A Creative Bunch, We Are.

Being such an emotional farewell, the retreaters decided that on the final night at camp we would do something special. We decided that since there was so much talent amongst us, that we would have a talent show where every single retreater would have a chance to showcase their talent or do something they were good at. In between our afternoon sessions on Sunday, you could see everyone running off into their private corners to prepare for their skits for the night.

The talent show turned out to be an amazing way to end off the weekend. It gave us a chance to learn that little something extra about each retreater, and best of all, it gave us a chance to have some good laughs and fun together. We ended up with poetry, musical performances, comedic skits, acting, wrestling, and acrobatics, among other things. A testicular cancer survivor amongst us, Daniel Schneiderman, even performed his "one man cancer show," which he performs at high schools around the country. Daniel is an actor with a great sense of humor, so he decided to use his talent to get the message about testicular cancer across to young men. He conveyed his message in an entertaining, almost comical way that captured his audience. It was most most impressive.

I have attached some pictures and videos from the talent show here. Enjoy!

'New Slang' (by the Shins) Cover

Me, Shali, and Steve

Mel singing 'Nothing Compares 2 U'

Retreat Yourself 2007

Although the facility and the food at Retreat Yourself 2007 were undeniably amazing, it was the experience of meeting such special people and learning so many valuable things that offered me the greatest gifts.


From my fellow retreaters I learned a great deal about strength, courage, and perserverance. I met people who were told they were going to die and defied their odds. I met someone who was told he only had a 1% chance of ever having children again, and had 2 children since. I met someone who was able to shrink tumors using alternative medicinal practises. I met someone who went through divorce and death of a sibling during treatment for cancer. The stories of perserverance were enough to inspire anyone to fight through the toughest times in life. These people humbled me, gave me courage, and opened my mind to new ways of coping and thinking about life.


From the professionals at the camp I learned a number of excellent coping mechanisms. They taught me methods of relaxation and mindfulness through yoga and meditation practises. They taught me ways of being proactive with my health and how to be an advocate for my own health. They opened my eyes to new resources available to me.


By the end of the weekend I felt completely relaxed and rejuvinated. I felt like the weekend had given me the opportunity to spend ALL of my time focusing on myself and on my health. There were no outside distractions and all our worries were left at home. It was as though we spent the weekend in a world of our own--just our tight little niche of people, who all had to endure similar trials and tribulations in this game called life. It created a sort of inner peacefulness that is difficult to describe in words.


By Sunday, we were all sad that this would be our last day at Camp Maromac. We had all formed lifelong friends who we would now have to part with. We would have to leave the extreme comfort of being surrounded by people who understood. We would have to leave our little paradise and return to the real world--and face all the stressors and problems we had left behind at the beginning of the weekend. I also felt as though returning home would be a major test--could I bring myself to continue with the ways of thinking and coping I had been taught over the weekend? Would I be disciplined enough to continue on with meditation? I felt that if I could, I could likely be a changed person in many ways down the road.

We shall draw from the heart of suffering itself the means of inspiration and survival. ~Winston Churchill

The days following were quite structured--there were many possible issues to touch on in one short weekend, so our time was organized accordingly. Each morning began with an 8:30 Qigong session. Qigong is a practice similar to Tai Chi. It's name is derived from the Chinese words "Qi," meaning "energy," and "gong," meaning "practise." It is a Chinese exercise system which works on cultivating and attracting lifeforce energies to strengthen health and prevent ilness. It includes "regulating the body" through posture, "regulating the mind" through quiet, relaxation and concentration of one's mental activity, "regulating the breath", self-massage and movement of the limbs. This was an activity I really enjoyed, but it takes a great deal of practise to truely benefit from it.

