tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-58947482414348672892024-03-05T13:43:52.928-08:00Baby, will you love me when I'm bald?Jenn Zahavichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14236248985162801834noreply@blogger.comBlogger26125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894748241434867289.post-4716391578002476722011-02-14T08:23:00.000-08:002011-02-14T08:33:37.419-08:00Spread love people, today is the day. Sending so much love from Dave Coady and I straight to your family. xoxoxIf there was ever a day to do it, spread love people. Today is the day. Hug somebody, tell someone you love, that you love them. Smile at a baby. Pay someone a random compliment and watch how they stand just a little bit taller. Get a hair cut and feel good about yourself, you are beautiful. Go for a walk in the rain, splurge and by a pair of fancy rubber boots. Eat your favorite chocolate bar. Buy a new book soley based on the way the cover looks. Indulge in yourself, love yourself. Squeeze your pet. Take a nap. Buy the person in the drive thru lane behind you thier coffee this morning. call that friend you have been meaning to reconnect with. Be creative today. Paint, draw, sew. Maybe today is the day to finally forgive and move on. Trust yourself. Be decisive today. Peel a pomegranate. sit down and write a list of everything that you love or are grateful for in you life, include everything from warm peanutbutter chocolate chip cookies to your soulmate. Buy a coffee and breathe in the beauty around you. Do it, spread love. It's the only reason we exist. I love you, I believe in you. If you are checking this blog this morning I am grateful for you, I love that you exist. Happy Valentines Day, the best day of the year, the day that exists merely so that you can experience love. I love you more than you know. You are the best. xoxooxJenn Zahavichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14236248985162801834noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894748241434867289.post-64425917615630709752011-02-13T04:37:00.001-08:002011-02-13T04:37:58.298-08:00Exploding with PotentialI have a dream, that is about to come true and I can hardly believe it. When I started this blog three years ago, I was inundated with support for my writing. Since I was a little girl, I have always loved to write and have always dreamed about writing a book, well, I can hardly contain my excitement, but it's about to happen and I have HUGE plans. A couple of weeks ago, a beautiful friend of mine sent me a simple email simply stating, “Jenn, I think you should write a children's book. Simple enough, just a suggestion. The very next day, that suggestion connected instantly wth inspiration. Coady came home from daycare, a little sad, and we had a moment, the kind of moment that children's books are made out of. I didn't think much of it at the time, however, the very next day as I was driving home from a doctor's appointment, A story came through the sky and literally went right through me. I drove directly from the doctor's office to my friends place and asked her for a piece of paper and a pen. I sat down at her kitchen table and in 30 minutes I wrote down my story, word for word. It was unbelievable, when I finished I knew I had something extraordinary in front of me. A children's story, a REALLY good children's story. I have read the story to some close friends recently and every time a parent hears the story, they cry. This is a very good sign. I know for certain that this little story is going to be a BIG success but what excites me the most is the potential. I have found an online self-publishing website that goes big in a short time. The website will provide my storybook an ISBN number which means that my story will be available in bookstores as well as sites such as amazon etc. The most exciting part is my vision. From the beginning of this cancer journey three years ago, I knew that I was being “chosen”, I was merely a part in a a bigger plan. I am supposed to do something amazing with my story, amazing with my life and I just figured it out. With this story and the money that I believe I am going to make from it, I want to star a foundation. A local charity foundation that I will call, “LOVE FROM JENN”. My vision is to set up a foundation, so that if there is a family in my communty that finds themselves in a similar situation as ours, a cancer situation I want there to be an option available to that family for them to consider naturopathic medicine. Right now in our province, naturopathic medicine is not covered in any respect. If you are diagnosed with cancer you are pretty much forced into the care of an oncologist, which means you are forced into taking treatment at the Cancr clinic, you are forced into chemotherapy. I believe strongly that chemotherapy, although sometimes is effective, is not always the answer. It is not a cure. Cheotherapy and western medical views on cancer are concerned with killing the disease despite the toll it takes on the immune system of the patient. Naturopathic medicine comes with a different perspective. Naturopathic medicine is more inclusive and works to support the immune system of the patient, the idea is that medicine supports the body in healing itself, either by stimulating the immune system to attack the cancer cells or by simply making the patient strong enough so that a compromise can be made within the patients body and the patient may be afforded the opportunity to live with the cancer peacfully in thier body. To me, the naturopathic approach to cancer treatment is much more humane and reasonable, the downside, is that it is extremely expensive. This puts naturopathic medicine out of reach for most families. The treatment that I am recieving from my wonderful naturopathic doctor is IV treatment. I am going to his office three times a week. The cost of each visit ranges in price from $500-$900 a day, reaching almost $3000 a week. I believe fully in the benefit of this medicine, I believe that I was meant to be recieving Dr. Kind's treatment and everyday that I show up at his lovely office I am overwhelmed with gratitude because it is only because of the love and support of my family and friends, my community and communities I have lived in in the past that I am able to afford the treatment. I believe that this treatment should be available to anyone who wants it and believes in it, Finacial assistance should be available and I want to make that happen. <br />Here's the exciting part. My little sister is an incredible artist. I bought her an airplane ticket last week and she is flying out to spend a week with me on the 16th. Together we are going to work on the illustrations for my children's book. It is my hope that by the end of the month I have a fully published book in my hot little hand. I am planning a book launch party. And am currently looking into the details of setting up a charity. It is my dream to give back, the opportunity that was so graciously given to me. Please stay tuned for book launch party details and the slow release and progress of the the publiishing. I am vibrating, I'm so excited. The story is called 'Kisses for Later”, it is a sweet story starring Coady. Dave actually titled it. It will be illustrated by my sister and hopefully available for sale at the end of the month. I can hardly believe it. Publishing a book is a lifelong dream of mine that is about to come true. I will keep my blog updated while the process continues. Keep the launch party in mind, not sure of date and location yet but it's going to be a HUGE party! And LOVE FROM JENN is going to be a reality. I am going to make a difference in this world. I am just starting to spread love, you haven't seen anything yet! Thank you for the inspiration, for the support, for the love for the friendship. It's going to be an amazing ride, hold on tight. I love you all. <br />Oh, and a quick update health wise, the past few weeks have been crazy with all kinds of dips and valleys, emergency surgeries and the like but I am living a beautiful healthy life full of joy and I am a force to be reckoned with right now. I am so lucky to have my brother and his beautiful fiance staying with us right now, they have been such a HUGE help in the past few days and they have extended thier stay for a while longer, I am overjoyed. I love them so much. Really my life could not get any fuller or better than it is right now. Start living people, make a difference. Use your actions to spread love, give hugs readily, say I love you, go for a walk on a sunny day and breathe deeply. You are worth loving and the sooner you start giving love out the sooner it comes back to you, it's simply amazing. You won't believe it. Right now I am just waiting for my little sis to show up so we can start painting the illustrations, it's been a long week of waiting so come on Wednesday, hurry up already! I'll post the story soon to give everyone a sneak peak. It has a very “Love you forever” sentiment to it, mom's everywhere are going to love it, Coady loves it and his little cousin is already repeating little lines fom it. SO EXCITIING, I'm getting ready to start a whole new adventure as an AUTHOR!!!! Okay, must get some sleep. I love you all!Jenn Zahavichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14236248985162801834noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894748241434867289.post-16599050646411107622011-01-21T14:58:00.000-08:002011-01-21T15:00:14.711-08:00Life is short but sweet for certainTo say that the last few weeks have been challenging would be the understatement of the century. You know, I have to admit that when I first received the big scary diagnosis of stage four cancer I thought, okay i can do this. I'm determined, I'm brave, I'm motivated, let's go! I had this incredible circle of support that just grew out of control with momentum. I felt so strong. I felt so in control. And then on Christmas morning I felt a lump. It was in my side, a hard, rigid lump. My immediate reaction was obvious concern but I was able to talk myself down because I had been taking Tylenol 3 for my back pain and one of the hard side effects of codeine is that it causes extreme constipation, so it wasn't unrealistic that this lump in my side was just a blockage in my intestine, no need to get all stressed, right?