Some time earlier in the year Meghan told me she wanted to donate her hair.
Inspired by a few stories of children with cancer, and prior to her own diagnosis (a very mild and stable case) of alopecia areata, she knew something good could come of something so basic so she set about the business of growing her hair.
She knew she needed 10 inches to cut for “Locks of Love,” and she was determined.
I was inspired.
So while she grew hers, I quietly grew mine too. It wasn’t the first time she led me by her example.
And when her resolve strengthened I shared my intention with her, and we were set to donate our hair together in September.
Except mine wasn’t long enough – not yet. And maybe that was a blessing because she got to blaze the trail. She sat bravely as her pony tail was chopped off. She smiled as her curly hair bounced up as if it had been waiting for the weight to be released.
And somehow I think she grew up even more that day. And with that selfless act, she became even more beautiful, more mature.
So, when it was finally my turn, she held my hand. She held my camera. She reassured me that I had done something good.
Sometimes she is so much the grown up that it is frightening.
Sometimes, albeit rarely, she is a ten year old kid. I am working to treasure both.
It’s OK if my hero is 5’2”, wears a size 8.5 shoe, some of my clothes, and was born after the turn of the century right?
And it is Saturday. I hate it when Saturday is rotten.
And I am tired. And worried. And my heart is heavy.
I guess that makes me in the same boat as most people.
And then there was a text this afternoon.
And just like that breast cancer claimed another life. Just like that two women had no mother, and a husband lost his wife.
To the best of my knowledge she didn’t have Cowden’s or BRCA, or any other genetic cause for her cancer. But then again, neither do most people. And I was reminded again that maybe having Cowden’s makes me a little luckier.
I knew to get the beast before it got me.
She was not old enough to die. But, then again, who is?
And even when I held her hands in June and looked her square in the eye, and told her to fight with all her might – I knew. She knew too. Deep in that place where the thoughts are that you just don’t want to think, or feel, or believe. We both knew that this is how it would end.
Cancer is stupid, and mean and nasty, and ugly and awful. It’s a big bully and I really hate bullies.
I’m pretty much over this “Breast Cancer Awareness” thing.
As a matter of fact I am over the whole cancer thing altogether.
Ready for a cure.
Broken hearts. Lives crushed. Too many wakes and funerals. Too many people gone too soon.
My heart hurts. My head hurts. And I think some part of me feels guilty.
Guilty for having a “head start.” Guilty for having the support to push me through the double mastectomy.
This is the first person in my life to die of breast cancer since my diagnosis. I am sadly sure she won’t be the last.
And, like so many things that have changed since March 5, 2012 – this one hurts differently. Worse.
I said yes, not quite sure exactly what would be involved, but knowing that it was a rare opportunity to speak to Cowden’s Syndrome awareness.
Tonight was the night.
What an amazing show. I am so glad to be familiar with it now, and you should check it out!
Somehow the words came pouring out. It’s amazing what speaking from the heart can do. I can only hope that someone tonight knows what they didn’t know before.
I find there to be no coincidences in life.
After my segment in the “Survivor Spotlight,” the show focused on toxicity and cancer. Well even though I just listened in to THAT part of the show, I was so in tune to what they were saying.
(My part of the show starts at about 11 minutes, and ends around 30 – I talk too much! But I managed to mention my friends at Life with Cowden’s, PTEN world, and The Global Genes Project!)
Near as I can figure these days, breathing increases your cancer risk. But, taking crappy care of your body, eating junky food, and generally being careless, puts you at a greater risk than if you are careful.
There is nothing we can do, especially those of us with genetic predispositions to cancer, to fully protect us. But we can do what we can to help.
There is no guarantee I won’t get hit by a car, but if I stand in the middle of the street I greatly increase my chances.
People ask why we devote so much of our time, energy and budget into healthy food.
Genetics are not on our side. But we can fill our bodies with healthy, pure, organic superfood.
These days the core of the nutrition in our home comes from Isagenix. It does not claim to prevent, treat or cure any disease, but If you haven’t looked yet – now is a good time.