Following Qigong there was a delicious breakfast served in the kitchen, with the entire family of Camp Maromac always present. There was always a large variety of food to eat--eggs, pancakes, fresh baked breads, cereals, fruit, yogurt-- you name it, they had it. Following breakfast we would meet for approx. 3 hours, during which time we would meditate, practice yoga, have support group sessions, and do workshops in small groups. Each meditation and yoga session was led by Tim and Rob (the psychologist and oncologist), and each workshop and small group session was led by either Tim, Rob, or one of the 3 social workers who were present the entire weekend. We covered a wide array of issues facing young adults dealing with cancer, including: moving forward, expectations of others, self-confidence, sexuality, fear, relationships, advocacy, and many more.

Following our busy mornings, our afternoons consisted of lunch (again, always an amazingly delicious meal), and lots of time spent enjoying all the amazing facilities the camp had to offer. In one weekend I got to paddleboat, kayak, run, play baseball, basketball, volleyball, and tennis, and have many fun jam sessions with the numerous musicians who happened to come to the retreat. The latter part of the days were basically a repition of the earlier part of the days--eat, sessions, then free time. The fire pit, musical instruments, and talent, made for some rather enjoyable campfires at night.

Paradise exists, indeed

After driving for over an hour, we finally arrived to our lovely, serene haven. We drove through a hallway of dense forest and were finally presented with a beautiful, peaceful lake to the left and a massive building with a large veranda to the right. On the veranda stood 3 or 4 people waiting to greet us. This was the family who ran Camp Maromac-- and we were to learn that they were a wonderful, hospitable, and generous family too.

The family greeted us and showed us to our rooms. The 30 or so odd bunk rooms were all located on the second and third floors of the building and each had a set of bunk beds and one single bed. We were paired with roomates according to our diagnoses or situation. I was paired with 2 fellow breast cancer survivors-both between 25 and 26. Mike was paired with the boyfriend of a cancer survivor who was about the same age as him. Other rooms grouped thyroid cancer survivors, leukemia survivors, gynecological cancer survivors, hodgkins survivors, and so on. I thought this was an interesting way of doing this because we got to see quite a bit of our roomates (especially in the morning and late nights) and it gave us a chance to bond with people who had the same disease.

The main level of the building consisted of a large general purpose or meeting area, equipped with a piano, stage, a fireplace, and plenty of seating. There was also a large kitchen and eating area, and a sports room, where any sports equipment you could ever wish for was located. There were bathrooms and showers in every wing of the second and third floors. Outside, there was 2 volleyball courts, a basketball court, a tennis court, a baseball field, a gazebo and fire pit, walking trails, 2 docks at the lake, and approx. a dozen each of paddle boats, kayaks, canoes, and catamarans. I could not believe the activities that were available to us! They picked the perfect spot for a retreat.

After settling into our rooms the first evening, all 30 retreaters, as well as the facilitators, met in the general purpose room. We all sat in a large circle, where we were to have a support group session. Dr. Routledge explained that to start the weekend off, we would all first have a chance to introduce ourselves formally to the entire group. During our introductions we were to tell the details of our cancer diagnoses, the biggest challenge cancer has presented to us, and what we hoped to gain from the retreat. The room seemed to grow uncomfortably silent at the beginning of the session, as they tried to select the brave retreater who wished to "spill their guts" first. When the brave one finally volunteered, we were off on what would be one of the most moving moments of my life. With each introduction my heart was warmed more and more to the point of tears. Every one of these people, all around the same age of me, had their own unique, touching story to tell. Some of the stories were absolutely amazing. And from these simple introductions I already knew that I was not alone--everyone in the room expressed thoughts and feelings that seemed very familiar to my own. I suddenly felt extremely comfortable and ease with my situation.

On the road again ...

On August 1st, Mike and I headed out of Sydney on our way to the experience of a lifetime. In all actuality, I had no idea what to expect upon arriving to the camp. What I was sure of, however, was that I was going to get to spend four full days with a bunch of people in the same boat as myself. And, this was something I felt I needed. I would finally get to talk to people who really knew what it was like to go through this, who I could really relate to, and, most importantly, who I could draw things from. This would no doubt be an amazing learning experience. I was also told that there would be a psychologist, an oncologist, and various other professionals at the camp that would lead workshops related to issues surrounding young adults with cancer diagnoses.

