DeAnne Reeder

About a month ago, I sang in my teacher’s annual studio recital.  You have to understand that this was no ordinary recital.  My teacher usually only works with professional singers.  I’m one of the few who still has a “day job”.  Prior to studying with him, I had an agent in New York City for a while, and even did an audition tour in Europe.  I had a wonderful teacher who lived far away, and though she was an excellent career strategist, we couldn’t see eachother often enough to work on my technique.  I developed some strange habits, from singing while tired, jet-lagged, with colds, unprepared and over-practiced.  By the time I decided to take on Europe, I had some problems with my singing.  I still sounded “good”  most of the time, but if one is to be a professional, you can’t have bad days.

Oh, some people might say, “Relax, DeAnne!  You’re only human!”  And “good” singing certainly is subjective, but think about other types of professionals.  My surgeons, for instance!  If they’d had an “off” day when it was my day for surgery, they could be facing lawsuits.  I’m not a lawsuit kind of gal, but many others might be.   As a self-emplyed music teachr, if I have an “off” day and just can’t get into my work with these assorted charming individuals, then it’s going to be bad for my business as well as for the student.  If I sing less that beautifully, then it’s a source of chagrin, frustration, and despair!  It feels not only like being exposed/naked up there in front of everyone, but exposed while not lookin’ so cute!  ARRRRgh!

After nothing much happened in NY, and they started telling me that at 34 years of age I was too old to hope for any success, the Germans were kind enough to tell me what was wrong.

“Vee like you, DeAnne, baht….you haff bat technique.  You must go home and fix it.  Then you may get hired.  For now, dare ees nutting vee can do for you.”

Brokenhearted, I came home and begrudgingly shrugged off the glamourous dream of being an opera singer with an international career.  With a rather heavy heart, I resumed my life as a little neighborhood piano teacher.

I’d still practice.  But at night, negative thoughts would creep into my mind and poison my heart.  I’d given up EVERYTHING for this pipe dream!  I’d think of all the love relationships that went sour because I was too engrossed in being a “diva” to really be in a relationship.  I was troubled by how all m money went into that.  Seriously, I went for months living on cheap noodles and peanut butter sandwiches, so I could afford the gas to get back and forth to voice lessons in the city….all the weekends spent teaching, and never a vacation, because I needed to buy airplane tickets backand forth to auditions.  I thought also of how self-centered my life had become.  Sometimes I wondered if it wouldn’t be better to die, maybe get re-incarnated, and do it right the next time…maybe become a great humanitarian.

Then I tried working with a new teacher, who specializes in vocal technique.  For about two years, we did alot of exercises, and “tear down” of faulty technique, tension, and misconceptions.  Along about the time we began to re-build my repertoire, I was diagnosed with cancer.

Ah!  Maybe it was because I was still so selfish.  Maybe it was bad karma, for not giving up my pipe dream all the way, and becoming a humanitarian.  (Maybe all those donations to the humane society didn’t mean anything!  After all, there were children starving and dying of AIDS in other parts of the world, and here I was, fussing about my foundering glory as an opera wanna-be…or a has-been…maybe even a never-was….)  Maybe cancer was caused by being too negative, hating myself too much because I was frustrated all the time.

Anyhow, cancer forced me to give up just about everything for a while.  When I started feeling better, I was a little nervous going back to my voice lessons.  But my teacher just took it in stride.  he helped me adjust to little changes in my voice, we began working on repertoire again, I began coaching with a wonderful pianist, and by May, 1 year after the chemo ended, I sang in public for the first time since my vocal reconstruction.  (He’d allowed me to sing in a recital one year before the chemo, before my diagnosis.  I think he did this mainly so I wouldn’t feel left-out and discouraged.)  My teacher took on a project (me!) that many other teachers didn’t feel able or willing to take on.  He worked miracles, with patience and compassion, and never ever gave up on me.  Even when I was sick, he just assumed I’d be back.  He will always be a hero to me!!!

This last recital felt awesome!  I wore a long, sparkly dress and golden shoes.  I curled my hair, what there was of it.  I wore red lipstick and tons of mascara…of course I went all out and over the top!  I’m a coloratura, I’m supposed to be over the top.  When you consider that most of my opera characters are wind-up dolls, fairies, and madwomen, then you’ll see that I was just returning to normal. The pianist was amazing, all the singers were fabulous, and I felt afterwards that I might have held my own in their midst.

The recital was recorded and when I finally got around to listening to  the CD, I enjoyed everyone else’s arias.  Finally, I had to listen to my own…And!!! I sounded like a professional!

I was ecstatic.

I showed it to my coach, and he was estatic, too!

I told my teacher how happy I was, and he just sort of smiled knowingly, like”But of course, all in a day’s work!”

I sang an audition today, and whether I get the part or not, I feel that I’m back in the saddle!  I’m finally at ease with my vocal technique.  I know what will come out of my mouth, and I can trust that it’ll be good, regardless of all the other circumstances that used to affect my performances.  What a relief!  And if I’m too old, at 40, to really “do” anything with my singing, then so be it.  There’s still the satisfaction of finally doing something right.

Furthermore, there is the joy that comes from knowing that I have a indomitable spirit!  Rejection?  Chemo?  Bad reviews?  Funky attitude?  I’m a survivor!  I don’t give up my dream, and rather than driving myself and everyone else nuts trying to “make things happen”, I’m learning to take pride in myself and my music and my artistry, and to really enjoy the process.  Instead of looking for other people’s approval, I’ve tried to look inward.  As the Baghavad Gita says, “We have no rights to the fruits of our labor, but only to the labor itself.”  Maybe I’m learning to be me, myself, and not some figment of my ego.

As for turning 40, my coach, whose 61st birthday was a few days after mine, reassured me: “Oh, don’t worry.  Someday, about 20 years from now, you’ll really be a force of nature, if you’re this much greater at 40 than you were before!”

