Just before they turned on the IV to knock me out for "2 for 1" endoscopy/colonoscopy special earlier this week, the doctor doing my procedure (which was delayed so we had a little extra time to chat about my recent medical history) looked at me and said, "You're remarkably cheerful for someone who has been through all of this in the past six months."
It's one of the last things I remember before the liquid warmth enveloped me and I remember thinking how nice it was to hear, but also how very unexpected. I never would have dreamed six months ago that I would be "that" kind of person in the face of everything I've been through. But really, what other choice is there?
As I left the building in a wheelchair to meet Edgar at the car, a man passed me at the entrance and something about his plaid shirt and jeans with belt kind of caught me off guard. He made eye contact with me and smiled and I remember thinking he looked vaguely like what my dad might look like today if he had lived. I immediately teared up. Edgar didn't even see him, so I'm not convinced anyone else did and I feel 99% certain that my seeing him was a moment I was meant to notice. It was a nice bookend to a procedure I had been dreading for weeks and another reminder not to sweat the small stuff. And oh yeah, ultimately it's all small stuff, even yet another medical procedure/screening.
Luckily, it appears I sailed through the procedure with flying colors (recommendation is not to return for 10 years!) and the doctor seemed to think that the cause of my low iron stores (I'm not anemic but the stores are really low - like "how are you functioning every day?" low) is probably just the fun fact that I'm still showing pretty much zero signs of menopause. (Which brings up a whole other topic of how little we understand or know about women's health in general but that's a post for another time.) He suggested I push for an iron infusion and move on with my life so that's the hope for June, if not sooner. I don't get bloodwork done again until June so I need to figure out how to push that up or push for the infusion without it.
In other life news, I have lots of summer plans (yay!) including a "why not?" upcoming one day trip to Disneyland with my favorite second son over Memorial Day weekend as part of the ruse to "help" bring him home for the summer. Edgar and I are planning to FINALLY take our twice postponed trip to Europe to celebrate our 25th wedding anniversary (and we'll get it in before we get to 26!) and of course I'll be traveling to Iowa for the national speech tournament in June. Somewhere in there I also have a long list of home projects to tackle and intentions of starting a book, though that is admittedly the last thing on the list right now. I also have decisions to make about returning to U of I and my doctoral program in the fall.
However, part of writing a book may just be trying to go back and see if all the things I've written/blogged about over the years have some kind of connected theme or significance, and among those is what I'm going to include here to wrap up this update. I started teaching in the spring of 2016 and realized near the end of the semester that I should be a teacher who walks the walk, meaning I needed to give a last day speech. I've continued this *almost* every semester (I think I've missed two?) and some years I work on it ahead of time and other years I throw together a few thoughts in the five minutes before class begins. I always tell students is a classic case of "do as I say, not as I do."
But this semester, it felt too important not to proceed with more preparation. So the night before our last day I wrote this, and then practiced it about 5 times. I delivered it to three classes and it was never exactly like what is written here but then, that's exactly what we try to teach in terms of effective communication. In any case, this is mostly what I had to say and it occurred to me it could be a nice blog post to document where I am now, just six months from diagnosis and surgery.
Last semester started just like this semester did.
But last semester did not end just like this semester.
So to begin, I want to tell you how truly lucky I feel to be here today. It is no small thing but this is not an accomplishment that I have reached on my own. Most of the credit goes to all of you - who energize me, who inspire me, and who make me come to this classroom every single day without ever feeling like I’m going to “work.” I have three takeaways I hope you will remember from this speech: 1. You can do hard things, 2. You can manifest your dreams through sheer determination and willpower and 3. You never know when you are inspiring someone else.
Last semester I came back on the Friday before my brain surgery to meet with my students and to meet with my course chair. I was filled with anxiety and I still couldn’t finish sentences and when I tried to talk to students, I was overcome with unexpected emotions. We knew I wouldn’t be able to finish the semester, but with a boldness and a certainty I absolutely did NOT feel, I confidently told Dakota (Horn) I would be back in the spring. At night, at home, in the quieter moments, I wondered to myself if returning to teaching really was going to be a possibility for me or if my brain had already been too altered by all that had happened. Sometimes I wondered, even if I *could* return, *should* I?
I had brain surgery - or a left frontal craniotomy - on Monday, November 18 which included the removal of two tumors, one the size of a walnut. I was discharged on Wednesday at noon. By Friday, I was riding in the car (not driving) to get lunch and Starbucks and then I still had enough energy to help pick up my daughter from school so we did that too. I wanted to do that for her, it was important. About two weeks later I surprised my speech team by showing up to a tournament and then went to Champaign to see my other other daughter perform in “White Christmas.” None of these things were easy. Just because I made things look easy - like fixing my hair a certain way to hide my very long, shaved incision - that never meant it was. The old adage that you never know how strong you are until you have no other choice- is completely true. We can do hard things but remember, there is no “hard things” Olympics. There is no need to compare. Your hard is not my hard but it’s ok, there is no competition. There is only the need to persevere, whatever your hard thing is.
Secondly, you can manifest your dreams through sheer determination and willpower. I believe this with all my heart. When I was admitted to the hospital after they found the tumors and they were trying to find the source of them, I spent hours scrolling Facebook and right away, I started to screenshot things that would pop up that I wanted to keep.
The funny thing is, I kept screenshotting them but I almost never went back and looked at them and pretty soon, my phone was filled with these inspirational messages (because algorithms are real and once you start to engage with these kinds of messages, you get more of them and it just feeds upon itself.) Sometimes I would screenshot multiple versions of the exact same message — one of those was “You are about to get good news after good news after good news.” And guess what? That’s exactly what has happened. I absolutely believe that what you surround yourself with will manifest itself into your life, so choose carefully. Choose deliberatively. Choose positively.
And finally, you never know when you might be inspiring someone else. Frankly, I’m a little tired of being told how inspirational I am. Because the truth is, I’m just doing the things I think I need to do to stay alive for my husband and my children and for my friends and yes, even for all of you. But it’s not because I think I’m special or that I have something extra special to share with the world — it’s because I recognize that we are ALL special and we ALL have something extra special to share with the world
and part of my job - both literally and figuratively — is to do everything within my power to ensure all of you learn how to use your voice — again, both literally and figuratively — to make your mark on this world and to be sure that even when you don’t feel inspiring or special or worthy, when the time comes you are in the right place at the right time to inspire someone else. You probably won’t even know when it’s happening and you may never know it happened so that makes it even more crucial that you are ready when that time comes.
So those are my three messages for you today. You can do hard things, you can manifest your dreams through sheer determination and willpower, and you never know when your words or actions could be inspiring someone else. So be ready. Be ready for all of it.
I’ve been through a lot in the past year. But I know you have too. We all have our own struggles and hopefully, they help to make the successes that much sweeter. Today, I have successfully gotten to the end of a semester I wasn’t even sure I’d get to begin and you have been a part of that journey. You are now a part of my story (whether you like it or not) and I sincerely hope that when you look back on COM 103 you remember it was more than the anxiety of giving speeches or writing outlines or doing research but that it was a time where you found a reason to do things a little differently, to see things a little differently, and most of all to give some grace because at the end of the day, we’re all — students and teachers alike — just trying to get through, one semester at a time.