We were to first meet up with the entire group at a hotel located at the airport in the afternoon of August 2nd. The hotel is where all the retreaters would be introduced and board the bus that would take us approximately 1 hour outside Montreal to Camp Maromac. When Mike and I first arrived to the hotel we were greeted by many smiling faces and introductions. The psychologist, Tim, and the oncologist, Rob Routledge, were standing at the door to greet us and made us feel completely at home. As we made our way through the room to find a seat, the 20 or so odd people in the room all made it a point to smile and introduce themselves to us. It was almost like coming home. I knew I was now a member of an elite group that had a very unique bond, and this could be felt all around me.

After filling out some forms and meeting everyone, we all loaded up the bus and headed to Camp Maromac. Everyone laughed and talked the entire way and there was an intense feeling of excitement radiating from every seat. I knew this weekend would be a special one.

A change of luck

One day in mid-June I was browsing one of the websites I commonly visit: http://www.realtimecancer.org/
This site is home to an organization called RealTime Cancer-- a community of young cancer survivors. If you would like to read more about RealTime Cancer, see my previous post Realtime Cancer. I noticed that the folks at Realtime were organizing a retreat for young cancer survivors in August. The retreats are a way for survivors between the ages of 18 and 35 and their supporters (who also have to be under 35) to come together and "share their shit" in a very inviting atmosphere. This year it was to take place at the beautiful Camp Maromac just outside of Montreal. This sounds very intriguing. I read a little about what happens at the retreat and I knew right away that it was something I would benefit greatly from. But, I brushed the ideas that were brewing in my mind off quickly because, although the retreat itself is paid for by Realtime Cancer, retreaters were responsible for travel expenses to the retreat. This was something I definitely could not afford at the time.

At my next appointment with the social worker, I mentioned the retreat that was happening in Montreal very briefly and he immediately opened a keen ear to the prospective experience. He agreed that this would be something that both Mike and I could definitely benefit from. He told me that he would look into getting us funding to go. I was so excited. Maybe my luck was changing!

The following week, Tom (the social worker) informed me that a group called "Tits and Glitz," which raises money to assist breast cancer patients with medical and cancer-related expenses, agreed to donate $800 for Mike and I to travel to the retreat in Montreal. I felt so grateful to be offered this experienced and I finally felt that there were people who understood that being a young adult dealing with cancer is a unique experience and that there is little support for us out there.

"The best way out is always through." ~Robert Frost

With feelings of guilt, resentment, anger, sadness, confusion, and loneliness (to name a few) gathering within me, I decided that change was necessary. I needed to get out of this hole I had dug myself into and I needed to do it fast. If I did not, I could be risking my health, jeopradizing the healing process, and leading myself on a pathway to serious depression. I decided that I would make it a point to visit the social worker at the hospital regularly. This would give me a neutral person to talk with about my feelings. My first meeting with him a few weeks earlier also gave me the feeling that he understood where I was coming from because he had dealt with so many cancer patients in the past.

Thus, I made an appointment with the same social worker I had met with briefly a few weeks before and began meeting with him on a weekly basis. At first I went alone and talked about anything and everything that was on my mind. He reassured me that the feelings I was having were perfectly normal. He expressed that many people feel lonely and isolated following treatment and that this is cause for feelings of depression and anxiety. He also spoke with my doctor about the mood swings I was experiencing. My doctor told him that the hormonal therapy I had just begun a couple months earlier was definitely a culprit in this. I now know that one of the major side effects of Tamoxifen, the hormonal therapy I am to be on for 5 years, is mood swings and depression. The side effects caused by Tamoxifen are actually quite similar to the symptoms of menopause (and as most of you probaly know, one of the major symptoms of menopause is severe mood swings).

I felt that being aware of this made me much more able to control it. One of the major lessons I have learned from cancer is that Knowledge is the ultimate power. Knowing that I was not alone, and that was I was experiencing was perfectly normal, also eased the feelings of confusion and helplessness caused by everything I was experiencing mentally and emotionally.

