I am also doing Adrienne’s 30-day yoga journey, first time I’ve ever stuck with it (I did a lot of her videos during Covid’s first two years), and now I will be thinking of you on the other side of that screen, soaking up some vicarious Benji love.
In December I did her 2015 30-day. These short sessions have really shifted how I have incorporated yoga into my life. Now I think of it as the morning tune-up, vs a more rigorous work out. I look forward to it every day. We could write a joint post about it!
A morning tune-up, I love that! That explains how I've been feeling about it. I've done yoga for years but my self-neglect the past year and a half or more has been pretty substantial, and this feels like exactly what I needed to both restart, and to be kind to myself about what things have been like.
Well, you know I'm all about embodiment with regards to walking and so much else ... part of my incorporation here has been some experimenting with somatic experiencing self-therapy. Not that I have any huge revelations yet but there's a lot there to write about!
So interesting to read some of the comments on this piece! Disappointing yet not surprising that cancer support treatments for women haven't advanced that much in the past decades. Sending love and continued support, Alison, and looking forward to bringing you into my Womancake interview zone :)
I was treated at Swedish Cancer Institute nearly 18 years ago. Your vivid piece brought me right back to my routines and overall life flow for that time in my life. No stylish lady in the sequin cap, though. I visualized my daily energy as a jar of marbles to “spend.” I knew which days the jar would hold more and which days the marbles would disappear early and I’d be on the couch. All the best as you continue your journey.
I was in the infusion center the day QEII died. One of the nurses turned on the big screen TV and all of us (@30 people) wheeled our IV stands over to watch the news for a couple of hours. Most of us had our phones and iPads, so we could just as easily have stayed put, but it just seemed better to watch it together.
That sounds nice. I haven’t had that sort of communal experience yet and maybe I never will. People pretty much keep to themselves, with the exception of the lady in the sequin cap. She was working the room, chatting up everyone.
It was a one-time deal. Usually it's very, very quiet. The infusion center at my oncologist's practice also doesn't allow companions into the infusion area, though they do have a couple of private rooms for people who must have caregivers with them when getting chemo.
Two yrs into OC, I so relate to your descriptions- especially Sisyphus, Molasses Days, hullabaloos and “the unpredictably of it all”. Glad you have lots of support. Cheering you on from afar!
Your peace reminded me of how my mother did not like brussels sprouts, so I never really ate one until I was in college. I remember saying to myself, ‘my goodness this tastes just like cabbage.” It was a rare treat to eat them when I lived in Brussels!
I mean this comment in only the kindest way: You are so lucky! You live in a city with a nationally known cancer center -- you have family and friends to support you -- you have meals prepared for you -- you are savvy and fit and have a sense of humor and perspective. In comparison, my sister is going through chemo alone, in a new city, with no friends or family nearby, and a rented apartment to return to in the evenings. Someone said she should write her memoir and call it Deracinated. I had to look it up -- "uprooted from one's natural geographical, social, or cultural environment." You are not deracinated!
Bette, I am acutely aware of how lucky I am, including the fact that I am not trying to work full-time or raise young kids while dealing with treatment. A family member reached out because she is traveling to support her sister who is in similar circumstances to your sister. I’ve just returned home from a memorial service for a friend who battled this disease for 14 years. No one should feel deracinated. In sharing my experiences my goal is to demystify them in the hopes that someone will find them helpful as illness is part of the experience of aging. For me, exchanging stories with others has been helpful. I hope your sister is able to find community support resources in her new city and a sense of kinship with other patients. If she is interested in writing, she may want to check out narrative medicine groups. I shared some resources on this in my last post. Wishing your sister compassionate care and community and she goes through treatment.
I am also doing Adrienne’s 30-day yoga journey, first time I’ve ever stuck with it (I did a lot of her videos during Covid’s first two years), and now I will be thinking of you on the other side of that screen, soaking up some vicarious Benji love.
I love that! At the end of this month I’m going to do last year’s 30 day. Join me?
And here I was looking forward to not holding myself accountable. 😅 But that actually sounds like a really good idea!
