Dear Mom, Today Senator Kennedy Died of Cancer

Dear Mom -

One of your favorite people, Senator Ted Kennedy, died today of cancer. Even though it's been twenty three years since cancer took you off this planet, a Kennedy's passing always makes my mind wander back to our days together and the memories of your love for the Kennedy family and ideals.

I remember that day in 1968 when Senator Robert Kennedy was assassinated. I was a 7-year-old sleeping in my quiet room in our little house on Arkansas Avenue in Denver. You came in quietly sobbing and sat on the edge of my bed. I woke up to the feel of you pulling me up into your arms, felt you cry quietly into my my hair as you held me tight.

You were beyond broken-hearted. You told me then about the man who you had so believed in, had campaigned endlessly for, and how his life had ended that day. I remember clearly that you believed in the same ideals that the Kennedy's believed in, and how you tirelessly worked towards those same goals as a young woman and mother. You were sure then that my hopes and dreams depended upon the world changing into a better place for everybody.

Mom, you died so long ago that these memories are the only things that I have left of you. I cling to them looking for all the sweetness I can squeeze out of them, hoping to know just a little piece of the long ago heart and soul that you were. My sadness today is that we could have been so good together now, if you were still here.

Tears spill down my face as I think simultaneously about how much I miss your wisdom, friendship, and wit, but also how grateful I feel that today I have survived the cancer that ultimately killed you and Senator Kennedy. I have so much now, Mom, and I am so very grateful. But I don't have you. I feel as though when one of the Kennedy's passes, a little bit more of you passes from me too. Like the whole era of you is slipping away from me.

But I go on, because I have to and because I want to. I have been a strong and able matriarch for many years now. I know you see your granddaughters and they are the lights of your life as they are mine. "You did good!" I hear you say, "WE did good!" You were there too, next to me, through the good and the bad of escorting these two amazing human beings to adulthood. We did it despite cancer, and we did it together Mom, even if you were on the other side. I have the relationship with them that I yearn for with you. I almost have it all.

Today in particular, with the passing of Senator Kennedy, the little girl in me yearns to turn back the hands of time so that I could feel your reassuring arms around me again. I worry about the world for my children and grandchildren just as you did. I don't know how it will all turn out. But I do know you are there and cancer will never break our amazing bond.

I guess what I am trying to say is that I miss you. I love you and am so thankful for you. I will see you again in time, when I am ready.

I Love you, Jen

(The picture is of my 3-year-old Mom, Carolyn Mason Storke Mueser, in 1940)

A Funny Thing Happened On My Way to My Cancerversary

I guess you could say that I'm feeling a little more experienced at cancer than I was last year. I feel as though I've hit my 20's in my cancer life ... sort of quieted down, less drama driven, more mature and reflective.

Like the dating rule which stipulates, "spend at least 4 seasons with someone before you even consider settling down," I have found that spending for seasons with cancer and its aftermath has given me a more peaceful perspective than I had before cancer.

I have always been one to live in the moment. After all, there is no point rehashing the past or worrying about the future. But when cancer moved in, the first thing my mind did was go right to the end, or at least what I envisioned *might* be the end ... an end due to cancer.

Like anybody first diagnosed with a potentially debilitating disease, you don't know much. This leaves lots of room the for mind to go nuts. Mine did. Did yours? This was the worst part.

But then, you get information, you have your surgeries, you talk with your professionals, you Google, and mostly, you figure out how to get on with life.

Now that 4 seasons have come and gone, I know a few things; I can make this life work no matter what. I know that cause I just did it. For a year.

I have said, and I still maintain, that cancer made me stronger, more determined, more focused, happier, more loving, more accepting, and way less resistant. I would not be the person today without it. More importantly, I would not have gotten to know many of my life heroes, my friends and inspirations.

And so, one year later as I move into my 5th season, I am as grateful and as peaceful as I ever was.

Paix and love, Jennifer

Friendships Are The Cornerstones of Our Lives

A dear friend emailed me after reading a few posts from this blog and apologized to me for initially saying "I'm so sorry" to me after hearing that I had cancer. He did this because several posts below, I went on a cranky rant about the things that people say to you when you have cancer.

Let me just say that it was my goal when I started this blog to honestly express my feelings and to record my journey for my girls. I never really thought that anybody else would read this. I told my kids that I would be as absolutely honest as possible no matter what. And I was.