I am dating myself I am sure, but the year I was to sit for the Chemistry Regents Exam in NYC, someone swiped the answers. The morning of the test they were published in the NY Post. I remember sitting in my high school cafeteria waiting to take the exam, only to find out it had been cancelled. You know thinking back on that story, I guess I understand now why I have never won the lottery. That was probably one of the “luckiest” thing to happen in my life. I never did have to take that exam.
Except now, 25 years later, I sit poring over a piece of paper full of words I don’t understand. I am brought back to the periodic table, and left to wonder if maybe I should have paid a bit more attention in class.
I have actively picked apart each of these levels since being handed the report on Thursday. I have read the descriptions of where this toxicity could have originated from. I have made the few moves I could understand, and the old aluminum cookware hit the recycle bag, and the new stainless steel – to supplement the few pieces we did have – arrives this week. The old cookie sheets are gone. Parchment paper replaces aluminum foil for cooking. But what about the other ones? What about the ones I can’t understand? Or worse, what about the ones like “gadolinium” that I CAN understand, but I just can’t fix?????
This printout is old now. The new urine sample was picked up Friday morning, and hopefully someone in a lab somewhere is generating lower numbers and shorter bars. But, I won’t know that for a few weeks. So I am left alone with my worries, and my thoughts, and my sick kid.
I suspect if Meghan could tell the world how she feels, this might be the sentiment. She is constantly conflicted with feeling like crap, and being pushed to keep on. She not only plays in pain – she smiles and laughs through it. And no one who sees her outside of this house would typically have any idea of the agony she endures each day. She works hard to hide it all. She has told me, in her very own words, that “no one would like me if I told them how I really felt all the time.” I would like to tell her she’s wrong, but she’s not.
And she is the bravest kid I know.
The sore throat started Friday, hours after the chelation, and exactly the same as last time. On Friday she pushed herself through gym class because she just wanted to be “normal.” By Friday afternoon she was shot – too wiped out to swim. She could barely swallow. By Saturday morning her nuscles ached along with her throat. No swimming Saturday either.
We barely left the house all weekend, except for a quick strep test Sunday that was negative.
The friends she wanted to invite over – postponed.
This was no coincidence. This was twice in a row she was knocked on her *ss after chelation. This was her immune system saying,” WHAT THE HECK WAS THAT?” To the toxic storm unleashed by the chelating agents. We have kept her well hydrated in hopes much could be excreted… but we will have to wait and see.
Early to bed Friday, Saturday, Sunday, Monday, Tuesday, and again tonight.
SHE HATES going to bed early – but has gone willingly.
She went home from school early today. No fever, but a clammy sweat. She just needs rest, and water, and rest.
The headache is ruthless. Even as some of the cold like symptoms start to subside, the headache does not want to quit. A week now. It leaves such a pit in my stomach I don’t want her out of my sight. I hate headaches. I especially hate wondering if the renegade toxins likely causing them are doing any other damage.
The doctor who last month said there was no way her symptoms were connected to the chelation recanted through an email today. He is now keeping tabs, giving me tips to keep her comfortable, keeping my resolve strong that this is necessary, and working on downward adjusting her dose for next time. More trips, more treatments… hopefully less misery.
I just can’t shake the image of a snow globe, and as we try to get the metals out we stir it all up. Some escapes, but the rest causes misery as it finds hiding spots again.
An in between it all life presses on. Laundry gets done. Bills get paid. Lessons get planned. Cars get exchanged. Files are kept. Clothes for the growing girl, are ordered. Floors get vacuumed, and washed, and vacuumed again. Groceries are purchased. Lists are made, and lost and remade. Tabs are kept on family and friends, and their health, and their struggles.
These are the every day tasks that keep me sane. On autopilot.
Dinners are missed. Meetings go unattended, Places I want to go – but, I just can’t right now.
You see I am having a battle with the Periodic Table of Elements, and I need to study. I am the front line.
So, I take my IONIX, and my t+chai, and I am thankful for energy and stamina to endure.