<br />I decided to ignore the lump, which became easy to do because shortly after Christmas I was taken off of the hormone therapy I was on and my back pain became my main focus. This pain was all consuming, it was nervy, it was exhausting and excruciating. I related the back pain to going off of the drug, I assumed that I was going through either withdrawal or detox and just kept telling myself, it will get better tomorrow. Well sure enough, time passed by and after a week and a half I was still waiting for the pain to get better. Also, in the meantime I had been trying to get my intestines moving and so I was loading my self up with laxitives and dried fruit. Finally, after what felt like forever I managed to relieve my system. Exhausted and weary, I rubbed my poor belly and once again felt that gruesome panic crawl up the back of my throat, the lump was still there. Unbelievable.<br />I went to visit my doctor the next day. He felt my stomach and watched my face as I squirmed through the pain, he pulled up my last CT scan report on his computer and confirmed my fear. The two enlarged nodes that were found on my aortic artery during my surgery are located midline, and he believed that the pain I had been experiencing was probably due to the fact that these nodes are growing and therefore pushing my organs around and causing a lot of pressure and pain. Jenn, he said, we need to get your pain under control. In the time I was in his office my body did not stop moving. The pain was mind bending, my teeth were clenched, I was exhausted because I hadn't slept for more than two hours in a row in weeks, I hadn't eaten anything solid in about a week and a half, I was literally losing my mind. He put me on morphine and registered me in the palliative home care program, a program I would have balked at a month before, I graciously nodded my head. That was last Monday.<br />On Tuesday, I went to my naturopathic doc appt to receive my first IV treatment. When i came home that afternoon I didn't feel well, my body was working hard to adjust to the morphine, I was exhausted and I was so nauseated that I couldn't keep water down. I went to bed, defeated, depleted, empty. That Tuesday night will remain engraved in my mind for the rest of my life because that night I had the moment. I woke up at roughly 2am, the house was silent, I looked at Dave sleeping peacefully beside me, I could hear Coady breathing softly in his room. I felt my hips, they were sore to the touch, my morphine dose had worn off. I looked out the window for what might have been five minutes. I was frozen and I thought, this is it, I'm dying. This is it, this is the beginning of the process. How did I get here? Where is my muster? Why am I not screaming? Why am I okay with just lying down with this? At that point I must have just dissolved into sleep. The next morning I went back to my naturopathic doc for another IV treatment, thank goodness, because the personal interaction I had that day with a very special individual was nothing short of divine intervention. <br />Im not a religious person, but I do have a very strong faith of my own that is a bit of a mish mash of everything. I was raised in the catholic church, and so I believe in heaven, although I don't have a real clear picture in my mind of what it looks like or how long it takes to get there. I do have a very strong belief that when the time comes and I do crossover, I will be reunited with spirits I have loved in this lifetime. I also firmly believe that people are brought into my life at very intentional times for very intentional reasons. And so on this wednesday morning, this beautiful woman, felt compelled to come to me and give me the words I needed to hear. For her privacy I won't share her name or position but she was in the office and noticed that I was sitting in the IV room by myself and thankfully she grasped the opportunity to talk with me.<br />Jenn, she said, I have something I want to share with you. First of all, she said, I think you are going to do well, and I'm sending you all of my positive thoughts but I wanted to tell you, that my mom died when I was three and a half years old, and what I want you to know is that, I remember her, and I know that she loved me. Also, I want you to know that I have been around here for a long time and I have watched many people come into this office and various stages of health, and I have watched so many of these people get the treatment you are getting from Dr. K. and I have watched them walk out the door and live their lives. You're going to do great.<br />In a matter of fifteen minutes, this woman impacted my life in a way that I can't even describe with words. When I left that office, I could feel my feet firmly on the ground, I could breathe deeply, I found my muster. It was as though the sky opened up and I was stepping back into the light for the first time in weeks. <br />I AM BACK. I'm not dying, what heck was I thinking? Do you know how much stuff I have to do?!<br />I'm so excited I can hardly contain myself. My pain is under control, thanks to my incredible doctor, I'm sleeping, my appetite is slowly coming back. Here's the best news, Dave bought me an iPad today because I'm going to be spending three days a week at my naturopaths office, each visit is going to take four hours and I am going to use that beautiful time to ...WRITE A BOOK. <br />I'm back on top. I want to thank my unbelievable friends for their care, they have been worrying, they have cleaned my house, they have made us dinner every night for the past two weeks, they look after Coady with as much love as they have for their own children, they listen to me, they cry with me they bring me presents and flowers. They are nothing short of extraordinary and I love them all so much. I want to apologize to my family for causing so much concern, please rest assured (mom) that I am okay. The final and most important tidbit of information I have is that I have made a firm and very positive decision in my treatment plan. I will be working exclusively with my naturopathic doctor who will be treating the cancer aggressively with various substances including high doses of vitamin C. His goal is to stop the growth of the cancer. If he can stop the growth, I feel very confident that within my own constitution, using effective visualizations, a healthy diet, ensuring that my immune system becomes bulletproof, my support network, sleep and a positive attitude, I can take care of the rest. I will either come to find a balance in my body that will allow me to live with the caner or I will simply will it away. Either way, let it come. What I want to be clear about, is that I will no longer be seeking the advise of a medical oncologist in Victoria. I have a lot of concern about the treatments being offered to me from there because they seem more concerned about killing the cancer that about the harm that may come to my body. And life is short but sweet for certain and I will be LIVING out my days. Thank you for your love and light, go tell someone you love them. I love you.Jenn Zahavichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14236248985162801834noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894748241434867289.post-9483210671421994152011-01-11T15:46:00.000-08:002011-01-11T15:47:48.057-08:00A special thank youThere was a period of time when I had sisterhood envy. I remember watching movies about travelling pants and sororities and coming away feeling lonely and sad. When I lost my best friend Katie in a car accident, my girlfriend count plummeted. I was at a loss, I didn't know how to establish a group of girlfriends and I felt incredibly sad about missing out on such a rite of passage as a women. I spent a few years floating from recreation class to recreation class becoming increasingly depressed about my lack of sisterhood. And then, like magic, here they were. I know there were a few integral pieces that had to fall into place to make these women appear. First of all, I became a teacher. This opened up a huge social circle that had been previously out of reach and then, and this is the clincher, I became a mother. All of a sudden, it was as if I could talk to and connect with any woman that crossed my path. It was unbelievable to me how easy it was to converse with other moms and not only converse, bond. The third and final piece was connecting with a couple of pivotal women who had their feet firmly planted in both circles. These women, escorted me in and lovingly accepted my friendship. Thank goodness, because today these women have become a lifeline and I don't know what I would do without them. <br /><br />After my incredible new years eve good news, I took a hit. My oncologist suggested going off one of the hormone therapy drugs I was taking because it was causing me back pain. And so, after the appointment, I tucked my self into bed that night happily without taking my nightly pill. When I woke up the next morning, New Years Day, I could barely move. My back pain had gone from painful and uncomfortable to excruciating. I made my way downstairs and lay down on my couch and didn't move for five days. On the fifth day, I got a call from my oncologist, checking in on my pain situation. My reaction was not what he had expected and my report to him seemed to send him into the land of uncertainty. He suggested that maybe my pain was a result of the cancer spreading into my bones, a notion I completely rejected. He wanted me to have a bone scan done immediately. My response was a firm “no way”. I had a bone scan in October that came back clear and I don't believe for a second that the cancer has leached its way into my bones. Also, bone scans tend to be insanely stressful and are completely toxic, no thanks. Then he said he would look closely at my previous scans with a radiologist and get back to me. When he got back to me, he seemed satisfied that my scan looked healthy and suggested that maybe I consider an alternative hormone therapy or a “mild” chemotherapy. I told him that I am working closely with a naturopathic doctor and I am waiting for the results of a blood test that would determine the effectiveness of chemotherapy drugs on MY cancer. <br />This test will see my blood sample sent to Greece, where they will grow