Sometimes I look back at some of my blog entries below and it is all I can do to not erase them because certainly they do not show me at my best. However, for as dense as I am, I can learn. And I have.

Now that I am a year out, I have a new stance on "the things that people say" when they learn you have cancer. And that is ...

... People are doing the best that they can. No matter what words they use, they are saying, "I am shocked, I need to process this, I am concerned for you, and I don't want you to die." They are just loving in whatever way they can at the time. And guess what? That is good enough for me. Others around us need time and space to journey through their own feelings of shock and fear about our cancer. Cancer people would do well to remember that their disease is not always just about THEM. It's about everybody around them, especially their close community of friends and family.

In reflecting back, I think my irritation about the things that well-meaning people would say to me was more about how these interchanges often required that I step up and take care of the speaker. "I'm so sorry" is indicating that the person is fearful about what you've just shared. It was hard for me, as a long-time Mom, to not immediately step in to console, or try make things okay for everybody else about my own sickness. As a result, I spent a lot of time consoling others. And that was wearing to the point where I often avoided events like REALTOR gatherings and meetings. I was tired anyway, so going to an event like that would have resulted in a LOT of care taking on my part. Exhausting!

So, what's the lesson? Cancer hurts and baffles everybody. Cancer is about everybody, not just the patient. Everybody involved is entitled to have the feelings that they have about the situation. We can all love and care and empathize and nurture everybody else involved in the situation and that is awesome. People will get cranky. They will say dumb things. So what? At least they come in love, and that ultimately is what we are called to do. Who cares what form wonderful, marvelous, amazing LOVE comes in, just so long as it's there?

If your eyes are here, know that I love you very, very much. Paix - Jen

The Bionic Woman? Will We Build Her Better Than Before?

A friend just Twittered me to ask if my Doctor's appointment yesterday resulted in plans to "take stuff out, put stuff in, or move stuff around."

Pretty accurate actually, on all three counts. My one year "cancerversary" came and went uneventfully enough. But recent events have had me thinking that it might be time to revisit the idea of breast reconstruction.

For those not in the know, I had my left breast removed last year in August when biopsy results were unclear about what kind of cancer I had or how far it had spread. It was very difficult and messy to decide between having an amputation vs having a lumpectomy. The lumpectomy would have required follow-up radiation for 8-weeks, but the mastectomy did not require any further treatment, assuming the cancer was contained in the breast (it turned out that it was).

I remember vividly in 1984 when my Mom was being treated with radiation for her cancer. It caused her misery beyond description. Think about having a very painful burn, and then being burned again and again on top of that burn. That was no good and definitely not for me. So, I chose amputation instead. I wasn't at peace with the decision and was questioning myself even as I was being rolled into the operating room.

One year later, I am okay with the decision (what's the alternative, to not be okay with it?) However, now a messy new decision has arisen. Breast reconstruction. My less astute friends ask, "What's to decide? Get a new rack!" Oh how I wish it were that easy.

Not being a plasticky surgery kind of a gal who is not really okay with putting foreign substances into my body, this was a hard one. I learned in this year that there were "flap" procedures where you could have your own body tissue moved and molded into a new breast. I even heard that would result in a tummy tuck as well. Welllll okay, that was interesting and required taking in no foreign objects, so I looked into. Tummy tuck was definitely an inducement.

Several hundred Internet viewings later, I decided not to go that way. I didn't like the resulting look and I didn't want to sacrifice any other perfectly good body part for the cause. (I learned that the "tummy tuck" wasn't truly that, and that abdominal muscles would be removed and relocated. Definitely not for me.)

So, armed with this info and a million questions, we (the cancer army of angels who stick by my side) went to see Dr. Kristina Cheng, a highly recommend plastic surgeon and breast reconstruction specialist in Salt Lake City yesterday.

Of course, I was terrified to go. And for no good reason, by the way. Just cancer saying, "Ha ha! I got you BEFORE when you weren't expecting me and I'll get you AGAIN! ::: Evil Cackle ::::" For my uncancered readers, that is how cancer keeps a hold of you forever, even if it isn't in your body any more.