After a few sessions, Mike joined me at a couple of my appointments and we talked together with the social worker about some of the things he was experiencing as one of my major supporters. Having a neutral person to talk to greatly helped us to understand one another and what each of us was experiencing throughout this process.

"What progress, you ask, have I made? I have begun to be a friend to myself." ~Hecato, Greek philosopher

Pictures

Here are some pictures from Canada Day, 2007 (approx. 4 months post-chemo).

Oh, Sweet Sorrow, The Time You Borrow, Will You Be Here When I Wake Up Tomorrow?

Throughout my chemotherapy treatments, as I mentioned so many times before, I acquired what I refer to as "tunnel vision." I had one and only one thing in mind- getting this damned treatment OVERWITH so I could get on with my life. But little did I realize at that time that the end of chemotherapy did not mark the end of my battle with cancer. After chemo, I was faced with a comepletely new side of cancer -- the aftermath of the diagnosis and treatment. A new battle was just beginning.

Three weeks following my final chemo treatment, I was nothing but enthusiastic and hopeful. I hoped to be able to work within a couple of months, I hoped to be able to socialize again, I hoped to be able to do normal things with my boyfriend, I hoped to feel good once again, I hoped that I would never have to deal with cancer again. I wanted my life back. Period. Thus, as soon as I began to feel better I began doing all things I could to make this happen. By April (just a month after chemo) Mike and I began looking for an apartment, I placed myself on the substitute teacher list with the Cape Breton Victoria Regional School Board, I started working out a lot, and I began to gradually make my way back into the 'social butterfly mode' that was once a definitive aspect of my life. I told the goverment that I would no longer be needing their assistance financially and convinced myself that I could handle working enough to get by until I was feeling 100% again.

But even after I gathered up some of the normal parts of my former life, I was not happy. In May and June I felt extremely depressed. I felt like I was surrounded by darkness and could not escape it. I was experiencing mood swings which were negatively affecting my relationship with Michael. I had suffered a major blow in self-esteem-- I went from being a confident, outgoing woman to what seemed like a self-conscious, insecure baby. I was constantly worrying about my health. What is that pain? Could it be cancer? Could this shortness of breath mean that chemo ruined my lungs? I have a headache--maybe I have a brain tumor! Is this a lump? Is that a lump? In addition to feeling insecure about my general health, I felt that I no longer had the stamina I once enjoyed. I worked for one full week teaching P-6 music and band and I felt like someone had literally beat me up by the end of the week. I was so tired I could literally not move my body. This was fatigue working at its finest. And this was something I had never experienced before. I was always a very energetic person who barely sat down for 5 minutes-- work used to define my life. Now I couldn't handle working for one week.

In addition to all of these road blocks, I felt that there was something major underlying the stress I was experiencing. I later came to realize that this source of stress was the expectations that others were placing on me, although I know that no one caused this intentionally. Regardless, I felt that once I finished treatment everyone thought that my battle with cancer was over. Perhaps this had a great deal to do with the fact that I attempted to move on too quickly and appeared to be back to "normal" to many people. Nonetheless, people thought everything was now fine and that they could to some extent forget about all that happened to me. But while they were forgetting, I was clearly remembering-- alone. I began to feel alienated--like no one understood what I was going through. And, because people thought I was back to "normal," I felt an underlying pressure to have to work, party, and do all the things that everyone normally does, more than I felt that I could handle. I felt that I was "over-doing it" physically and mentally and I became extremely scared that this was interfering with the healing process.

Why did I do this to myself? Why did I try to move on so quickly? Am I going to get sick again? All of these thoughts haunted me. But, at the same time, I heard the haunting voices of friends and family saying: "You don't have cancer anymore" and "I think its time to move on."
Feelings of anger and self-pity brewed within me because of both the expectations I placed on myself and the expectations others placed upon me. I knew I could not live up to either requests. It was time, then, to begin respecting myself and my limitations and to change my expectations. It was also time to turn a deaf ear the haunting voices of others.