MY cancer cells and treat them with all of the conventional chemotherapy drugs available to see which ones work and which ones don't (seems like common sense doesn't it, I mean who would have dreamed of tailoring a treatment plan to the patient's specific body chemistry?) My oncologist agreed and said he would be in touch. Then he called me back a couple of days later, this time convinced that the cancer was indeed spreading and that he would like to run through the mild side effects of the chemotherapy. Let's see, hair thinning (not lost, this seem to be an important point for him to get across.) mouth sores, swollen hands and feet, diarrhoea etc. Etc. Sound's like a walk in the park doesn't it? Again, I declined his suggestion. I have to say, that I know my oncologist has my best interest at heart, I know he wants to take the cancer away. I know he cares deeply about my well being and the interest of my family however, I feel that he is acting from a place of panic and fear right now. I want to tell him that it's okay that he doesn't have an answer. I was aware from the beginning that there is no straight forward cure and I'm okay with that. But I'm not okay making decisions from a place of fear. I want to be informed and confident. I want to believe in my treatment. If this blood test comes back (a blood test that will cost upwards of $4000.00, I'm adding this because with out the support of my incredible community and friends this test would not be accessible, and for that I am beyond grateful) showing a positive result for a conventional chemotherapy drug, then and only then will I consider it. <br /><br />Anyway needless to say, the time I spent in pain was a dark period that I have no desire to ever visit again. Pain is a crazy thing that messes with your mind. It wakes you up at three in the morning and forces you to confront fears that you have worked so hard to minimize. It makes you panic, it makes you sad, it makes you scared. But here, this is where my sisterhood stepped in. Before Christmas, I was given a gift of love that far exceeded any present I have ever been given in my lifetime. When I was diagnosed again in September, these women, my personal group of angels got together as women would have in days gone by. They collected bits and pieces, scraps and stories and together they wove a healing shawl. These women came together and stitched their loving intentions into a blanket that is nothing short of the greatest gift of love I have ever received. Every block, every stitch was created by love and as I lay on my back, I wrapped myself tight, knowing that I was healing, knowing that I was loved. And then of course, as any sisterhood would they began the rituals of taking care of thier own.<br /><br />They rubbed my feet, they kissed my head, they tucked me in, they made my bed.<br />They soothed my fears, they feed my soul, they held my hand, they made me laugh. They continue to come to doctor appointments with me, they make me playlists, they make me soup, they make me chicken 1000 different ways. They have formed a human chainlink fence around me and they guard me with every ounce of compassion they own. They check in, they call, they stop by, they lie on the living room floor beside me. They tidy my kitchen, they bring me books, they look after my son and they feed us food that has been infused with pure love. They rally without being asked or expected. They are mothers, some of them grandmothers. They are healers, teachers, soothers. They are the sisters that have been hand chosen by circumstance and fate to walk beside me. They never falter, they are completely dependable. They laugh and cry with me, they pray with me and stay with me. They listen, they advise, they are brilliant, they are wise. These women are my safe house and I love each of them. I love each of them differently but all the same. <br /><br />To each of you, and you all know who you are, I love you. You are healing me and it will be our greatest feat because I believe your medicine is the miracle that is going to take place. Thank you.<br /><br />Jenn.Jenn Zahavichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14236248985162801834noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894748241434867289.post-8953224254329199782010-12-31T13:27:00.000-08:002010-12-31T13:29:37.899-08:00Happy New Year.I got a peek yesterday, just a glimmer; a small affirmation, a tiny red tree. I was advised against doing a happy dance just yet, but whatever, I did one anyway. I just wanted to let you know, that if you are reading this and have been one of those beautiful people sending me love, I got it, and it's working. <br /><br /> There is something about the smell of the hospital air that evokes a psychosomatic response of nervous energy and general queasiness. However, yesterday, as we waited for my oncologist to appear on the screen in front of us (joining us via satellite it's Dr....) I felt lighter, trusting, knowing, calm. I had my blood tests and CT scan last week and he was giving me the results. <br />Ready?<br />No advancement of the disease. Stable. <br />Blood counts and levels normal.<br />Kidneys functioning well.<br />Liver and Lungs clear.<br />PH balance great.<br />Dramatic drop in Tumor Marker going from nearly 400 to 22. <br /><br />It's working. I'm going to love this cancer away, and I'm going to do it at home surrounded by my beautiful friends and family. There was awhile there when I considered seeking treatment in Mexico, or perhaps Texas but then one morning, stretched out on my kitchen floor, the clarity came. The thing is, I could jump on a plane and fly anywhere in the world chasing a magic pill that may or may not exist but the truth is, if there is going to be a cure, it will come from within my body. I believe that if my body manifested this cancer my body can take it away and I will do whatever I can to support this process. <br /><br />On this New Years Eve I am filled with a bittersweetness. 2010 has been a whirlwind of emotion and growth. I've watched my son stretch out into this beautiful boy with shiny eyes full of spirit and comedic timing sent from heaven. I've grown closer to Dave, the other half of my heart, my soul's companion. I felt the shadow of fear, I've cried a river of tears and I've been lifted, gifted with love. I could never have imagined the LOVE, the depth or the strength of the friendships. I couldn't begin to measure the energy, the time or the loving efforts of the people I know and the people I don't. The ones who put me first, the ones who took it upon themselves to save me for my family. I could never have imagined the fire that would start in me, the determination or the desire to be exceptional. And so 2010, I'm going to let you go. Thank you for the lessons, for the awareness and the red trees. My arms are wide open and I'm ready for the New Year, with all of it's twists and turns. I'm ready because now I know that “Miracle shall follow miracle, and wonders shall never cease.” Happy New Year, yes indeed it will be.Jenn Zahavichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14236248985162801834noreply@blogger.com24tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894748241434867289.post-20368899879044141032010-11-19T15:26:00.000-08:002010-11-19T15:42:50.315-08:00Somebody get me a ruler.I have a strong affinity for straight lines. There are no surprises with a good straight line, no curves to worry about or corners to take, no obstructions and no change in direction. I love rows and columns, clean working surfaces, and fine point pens. I tend to fall into leadership roles naturally, I enjoy making firm decisions and I love making a seamless leap from point A to point B. I excel in a straight line environment, my only problem is that cancer is no longer a straight line. <br /><br />Lately I've been feeling a familiar type of anxiety rising, the kind of anxiety I get when Dave drops me off at the pumpkin patch and says, “okay, pick one”, or worse when he says, “you pick the tree, and I'll cut it down”. You see “options” are not a friend to a straight liner like me. Options trigger, what can only be described as an OCD reaction, sending me into tailspins trying to find the perfect “one”. The problem with having no cure for cancer, other than the obvious, is that everything and anything could be a cure for cancer. I feel as though I've fallen down the rabbit hole and now I'm faced with a wonderland buffet of options: drink this ionized water out of the copper cup, eat this mushroom while standing on one foot, take this drug, don't take that drug, don't eat sugar, only eat sugar...etc. etc. The options are endless and nauseating and I'm exhausted. There is a fine line between being informed and being completely overwhelmed and I am walking the tight rope. <br /><br />This past week and a half has been extremely difficult. The hormone therapy kicked in last week and the side effects have been trying. I'm nauseous, hot and cold, irritable and a crybaby but most distressing is my aching back. I have this unrelenting, intense pain in my lower back that makes it incredibly difficult to pretend like everything is okay. I'm an emotional wreck because obviously my body is screaming at me and I am choosing to ignore it, and that does not sit well with me. I'm not confident in this drug treatment but I'm too scared not to take it. Seriously, is a straight line too much to ask for?