Maybe missing that regents wasn’t so “lucky” after all. So as I study some these next few weeks – please know we haven’t forgotten you. Our prayer list is long. We don’t want you to leave us out, or not to call. Don’t feel badly about overburdening us. We NEED to be in your lives. We WANT to be in your lives.
We are in touch enough to know that “Everybody has SOMETHING!”
The phrase “packed in tighter than sardines” was in my head as Meghan and I tried to navigate the overcrowded local middle school fair tonight.
It was hot. Hotter than it should be October 9th, but exactly as hot as an overcrowded Public High School cafeteria is on your average fall day. It was stuffy, humid, and uncomfortable.
As we traveled from table to table, remarking how much easier it would be to see over the never-ending crowds if there were some signs indicating which school was where – we just tried to get a feel for the place, and for each table.
We went interested primarily in two schools, but open to read and learn about more. One school is small. It works off a lottery and opens only 150 seats a year. The other school has over 1100 students.
And as I pondered some pros and cons based on size alone, I was reminded of something a friend from work said a few months back. I may not have her exact words, but it was something to this effect,”The problem with where we live is that something becomes popular, just because a few people go there. Then it gets more popular, and more people go, but no one ever investigates the quality. It develops a reputation based on one feature, and people don’t look farther.”
There I was, one of those people. I kept saying I wanted my kid in the lottery for the school, “because its small.” I was not impressed by the people at the table. I was not impressed by the lack of information about the school. I was not impressed at all. I may still go to their open house, but it will be with a very open mind.
Then there was the other school. The one with 1100 kids and the principal himself standing in front of a well constructed information board. He answered questions, clearly, honestly and patiently. He spoke with confidence about the school. He invited parents in during the school day for tours. He looked every parent in the eye and spoke as if their child was the most important thing on his mind right then. And, even if he doesn’t remember any of them tomorrow, he proved himself to me. It’s difficult to fake the sincerity involved with shaking someone’s hand and looking them in the eye.
And we were about an hour in to this ordeal when Meghan’s knees began to give her trouble. Still pressing on – because that’s what she does – I knew time was of the essence.
I also knew it was time to have the conversation about “barrier free” schools. See, in the city of New York, most schools have multiple floors. This is fine for most kids, and for general physical fitness. But when your 10- year -old has already endured 4 knee surgeries…
There will be discussions about the IEP, about the 1:1 health paraprofessional, about the physical therapy, and about the appropriate placement for Junior High for my girl. Because wherever she goes, the Cowden’s Syndrome goes too. So we need to find a place where they are BOTH welcome.
Every which way I turned tonight I ran into old friends. There were some I haven’t seen since preK, and others we connected with at various points along the way. The kids are older now, almost young adults. I can still see them running on the lawn after PM session, or on the soccer field.
All of us looking, somewhat stunned, somewhat unsure of what the right place will be for our child.
As I drove past Lowe’s this weekend I saw a Christmas tree and almost got sick. “Wishing our lives away,” I thought to myself. Except tonight several hundred parents and children stood, on October 9, 2013 contemplating placements for September, 2014.
I find this just so ironic, considering mine is clearly not the only life that can’t plan a week in advance.
I put Meghan in a chair to rest her knees while I finished the last of my conversations with two lovely, helpful women. And as we began the trek back to the car I had a million questions racing through my head.
There is clearly a lot to do, and a lot to think about.
But, that will have to wait. Tomorrow’s appointment is in Long Island, and even when they try to fast forward my life, it reminds me that we can only travel one day at a time.
“Almost perfect… but not quite.” Those were the words of Mary Hume At her seventh birthday party, Looking ’round the ribboned room. “This tablecloth is pink not white– Almost perfect… but not quite.”
“Almost perfect… but not quite.” Those were the words of grown-up Mary Talking about her handsome beau, The one she wasn’t gonna marry. “Squeezes me a bit too tight– Almost perfect… but not quite.”
“Almost perfect… but not quite.” Those were the words of ol’ Miss Hume Teaching in the seventh grade, Grading papers in the gloom Late at night up in her room. “They never cross their t’s just right– Almost perfect… but not quite.”
