatient and all-too fast. I started to hear bits like “surgery” and “oncologist” and “very treatable” and “have you read the biopsy report?” which had been sent to me in a text message not 10 minutes before she called.?I had not read the report, no ma’am.?

I’m telling you this because I've come to know a lot of you, through our LinkedIn interactions, actual meetings and conferences and through our shared passion for helping older adults live with dignity, happiness and purpose. It's important to me that I not suddenly be in some sort of shame-filled shadow.?But I also feel like getting a cancer diagnosis is far too common – there’s a person being diagnosed every :30 in the U.S. It’s a club you didn’t ask for admission to, but then there you are.?And for all our best intentions, our healthy lifestyles, avoidance of this or that, it's likely to touch our lives in some way, shape or form down the line.

As I was trying to finish with Nick at the car dealership, two “breast navigators” called me almost simultaneously to set up my surgery consult. It was almost 4:30 and the phones were shutting off for the long holiday weekend. In my frustration, I said, “Can I just have a minute? Can I just digest the word 'cancer'?” And we agreed to let me let it settle – the news of it – over this weekend. I just wanted to get the hell out of there.?

I drove home on auto-pilot. I don’t remember the turns or what was on the radio or whether the sun had peeked through or it had started to rain by then. I called my son. He met me at the house. I called my daughter and together, the three of us just sat there while I cried. I’m not a crier (at least not when anyone’s looking) and suddenly the tears wouldn’t stop. It’s like I’d been saving them up and all the grief of these years and the surprise of my body doing something I didn’t want it to…It is a terrifying feeling and I now know what that “cancer diagnosis” pinch feels like. It’s scary. It's paralyzing. It interrupts your plans. You can never "uncancer" yourself. I’ve stepped over into the club I never wanted to join.?

Admittedly my first panic-thought was not “I’m going to die.” Rather it was “I have to keep working!” Because my work is important to me and others and because I have to keep paying my bills and creating my own safety net. THAT made me feel even more vulnerable. Oh, and I have to deal with the cancer. This can’t be ignored.

In the days that followed my diagnosis, I was spun into a revolving medical door of more tests, surgical consults, surgery on January 19 and will meet my oncologist next week. What I've learned is this: cancer is not a straight line, rather a looping rollercoaster wherein you strap yourself in and hang on tight. It takes guts. For now, the prognosis is positive and with luck and I'll continue on with life and work, albeit while I'm being treated because that's how we roll, us female founders. I didn't come this far to toss my beloved @Feet to the Fire Writers' Workshops? over the rails. Cancer does not diminish my passion or erase my achievements. It doesn't dampen my desire to improve the lives of older people. I suspect this experience will just deepen my resolve to help people, period. Writing has always been my saving grace, even more so now. I will always believe it's an important cognitive ticket to wellness.

What I ask of you is support, not pity. Cheer me on and continue to do good work alongside and with me. See me not as someone who is broken, but rather who will do her level-best to deal with cancer and keep putting one foot in front of the other, keep working, growing and contributing positive work in the world. I am hopeful and realistic; there’ll be days where I’ll feel defeated. This is really important to me, another curve-ball?that I get to have a helluva hit at.?

Oh, and last of all, my lady friends – don’t skip your mammogram. They really do catch the things we cannot feel or know or sense. I've been a faithful getter of mammograms, and I know that my early diagnosis would've been far worse had I just blown off those simple screening tests. Even in a pandemic.

2022 has a whole new plan for me. I'll be there for it all.?