<br /><br />Last night I went out to the theatre with one of my closest friends. I keep this friend filed under divine because I'm pretty certain she's got some white wings tucked away, out of sight. At the end of what turned into a very emotional night she prayed with me. Together we prayed for clarity, for peace of mind and a straight line. <br /><br />This morning, after I got Dave and Coady out the door to work and play, I lay a blanket on my newly heated (thank you Dave;) kitchen floor. I turned off the computer and the ringer on the phone and I lay down on my screaming back. I closed my eyes and I listened. It's amazing what you hear if you just take the time to listen. It's incredible to hear the sound that hope makes as it uncurls itself and reaches up, like a straight line extending to the sun.Jenn Zahavichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14236248985162801834noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894748241434867289.post-77641039605908190992010-11-05T12:42:00.000-07:002010-11-05T18:10:25.504-07:00Pennies From HeavenI distinctly remember the first time I saw her. It was early September, the beginning of grade ten. I was sitting with some friends, backs against the lockers in the hallway. I noticed her immediately as she walked towards us, and it shook me, because when I say noticed, I mean it was as though my soul recognized her. She had the most amazing smile, an undeniable sparkle in her eye, and a fiery spirit that made her glow. Her name was Katie and we became inseparable. She changed my character in profound ways, she showed me love, resilience and strength like no one in my life ever had before. She was my best friend, my kindred spirit and one of the greatest teachers of life that I would ever know. And she came and went too quickly. <br />On a fateful night in November 1998, Katie fell asleep behind the wheel of her car as she drove home from visiting family in Halifax. I remember dropping the phone and feeling the numbness spread through my body. But more incredibly, I remember the feeling of disbelief and gratitude I felt as my mom and I drove home from a friends house late that night. As I looked out my frosted window, into the peaceful black night, I watched the blanket of new fallen snow rise up to meet the stars. I closed my eyes and prayed for a sign. Let me know she's okay. Show me that she's okay. Show me that her spirit is whole and soaring. Show me. I remember opening my eyes, I remember the hair rising up on my arms. I remember the calm that entered my heart. I remember the way that the snow lit up and sparkled as though someone had captured the sun and let it almost escape. The brief shimmer that spread across the white blanket. The wave that said good-bye, I'm okay. It was Katie who taught me first, to watch for the signs. She's been winking at me ever since. <br />In the past month, I have received message after message commenting on my strength and my courage. <br />And while I accept these messages with an open heart and gratitude, I can only take so much credit because as a whole person, I am merely the sum of the beautiful people who have come into my life. And so I want to thank you. <br />I want to thank my beautiful family and my amazing friends for their love and unrelenting support. Thank you to the communities I have belonged to in the past who have joined hands and hearts and have caught my family, and continue to hold us tightly. Thank you to the teachers who have left your mark. Thank you for embracing my vulnerability and accepting my words. Thank you for your love and your belief in us as worthy. <br />My greatest fear, that comes with the cancer diagnosis is not of dying or of death, my fear is of leaving Dave and Coady in a life that is absent of me. However, the other night, as I took a moment to look around the room, a room that was so full of life and love it was palpable, I was filled with love, gratitude and a deep sense of knowing that everything will be okay. Dave and my little Coady would be guarded, and loved and adopted by this amazing community that we have surrounded ourselves with. What more could I possibly ask for? I am indeed a fortunate soul who will always have faith in the signs. Thanks Kate, I love you too. <br /><br />“If the only prayer you say in your entire life is – 'thank you' – that is enough.”<br />Meister Eckhart (1260-1328)Jenn Zahavichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14236248985162801834noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894748241434867289.post-50740833122043487942010-10-31T08:19:00.000-07:002010-10-31T08:20:53.474-07:00Red Tree For Jenn By Tara ColborneYour words. <br /><br />They have become our sanctuary, our knowing <br />Like you, they grow<br /><br />Singular <br />Beautiful <br />Inspirational<br /><br />Your words have changed us <br />Your words have healed us <br />Your words are here and now and tomorrow and forever and red<br /><br />These are your words: <br /><br />“Surrendering” <br />You are a child of the universe <br />You are “growing”, you are “exceptional”, you are “loved” <br />No doubt the universe is unfolding as it should <br />You perceive the surreal and the surrender <br />“I need a sign, give me the sign that today will be...” <br /><br />… a beautiful world. It is still a beautiful world. <br /><br />You believe in the poetry and the signs and the love <br />and spit out <br />terminal palliative chronic <br />Spit them out <br />and fill up on <br />sweet love, spreading love, love of family, love of Coady, <br />gratitude and love, bravery and love<br /><br />“Green tree, green tree, green tree, red tree, green tree, green tree.”<br /><br />This world is not our home. <br />There is something more. <br />And miles to go before you sleep, <br />And miles to go before you sleep. <br /><br />“Green tree, green tree, green tree, red tree, green tree, green tree.”<br /><br />You are our red tree.<br /><br />Please God <br />Watch over me and protect me and keep me safe.<br /><br />And then there was love. Knock. <br />There was always love. Breathe <br />There will always be love. Shine.<br /><br />Amen.<br /><br />(A mostly found poem inspired by the blog: http://babywillyoulovemewhenimbald.blogspot.com/.) by Tara Colborne <br />I don’t know Jenn but her blog battered my heart and made me weep and shake, but, ultimately, made me, finally, love and be grateful.Jenn Zahavichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14236248985162801834noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894748241434867289.post-15317577116721104272010-10-25T15:08:00.000-07:002010-10-25T15:11:48.644-07:00It doesn't get any better than this!I'm so excited I can hardly stand it! Those of you who know me well, know that I am a HUGE fan of Stuart McLean, host of CBC radio show, the <a href="http://www.cbc.ca/vinylcafe/home.php">Vinyl Cafe </a> (shame on you Canadians who just said “who?”). I have been listening to the Vinyl Cafe for about ten years now and never get tired of listening to Stuart's voice. As a storyteller, he is mesmerizing and as a writer, he is heartfelt and hilarious. Stuart's writing style is uniquely charming and always aspires to demonstrate the finer virtues of humanity, his style is one that I aspire to in my own writing. <br />This past May, as I flipped through the newspaper I noticed that Stuart was coming to Courtenay in October, I called the box office immediately but was told that tickets wouldn't be on sale for quite some time and to keep trying back. To my dismay, by the time we returned from our trip this summer the show was sold out. Anyway, a couple of weeks ago I decided to write to Stuart. I wanted to share with him what my community has done for my family, he loves that kind of stuff! So I emailed the letter and then called my friend Chantel, who is also a huge Stuart fan. I suggest she write to Stuart too and she informed me that she wrote to Stuart four days earlier! Okay, this is a long winded story so I'll keep it short. Chantel called the next morning, her letter had been responded to and we were offered...BACKSTAGE PASSES to the show! I'm not sure if I can accurately describe the emotional bliss I am feeling. Imagine getting backstage passes to a Madonna concert, now instead of a blonde bendy woman in leather, imagine a grey haired gent in a nice pair of slacks, and instead of singing and dancing think more storytelling and chuckling...okay, basically Stuart McLean is my Madonna. It's not a smooth comparison but I'm sure you get the picture. The picture is that tonight, I get to meet one of the greatest influences of my writing, and he might even read words that I wrote! WOW! <br /><br />I know this seems like luck but consider this...<br /><br />When you learn what this world is,<br />how it works, <br />you automatically start getting miracles...<br />what others will call miracles.Jenn Zahavichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14236248985162801834noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894748241434867289.post-82785015174507808662010-10-19T10:29:00.000-07:002010-10-19T11:37:17.642-07:00Staying PositiveA few weeks ago I was walking downtown and ran into a friend I hadn't seen in a while. She asked me how I was doing and it was clear that she hadn't heard about the cancer returning. I began to tell her and as the word “terminal” parted my lips, I thought to myself, I have to stop saying that word. There is really nothing good to be said about this word, it's not very poetic, it doesn't feel good in my mouth when I say it, and furthermore, it doesn't describe me. As I left her and headed towards home, I passed a car parked along the sidewalk. I glanced through the passenger side window and on the dashboard was a giant neon pink sticker that read, POSITIVE. Okay, I get it, I thought out loud, I have since decided to disown the word “terminal”. <br /><br />The day before my appointment with my oncologist, we spoke with one of the doctors in Mexico that I will be seeing. He went through his treatment protocol with us and at the top of his list was a hormone therapy, the same therapy being offered to me here. Never say never, I guess. I will be starting the hormone treatment here at home sometime this week. I feel much better about the decision knowing that the treatment plan in Mexico supports the drug plan up here. My oncologist seemed optimistic as he gave me the results of my bone scan and CT. The bone scan was clear, so no cancer in my bones and the CT scan looked great. So at this point, the disease does not seem aggressive and my goal is to keep it that way. We are considering going to Mexico sometime in January. That will give the hormone treatment time to settle in and will give us a baseline to work from. <br /><br />The past month has been a complete whirlwind but things are settling down and a new normalcy is taking shape. I am well. I feel healthy, safe, excited and loved. Loved beyond measure. I am learning how to surrender to the waves of emotion, that come less often but still exist. The fear and sadness are raw, and the unfairness is biting. When they well up I am often overtaken, but it passes and when I kiss Coady goodnight, and tuck him in I am overwhelmed with gratitude and love. When I lay my head down at night I say a prayer of gratitude and remind myself, “Don't cry because it's over. Smile because it happened”.Jenn Zahavichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14236248985162801834noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894748241434867289.post-80315761511039656552010-10-07T02:40:00.000-07:002010-10-07T03:11:41.426-07:00Spread LoveSurrendering is not something I do naturally. I am strong willed, so much so that I often surprise myself. When I became pregnant with Coady I was advised by my University faculty to take a year off. They suggested how tired I would be, and how stressful it would get balancing academic and domestic arts. Less than one week after giving birth to Coady, I was back in school. Determined to finish my degree, I sat through classes perched on my exercise ball while Dave walked the halls with our newborn son. Dave would quietly bring Coady into the class so I could nurse him and all the while I didn't bat an eye. I graduated in December with the rest of my class.