Ninety-eight the day she died Complainin’ ’bout the spotless floor. People shook their heads and sighed, “Guess that she’ll like heaven more.” Up went her soul on feathered wings, Out the door, up out of sight. Another voice from heaven came– “Almost perfect… but not quite.”
When you are a teacher you will sometimes find the craziest things echoing through your subconscious. Today, over and over I kept hearing the line, “Almost perfect… but not quite.” It wasn’t until a few minutes ago that an internet search led me to the poem above. A fan of Shel Silverstein for years – undoubtedly this is the message my “inner self” was trying to get across all day.
We woke up late this morning. Later than I wanted to. Well, let me rephrase that. I actually WANT to sleep VERY late, most of the time. However, the reality was that there were things to do, bills to pay, places to go and people to see.
So, I was a bit disgruntled early this morning. I struggle with this feeling most weekends. I want to badly to use my time wisely. I want to stop and smell the roses, but I battle with the consequences which leave me buried behind paperwork for home and school, bills to sort, letters to write, and laundry to do.
I am too often a bit like Mary Hume in the poem above.
I expect perfection, primarily of myself. I am always, and have always been, my own worst critic.
Why isn’t the house clean? Why aren’t all the bills paid? Why can’t I manage the money better? Why can’t I find time for fun? Why can’t I figure out an exercise schedule? Why can’t I get organized? Why does it take me so long to follow up on things? How come I can’t manage to keep up? Why don’t I see my family and friends more often? Why doesn’t Meghan feel well? Could I have gotten her to a better doctor? Are there better answers? WHY?
You can insert all sorts of things there, but my guess is that I am not alone. Although I kind of hope I am, because I am actively working to get out of that place. Its not healthy at all.
Because, really? Does it matter?
Don’t get me wrong. I am not at all suggesting that we just toss it all to the side and let everything go, but is the fact that I am one set of sheets behind because we went apple picking yesterday really the end of the world? I think not. In fact, I am sure the memories we made will stay with us far longer than (the horror) having to change the sheets on a Monday… or dust on a Wednesday… or just clean the floor, fan, window, when it’s dirty.
We got a roof 2 weeks ago. My screens are the dirtiest they have ever been. They will get washed.
It’s October 6th, I changed the calendar today. The world didn’t end because I missed the 1st.
I like order. I like neatness. And truth be told, with the medical battles, quests, and journeys I can not afford NOT to be organized. But, I am learning, or trying to learn not to obsess.
See everything changes on a moment’s notice. There are no guarantees. In our lives, where Cowden’s Syndrome is the proverbial Elephant in the Room at all times, this is especially apparent. But maybe in some way we have a bit of an advantage.
I plan ahead as best I can. I organize my files, my lesson plans, and my doctors appointments. I do all of this with the understanding that one day I may have to stop it all and address a health issue. So, when I can I spend a few extra moments being organized.
But, because we know all too well how fast things can change I am learning to stop. I am learning that its ok to make a rubber band bracelet some days, or to pick some pumpkins, or to watch the swim practice and marvel at the health that allows it to take place instead of burying myself in more work.
It’s not just our lives that can spin out of control. We just have notice that its “likely” to happen. I feel for the MANY, and I mean WAY TOO MANY people I know whose lives are spinning wildly as they try to gather themselves.
What do you do?
You have to get up and get moving and get about each day as best you can. You have to maintain some semblance of order. You have to pause.
In that quest for perfection we can lose ourselves all too quickly. We can miss it as it flies by.
Tonight I worked on the checkbook. I say “worked on.” I used to say “balanced,” but that would just be a lie. Yes, I am a math teacher. No, my checkbook is no longer to the penny. I just won’t sacrifice the extra hours. But its close enough that I haven’t bounced a check in 20 years.
Almost perfect… works for me.
There are way more important things that need my time.
I saw superheroes today. Not the kind that normally come to mind.
The 9th floor of Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center was absolutely crawling with them.
None of them had capes. And they weren’t any funny colors.