So with more than a little fear in tow, I showed at my appointed time with Dr. Cheng. I liked her right away. She listened, which is key. In fact, I was there for over two hours exchanging information with her about my health, my desires, and her recommendations. Turns out, I am getting what I knew would be right for me all along. After the struggle I had last summer, that was totally awesome.

For the squeamish, this is where you end. Trust me.

If you feel that you must go on from here, I'll show you in picture form what I have chosen to have done and what will happen next to me.

I'll be receiving a silicone implant placed into the left side, underneath the muscle. This is not enough to hold the implant in (because I have no breast tissue there, only skin) so my surgeon will be laying in a cellular mesh that will hold the implant firmly in place. This tissue is made from human protein material, and the plan is that my body will accept it as its own (hopefully).

On the other side, I will get a smaller saline implant into my good breast. This is simply to match what is going to happen on the left side. Since we don't really know what it all will look like, Dr. Cheng says I will be in surgery several hours while she fixes, prods and pokes to make them as symmetrical as possible. That is the last surgery (hopefully) and will take place in February 2010.

The first surgery will be in October when an expander will be surgically placed underneath my left side skin. Then at one week intervals, the Dr. will increase the amount of fluid in the expander by 50 cc's or so. She will do this by shoving a needle through my skin and into the expander itself. Sounds fun, huh? She promises it doesn't hurt too much.

The skin stretches and grows accordingly until there is room for the implant. That will take from October to February, although between you and me, I will make that a lot shorter because I have races I want to run next spring.

I did a lot of research on this topic because many women chose not to do any reconstruction, but instead to remain with one breast and a prosthetic, which is what I use now. Actually, that works out surprisingly well as long as I am on constant "bra patrol" making sure the thing doesn't move everywhere. It's been okay, but working out is harder, swimming is simply not an option, I had to sacrifice many of my shirts and tops, and many activities in my previous life are not a option when you are "one breasted."

So, I am doing what I never thought I would do ... buying a new rack. It certainly seems painful, and after looking at endless pictures, I now know that the result is generally not symmetrical, or even pretty. But like my dear friend Jill once said, "Do it and at least you'll look fantastic in a sweater." That is actually what swayed me. True story.

So now everybody asks, "What size are you going to be?" Tempting question for this lifelong double A-er. Probably a really chubby B. Not any bigger because just today I saw a woman jogging while trying desperately to keep her chubby C's from bouncing all over. Meh, don't want that. So chubby B's it is. I suspect any bigger would interfere with my golf swing anyway.

The Doctor, tactfully alluding to my ... ahem ... age, said "We will try to get some of the droop of your other breast into the new one." To which I said, "Droop is not in the picture, sister. Make 'em nice!" To which she said, "Will do." Hey if I'm going to pay for it and go through the pain, I'd better get something to show for it, right? (And by the way, a Federal Law requires that breast reconstruction be covered by insurance after mastectomy due to cancer. SWEET.)

I'm posting some links now, and I am telling you, they are hard to look at. None of these pictures is me, but I literally do look just like the before pictures. We all do. It is interesting and something that nearly all of you will likely come across eventually in your wives, sisters, mothers, friends and lovers. Might as well get your first look now.

It's simultaneously very difficult for me to put such personal information forward to strangers and at the same time kind of freeing. This is *MY* reality. Know I am SO grateful to be alive and living this reality. Thank you for living it with me.

This blog post is dedicated to Lori Stauffer Wood and her Mom, Pat Stauffer, who died from cancer this past weekend.

Love life like there's no tomorrow people, have no more resistance to what is good, get your mammos, and I love you from the bottom of my heart - Jen

1. Mastectomy before and after pictures. WARNING! Clicking this will bring up breasts! LOL

2. A great "picture documentary" of what I'm going to be doing, as demonstrated over several months time by a brave young lady who had a double mastectomy 2 months after getting engaged. She wanted to be "whole" again for her wedding. Her story is so inspiring.

3. Most Doctors Do Not Talk About Mastectomy Options (Mine didn't, I had to Google everything. The state of women's health care in Utah is atrocious. But that is another post.)

4. The bottom picture is of a friend from my favorite forum, Crazy Sexy Life. She had a double mastectomy and chose not to reconstruct. She is a hero of mine. Bless you Deb for the open and honest picture. I am busy spreading the word ... AN EARLY DETECTION MAMMO SAVED MY LIFE. Hear it. Do it.