And as for coming to terms with being “just a little neighborhood piano teacher”…the reality of it is that there is alot of love in what I do.  Every day, I get to deal with sweet, happy people, and talk about music, which is my favorite thing!  Mybe there’s truth in what a Persian friend once told me, that the word for artist is the same, in his native language, as the word for teacher.

As for being too selfish, in turning inward and meditating (once in a while, when I dont fall asleep in the process, )  and opening my mind to new opportunities istead of always being too busy, or too worried about being too busy, I find myself happily volunteering with the Ceres project, and with my “Little Sister” Daniela.

Life is good, I’m very content, and even though I feel like I could walk away from singing, I now feel like if I did, it would just follow me.  At my audition today, as I finished the piece by Handel, the conductor gave a little cheer.  He was excited because Most people can’t sing the last run without running out of air.  Well, we all know I’m never at a loss for hot air!!!  ROAR!

I rode home from my audition tonight, happy and at peace…back in the saddle, driving towards a happy sunset.

In my family, no one else is macrobiotic.  They applaud my ability to learn to eat “yucky” things like sea weed and mushrooms and to cut out the crap from my diet.  But I know they also think I’m a wierdo.  Being related to me is sort of like having some sort of religious zealot in the family.  They think I’m healthy…annoyingly, self-righteously so.  That’s why no one gave me a hard time on Easter, when I fell off of  my macrobiotic high horse.

There was the joyful noshing of jelly beans! And I practically wallowed in Jenny’s heavenly home-made baignets!   ate croiscants made with WHITE FLOUR!  I’m going to hell in a hand-basket on Jesus’ big day!

I was so hung over from my consumption of sugar that I had to take a 3-hour nap in the sunshine!   I even flipped out and ate the chocolate peanut butter egg that I’d purchased as a gift for someone else from one of my students who was selling them as a fundraiser for his  soccer team.  I’d read the package.  There were 12 grams of sugar in the candy.  I thought of all the stuff I’d eaten that day.  I had figured buying the candy egg would help the kid’s team and I could give it to someone, like my “little sister”, or maybe even my voice coach in the city…

…aw, heck!  I wasn’t going to see the little sister until after Easter, and she’s on a health food kick.  And the coach probably wouldn’t eat it, because he’s a born-again health nut after his own health crisis a few years ago.  Humph.  It was a perfectly good egg.  I didn’t want it to just rot!  And it was 12 grams…I’d just run an extra few miles, then not eat junk ever again!  Yay!

So I happily gobbled it up as if it were manna and I was starving in the wilderness.  Then I glimpsed at the package again…  and, HORRORS!!!!…that little  candy egg was meant to serve 3!!!

That wiped the crap-eatin’ grin off my face!

After 5 days of eating clean and otherwise detoxing I was happy to find out that my training as a Ceres “client liason” is complete.   I have two people that I check in with each week with, who are cancer patients recieving medicinal food deliveries from this organization.  My job is to be their link to the kitchen and the organization in general, and to help them continue in their quest to become well again, with updating them about Ceres cooking classes, lectures and events.  There was feedback, of course, from the head liason who has trained me.

The coordinator of all the liasons worried that people going through treatment might find me a bit intimidating because I’m a year out from cancer and doing so dang well, that they might compare themselves to me and feel like they aren’t doing so well.  Her solution is to match me up with clients who intend to kick cancer’s ass, with positive attitudes and  who are eager to learn about how they can take control of a difficult situation by doing little positive things each day, like eating well.  Yeah!  Those would be the clients for me!

I guess there are some people who like to receive the food, and they like the visits from the liasons and the delivery angels, but don’t really care to incorporate any major changes into their lives.  Hm.  I guess those are the ones who wouldn’t like me checking in with them once a week, with my message of “think happy thoughts and eat your veggies!”

Oh, well.  But to all the rest of you, I’ll say it!  Because  we can take control of the difficult things in our lives, whether it’s an illness or disability, or a bad relationship, or a no-where job!   It’s true that we can control the state of our minds with thoughts, which in turn can beeifit or harm your health.   And eating (organic) veggies never hurt anyone, though my nephew may beg to differ.

Happy Spring!

It’s the end of the week.  Tomorrow is Easter, and regardless of one’s religion, this is always a time of new beginnings.  The trees are blossoming, and my little pear trees in the backyard actually have fruit!  Little brown bunnies with cotton-tails scamper across the path as I run by.  Am I a new person?

I think back on last year. I was bald and tired and had one and a half eyebrows.  I was finally skinny, (Yay!  Cancer!)  but I had no energy. Now, I’m training for my first ULTRA MARATHON!!!!  (So far it’s going great, up to 16 miles for the long run, and no aches or pains. ..trying to do a bit of tempo and speedwork each week so i doesn’t take me forever to finnish.)

I think back to before cancer, when I was totally self-absorbed.  I’m still obnoxiously so, but have made a conscious effort to volunteer for things in which I’m not the main character all the time.  Things like Big Brothers Big Sisters!  Once a week, it’s nice to focus on making someone else happy.  My “Little Sister” is a bright, funny eleven year old girl.  The other day she asked me, “What happens next year?”

“Huh?”

” Well, I found out next year, that you and I don’t have to be “sisters” anymore.”

We were flying a kite, or attempting to, at the beach, and she was all raveled up in kite string.  We were laughing like crazy and trying to unravel her when she suddenly asked me this question.

“I think it’s just that we don’t have to check in wit our coordinator every month.  Other than that, it doesnt have to be different.”  I thought for a minute.  “…unless you were looking forward to getting rid o me!  Haha!”

Daniela laughed and said, “Nah.  Because I had a dream the other night that I sang at your wedding, and I was like, 18 or something.”