<br /><br />You see, what the faculty advisors didn't understand was that I was an exceptional student. <br />I'm about to show my doctors, that I am an exceptional patient.<br /><br />The drive was quiet, on our way to Victoria last Wednesday. I spent a lot of time looking out the window trying to grasp the surreal nature of my current reality. As we climbed over the Malahat, I thought to myself, “I need a sign, give me a sign that today will be okay”. And then I thought, “show me a red tree, if everything is going to be okay today, show me a red tree.” As we drove I watched intently. Not a red tree in sight. As we rounded a corner I turned my head and looked out Dave's window and low and behold there was a driveway lined with maple trees. Green tree, green tree, green tree, green tree, red tree, green tree, green tree... I'm sure Dave heard my sigh of relief. I settled back into my seat contented for a moment until I admittedly acknowledged my cheat. It's freaking October, there are red trees everywhere. I was going to need a bigger sign. I began to focus, I watched intently as we moved into the city. Just as we approached the cancer clinic and my hope was beginning to fade I glimpsed out my window one more time, desperate for anything that looked remotely promising. A large white delivery truck was parked along the sidewalk, as my eye continued to the back end I noticed two words had been spray painted in black. To my disbelief, the sign read “SPREAD LOVE”. <br />“Did you see that!” I exclaimed to Dave. “Did you see what that truck said?” I then gave him the run down of my thought process. “Isn't that crazy?” I asked him. <br />“It's not crazy”, he replied calmly, “it just means you're growing”. <br />Yeah, that's Dave, he's kind of amazing that way. <br /><br />Our visit with the oncologist was sobering to say the least. It was easy to recognize the disappointment in my doctors eyes when he walked into the room. He was just as unhappy to see us as we were to see him. After a brief examination that involved lots of tapping and pressing, he gave us his plan. Hormone therapy. Palliative therapy. Palliative, now there's a word that will bring you to your knees. Menopause at 31. Sometimes I find that doctors seem removed from the meaning of the words that they use. They throw around terms like menopause and sterility as easily as hiccups and indigestion. There is no cure, but we can treat it as a chronic disease. No cure.<br /><br />I've had some time to think about his options and this Friday, I have an appointment with him at 11:00. I can't begin to explain the courage it's going to take to look into this doctor's eyes and tell him that I do not wish to take the hormone therapy, nor can I explain the strength I will need to tell him that quality of life is more important to me that quantity. It's difficult to portray with words the bravery required to go against the mainstream and look for alternatives but I'm sure the words will come. The truth is, it's difficult being exceptional.Jenn Zahavichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14236248985162801834noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894748241434867289.post-59613048787636766822010-09-22T21:40:00.000-07:002010-09-22T21:42:35.075-07:00Pursed Lips are a Bad SignI've been sitting in front of this screen for a while now, so long in fact that I'm considering changing my medium to interpretive dance because there are no words. There are no words to describe the shock, the sorrow, the loss, the determination, the hope or the love.<br /><br />Last week Dave and I travelled down to Victoria General Hospital for what was supposed to be the removal of an ovarian cyst. In retrospect, maybe I should have seen it coming, but in all honesty, there was not a cell in my being that thought for a second that this was cancer. I had visualized for days, the smooth white surface of the benign cyst. In my mind I watched as the surgeons delicately removed the mass and nodded at each other, satisfied that the job was straightforward, ordinary and routine. I envisioned coming home excited, because I had decided that the removal of this ovary was a sign. It was a clear sign that now was the time to have another baby. I wasn't going to wait out another three years on Tamoxifen, my anti-cancer drug, I was going to have a baby followed by a hysterectomy and possibly the removal of my other breast. And then it would be over, no more worrying. <br /><br />But then I woke up to pursed lips. Trust me, that when you are coming out of the anaesthetic fog, the last thing you want to see are pursed lips. Pursed lips, reserved welcome backs, teary eyes. <br /><br />They removed the cancerous cyst and the ovary that it was attached to, they scraped the fatty layer that covers my intestines, they biopsied, they shifted, they explored and discovered upon further inspection two cysts on my aortic artery, a lump on my neck and ultimately that the cancer has seeped into my lymphatic system. <br /><br />We have not seen the breast cancer oncologist yet, but the surgeon told us that chemotherapies may be available but they would not be designed to cure the cancer that I have. <br /><br />We got home on Sunday. Exhausted, overwhelmed, broken, scared, stitched, stressed and parents of a three year old. <br />And then there was love.<br /><br />The sheer bombardment of support that we have felt in the past three days has been a miracle in itself. We feel lighter, hopeful, contented and loved. <br />Opportunities for healing are showing themselves quickly. I am trusting and willing to let things fall into place. I feel calm, patient and part of a bigger plan. <br /><br /> A close friend of mine told me that the trick to life is realizing that this world is not our home, we come from something bigger, more beautiful. We are in this world for a short time and our purpose is to show one another love, and when our journey here is over, then we go home. If you can wrap your head around that, she said, then there is nothing to worry about. I can find peace in that, I'm just not ready to go home yet. <br /><br />I've got miles to go before I sleep.Jenn Zahavichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14236248985162801834noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894748241434867289.post-91571429664894928642009-04-09T10:13:00.001-07:002009-04-09T10:13:57.649-07:00With a Little Help from my FriendsTo My Dearest Friends,<br /><br />This time last year I remember sitting in the chemotherapy room staring at the potential stored in the limbs of the cherry tree outside. I was early into my treatment schedule and the road that I was heading down was full of dark unknowns and fear. It was only with the outstanding support of my friends and family, that Dave and I were able to muster the strength and courage to complete our journey with cancer. <br /><br />Yesterday, I had a final meeting with my oncologist in Victoria. He congratulated me on a battle well-fought and formally discharged me from his care. Today, after a long and arduous fight, I am 100% cancer free and to celebrate, Dave and I have decided to embark on the Ride to Conquer Cancer benefiting BC Cancer Foundation. Through this event, and with your continued support, Dave and I can help prevent other families from having to struggle with this disease.<br /><br />The Ride to Conquer Cancer is a two-day bike ride from Vancouver to Seattle. As you can imagine, riding that far is not going to be a simple feat for me. I'll have to train and get in shape along side of Dave, speaking of dark unknowns and fear! But I'm excited that I can finally do something this big in the fight against cancer.<br /><br />I know you understand why this is so important to me, and know why I'm asking for your financial support. Our goal is to raise the minimum donation of $5000.00 so that we can ride. I hope you'll help us get there. It's hard asking my family and friends for money, but this cause and this event are very important to me and close to my heart. I hope that you can make a generous donation. I figure if everyone on my list donates $100, I'll meet my goal. The proceeds benefit BC Cancer Foundation.<br /><br />Click the link at the bottom of this email to donate to me online. You'll also find a printed donation form on my webpage, if you prefer that. Thank you for your support and concern over the last incredibly difficult year, and thank you for your support in my participation in this cycling event.<br /><br />Sincerely with love,<br />Jenn Zahavich<br /><br />http://www.conquercancer.ca/goto/Jenn.Zahavich<br />www.babywillyoulovemewhenimbald.blogspot.comJenn Zahavichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14236248985162801834noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894748241434867289.post-7029801768654780982008-12-02T22:33:00.000-08:002008-12-02T22:36:02.687-08:00Mom's PrayerSay “Please God” she would prompt, as she pulled the covers up around my shoulders. <br />“Please God” I would repeat without hesitation.<br />“Watch over me, protect me and keep me safe”.