UPDATE: After all of that talk and then more research, I didn't do the reconstruction and have no immediate plans in the future to do so.

Paix.

One Year Cancerversary: Love, Life, Lessons

June 6th hasn't ever been that great of a day for me. It's the day in 1986 that cancer finally killed my beautiful, vibrant, witty, intelligent mother. It didn't get her without a fight, but it did get her. And it got a piece of me along with her.

Fast forward to June 6th last year. I was sitting in the waiting room of an outpatient surgical clinic in Ogden. I was there because only a week before a spot had come up on a routine mammogram of my left breast.

That had happened many times before, and as I sat in the waiting room for my turn to get my biopsy, I wasn’t worried. I took my daughter Sara's hand in mine and enjoyed a rare moment of quiet with her.

As I sat reflecting, I was somewhat startled to realize suddenly that the day was the anniversary of my Mom's death. Almost instantly afterwards, the thought came to me that I was the same age that she was when she died of cancer.

And it was then that I knew. I came crashing into my being with all the certainty as if the building around me had just collapsed. I knew, I just KNEW, that I had cancer.

There are really no words to describe the icy fear that shoots through you when it becomes a reality that you might die. I looked at my beautiful daughter sitting next to me and as the terrifying fear sank in all around me, I suspected our lives were about to go on one hell of a roller coaster ride.

And I was right. I was so right.

I had the biopsy and a few days later I got the news that I did indeed have cancer. Although we find it difficult to schedule time together in the daytime hours, my girls happened to be standing behind me when I got the news on the phone. I could only imagine the silent looks that they exchanged with each other as they heard my voice say, "It IS malignant? What kind? How big is it? Has it spread? What are my options?"

I wish that I had something profound to say right here about the whole experience. I really don't. But I did learn that cancer, like anything else in life, is an able teacher. Oh, and the miracles, the miracles.

Lessons learned:

The conventional medical establishment, the staff, and the process get an F-. The lack of compassion, basic competence, and even working office systems is so shocking you never could have convinced me if I hadn't experienced it myself.

Cancer never leaves your head. Once you have cancer, you always have cancer. Going to the doctor for the simplest things is traumatic now and often I need somebody to go with me to hold my hand.The things that people say. Everybody means well and that is the good news. But let me share a quick tip. Don't, I repeat DON'T launch into a story about how your great Aunt Mildred had the same thing and bla bla bla. DON'T say, "Oh my God I am so sorry." People with cancer don't want to hear your stories and they aren't sorry so you shouldn't be either. "What can I do for you now?" is a great thing to say.

I spent a few days contemplating dying. This was before I knew conclusively that my cancer was in one place only and that I would recover fully. That took 3 months to find out. That was a wicked 3 months. Ever looked death in the face? You know it if you have.

I began to notice the most amazing vibrant details in things. I became more peaceful, more plugged into now. I stopped working so hard and allowed myself to feel all the emotions. I took afternoon naps if I needed the time alone or the rest. I got a housekeeper and yard people to do things I was too weak to do. I noticed the insides of flowers and the soul in people's eyes. I still do all of that - treasured gifts that cancer gave to me.

I had never been a good one for amputation. As it turns out, my choices were to remove my breast or to go through a series of chemo and/or radiation lasting for months. It was a very, very difficult decision, but I finally chose amputation. I just wanted my life back. A few days before my surgery, I Goggled "Mastectomy pictures" and let me tell you, a massive freak-out ensued. I had doubts about my decision even as I was being wheeled into the operating room. For the first time in my life, I was not confident about what to do. Yet it had to be done because there was no more time to wait. I learned that ...

Cancer is messy. To a person who ties up ends neatly and normally has all her ducks in a row, that is was a hard one. But I learned that it is indeed survivable, even pleasurable, to leave some things undone now and again, and instead go out and enjoy the world.

It was difficult being a cancer patient AND a Mom. A Mom's instinct is to make everything okay for your kids. But I knew I couldn't make it okay for my daughters. And so, the cancer patient not only suffers, but they get to watch their sun and moon suffer too. It was very difficult to be the patient. However, I do know it was a gift to my kids that they were there, nurtured me back to health, and watched me survive a battle with the beast. I couldn't have done it without them, but to this day I RAGE inside that cancer hurt and scared them so much.