I was overjoyed!  I’m gonna get married!  Daniela has like a sixth sense, tends to predict little things that seem to actually happen.  We did the math.  She’s almost 12, and if she was 18, then it’ll e about 6 years until the blessed event occcurs.  I told her, “so I’m gonna have to wait until I’m 46 to find my prince charming?!”

“Wow!  that’s old!”

“No, think some more…how old was I in your dream?!”

“Well, you looked alot the same, but your hair was way longer!  And Maybe I was 14 or something.”

Hmm.  That’s a bit better.

Then she asked me, “Will you sing someday at my wedding?”

“Yes, but YOU have to wait until you’re at least 18.”

She thought for a mnute, then said “Well, so that’s how it’ll be in the future.  I was afraid I’d have to find a new Big Sister or something!”

We finally got the kite unraveled, and she was holding the kite and I had the string, ready to run down the beach.  (She assured me that the big sister is in charge of all the running!)

“That couldn’t happen!  Because I’m one of a kind, and so are you!”  Suddenly the kite was aloft and we were shrieking with laughter.

Yes, it’s good not being too self-absorbed all the time.

I also think back to before cancer, when every little thing used to bother me.  I even annoyed myself!  On some days, my students were a source of stress and agony.  Things have changed.

There was a little boy sitting on my piano bench.  He kept crawling under the piano and “hiding’.  He couldn’t concentrate, and he was just being generally naughty.  As the new me, I called him on it.  I told him we couldn’tmake music until he got his act together, that a a big 7 year old, I knew he could pay attention, for just 10 more minutes, and if he didn’t then he should wait until he’s 8 or 9 to study music.

He looked soberly at me, and promised to sit still.  “Only 10 more minutes?”

“Yes!  Now let’s learn this new song!  Here’s your chance to be a rock star! Now, do it!”

In the end, both teacher and student were triumphant!

I think of before, how I ate…whatever didn’t have to be prepared and could be slurped down, preferably without having to chew…goodness knows I was too busy and important and stressed out to chew!

I think of what I eat now…breakfast just now was miso soup with daikon raddish, wakame seaweed, shiitake mushrooms, and a carrot AND its top, because there are lots of minerals in the tops, and they taste kind of nice, too!  I also ate some rice porridge with chopped kale and toasted pumpkin seeds, seasoned with a chopped up umeboshi plum, washed down with a cup of twig tea, which is green tea made from the twigs of the tea bush rather than the leaves, and much lower in caffeine than regular tea.

My Dad came by to fix my wash machine a while back.  I offered to make him lunch.  But he took one look at the beans cooking on the stove with a piece of Kombu seaweed snaking its way through the boiling water, the scary looking maitake mushroom reconstituting in water on the window sill, and the assortment of big, freaky looking veggies awaiting the cutting board.  He decided to go home and eat a hot dog or something.

Yes, I’m different.  From the way I eat to my attitude to my interactions with others, to the challenges I feel able to take on.  And it’s all good!

I know I shouldn’t whine about being 40.  After having cancer, any birthday is sacred.  But why couldn’t I be 25?!  For the week leading up to the big day, I kept trying to be in a mindset of “defy and deny”.  It has served me well during past milestones!

But the day before, I did a bunch of speedwork at the track, then meandered over to the gym.  It’s necessary to go to the gym and do squats and such, because otherwise, my butt will hang down to the backs of my knees.  I was minding my own business, doing my thing, when one of the triathlete ladies came over to me.  At the gym I go to, there is a ferocious breed of aging triathlete women.  They are admirable for their strength and positive attitudes.  They also do things a bit differently than me.  They are much tougher than me.  The conversation went like this:

“Hey, Dee, your hair is looking longer!”

“Yeah!  Every day is a new adventure with my hair!”

“But are those highlites or greys?!”

“Aw, shut up!  I’m turning 40 tomorrow!”

“Well, good, now you can train like a real grown up girl!”

“Whattaya mean?”

“Well, I’ve been trying to tell you for the longest time, that you could do more weight on that bar when you squat!  Here, I’ll show you.  It’ll be my birthday gift to you!”

“Nahh,” I say.  “If you re call, i’m in the performing arts, I’m used to making things look easy.  But this weight is really just fine for me!”

“Come on, wouldn’t it feel better to turn 40 knowing you’ve beat a challenge?”

I looked at her.  Her little challenges seem to be working well for her.  Every muscle in her upper body was lean and defined.  Her legs looked like she could beat me in a marathon any day.

“Oh, OK.  Show me what to do!”

I did what she said, and we both parted ways happy.  Until the next morning when I awoke on my 40th birthday with a back ache!!!  Defy and deny my ass!  My achy-breaky ass!  Everyone said it was just something that happens with getting older.  Hm.

Yet, my friend at the gym who encouraged me to do myself in is 15 years older than me.

That’s a comfort.  Maybe I’m on my way to becoming a ferocious, tough old bat.

Now, a week later, my back feels great.  I even had to run 6 miles faster than usual because the gals in the Herd and I were having major disagreements regarding politics and religion.  I just haad to get out of dodge!

I then went home and signed up for my first ever 50K Ultramarathon!  It isn’t until August.  Good!  I’ll need to build up my mileage.  50K is about 31 miles.  I’ve never run so far, though I have ended up lost on more than a few 26.2 mile races, so I’m sure the distance will be fine.  Furthermore, the trail events have great eats!

There.  I feel better.  40 years old?  Bring it on!!!  I have a plan.  Defy and deny!  And literally, run away from my fear of aging!

Other news:  singing up a storm, preparing a concert of art songs, though it will happen closer to fall, and in two different locations.  And I’m teaching more than ever, and we had a lovely recital last weekend.

And I’m going to try to stay on the wagon with keeping up this blog!

I feel like I’ve reached the summer of my life.  Summer has always been a good time.  I intend to enjoy!!!!