<br /><br />This was the beginning of the nightly prayer that my mom would lead my brother and I through when we were little. Tonight I can hear her voice in my heart and it seems only fitting to follow her lead.<br /><br />Please God<br />Watch over me and protect me and keep me safe.<br />Give me the strength and courage to take this final step.<br />Grant the doctor a clear focused mind and a steady hand in the morning. <br />And let Dave’s eyes be the first to meet mine when I wake up.<br /><br />Thank you for this lesson in gratitude.<br />Thank you for your healing touch.<br /><br />AmenJenn Zahavichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14236248985162801834noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894748241434867289.post-42501364927881588232008-11-27T09:53:00.000-08:002008-11-27T09:55:35.613-08:00The last strawIn less than one week this will all be over. Even as I write it, I can hardly believe it. My surgery is scheduled for December 3, 2008. I have opted, through MUCH deliberation to have a lateral mastectomy (just one side) with immediate reconstruction. This means that the surgeon will remove the nipple and all of the breast tissue attached to it from my right breast, I will also have to have all of the lymph nodes from my right arm extracted. The plastic surgeon will perform my reconstructive surgery at the same time. The implant will be placed under the muscle of my chest wall and will gradually be filled with saline over the next few months. How do I feel? Where do I begin?<br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Relief.</span> I am relieved that I was strong enough. I am relieved that we did it, that my little family survived this, and thrived!<br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />Gratitude.</span> I’m thankful for the lessons, the life lessons. Grateful for my family and the most solid, and unbreakable circle of friends I could ever hope for in this life. I love you all so much, I could never begin to repay you for your worry, your kindness and your love. I’m grateful for a new outlook on life, one that pushes me to stay present, love constantly and teach. I’m thankful for the opportunity to live and love my son. I’m thankful for my husband, my partner in life and love. Thankful for his realism and his constancy and his ability to make me laugh even through tears. <br /><span style="font-weight:bold;"><br />Fear.</span> I try not to spend a lot of my time here. Fear is a space that I can get lost in very quickly and where my imagination likes to take control. It’s dangerous and foreboding full of questions like “What if it comes back” and self-corrections like, “you mean WHEN it comes back”. You see what I mean? Not a fun place. But it does exist. <br />Right now my fear is waking up to a new body that I don’t want to recognize as my own. My fear is the look on Dave’s face the first time he sees me naked. My fear is that it’s not over. <br /><br /><span style="font-weight:bold;">Love. </span> I love that cancer and the opportunities that come with it have made me look deep into my core. I know exactly what I’m made of; I know what I stand for, who loves me, who I love. And I love life.<br /><br /><br />Consider this –<br /><br /> <span style="font-weight:bold;"><span style="font-style:italic;">we are not humans on a spiritual journey, we are spirits on a human journey</span> </span><br /><br />I have shaved my head, weakened my immunity and removed pieces, but my spirit is whole and flourishing. Try and catch me.Jenn Zahavichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14236248985162801834noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894748241434867289.post-61801718502451776752008-11-09T01:15:00.000-08:002008-11-09T01:22:39.880-08:00WisdomToo Young<br />Too Strong<br />Too Brave<br /><br />You never stood a chance<br /><br />I laugh more often,<br />love more deeply,<br />and live everyday with purpose<br /><br />You may have taken my hair, but you'll never get my heart<br />I'm going to thank you and then I'm going to let you go.<br /><br /><span style="font-style:italic;">Go placidly amid the noise and haste,<br />and remember what peace there may be in silence.<br />As far as possible without surrender<br />be on good terms with all persons.<br />Speak your truth quietly and clearly;<br />and listen to others,<br />even the dull and the ignorant;<br />they too have their story.<br />Avoid loud and aggressive persons,<br />they are vexations to the spirit.<br />If you compare yourself with others,<br />you may become vain and bitter;<br />for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself.<br />Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.<br />Keep interested in your own career, however humble;<br />it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.<br />Exercise caution in your business affairs;<br />for the world is full of trickery.<br />But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;<br />many persons strive for high ideals;<br />and everywhere life is full of heroism.<br />Be yourself.<br />Especially, do not feign affection.<br />Neither be cynical about love;<br />for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment<br />it is as perennial as the grass.<br />Take kindly the counsel of the years,<br />gracefully surrendering the things of youth.<br />Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune.<br />But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.<br />Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.<br />Beyond a wholesome discipline,<br />be gentle with yourself.<br />You are a child of the universe,<br />no less than the trees and the stars;<br />you have a right to be here.<br />And whether or not it is clear to you,<br />no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.<br />Therefore be at peace with God,<br />whatever you conceive Him to be,<br />and whatever your labors and aspirations,<br />in the noisy confusion of life keep peace with your soul.<br />With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,<br />it is still a beautiful world.<br />Be cheerful.<br />Strive to be happy.<br />~Max Ehrmann~</span>Jenn Zahavichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14236248985162801834noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894748241434867289.post-54653073417987061292008-09-13T21:39:00.000-07:002008-09-13T22:05:47.491-07:00With loveI could never have begun to imagine how you would change me, nor predicted the strength, the unwavering commitment and the bravery you would demand from me. It wasn’t until we met that I even considered the vulnerability of life or the fleeting nature of time. And it wasn’t until I saw my reflection in the deep blue of your eyes that I realized how deeply I could love. My beautiful boy, how has a year gone by already? I love you with my whole heart, forever. Love mum<br /><OBJECT class=BLOG_video_class id=BLOG_video-6a533d6e93a3a307 height=266 width=320 contentId="6a533d6e93a3a307"></OBJECT>Jenn Zahavichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14236248985162801834noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894748241434867289.post-46321689204949647502008-07-11T15:50:00.001-07:002008-07-11T16:10:35.451-07:00Bittersweet Symphony<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTjP3E4iFlPLsHJyy0NM9VmFNMqXLeC3YqPHYIVwUn1LAHorv9tAXafF1n3muKu325RalQtFgvffpatPSL0rILAmaRxKiqURkUi751xIws2v41D6wlY36ngV7zBOLRtHLIigg6mdGwfnI/s1600-h/IMG_1752.JPG"><img style="float:left; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTjP3E4iFlPLsHJyy0NM9VmFNMqXLeC3YqPHYIVwUn1LAHorv9tAXafF1n3muKu325RalQtFgvffpatPSL0rILAmaRxKiqURkUi751xIws2v41D6wlY36ngV7zBOLRtHLIigg6mdGwfnI/s200/IMG_1752.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5221897778049960882" /></a><br />There was nothing but blue sky appearing in the skylight above me today, as I reclined back into the blue chair in the chemo room. The cherry tree outside, now adorned with it's summer plumage, had mirrored my own seasons in this chair. I wasn't sure how I was going to feel today, sitting in that chair for the last time, closing this chapter. As thrilled as I am to be finished, chemotherapy has pushed me to my physical and emotional limits, there is a part of me that is sad and frightened to be moving on to the next step. <br />It is amazing how we as humans, become so easily attached to one another and are able to adapt and normalize an amazing spectrum of circumstances. Six months ago, I walked into that hospital terrified and today I'm crying because I have to leave. The care I recieved was amazing, my nurses and doctor were compassionate, warm and genuinely caring people. I feel amazingly blessed to have crossed paths with them, regardless of the circumstances bringing us together. Now I must look forward to my next challenge. Radiation will begin on August 18th and continue for 6 weeks. I'm ready. <br />But first, VACATION. Our bags are packed and we're ready to go. We're leaving tonight, hitting the open road and we are suspeding our reality for five weeks leaving our stress, our tears and worries behind us. I'll keep you all updated as we go. <br />Thank you so much to everyone who sends me constant love. I would not have made it this far without you. <br />Until then, this is my wisdom, my joy and my journey.Jenn Zahavichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14236248985162801834noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894748241434867289.post-45870856833040521272008-06-20T17:32:00.000-07:002008-06-20T18:40:12.713-07:00Loving lifeA few weeks ago, as I crept into Coady's room to administer the midnight feeding, I caught a glimpse of his golden head through the bars of his crib. His little mouth was slightly parted and forming a tiny pucker and his bum was sticking up in the air making him look as if he fell asleep while attempting to crawl. He was absolutely the most beautiful thing I had ever seen and it sent me into a tailspin. Panic spread through my body like a wildfire.<br /><br />Damn it. Losing control and perspective at three o’clock in the morning is a bad scene.<br /><br />I crawled back into bed beside Dave, tears streaming down my face. As I buried my head in my pillow I felt his familiar warmth mimic the line of my body, tucking his knees behind mine he whispered, “You’re okay, you’re just scared. The choice is yours, you can be scared or you can be inspired”. <br /><br />Wow, where did this guy come from? Who has this kind of conversation at three in the morning? Why can’t he stay awake long enough for me to dispute the simplicity of his logic? Have I mentioned how much I love my husband?