I underestimated my clients. I was afraid to tell anybody that I was battling cancer because I was afraid that they would think I was weak and sick, fire me as their listing agent, and find someone else. Eventually I had to come clean to each one of them for various reasons. I could not believe how kind and caring everybody was. My clients Bill and Nancy came into town a few days before my mastectomy to look at ranches. When they heard what was going on with me, they were supportive, and yet still expected me to work hard for them. I so appreciated that, that when I got home I cried with relief. All I really wanted was to get my life back. My clients who trusted me throughout were critical to my rapid recovery. I knew you needed me to heal and get back to work for you. Thank you so very much.

My neighbors were unbelievably kind to me.

I did not like being the “sick kid.” I serve on the South Ogden Planning Commission and I never admitted to them that I was battling cancer or that I was having surgeries. I just wanted one place where I could go and be as “normal” as everybody else there.

I still wonder today what happened to my breast. Morbid, maybe, but that breast fed my babies and was an active part of my life for 48 years. Did they throw it away after they tested it? Why would they not offer you your own body part back? Like in cremated form? It was a good breast and it didn't deserve to end up in the garbage out back.

I lost friends over cancer. Yes, I did. Don't know why. Maybe they couldn’t handle it. But I made so many more that it was worth the trade.

I recovered and I am okay. My scar is 10 inches straight across my chest, just like what you see on Google. Everybody says the surgeon did a good job. It is what it is. I am planning on several reconstructive surgeries this summer and expect to do well through those and be fine.

I saved the best for last, and this will make me cry as I type it. I found early on, a forum called Crazy Sexy Life where people of all ages from all across the world hung out and discussed their cancer and all issues related to it openly and honestly and with words of such strength and truth and integrity that it was hard to imagine it was real. I became a part of that community and literally those people held onto me for dear life as I rode the choppy and bewildering waters of cancer. My love and gratitude to my friends there can never be overstated. I love you guys more than you would ever know. You see, YOU are the gift that cancer brought to me. You funny, goofy, caring, loving, wise, silly people. Please live for a long time for me, and I will for you. I love you, I love you, I love you.

So, happy one-year cancerversary to me. I miss you Mom. I'm hanging in there for the both of us now.

Have an awesome day. I’m going to.

But ... I Just Came Here For My Itchy Ears!

So, I was putting some days between me and my little cancer experience and feeling pretty good about things overall. Business has been great and keeping me fully occupied. The girls and I took a trip to New York City where I attended an Internet Marketing Conference and they played all through the city in the daytime, then we went out at night and had fun. I was beginning to think about getting a reconstruction, but when I heard about the magnitude of the surgeries and the time frame they took, I knew I would have to ponder it for a while and that's what I was doing. So, life was going along fine.

One day last month I woke up with itchy ears. I normally don't have ear issues, but when it got worse, I took them to see my Physician's Assistant, Laura Colvin. While there I mentioned the ever growing bump over my rib cage. She examined it and was surprised to see that it was the size of a goose egg. I told her that I have to sit slumped sideways sometimes because the thing is so uncomfortable. She also took a look at my latest bloodwork, and the pathology from my surgery. There was a lot if silence as she read the volumes of papers.

I left with stuff for my ears and an appointment to see an Oncology Specialist in Salt Lake City. Now here's the thing. If you are a cancer survivor, and you aren't expecting that kind of outcome from a simple doctor's visit, that is devastating. This where you realize that cancer never leaves you. It's the head games mostly. And there's other people. Do you tell people - the ones that will start to worry all over again, the ones who had cancer through my experience, the ones who stood by my side every step of the way? Their disappointment is no less than mine. The problem is, WE ALL THOUGHT WE WERE DONE WITH THIS!

Two weeks flew by and I was driving to SLC for my appointment. I became more and more terrified as I went. I wouldn't let anybody go with me, because you see, then cancer wins. It wins because it has scared you and all your loved ones again, and again they are taking time off from their lives to sit in the waiting room with you, waiting.

I was mad, too, because I've braved my way through some amazingly scary situations in life including going to DC to testify before a Senate Subcommittee, telling our Governor his community plan stunk, heading mutli-national grassroots groups of very powerful people, been a firefighter, etc., but that day cancer turned me and my courage into a blithering wreck. It's the not knowing that really gets you. And on that drive to Salt Lake, when cancer snuck in and stole my bravado, I felt as though I was truly stripped of the very things that make me me.