I finally heard back from the doctor, and cancer can kiss my macrobiotic ass!  Woo Hoo!  I’m so relieved!

I figured I was fine, but then why the heck did I have to take those tests?!

(Joyful laughter!)

I feel great, except that I still don’t have the results from the previous week’s labwork.  I’ve been calling and pestering the oncologist’s assistant, but they just don’t have the info. yet.

Oh, well.  I guess no news is good news.  And like I said, I feel fine!  Nothing hurts, I haven’t even caught a cold this year.  And yet, I’m worried that all the balanced macrobiotic eating is just a joke, that now that my hair’s finally starting to grow after a year…(better late than never!)  that I’ll just have to do it all again.  Lots of people say that with hormone-receptor positive cancers, you have a high rate of recurrence…that I’d have a few good years and then it’ll just come back, and then I’ll be “sick chick” again.  Hmm.  Over my not-so-dead-body!

I’ve been making my blood more alkaline, via the vegan-macrobiotic diet.  Cancer cells supposedly don’t like alkaline, they prefer an acidic system to live in.  i try to cut out the stress in my life, or at least to have a better attitude about it all.  I get my oxygen 5 days a week running, and on the off days I either swim hard, or a walk or rollerblade.  I lift weights at the gym, so that I retain muscle mass and thus retain my metabolism, so that I don’t have problems with insulin, which can exacerbate cancer.  I eat shiitake mushrooms and cabbage and carrots and kale…brown rice, sea vegetables, and miso…everything I eat has a medicinal purpose.  What a change from the girl who used to live on powerbars, microwave pizzas, and chocolate.

I have given up all cosmetics and personal products that contain parabens, sulfates, and pthalates.  I drink purified water. Most nights I sleep about 7 hours.  This, too, is different from my old hell-for-leather ways, when everything was a crisis with a deadline!  No more of that!

No alcohol, and most smokers get the stink eye from me.

I assume that Im doing everything I can to be healthy.

We’ll just see.  Maybe I’ll be blessed yet again with a clean bill of health.

And if not?

Then I’ll just defy and deny some more.  Because I really don’t have time to be sick.  And That’s that.

Well, the training of a volunteer for a fabulous organization doesn’t happen over night.  After meeting with the founder, then riding along on some deliveries, the next step was to tour the kitchen and meet the kitchen coordinator, the chefs, and the teen-agers who cook and pack all the food!  I was amazed to learn that there are Ceres Community Projects in several states!  I also learned that anybody can sign up to recieve food, but that the organization really targets people who want to learn about ultra-healthy food.  A Ceres client should be willing to embrace eating organic, locally grown, medicinal foods.  No white flour, sugar, or unhealthy fats.  No fried meat.  While vegetarian and vegan and macrobiotic isn’t preached, alot of the recipes come from those categories, because these foods have been proven to be anti-acidic, anti-inflammatory, cleansing, and yet satisfying to most palates.

I watched as a professional chef interacted with the kids.  I saw boys and girls coming into the kitchen, donning aprons, chopping, peeling, mixing…all the while bantering and joking.  There was a little altar set up in a corner, with candles and a few pictures.  I was told the pictures were of recently passed clients.  (Remember, Ceres “clients” don’t pay…more like they are lucky recipients.)

The atmosphere of the kitchen crackled with energy.  It was the same feeling that you witness when watching the crew in action on “Extreme Makeover, Home Edition”!  It makes me happy to see so many people getting so much joy from doing something good!  At one point, I saw one of the girls aged about 13 years old, crouching over the counter where a bunch of salads were being assembled.  She had a big, Cheshire Cat grin on her face.

“What are you doing?!” hollered one of the adult chefs.

“I’m putting some love into it!”

The next day, I rode along with some liasons, to learn about that job’s duties.  As a liason, I am sent to visit with new clients.  I explain how the program works, show them the other things that are available to them in addition to the food, like medicinal teas, healthy cookies, sea weed spices, balm for healing radiation burns, and kits for making broth.  I am also that client’s link between their kitchen and ours.  If they need something changed or don’t like something, they call their liason.

I went on all those meetings, and felt fine.  Well, only a little bit of sad, depressed flash-back.  Because, once you’ve had cancer, you’re never really free of it.  Nobody is, really.  But when you’ve stared down the gun barrel once before, the threat is much more real.

Why was I doing weird things, all week long, like falling asleep at night in front of the TV?  (Everyone knows, it’s healthier for your natural levels of melatonin, to sleep in the dark, and not upset your circadian rhythms.)  I was working too hard, unable to relax, in a perpetually foul mood.  I was aware of the fact that maybe I wasn’t living the way I told myself I would, post cancer.  I was still living a rat-race existence, and now I had to go see the oncologist for a check up.  It’s been a year since chemo, and I don’t ever want to go there again.

I keep flashing back on how it was no big deal.  I lost my hair and my nails…Oh, well.  My hands and feet went numb…I was exhausted all the time.  I wasn’t able to do or be any of the things I love or want to do.  It was like being on detention.  In the back of my mind, I kept hearing a niggling little voice saying that I might still have cancer.

NAHHHH!!!  I eat macrobiotically, I don’t skip exercise, I sleep well, I’m able to find the goodness all around me, and to count my blessings every day!  But there’s always that little niggling doubt.

I drove down to Marin bright and early, and the lady who drew my blood had a hard time finding a vein.  Finally, she got it.  I was surprised how wimpy I’ve grown about needles, since chemo ended!  I was looking away, of course.  “Did you get it?!”

“Oh, yeah!  That one’s a goosher!”

“Ahhh! Don’t tell me that!”  I laughed weakly.

“Well, almost done!”

I glanced down, and she was right, it was a gusher!  and I had a big bruise on my arm!  I felt faint.

She also told me that the cancer antigen test results wouldn’t be in until the end of the week.