<br /><br />To be scared or inspired, that is the question. <br /><br />From the very beginning, for me, coping with cancer has been a very dichotomous situation. It has been a nightmare but at the same time such a blessing. I have felt incredibly sick, and yet healthier than ever before. I have been terrified while experiencing the most overwhelming sense of bravery imaginable. I have been scared but deeply motivated to live my life, love my family and be incredibly grateful for all of the indulgences I have been granted. <br /><br />I have been INSPIRED.<br /><br />I had my second last chemo treatment this morning and I am on cloud nine, ONE MORE to go!! My last treatment is scheduled for July 11th and then…drumroll, we are hitting the road on the 12th for five weeks and driving to Prince Edward Island to see my family. Crazy? Yes. For the record I am usually the one to balk at ideas like this-generally because they are Dave’s and truth be told that when he first mentioned the idea of driving I had a million reasons why we should fly instead, but then it occurred to me that I cannot think of a better way to celebrate the closing of this small chapter in my life than spending five weeks with the two most important people in my world.<br /><br />We went to Victoria last week for a check up with the oncologist, who says that my tumor has shrunk to approximately a third of its original size and that everything is moving in the right direction. My radiation is slated to begin the week of August 18th and I have an appointment with the surgeon next week to discuss my options. <br /><br />I am happy. I feel healthy. <br /><br />My baby is a bundle of laughter, who just started giving real hugs, crawling up stairs, pulling books off my bookshelf and SLEEPING THROUGH THE NIGHT!!!<br /><br />My husband is amazing. I am so genuinely thrilled to wake up beside him every morning knowing that he loves me and all of my drama unconditionally.<br /><br />My hair is growing back, oddly enough attracting the attention of a lot of good old boys in their early to late 50’s. I think they are impressed to see that someone is appreciating their “look”.<br /><br />On our daily walks I make a conscious effort to stop and smell the wild roses and to instill in Coady the importance of being grateful for the moments.<br /><br />That’s where it is folks, <br /><br />Celebrate we will, <br />For life is short but sweet for certain<br />We climb on two by two<br />To be sure these days continue<br />Things we cannot change<br /><br /> -Dave MatthewsJenn Zahavichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14236248985162801834noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894748241434867289.post-11974306755822579112008-05-01T15:34:00.000-07:002008-05-01T15:51:26.307-07:00What...she's leaving us alone??!!This is what happens when you are left unsupervised at the cancer society armed with your sister-in-law and her camera.<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIBeP1L8p0d_GAx-D7ijnXxPaKgGplUfQu1RLGYa4Jm0rFFMLcvmzK4xpBRwSpTtptWLnjFUifx-lBMY_r_oSKnwKChexLzJ7VKxhBfKDDjUYyFuToCruq1NQHWG-R2viSPBhF3lrL6M0/s1600-h/CIMG1062.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIBeP1L8p0d_GAx-D7ijnXxPaKgGplUfQu1RLGYa4Jm0rFFMLcvmzK4xpBRwSpTtptWLnjFUifx-lBMY_r_oSKnwKChexLzJ7VKxhBfKDDjUYyFuToCruq1NQHWG-R2viSPBhF3lrL6M0/s320/CIMG1062.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195545313061478690" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsSaIvV_zEaucXa2LVBeyFLNZNmSUs75_T9t_FCyrdSaws8ZBTP-ON2S_Mt7SDDjh9ooQucHmeL-ZrORBlRXv8s7eNkSXtpkatSQVnpJp90XQtBk9aoxKl1vShh-UsxuGENSTtCAINpGk/s1600-h/CIMG1048.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsSaIvV_zEaucXa2LVBeyFLNZNmSUs75_T9t_FCyrdSaws8ZBTP-ON2S_Mt7SDDjh9ooQucHmeL-ZrORBlRXv8s7eNkSXtpkatSQVnpJp90XQtBk9aoxKl1vShh-UsxuGENSTtCAINpGk/s200/CIMG1048.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195544363873706194" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE9M3UAAtUeY1B8gjCWNJ90FDfQ-sMahZ1WPAZlFF69mk2G8uDP4rK1zCChTXsGc3k00gG0RDlxFo0jW7Nze4_p4LbRMp40h6V3f4XPxPw_fR51nWg1T7pZ6K_O3qHbvUMSuelMrav2CU/s1600-h/CIMG1051.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgE9M3UAAtUeY1B8gjCWNJ90FDfQ-sMahZ1WPAZlFF69mk2G8uDP4rK1zCChTXsGc3k00gG0RDlxFo0jW7Nze4_p4LbRMp40h6V3f4XPxPw_fR51nWg1T7pZ6K_O3qHbvUMSuelMrav2CU/s200/CIMG1051.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195544372463640802" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3AoN4yCqUQJhZk_k0g_0By3gT8zfV6jXvkKjCtY-BsnyE4p86f47Xkhl8sfx4qxNREdiKSB03J1f5dbR6WGzpKzT9M6AAkZRW-f4q1gDy9L9gHwHOHaO6DFTwua8Nk9R2P0p2UnQEXMg/s1600-h/CIMG1055.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3AoN4yCqUQJhZk_k0g_0By3gT8zfV6jXvkKjCtY-BsnyE4p86f47Xkhl8sfx4qxNREdiKSB03J1f5dbR6WGzpKzT9M6AAkZRW-f4q1gDy9L9gHwHOHaO6DFTwua8Nk9R2P0p2UnQEXMg/s200/CIMG1055.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195544376758608114" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmnDApicbw6BXnTbd9iOQLdiM6Q9HIOOcJM-4Aa_Bflgk3rDkpV1vBAbkHssiuJGMJ_MmqP9kzDkcpWXWGU5ocHzAiOokHYAmPt_J_qNB28XzkAF5HGp5N5aYCNmz9wtjjU0v35L8ycjo/s1600-h/CIMG1058.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmnDApicbw6BXnTbd9iOQLdiM6Q9HIOOcJM-4Aa_Bflgk3rDkpV1vBAbkHssiuJGMJ_MmqP9kzDkcpWXWGU5ocHzAiOokHYAmPt_J_qNB28XzkAF5HGp5N5aYCNmz9wtjjU0v35L8ycjo/s200/CIMG1058.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195544385348542722" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTRXdZCpKA4G1Ie3joxVd2VaLDaRNwEbhqFzT7E2oRy2OLNryq4J1QRRBgnZVxEP8Jb8RE5OowPyvrGYqb7SXNEbtdKFIITSUKvg4g7LDFazHxT7ulo3h60y_QKjaFyYqNlJkkyYWnoNg/s1600-h/CIMG1057.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTRXdZCpKA4G1Ie3joxVd2VaLDaRNwEbhqFzT7E2oRy2OLNryq4J1QRRBgnZVxEP8Jb8RE5OowPyvrGYqb7SXNEbtdKFIITSUKvg4g7LDFazHxT7ulo3h60y_QKjaFyYqNlJkkyYWnoNg/s200/CIMG1057.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5195544398233444626" /></a>Jenn Zahavichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14236248985162801834noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894748241434867289.post-28293182179421283932008-04-22T14:28:00.000-07:002008-04-22T14:40:24.308-07:00The Undertoad<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaS3LbaPh3fkNOnIuKXXq2TBeLhHLCEgY3blzyEpw-2mMK3jfX0Kw6WalZF9YHd313MqtuJf7MOmg89z5TQwwPxCTULzbKSN6eTXTTIcxBSloezuWaw2oDV4pIDAOBtNCTmlhTD11OCBI/s1600-h/IMG_1200.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaS3LbaPh3fkNOnIuKXXq2TBeLhHLCEgY3blzyEpw-2mMK3jfX0Kw6WalZF9YHd313MqtuJf7MOmg89z5TQwwPxCTULzbKSN6eTXTTIcxBSloezuWaw2oDV4pIDAOBtNCTmlhTD11OCBI/s400/IMG_1200.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5192187271406264514" /></a><br />For months now he’s been sitting there; perched on my shoulder, in a manner that would suggest he deserves some kind of reverence. Settled just at the edge of my peripheral vision, I can only make out the dark contour of his menacing little form. We don’t talk to each other, that was a mutual decision from the beginning, it has always been enough just to acknowledge each others presence. Lately though, he has been incessantly intrusive, making his presence known at the most inopportune times and all too often sending me into emotional tailspins of panic and sadness. He is malevolent and sinister; a dark angel if you will. He is my UNDERTOAD* and he constantly reminds me to stay present as he patiently waits to show me the exit if I falter. <br /><br />I first noticed his inflated audacity during my last assessment, about a week and a half ago. As a personal rule, I try not to socialize too much with the other patients in the chemotherapy room. It’s not that I’m unfriendly; I just don’t want to hear about anyone else’s drama right now, I have enough of my own to deal with. Also, it has been my experience that parallels can be drawn between chemotherapy and giving birth, in that everyone wants to tell you their nightmare stories. Anyway, during my visit there was an elderly woman sitting in the chair beside me. I gave her one of my “hi there, sorry to see you’re in this predicament too, I don’t want to talk about it” smiles, and then proceeded to bury my nose in the novel I brought with me. <br /><br />“You’re so young.” <br /><br />Hmm, clearly she didn’t read the entire message of my smile. “Yeah” I replied, sympathetic to my own case.<br /><br />“What kind of cancer do you have?”<br /><br />“Breast cancer”, my answer accompanied by a “that’s enough conversation, thanks” smile.<br /><br />“That’s what I had the first time”<br /><br />OH GOD, make her stop. I could feel panic begin to rise in me, alarm bells and whistles going off in my head. <br /><br />“That was three years ago, now it’s in my liver and bones”<br /><br />Is she for real!? SHUT UP. I am not having this conversation. Make her stop, please. <br /><br />I couldn’t get to my car fast enough before the tears came, that’s when I caught a glimpse of white over my shoulder, the twisted grin of the Undertoad. <br /><br />Fortunately, I have a secret weapon. Coady is LIFE at its best. He has turned into this rolly-polly whirlwind of happiness. He squeals with delight and spends his day relishing the new sounds he can make with his mouth. He’s crawling around at a rapid pace, eating whatever he can get his hands on and laughing his head off. He is in LOVE with his Dad and the feeling is mutual. I melt watching the two of them speak to each other in their own love language. <br /><br />Oddly enough, during these times when I’m fixated on the wonderful perfection of my tiny family, my shoulders fall away from my neck and I’m able to breathe deeply; as if a weight has been lifted. Perhaps the weight of someone who got tired of waiting. <br /><br />*The undertoad is a brilliant concept created by John Irving(one of my favorite authors) in his book The World According to Garp. In the book, the youngest child, Walt, is constantly being warned to "watch out for the undertow" while playing in the surf, but he mishears the word as Under Toad: <br /> Garp...realized that all these years Walt had<br /> been dreading a giant toad, lurking offshore,<br /> waiting to suck him under and drag him out to<br /> sea. The terrible Under Toad.