I pulled myself together and found the office near Salt Lake Regional Hospital. My new Oncologist was a woman my age. I liked her right away. We did a major work-up and my tests will be back May 7th at which time I'll see her again. She didn't know what my lump is, but her attention was instead on my disastrous liver situation. Even though my cancer was estrogen positive, I can't take Tamoxifen because my failing liver can't process it. This leaves me vulnerable to getting cancer again, both in the other breast and in my ovaries. She looked right at me and and said, "If your genetic tests come back positive for BRCA 1 & 2, you'll need to have to have your other breast and your ovaries removed. Further, if we can't somehow figure out what to do about this liver situation, you have at most 10 years to live."

Hey, pretty cool info for a girl who just went to get her ears checked. NOT!

You see, this is what I mean by "cancer never goes away." Even if you don't "have" it any more, you still "have" it. You have the emotional, physical, and medical repercussions as your most constant companions. Your friends and family go through an endless roller coaster until finally they get so sick of it they can't stand it any more. Cancer carves you up and is completely unapologetic about the scars it leaves behind. Cancer stole my family, leaving me the matriarch on my mother's side of the family by the time I was 25 years old.

I cried on the way home and then threw a pretty rockin' pitty party for one for a few days. But if you know me, you know I came back to the light knowing that I am so lucky to have all of you, a beautiful day outside, clients who are kind and care about me, little flowers coming up through the snow, and of course my wondrous kids and handsome dogs.

Cancer strips away all the trash and leaves just the raw truth of who you are, what your dreams are, and in some cases, that you'd better HURRY UP and get those dreams accomplished. That's not bad, because as we know there is no such thing as "bad", only things that happen and how we choose to react to them. It is all good and I will stand by that concept that until my dying day.

The sun just peeked through my window reminding me that my day has begun and that I need to get to work! I feel great, fantastic actually, and by May 7th, I will be standing ready for whatever comes my way next. Cancer (or my dumb liver) will not win over me, or my bravado, or my life.

Paix to all - Jen

Fear-based Thinking is Highly Overrated

I use this term, "fear-based thinking" a lot in my writings and my daily verbiage, so I got to thinking that it might be good to get it down as a precursor to something else I want to discuss in a later blog post.

Fear-based thinking is a way of life. A lifestyle. It is a choice. Many have it as their default because they are unaware there is another choice. I lived that way for a long time myself.

Several things in my life made me aware of the concept of fear-based thinking around the mid-90s. At that time, I was taking a series of Sociology classes at Weber State University. I learned that one basic foundation of Sociological thinking is that upon birth, man (and many animals) are helpless babies and therefore necessarily must belong to a group of others in order to survive.

Therefore, it follows that by taking on the practices and beliefs of the group you are born into is critical as to whether you survive or not. To what degree you soak in the group's norms is also good indication as to what degree you will thrive within the group. We all begin to learn this groovy survival stuff on day one of our lives.

Certainly, in the early days of man, if one person detracted from the safety or common beliefs of the group, they might be expunged from the group and left to fend for themselves in the wild. This would mean certain death of course.

Today's society is really no different. Newborn babies quickly learn which caretakers they are 100% dependant upon and nature makes sure that they direct the entirety of their efforts towards endearing themselves with these people. This of course, ensures their short- and long-term care and therefore survival within the group. The cuter or more interactive the baby, the more positive feedback they receive, which in turn teaches the baby which actions get him what he wants. Soon enough, he learns to fall into step with behaviors and belief systems the caretaking group approves of.

Fear-based thinking evolves from this. It is formed at the root of our deepest desire for survival. It is a physiological reaction. We are taught and we believe that if we make our choices to "go along" with our groups (parents, siblings, neighborhood, schoolmates, church beliefs, political beliefs) that we will not be cast out of these groups, and certainly be loved and thrive within them.

Hence, we carry a subconscious sociological fear that keeps us, to varying degrees, in tow with what society deems is right and wrong. Cross that line, and you will be ostracized, disinvited, head to jail, or put another way, be somehow isolated from your groups. Instinctively, we do not want that scary ultimatum. As a result, we spend our entire lives working towards the approval of our groups. This is what keeps most of us humans in line.