Cancer antigens?!  What?!

A couple of hours later, I was giving the oncologist hell about that.  And why was he even testing for that anyway!  He didn’t think I had cancer still, did he?  We never did that test before!

I was assured that he always does this test at about a year, and that he’s sure everything is normal.  But in that we’ve opted to not do scans, we have to watch carefully.  He poked around my lymph nodes, up and down my spine, my liver, my ribs.  He wanted to know if I’ve had any bad headaches or confusion.  I told him that I still lock myself out of either my house or my car about once a month.  He was quiet for a moment, and then he said, “I remember that about you.  So all’s normal!”

He listened to my lungs and heart, and everything is working.  He was glad to hear that I still run 35 to 40 miles a week.  He seemed to be absolutely sure that I’m fine!

I went up to the Out Patient Services ward, where I had my treatments.  I had some little potted miniature roses and cards for the nurses who took such excellent and compassionate care of me.  We all hugged and giggled and laughed and congratulated eachother.  We all cracked up because my hair is in a funny grow out phase right now.  Depending on which side I part it on, it looks either like Brian Setzer in the “Stray Cat Strut” video ca. 1983, or it looks like Kramer on Seinfeld.  But someday soon, it’ll be long enough to lay down nicely.

There was a lady there having her second round of the same stuff I had taken.  She looked scared.  She was starting to lose her hair.  After I noticed her, and the nurses told her that soon she’d be like me, doing all the things she likes and growing hair, I almost lost it.  I don’t know what happened to me.  I started to feel tears welling up.  I gave everyone one last hug, and scurried back to my car, where I couldn’t stop the tears.

That’s how i’ve been…unsettled.  I need to look back at my mighty life list that I made a year ago.  I need to remember that just because I survived chemo and tht feels like a re-birth, life will still have uncertainties and injustices.  I can get involved in good causes, spend more time with my friends, and try to be happy, but sometimes things aren’t going to go my way.  I can be healthy as you please, but men are afraid to even flirt with me, because I’m a “sick chick”, even though I’m not anymore!  (I used to think dating was hard before cancer, because I was a “strong” woman with alot of opinions and interests.  Now, add to the mix a bad  hair-do, and the whole history of cancer.)

There are still bills to be paid, taxes to get organized, and never enough time to practice the music that rocks my world and makes me who I am to the core of my being!

The other night I was whining at my mom on the phone.  “I used to be such a fun and adventurous chick!  I used to do exciting things!”

“Yeah” Mom replied.  “It sucks to be a working stiff!”

So, I’ll look at my list, and regardless of what that little test says, I’m going to come up with a plan, take a big breath, smile, and take a step.

List Item #1:  Do a concert of art songs!

It’s all fine and dandy to be a cancer survivor, and a volunteer.  It’s even OK to be a working stiff.  But what’s it all for if I can’t be who I am, and do what makes me happiest!

I’m going to get crackin’ on that concert!   All around me I see evidence that life is short and unpredictable, sometimes.  And we really don’t have control of much.  So I intend to make the most of my life, and to do that I’ll balance things a bit better.  And I’ll keep my mind and heart open to all the love and the miracles that are there for the taking, if I just ask for them!

And if neither love nor miracles come my way, then I’ll be too busy singing to care.  And if people think I’m still sick, then time will tell.  Because I intend to be here for a long time.

In my town, there is a wonderful organization called the Ceres Community Project.  Named after Ceres, the Roman goddess of grain, this group prepares healthy, medicinal meals and delivers them to people in the community who have life-threatening illnesses, once a week.  There is no charge.  All of the food is donated by local organic farmers.  They make several different kinds of menus; some people have meat in their meals, others, like myself, opt for the vegetarian and macrobiotic menu.  The food is prepared and packaged by a group of teen-aged volunteers under the supervision of a few professional chefs, and delivered by volunteer “angels”.  It works out beautifully for everyone involved!  The farmers get rid of surplus, the kids learn how to cook healthy food while earning community service credits for school, the angels get to make the world a better place, and people like me who have been sick get the joy of eating stuff that not only tastes great and doesn’t have to be cooked after a long day of feeling rough, but that has been proven to zap tumors and heal sickness!  And it’s all free!  Several of my students have volunteered, and convincd me to sign up.

At first, I didn’t want to accept free food.  I may have been bald,  I had my pride!  Besides, I wan’t so sick that I couldn’t chop up my veggies and stir fry them for a few minutes and throw them over a plate of rice like I normally do.  Duh, how hard is that?!

Well, when you’re on aggressive chemo for four months, everything is harder than it normally would be!  I remember driving my car down to Petsmart to buy cat food.  I was so tired that I was delighted to reach a red light and just stop my car, and my brain, for a few minutes.  I never canceled a students’ lesson, unless I had a doctor’s appointment that couldn’t be changed.  Most days I was able to nap for at least a half hour.  But when I’d finish teaching at night, I was not up for chopping and washing veggies, boiling rice and beans, and all that.  I was more likely to think about food while falling into a stupor on the heater vent.  One evening, after the second round, I was in bed.  I wanted to eat, but had no taste buds, and my fingers were sore.  Eating was a lovely idea but so was laying around for a while…

I woke up, and Mom was in my room, horrified that I hadn’t had dinner.  “Your food is your medicine!”

“But I can’t taste it, and everything tastes yucky!”  Even green tea tasted bad, like pee!  (No, I’ve never tried drinking pee!)  I was supposed to have at least 4 cups of green tea daily, and some seaweed and shiitakes and miso and stuff like that, to counter the affects of chemo.  All very good, unless you don’t eat it!  And I was losing weight.  I looked fine, more like a ballet dancer than a trail runner.  I’m one of those stoutly built girls who never looks emaciated or thin, even when my body fat is at about 15 %.  I was about 103 pounds, though, and people were starting to notice.  And they were bringing me junk to eat, in hopes that I’d fatten up and be my usual jolly self again…things like bags of candy, plates of cookies, and pints of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream.