None of them could fly, and yet I am sure that’s what they were.
I saw young bald superheroes with smiles that could light any room.
I saw older, more mature superheroes, heroically managing their IV poles, after teaching a younger one not to cry.
I saw parent superheroes, who although their capes were invisible to the naked eye, possessed nerves of steel, and the ability to make their young one laugh even as they themselves were inches from despair.
I had a lot of time to watch them. We had a long wait this morning. And even as I kept Meghan distracted, my eyes never left them.
I woke this morning to the sound of my dogs running back and forth through the house. They weren’t barking – just running.
The sound also woke Felix who is quicker in the mornings than I am.
“Weren’t you supposed to be up at 6?”
Gulp. Sure was. And that was my Mom at the door waiting to take Meghan and I to the Race for the Cure in Central Park.
As I quickly washed, my face, and changed my clothes. I let Felix see to Meghan. I was annoyed at myself for oversleeping. I purposely set the alarm on my cell phone so I would have to undo the lock screen to shut it down. Apparently I was THAT tired.
We have been going to this race for at least 15 years. Some of the participants have come and gone, but Mom and I have been there together… well except for 2003 when Meghan was just about a month old.
And, for the better part of the last 10 years Meghan has joined us. She was always so eager to support Grandma, that once I had the title of “Survivor” too she was determined to support us both.
Except last year. When she was sidelined. Sick with a fever early in the school year. As devastated as she was I convinced her this was the year that mattered. This was the year I could say I was a FULL year without my breast cancer.
Dates matter.
When Mom was first diagnosed in 1997, I wasn’t sure she would be ok. Although she battled through 2 mastectomies, and chemo, and 5 years of tamoxifen like a champ, it became important to celebrate the victories. The milestones. So Meghan has grown up watching me acknowledge Grandma’s “Pink Ribbon Anniversaries” three times a year. (First surgery, second surgery, end of chemo) And while the acknowledgements are small they are an understanding between us that we remember. We are grateful.
The race every September in Central Park was a natural outgrowth of that. A desire to celebrate. To be thankful. To remember.
Of course for me things feel a bit different sometimes. Last night I told my husband I sometimes feel guilty wearing the pink “Survivor” T shirt. He was perplexed. I explained that I didn’t feel like I “survived” chemo, or radiation, or any of the things most women go through. To which his sassy reply was, “You were tired of the old boobs? That’s why you had them cut off?”
See I wonder sometimes if would have been different if there was no cancer. If the mastectomy had indeed been prophylactic would that change the fact that a genetic predisposition – AKA Cowden’s Syndrome (in ADDITION to having a first degree relative with breast cancer,) had pretty much predetermined the fate of my breasts?
I have “met” in this virtual world, and now in my real life, quite a few “previvors” who have taken an empowered approach to their genetic predisposition and had a mastectomy, and/or a hysterectomy.
I would say they are as much “survivors” as anyone. Bravery, coupled with a desire to be there for your children and your family motivates these women to endure major surgery(ies.)
2. To carry on despite hardships or trauma; persevere: families that were surviving in tents after the flood.
3. To remain functional or usable: I dropped the radio, but it survived.
v.tr.
1. To live longer than; outlive: She survived her husband by five years.
2. To live, persist, or remain usable through: plants that can survive frosts; a clock that survived a fall.
3. To cope with (a trauma or setback); persevere after: survived child abuse.
So I put on my pink shirt, and we got out the door (t+Chai in hand) in just a few minutes. We blew into Manhattan and found a spot on the street close to the park.
We walked through the “Expo” which was a little thinner than most years, took a few pictures, and then it was time to walk.
Although the weather was beautiful, Mom’s pinched nerve is not cooperating the way she would like, so she took a shorter route as Meghan and I headed to the starting line.
For 3,2 miles, I pushed Meghan in her push chair. She made friends along the way. She met a police dog, and lots of nice ladies to whom she gave her “Cowden’s Card.” And every time she gave it out I thought – Cowden’s Syndrome is more rare than BRCA, but just as lethal, even more so in some ways. People should know. I reminded her how glad I was – to have her
there.