I took this concept and applied it to my own life by asking, ""What things am I doing to please my parents, spouse, friends, church group, classmates, fellow volunteers, and colleagues that don't REALLY resonate with my own truth? What actions am I choosing from a subconscious fear that I will be excluded from the groups if I don't follow the unwritten "rules" of the group?""

The answer was, a lot. This was the beginning of a new lifestyle for me away from fear-based thinking and towards living my own truth, or what I term, "love-based thinking."

Many of us are shifting in this direction, towards love-based thinking. And just in time, too.

My recent experience with cancer gave me a wide variety of examples to use to illustrate fear-based thinking. There is a lot of "automatic" fear-based thinking out there. People reacting before they think DEEPLY through an issue for themselves, deciding how the issue resonates with their own personal truth. People who react one way because that is how they have learned how to react from their groups, or their subconscious fear of being separated from the group.

For example, after learning I had cancer, I took a couple of days to grapple with the idea that I might die. That was a new one to me, and it was a trying test of all that I believed on a faith level. I worked through the initial fear, then thought about practical matters (i.e. must finish up the paperwork on my Living Trust) and then was able to regain a stable mindset, back to love-based thinking. Being momentarily afraid to die was a teaching journey for me, but at the end I returned to my own truth a little wiser for the trip.

However, I quickly grew to absolutely hate sharing with others that I was going through a cancer situation, for I learned that would quickly attract instinctive fear-based thinking from many people outside of my family group.

"Oh my God! I am so sorry!!!" was the most common response. If you think about this response, it is a response based in fear. Fear that the responder has from previous cancer experience, or fear they have for the fear that they assume I have, or from many possibe places. The response actually has nothing to do with the person who has the cancer, and therefore becomes an instant energy drain because it turns the table for the responder to need reassurance. It happens all the time that way, because people are so instinctually filled with fear that we just don't seem able to respond any other way. Let me tell you, it was exhausting fending off other people's fear all day long!

One relative, who I barely know said, "I am just devastated." Well, certainly. My cancer has big ramifications for her own health genetically. Of course she was devastated. She is a fear-based thinker and fear quickly became inflamed when cancer came too close to her. Many people fearfully made my cancer all about themselves. This was exhausting also, because it took some measures from me to actually reassure these people that I wasn't coming to cancer with a fear-based attitude and therefore there was no need for them to do it either.

Every person has the right to react to things in their own way, according to their own paradigm. But fear-based thinking will turn a conversation instantly into a discussion about the responder's fear even if the participants are unaware of it. A love-based reaction would be along the lines of, "How are you managing this new thing?" or "How can I help you?" or "How has your life changed?" or "What things have you been learning from this new experience?" or "What coping mechanisms are you using?" or "What can I bring you?" or "What are you finding is the most comforting right now?" or "How do you feel about (fill in the blank)" etc. These are reaffirming the notion that fear doesn't have to be part of the mix when you get cancer, or at any other time. It's another learning experience which can be shared lovingly and positively with other members of the group.

I think the thing about cancer that feels so scary to everybody and sending them spiraling into fear-based thinking is that it is our perception that cancer could potentially take the afflicted person away from the group. The very thing that at our most instinctive levels, we don't want. It scares everybody all around. "Oh look, somebody is about to be taken from the group. That is not good!" Instinctive Reaction 101, herd style. I had some friends who I didn't hear from after they learned I had cancer. The prospect of possible separation of a group member from the group was just too much for them to deal with, so they didn't deal with it at all. Understandable, when you are a fear-based thinker.

Now I'm not knocking anyone from coming from a place of fear. But I do want to point out that is a choice. Human beings have the capability to think past their fear-based reactions to ANY event, and make anything they want a total love-in. It is a choice. In fact, it is a lifestyle. The saying, "It's all good" came from this. It is totally true. It is all good if you choose to overcome your instinctual reaction and instead apply love as best you can as often as you can.

Choosing love over fear is what we are here to awaken to, in my spiritual opinion. If everybody on the planet made honest efforts to make choices in love and not fear (also called lack, jealousy, or any other negative emotion) then our planet would be in perfect peace and harmony much more often.

Never be afraid to stand up and defend your truth, even if you have to stand alone. Get off autopilot. Step back from the herd. Think about it. And then choose love.

Love, Jen