I appreciated the gestures.  But if those people knew what I knew about the correlation between sugar and fat and insulin levels and how it stimulated the growth of cancer cells, then they, too, would have just figured that I shouldn’t eat junk and convenience foods!

Enter: Ceres Project!  A lovely lady came to visit me at home, after I signed up, to discuss menu options and other special products, and once again, none of it cost me a cent!  Their mission is to make a tough time a little easier.  She assured me that I was an easy client for them because there was just one of me to cook for, and that they often made meals for entire families!  Now, that’s amazing!!!

I vowed to myself that I would make some huge donations, when the chemo was over.

But now that I’m back to my old antics of spening money on voice lessons and coaching, there isn’t a whole lot of money left for donating.  I shall donate instead my time, energy, and heart.

Last week, I met with the lady who founded Ceres Project.  I am to be trained as a client liaison!  (That’s the person who visits people once they’ve signed up, and helps them decide what to order.)  Her only issue with me was that I am a recent survivor, and seeing other people going through the whole cancer experience might bring up old fears and sadness for me.

I was scheduled to ride along with an “angel” to make deliveries.  I went to the kitchen where the food was being prepared.  All the volunteers were milling about drinking cider and some sort of tea, and eating hors’ d’ouvres.  The general feeling was like a sort of cocktail party!  Then the door to the kitchen openned and the food was handed out in satchels to the delivery angels, along with maps and directions to the client’s homes.  There was applause and cheers as the food was announced ready, like the unveiling of some great feast by a master chef!  As my angel Jim and I loaded the food into his truck, it felt like we were going Christmas caroling instead of to visit sick people!

We arrived at the first house.  I waited to start feeling sad, or weird flashback emotions.  Jim asked if I wanted to go in.  He said most clients were happy to have the angels in to visit.  I remembered that I was always teaching when my food was delivered, and couldn’t visit!  He said many people were too sick to lift bags of food, and it had to be carried in and put away.  And alot of these people needed some contact with people from the outside world who understood what they were going through.

I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders.  We knocked on the door.  A woman answered, and thanked us for coming.  Her husband had lung cancer.  Jim asked how he was doing, at which the lady started to cry.  It seems the guy had finished his chemo, but a recent scan showed that the battle wasn’t quite over.  There were still some cells hanging out in his lungs!  She had a pathology report.  She wasn’t sure what it all meant, but didn’t like the tone of it.  Then she noticced me standing there, and having never seen me before, she was suddenly embarrassed.  “I’m sorry to cry in front of you guys…it’s just I’m so fed up with all of this!”

“OH, don’t worry,” said Jim.  “DeAnne’s a survivor.  she understands.”

“Oh, please, come in, out of the cold.  My husband will be happy to say hi to you both!”

We went into her kitchen, and started putting the food away.  Her husband came in, standing tall and with a big grin on his face.  “Look, Jim!  I’ve got hair!”  He pulled off his cap to show  a faint frizz blossoming all over his scalp.  I remember how excited I was when I finally saw my hair starting to grow, too!

The lady showed me the pathology report.  Neither of us knew waht alot of it meant.  I told her how cancer really is hardest for the loved ones of the patient, and how my mom took my pathology report and read it over the phone to our friend the Emergency Room nurse, who all her life has been trained to see the worst-case scenario because that’s how you get the job done in the emergency room.  She wasn’t an oncology nurse, but tried her best to help my mom make sense of the report, and then my mom and I together with our overly active brains, had eachother convinced that I was going to die!

She looked me up and down.  “You don’t look like you’re going to die!”

“Nope!  I’m all better!  Cancer was only a pain in the butt.  That’s all it was allowed to be!”

And I told her what my mom’s other dear friend who’s a longtime survivor of metastatic breast cancer told me.  Numbers are just that.

Then the man asked me, “You’re a survivor?”

I explained how just a year ago, I, too, was doing the chemo thing.  He said he’s glad to be done, but now what, because it looks like it didn’t work so well.  He didn’t want to be sick any more!

I told him he didn’t look sick, and to just defy and deny!  He said he was planning on resuming his daily walking regimen.  “I don’t feel bad!”  I told him that really, the doctors can just make predictions based on what other people with similar numbers have had happen, but what’s fine for other folks my not be right for him, and he doesn’t have to act sick if he doesn’t feel like it!

He laughed, which sounded like a cross between a laugh and a roar.  I remembered that sound.  It’s the sound of one who defies fate and denies fear.

We left amidst a flurry of “Be well!  Eat your veggies!”  “Think happy thoughts!”

The next client wasn’t home.  But we left the food there. And the next client was in a wheel chair, at the dinner table, surrounded by her family.  Her sister had just flown in that afternoon from out of state to help.  The lady looked miserable in spit of all the love around her.

Jim asked how she was feeling.  She said she couldn’t eat, because she couldn’t taste anything.

We told her about how to add a bit of sea salt or lemon juice or maple syrup, to increase the tastability.  After much banter and a few jokes, her eyes locked onto mine.  “Do you know what it’s like to not be able to eat?”  She asked me.

“Yes, I do.  And you know what?  It stinks, but that trick with the lemon juice and stuff really helped!”

After that, she smiled.  Jim said he’d never seen her smile.  And he was very glad I didn’t get all militant with her when she said she liked the sauerkraut with all the enzymes in it, that she’d been eating that on her hot dogs.

(Alot of people, myself included, believe that processed meats, like hot dogs, exacerbate cancer.)

We can’t change people, but we can introduce them to healthier options.  And Maybe all those enzymes in the sauerkraut will help those hot dogs go through her system a little easier…

Did it feel weird?  NO!  It felt like a good, healthy way to defy and deny!  And a way for me to give back to a wonderful cause!