Just before the 3 mile mark we were joined by Grandma, and the three of us crossed the finish line together.
And as we walked under the pink balloon arch and turned towards the car I forced from my head the reality that we were now 2/3 pink. I looked at my little girl in her white shirt, about to start 5th grade tomorrow. I prayed for lots and lots of years for her to not have to worry about any of this. I thought about how much better she looks in white than pink. I searched my heart praying for a cure.
And in the depths of my soul I don’t go a day without considering her 85% lifetime breast cancer risk.
Dates are important.
Now March 5, 2012 gets added to our celebration list.
Life is uncertain. Celebrate the little victories together. They are what matters most.
When it’s all about to fall apart, what is a mother to do to hold it all together?
Anything she possibly can!
Months ago I wrote a blog about how Cowden’s Syndrome changed… my phone. And its true. I could not manage the appointments and chronic craziness without Siri, my BFF.
And, when the navigation in my car quits, which it often does, Siri is the one to get me home.
So how did Cowden’s Syndrome change my entire way of eating?
After our diagnoses in the fall of 2011, my dear husband ate his way through his stress. I can’t blame him. Imminent cancer risks for your young daughter. Thyroid nodules galore. Biopsies every 6 months. Vascular problems. Pain. A wife facing a mastectomy, and subsequently a cancer diagnosis, and a hysterectomy. Tumors on her spleen… and the list goes on.
By November of 2011 he was here.
I had known him since 1997 and had seen his weight fluctuate from attempt after attempt to get the stress eating in check. Being a big attractive guy, he was able to disguise his weight very well for most of the “ups.” But I knew this level of yo-yo dieting was not good for him. I also knew we needed him, strong and by our sides.
My husband is soft-spoken, and talks to very few people by his own choosing. I had to get his permission before I hit “publish” on this one. But if you listen carefully when he does talk, he always has valuable advice and a story to tell.
Some time over the winter of 2011, into early 2012… maybe it was right after my double mastectomy in March of 2012, he had a revelation. While sitting uncomfortably on the couch one night, he tried to move a pillow out of his way. Only to realize it was his waist.
A month after that during a physical he left the doctor’s office with prescriptions for his high triglycerides, his high blood pressure and his high cholesterol. Darned if I was going to put MORE junk in his body we went to a trusted cardiologist. He told Felix there was nothing wrong with him that losing 50 pounds wouldn’t fix. He gave him a script for a prescription strength fish oil. We tossed the other scripts in the trash.
That was the moment of truth, and we went on a hunt together for what would help.
Fortune, and opportunity, and the grace of God had placed a new friend in our lives that year. She was a blessing to Meghan, but subsequently to all of us. She had begun her Isagenix journey that year and was seeing incredible success.
For years I knew that diet and nutrition were the key to so many things. Meghan never even spoke until we removed gluten, dairy and soy from her diet at the age of 2. We saw her developmental delays resolve as her stomach quieted. We moved mountains to feed this kid right, and provide her with nutritional supplementation of only the highest quality. As I listened to my new friend describe Isagenix, I heard words I already knew to be true. This company had everything I knew about nutrition – ready to help my husband.
So we started him on the “30 Day Cleansing and Fat Burning System.” Within days he reported feeling better. He was expressing clarity of mind. He had energy. He had less of a desire to eat junk. His palate was changing and he was fighting me for the rest of the vegetables at dinner.
I was amazed, grateful, and impressed. But not surprised. It all made sense. Put maple syrup in your car’s engine and you ruin it. Run it of pure gasoline, change the oil regularly, and you are golden. Why would we treat our bodies any less efficiently?
Felix and Meghan January 2013
Over the next 11 months I dutifully adjusted his “autoship” so that the products would arrive at our home ever 29 days. He modified the portions of the program that work for him, and he woke up in August on his 40th birthday 50 pounds lighter than he had been over 18 months before.
For the first time, in the 17 years I have known him, the weight is GONE. RELEASED – not lost. It will NOT be found again.