In December I did her 2015 30-day. These short sessions have really shifted how I have incorporated yoga into my life. Now I think of it as the morning tune-up, vs a more rigorous work out. I look forward to it every day. We could write a joint post about it!
A morning tune-up, I love that! That explains how I've been feeling about it. I've done yoga for years but my self-neglect the past year and a half or more has been pretty substantial, and this feels like exactly what I needed to both restart, and to be kind to myself about what things have been like.
Well, you know I'm all about embodiment with regards to walking and so much else ... part of my incorporation here has been some experimenting with somatic experiencing self-therapy. Not that I have any huge revelations yet but there's a lot there to write about!
Let’s do it!
💪🧘♀️
So interesting to read some of the comments on this piece! Disappointing yet not surprising that cancer support treatments for women haven't advanced that much in the past decades. Sending love and continued support, Alison, and looking forward to bringing you into my Womancake interview zone :)
I was treated at Swedish Cancer Institute nearly 18 years ago. Your vivid piece brought me right back to my routines and overall life flow for that time in my life. No stylish lady in the sequin cap, though. I visualized my daily energy as a jar of marbles to “spend.” I knew which days the jar would hold more and which days the marbles would disappear early and I’d be on the couch. All the best as you continue your journey.
I love that marble analogy and will think about it this week. I feel grateful for Swedish Cancer Institute and in awe of the people who work there.
Cheers to 18 years!
I think it takes a special kind of person to work in oncology. I always felt fortunate to have all those experts and pros working on my team!
Someday you’ll be telling the story of when you had cancer 18 years ago…
Several of the nurses are young enough to be my kids. It’s impressive that they hold people’s lives in their hands.
And they do it so compassionately (and efficiently!)
I was in the infusion center the day QEII died. One of the nurses turned on the big screen TV and all of us (@30 people) wheeled our IV stands over to watch the news for a couple of hours. Most of us had our phones and iPads, so we could just as easily have stayed put, but it just seemed better to watch it together.
That sounds nice. I haven’t had that sort of communal experience yet and maybe I never will. People pretty much keep to themselves, with the exception of the lady in the sequin cap. She was working the room, chatting up everyone.
It was a one-time deal. Usually it's very, very quiet. The infusion center at my oncologist's practice also doesn't allow companions into the infusion area, though they do have a couple of private rooms for people who must have caregivers with them when getting chemo.
Two yrs into OC, I so relate to your descriptions- especially Sisyphus, Molasses Days, hullabaloos and “the unpredictably of it all”. Glad you have lots of support. Cheering you on from afar!
And I am cheering right back at you!!!
Your peace reminded me of how my mother did not like brussels sprouts, so I never really ate one until I was in college. I remember saying to myself, ‘my goodness this tastes just like cabbage.” It was a rare treat to eat them when I lived in Brussels!
I mean this comment in only the kindest way: You are so lucky! You live in a city with a nationally known cancer center -- you have family and friends to support you -- you have meals prepared for you -- you are savvy and fit and have a sense of humor and perspective. In comparison, my sister is going through chemo alone, in a new city, with no friends or family nearby, and a rented apartment to return to in the evenings. Someone said she should write her memoir and call it Deracinated. I had to look it up -- "uprooted from one's natural geographical, social, or cultural environment." You are not deracinated!
Bette, I am acutely aware of how lucky I am, including the fact that I am not trying to work full-time or raise young kids while dealing with treatment. A family member reached out because she is traveling to support her sister who is in similar circumstances to your sister. I’ve just returned home from a memorial service for a friend who battled this disease for 14 years. No one should feel deracinated. In sharing my experiences my goal is to demystify them in the hopes that someone will find them helpful as illness is part of the experience of aging. For me, exchanging stories with others has been helpful. I hope your sister is able to find community support resources in her new city and a sense of kinship with other patients. If she is interested in writing, she may want to check out narrative medicine groups. I shared some resources on this in my last post. Wishing your sister compassionate care and community and she goes through treatment.