Next week, I get to visit the kitchen during food prep time, to meet the chefs and the kids who volunteer, and learn about that aspect of the organization.  Yes, it’s painful to think that some of these patients may not live.  It’s equally hard to see the pain and the fear in the faces of the patients’ families.  But if I can make them laugh, or better yet, ROAR, then maybe I’m helping to make it a bit better!

For all those out there who are facing something they’d rather not face, I offer you a resounding and encouraging ROAR!!  And some laughter!  Even when it’s hard to come by, it’s out there!  So laugh and sing and roar a little every day!  And eat your veggies!

I always joke about being a slow runner.  I do a weekly speed session at the track, log my share of tempo miles and savor my little personal triumphs, even though I’ll never, EVER be a fast runner.  I once took 2nd place in my age division, for a trail marathon.  I was stoked, but then I found out that there were only two of us in my age division, and I was the slower of the two.  AH, heck!

Anyhoo, it’s been a year since my hair started to fall out.  Last Saturday I was at the track.  I was set to do some mile repeats, but was feeling tired and grumpy from too much leftover Valentines chocolates and not enough me time.  My hair is now long enough to flop around on my head when I’m running, but not long enough to be feminine or cute.  My shiitake and daikon miso soup that I had with breakfst was sloshing dangerously in my stomach, and I had a cold.  So, maybe mile repeats weren’t a cherished idea that morning.  Instead I did something simple.  I just ran 8 times 400meters or 8 laps fast, with half a lap recovery jog each.  8 was a good and significant number, like 8 rounds of chemo.

You’d think that ruminating on chemo while running would not be conducive to running well, but I was so much more relieved with every lap that last year was survived and is over, that I ran faster than ever!  In spite of being a year older than last year, having a cold, and being full of macrobiotic soup.  WOOHOO!!!

Then I went home and taught my Saturday students.  I like to think of myself as a fine artist, but the bulk of my days are spent teaching others to become fine artists.  I spent a lively half hour with a 6 year old, trying to convince her that tickling the piano teacher is not appropriate.  I ate a piece of toast while in the shower, and didn’t have time to drink my tea, unless I were to drink it while using the john.  (I draw the line there.)  My students were coming over for a repertoire party in the afternoon and there was no time to clean up the macrobiotic mess in my kitchen!  One little boy wandered in and saw my groceries on the floor in sacks, and the sink that had scary purple juice from black beans spilt all over it.  I’d just taught 6 students and had 45 minutes to eat and get the party ready, and was miserably shocked when this little guy was dropped off 30 minutes early.  His daddy just dropped him at the curb and blissfully sped off to do whatever he does, unrumbled by having a young child in tow.  GRRRR!  (I clearly hadn’t had lunch yet, and that affects my sense of humor.)

The little dear, as I said, wandered into my kitchen.  “What’s this?”

“Those are my groceries!  I haven’t had time to put them away.”

“But they’ll get rotten!”

“Yeah, well…”(sigh)

“What’s that stuff in the sink?”

(Honestly, this was starting to sound more like a surprise visit from my Mom!)

“That’s black bean juice.  Now, I’m not sure what to do with you.  You’re really early, and I have to get things ready, and maybe you could hang out in the living room, and read a book or something, like “Fractured Fairytales, huh?!”

“Why haven’t you eaten lunch yet?”

I was really fed up.  I handed him the book of fairy tales, and told him to sit and stay, and headed back to the bedroom to change into a clean shirt that didnt’ smell like the onions I’d chopped up for the soup I’d made that morning at 6 am.  I fielded about 4 phone calls from students, and all the while vaguely aware of starnge rustlings and crashing in the kitchen.

When I got off the phone, I charged back out to the kitchen to see this sweet little 8 year old, up on my step stool, with a can of cleanser, scrubbing my dirty old sink!  And he’d put my groceries away!  What a doll!

“Hey, are you a fast runner?”

“No,” I admitted.

“Haven’t you ever won any races? ”

“No!”

“But what’s this rat race you always talk about?”

“Well, that’s a different kind of race…”  We were putting cookies on trays now, and washing grapes.

“Oh.  Well, you talk about it so much, I’d figured you must have won it!”

On that note, the children’s repertoire goups were a success.  Much laughter, silly jokes, and music.  And when the little kids ran out of music to play, I gave them all various kitchen utensils and we had a percussion ensemble.  A rowdy, loud time was had by all!

And though I’ll never be a fast runner, I can say that I am the disputable winner of the Rat Race!  Hoorah!

I know, it’s been suck a long time since my last post.  People are asking me, “Is everything OK?”  And “Are you well?”  Yes, thank you, I’m so well that I’ve completely forgotten about having had cancer.  Well, almost.  But take, for example, today:

The alarm went off at 5:30.  Even though it was Saturday, I felt motivated to get up.  Just the joy of having energy again, compared to how I felt about a year ago, is enough to make me want to jump out of bed and seize the day.  Before I shimmied into my running gear, I stood on the scale.  At my last doctor’s appointment, my oncologist was horrified that I’ve put on about 12 pounds since finishing chemo.  I told him it was OK, that when I weighed 103 lbs WITH my clothes on, I looked great but was too weak to run!  He re-explained how and why I shouldn’t put on too much weight because excess estrogen is stored in excess body fat and can lead to a recurrence of cancer.  A moment later as he was examining my remaining lymph nodes he started laughing.  I guess he hasn’t seen too many cancer patients with six-pack abs!  He assured me that most of my weight gain was the healthy kind.  Phew!  What a relief!