He tells me this is not a “diet” but a lifestyle change. He will not start his morning without his shake and his ionix vitamin. He will not go more than 3 weeks without a “nutritional cleanse” that is the lifeblood of why this works. (Nutritional Cleansing releases toxins from the body. Without that release of toxins your body begins to hold onto the weight again.)
After all of this regulating the autoship, and paying monthly for high quality nutrition, some time in May I looked up and realized I was missing a HUGE piece of this.
First of all, I ordered myself some meal bars, a few shakes, and some E+shots. My body, stressed to the max, even though it was thin – needed nutrition badly. I was able to eliminate my diet soda habit – something I had tried to do for years with no success. I can not stomach dyes and junk foods I used to live on. My body just WANTS the real stuff.
Then they came out with a shake that would meet Meghan’s needs.
And then we were three consuming Isagenix, and feeling better each day. What an amazing thing to listen to your ten-year old TELL you when she NEEDS a shake. I am convinced the only reason she can swim the way she does is because she refuels with Isagenix.
So, what does a family benefiting from a product do?
They talk. Finally. After all that I finally got around to telling people of our success. Of the quality of these products. Of the positive life changes.
And people wanted to know more. So I learned more. And I helped them. And they are getting healthy too. What a rewarding feeling.
I have had to contend with the negative folks along the way. The ones who whisper, “That’s a multilevel marketing company..” as if that made it evil?
Yes. Isagenix is a multilevel marketing company. There is no mystery, And no one tried to hide it. There is no one breathing down your neck to sell or share the products, and you are free to purchase and use for as long as you like. We did it for 11 months. But if you share (which is what I learned to do as a small child in school – simply share) and you help others, you get rewarded for that.
Then I signed someone up. And they were happy. And I felt good. And then another, and another.
And before I knew it there was this Visa card on my desk with money on it. Money I had earned from telling our story. Money I can use to do whatever I’d like.
It got easier and easier.
You see people say to me, as I had said to my friend, “I am not a sales person.” Me either. I am sure I couldn’t sell knives, or vacuums, or other random products. What I CAN do is tell the truth. I do it well. My candid honesty ties into my “take me or leave me” philosophy. I have no time for nonsense or drama in my life.
But now I tell people, quite honestly, that I don’t pay for my Isagenix. We eat MORE products than ever, and we eat them for FREE. Now in my 8 years of buying nutritious food, THIS is a new concept.
And I like it.
Isagenix has changed all of our lives in different ways. And we have all benefited. Felix needs to be strong for Meghan and I. And my Cowden’s Syndrome buddy and I, with our tendency towards cancer, tumor growth and a whole host of other problems, need to give our bodies pure nutrition so we have the strength to stay healthy.
We are now, and forever an Isagenix family.
It’s one of the strategies we use to keep it all together.
Since Meghan’s surgery last Tuesday, she and her wrapped hand, and foam “Carter’s Block,” have been sleeping in the king size bed with me, while Daddy has slept in the twin in Meghan’s room.
She usually needs a little bit of room, as she isn’t the calmest sleeper, but we knew with the new foam addition, there would be no way the three of us could fit. So, with Meghan came her pillows, and her iPad.
Her iPad has a playlist that she plays through the night when she sleeps. I always knew it was on, but this past week, as life has made sleep a bit elusive, I have gotten opportunity to listen to this 23 minute segment several times. Yesterday I looked up the lyrics, and as usual I was in awe of what she had assembled.
In our house we listen mostly to Contemporary Christian music. We are Christian, yes. But typically the type that tries to spread the love by example rather than with a Bible in your face. That being said, the move to Contemporary Christian music evolved after Meghan became old enough to hear, sing, and understand the lyrics, and the DJs on the radio.
I was, on more than one occasion, appalled at the level of exposure my then 5 or 6 year old child had to things I wanted her sheltered from a bit longer. So, I switched the station. And I kept it there.