So, this morning, in spite of the cold and the drizzle, I trotted down to the track to do some speedwork.  I try to do speed intervals on Saturdays because the track isn’t open to the public during school hours.  At 6:45 am, I felt cocooned by a blanket of fog.  I warmed up, drank some water, and did my first 1200 meter interval.  It felt like I must be going fast!  So much wind!  Ah, no, it was just a breezy morning.  And my legs were stiff from the gym the day before.  Oh, well.  At least I was there, doing my thing.

All went well, and I trotted home, stretched out, had a healthy macrobiotic breakfast, and then jumped into the shower.  I was feeling great!  I put on my favorite green sweater and some comfy jeans, and even some mascara and lipstick, and rearranged my hair.  Hey, this post-chemo grow-out pixie ‘do is starting to grow on me.  I’ve always been a long-haired girl, but this is so easy!  Feeling great, I smiled at myself in the mirror.  I kicked cancer’s butt, thanks to my team of loved ones and brilliant doctors.  And now I’m looking pretty good!

But then, as they say, pride cometh before a fall.  O, chagrin!  Humility was delivered to my smug little mind in the form of—gasp—-laugh lines around my eyes!!!!  As I beamed into the mirror the smile froze as if someone had doused me with dry-ice, then slid from my face.

How could I feel so good yet look so old?!

I may have worked out, and thus kept my behind from sagging down to the backs of my knees.  I may have decided to stay young at heart, and to always expand my horizons and opt for new adventures.  But time is not on my side.  I have wrinkles around my eyes.

I ran into the office, where I have a fashion magazine.  I looked at all the movie stars, some of them about my age, some even older.  They don’t have wrinkles.  They don’t have laugh lines.  All I see are youthful, perfect faces.  Hmph.  I run back to the mirror.  I smile again, and…darn!  Wrinkles!  I trun around, and check out my rear end.  Well, that looks OK.  But how sad!  I’ve reached the point where I’m comparing my butt to my face, and the butt wins.  Sheesh!

Feeling silly, I shuffled out of the bathroom, and tidied up the house before the students arrived.  I had plans to teach until lunchtime, then my “little sister” and I had made plans to go rollerskating.

That roller rink has been around for a long time…longer even than me.  Just walking into that place filled my mind with memories.  I remember my Dad taking me there when I was about 5 years old. He held my hand, and we danced under the disco lights.  I remember all the school fund-raiser family skate nights, and what a riot it was, seeing all the parents and teachers get out there and do the YMCA and the Hokey-pokey!  And a little later, when Jenny and I were in middle school.  We’d put on our lipstick and fix our hair.  We’d don our finery…me in tight jeans and a sweater and earrings, and Jenny in black leggings and a long zebra-print shirt, and spend hours skating blissfully in a circle, seeing and being seen, pestering the dj to play “I love Rock and Roll” by Joan Jett, just one more time!

As Daniela and I were taking a break and eating some snacks, I was reminiscing to her.  She was fascinated that I may not know the words to the songs nowadays, but back in my day, I was “cool”.  Suddenly, the dj announced that it was time for the races!  We watched as the kids under 9 yrs. raced.  Then the tweens raced.  Daniela didn’t want to race.  She’d already had a few falls, and was still drinking her slurpee.  Suddenly, they were calling for adults, 18 and over to race.

“Go, DeAnne!”  Daniela urged me on.

I thought of all those times through the years that my Dad let me coerce him into racing.

“Ah, Daniela, I dunno…”

“Come on!  Look at that old guy going out there!”

I looked and sure enough, a lone elderly gentleman glided out onto the floor.  No one else?!

“Go!  DeAnne, he’s even older than you!  You could kill him!”

I decided to wait a moment to see the rest of the competition.

A couple of young mommies went out onto the floor, shrieking with laughter.  A few men went out there.  The only one who looked really  like he knew what he was doing was the older guy.  As he glided about the rink, pumping his fists, someone next to me said “He teaches the speed-skating classes”.  Sure enough, he moved with an elegant and self-assured grace.  Maybe getting older isn’t so bad for some people!

I thought of my Dad, charging around the rink because I told him to.  I thought of how he was my hero, making recordings on his guitar, and singing Crocodile rock and Bad, Bad Leroy Brown.  Maybe I’m getting old, and I’ve got a propensity for acting like an idiot.  But having survived cancer, I only live full-throttle.

“Go, DeAnne!  I wanna see you race!”

Maybe this one would be in honor of Dad.

Like a magnet, I was drawn out onto the rink.  The dj started playing “We Are the Champions” by Queen.  We lined up, and the dj reminded us there was no pushing or shoving allowed.  the bell went of.  I got low, and clawed the ground with my skates!  I used my speedwork muscles!  The blue of the rink looked like the sky.  I heard wind in my ears as  I took flight!  Suddenly, I was on the other side of the rink, with no one ahead of me, but the old guy!  Another old guy cut across the rink, cheating, and the crowd responded with whoops and cheers.  The old guy came in first, the cheater came in second, and I was a good, respectable third!  We joined hands and did a victory lap around the rink, and I did my best beauty queen wave as we passed the snack bar area.  All three of us were given prize coupons for a free drink at the snack bar.  All other race categories had only one winner, but they figured the old farts deserved a prize each, just for showing up.  Or, maybe for putting on a show!

Then, there was couples skate.  I was about to drag Daniela out there for one more spin around the rink, even though she was tired.  But then a sort of cute guy came up and asked me to skate with him!  We headed out under the disco lights, surrounded by shrieking kids, with and old Madonna song drowning out any hope of conversation.  I could almost remember how it was, back in the day, when Jenny and I were the belles of the ball!  After the song ended, I had to get Daniela home, and so we left.

I spent the rest of the evening watching an opera DVD and making macrobiotic pickled raddishes, and practicing piano.  A nice day, all in all.  In spite of having laugh lines.  Huh!

As I approach my fortieth birthday this spring, I realize that unlike the space shuttle, I still fly just fine with a few cracks in my tiles.  Hah!  Fly full-throttle!