Now, don’t misunderstand, She is not bound to listen only to Christian music. She can pretty much listen to whatever she wants. She has an Itunes account and downloads music of her choosing, with our permission. And, there are plenty of afternoons you will hear a good Classic Rock station blaring out our car windows. But, like anything else, my initial changing of the radio station led to conversations. And I like conversations.
Meghan became aware that many of her friends at school were familiar with other musical artists that she had never heard of. So, it became practice that every time she brought home the name of an artist or song, as long as it wasn’t overly offensive – we would buy it. But I loved that our conversations got her looking at lyrics, hearing what she was singing along to, and taking responsibility for her choices.
I know that music is a very personal thing. I will not be the Mom who is in denial, or tries to over regulate. It will lead to rebellion and there is no need. I will talk to my daughter regularly about valuing herself, her body, and other people. We will talk about what lyrics mean. Then, she will, as preteens do – do as she likes.
But for now- the “sleep” selection on her iPad is a powerful collection of 6 Contemporary Christian songs.
The first is “Stronger” by Mandisa that begins…
“Stronger”
Hey, heard you were up all night
Thinking about how your world ain’t right
And you wonder if things will ever get better
And you’re asking why is it always raining on you
When all you want is just a little good news
Instead of standing there stuck out in the weather
Oh, don’t hang your head
It’s gonna end
God’s right there
Even if it’s hard to see Him
I promise you that He still cares
Then, it moves on to Kutless, “That’s What Faith Can Do”
Anyone can feel the ache
You think it’s more than you can take
But you’re stronger
Stronger than you knowDon’t you give up now
The sun will soon be shining
You gotta face the clouds
To find the silver lining
I’ve seen dreams that move the mountains
Hope that doesn’t ever end
Even when the sky is falling
I’ve seen miracles just happen
Silent prayers get answered
Broken hearts become brand new
That’s what faith can do
It doesn’t matter what you’ve heard
Impossible is not a word
It’s just a reason
For someone not to tryEverybody’s scared to death
When they decide to take that step
Out on the water
It’ll be alright
Life is so much more
Than what your eyes are seeing
You will find your way
If you keep believing
Seek justice
Love mercy
Walk humbly with your GodIn the war of the mind
I will make my stand
In the battle of the heart
And the battle of the handIn the war of the mind
I will make my stand
In the battle of the heart
And the battle of the handWe were made to be courageous
And we’re taking back the fight
We were made to be courageous
And it starts with us tonight
We pray for wisdom, Your voice to hear
We cry in anger when we cannot feel You near
We doubt your goodness, we doubt your love
As if every promise from Your word is not enough
And all the while, You hear each desperate plea
And long that we’d have faith to believe’
Cause what if your blessings come through rain drops
What if Your healing comes through tears
What if a thousand sleepless nights are what it takes to know You’re near
What if trials of this life are Your mercies in disguise
When friends betray us
When darkness seems to win
We know that pain reminds this heart
That this is not,
This is not our home
It’s not our home
And the last 2 are by a somewhat spunky artist called Francesa Batistelli
“Motion of Mercy”
That’s the motion of mercy
Changing the way and the why we are
That’s the motion of mercy
Moving my heartLiving for the lost
Loving ‘til it hurts
No matter what the cost
Like You loved me first
That’s the motion of mercy
God give me strength to give something for nothing
I wanna be a glimpse of the Kingdom that’s coming soon
I lost my keys in the great unknown
And call me please ’cause I can’t find my phone
This is the stuff that drives me crazy
This is the stuff that’s getting to me lately
In the middle of my little mess
I forget how big I’m blessed
This is the stuff that gets under my skin
But I’ve gotta trust You know exactly what You’re doing
Might not be what I would choose
But this the stuff You use…
…So break me of impatience
Conquer my frustrations
I’ve got a new appreciation
It’s not the end of the world…
I know everyone’s taste in music differs greatly, and I do not expect that anyone will listen to all 6 of these. But I encourage you- choose one. Any one that speaks to you.
I have been struggling to get to sleep, but I will miss the soothing repetition of some of the most powerful songs I know when the stitches come out tomorrow. One more night. Then everyone gets back to their own beds!
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beatingcowdens 