<br />The undertoad, then becomes the family symbol for any impending stress or disaster. Great image!Jenn Zahavichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14236248985162801834noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894748241434867289.post-87946990980432788152008-03-25T20:57:00.000-07:002008-03-25T20:58:47.159-07:00A Reluctant WarriorI’ve been waiting for a little while now for some brilliant bit of inspiration to materialize so that I might be able to conjure up some romantic idea about my current situation, however, it would seem that if there is such a thing as a honeymoon period after you’ve been diagnosed with cancer, mine is definitely over.<br /><br />The other day I ran into a friend in the grocery store. “You look great!” she said, (I get this a lot, combined with a look of surprise). “You are such a warrior”, she continued. I could feel the threat of tears rising in me. The truth is, I’m tired of being a warrior. I never asked to be a warrior and quite frankly I’m growing weary of the title.<br /><br />I had my third treatment last Thursday and I am still trudging my way through the side-effects. Chemotherapy has left a bitter taste in the back of my throat and the inside of my mouth is blistered and sore. The veins on my left arm are bruised and tender, strained by the unfair task of being the vehicle that drives the poison through my body. My eyes are strained, my muscles ache and it takes every ounce of energy I have just to keep on moving. But I move. And I am grateful to be able to do so.<br /><br />Of course, not everything is doom and gloom. According to my oncologist, my tumour has shrunk approximately 2 cm in all directions. This satisfying little tidbit is enough to make all the ugliness worthwhile. I have five treatments remaining, followed by a course of radiation that will last 5 weeks and will begin approximately 3 weeks after the chemotherapy is finished. I’m looking into the prospect of reconstructive surgery and can almost make out the dim flicker of the light at the end of the tunnel.<br /><br />Dave and Coady continue to be two beautiful reasons to maintain my warrior status. Refusing to let me get too caught up in my own drama, Dave still manages to drive me crazy with antics such as: sewing curtains for his van and lovingly referring to me as Mr. Clean. Not to be outdone by his Dad, Coady started saying “Mum” on his 6 month birthday. While Dave insists that he doesn’t really know what he’s saying, I only have to catch a glimpse of those big blue eyes to know the truth. <br /><br />And so it is, the battle rages on. The reluctant warrior that I am, watching the snow melt away and taking with it my disease, my fears and my heart.Jenn Zahavichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14236248985162801834noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894748241434867289.post-55370133578380027012008-02-24T12:59:00.000-08:002008-02-24T21:13:34.340-08:00Becoming RealLast night my head was sooo itchy, I thought I was going to scratch it off! Dave broke out the shaving cream and delicately drew the razor in clean lines over my scalp. In my mind I thought, “Oh, this is what the Skin horse meant”. <br /><br />I had in fact just had my hair loved off.<br /><br /><br /><em><strong>The Velveteen Rabbit…</strong></em><br /><br />The Skin Horse had lived longer in the nursery than any of the others. He was so old that his brown coat was bald in patches and showed the seams underneath, and most of the hairs in his tail had been pulled out to string bead necklaces. He was wise, for he had seen a long succession of mechanical toys arrive to boast and swagger, and by-and-by break their mainsprings and pass away, and he knew that they were only toys, and would never turn into anything else. For nursery magic is very strange and wonderful, and only those playthings that are old and wise and experienced like the Skin Horse understand all about it. <br /><br />"What is REAL?" asked the Rabbit one day, when they were lying side by side near the nursery fender, before Nana came to tidy the room. "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?" <br /><br />"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real." <br /><br />"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit. <br /><br />"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt." <br /><br />"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?" <br /><br />"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand." <br /><br />"I suppose you are real?" said the Rabbit. And then he wished he had not said it, for he thought the Skin Horse might be sensitive. <br /><br />But the Skin Horse only smiled.Jenn Zahavichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14236248985162801834noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894748241434867289.post-43436641369171599812008-02-19T23:52:00.000-08:002008-02-19T23:55:19.414-08:00Bartering with GodWhen I was a little girl, my biggest fear was that my Granny Coady was going to die. As a child, my grandmother was my constant source of love, comfort and security. She was in every sense, home, and the thought of losing her terrified me. I remember lying in my bed one night; I was about 10 years old, and praying to God to just let my granny live until I was 16. (I might note that my grandmother was in perfect health and the prayer was coming from a complete place of paranoia. Also, to me at the time, 16 seemed to be an appropriate age where I would consider myself grown up enough to deal with the devastation that would follow the death of my beloved granny). It’s no great surprise that when my 16th birthday arrived I was overwhelmed with the weight of the bargaining chip I had played. This is where it started, my incessant need to haggle with the divine. <br /><br />Despite the fact that over time my relationship with and notions of God have changed, old habits die hard. Sometimes at night, when I’m rocking Coady back to sleep, that old familiar feeling of panic will rise up in my throat and I find myself silently suggesting, just until he doesn’t need me, or just until he can remember how much I love him. Don’t get me wrong, I certainly don’t entertain the idea of dying as even a possibility, I’m just saying, if I can buy a little time here and there, there’s no point in wasting an opportunity. <br /><br />It’s been just over a month since my diagnosis. Last week I had Dave shave my head. I cried and he held me. <br /><br />There is something to be said for having to face one’s mortality. I feel authentic, strong, loved and at peace with even the rebellious cells in my body. On a daily basis, whenever I become aware that my mind is drifting I say to myself:<br /> I am in the process of healing my body.<br /> I reject the disease in my breast.<br /> My tumor is melting away like the snow.<br /> Thank you for this lesson in gratitude.<br /><br /><br />It’s getting late, tomorrow morning I’ll call my granny and tell her about my day.Jenn Zahavichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14236248985162801834noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5894748241434867289.post-53531342493731121242008-02-04T11:59:00.000-08:002008-02-04T12:00:36.594-08:00Baby, will you love me when I'm bald?In the past three days I do believe I have run the entire gamut of human emotion. I feel drained, emotionally and physically. I’m walking the fine line between keeping my chin up and crying poor me all the time. Fortunately I have been blessed with the most amazing friends and relatives who have taken the time to make sure that when I stumble someone is there to play catcher. I am blown away by the beautiful sentiments everyone has sent me via facebook and email. Thank you so much. So just to keep everyone updated, here’s a quick overview of the past few days, both the good and the bad.<br /><br />In the early morning hours of January 29th my beautiful sister-in-law gave birth to a healthy little boy, Cole. He weighed in at just under 7 lbs and I love him. We went to visit him in the hospital that morning which provided a magical reprieve from real life, if only for a short time. <br /><br />All of the tests and scans I had completed came back clear! This means that the cancer is contained in my breast and has not spread anywhere else in my body. With this news, Coady and I danced. <br /><br />On Thursday we met with the nurse at the Chemo unit to go over the drug plan and side effects. The list sounded a lot like the Pepto-Bismal commercials, nausea, heartburn, indigestion…sterility. What?! “Sterility” says the nurse, so nonchalantly she could have said hiccups. Once again my head started to swim. There is a high risk that chemotherapy will send you into early menopause. “Early” is a bit of an understatement. <br /><br />STOP<br /><br />We made frantic calls to the oncologist, my family doctor, the cancer agency in Vancouver. What about egg harvesting? It turns out that egg harvesting is rarely done outside of McGill University and that the success rate for pregnancies with frozen eggs is quite low. They do freeze embryos, however we need a time line of about 6 months, not exactly in the cards right now. My heart sunk. The weight of this news was almost too heavy to bear. Why? Is this really the way things are meant to be? How could my life plan go so far off track that it isn’t even recognizable to me anymore? With this news we resumed the plans to go ahead with my first chemo session on Friday. <br /><br />Chemo-therapy (a horrible name I’ve decided) is not actually as scary as I thought it would be. The chemo room at the hospital is a bright little space, with comfy chairs and smiling faces. The therapy itself took about 2 hours to administer all the while there was lovely music in the background and my beautiful boys to keep me occupied. <br /><br />Dave continues to be my rock. “I’ll love you even more when you’re bald” he says. “Do you realize how much money you’ll save me on haircuts, product and color not to mention time getting out the door!” His comic relief is invaluable to me. <br /><br />While the days continue to place constant hurdles in my path, the nighttime hours replenish my soul, my hope and my heart. I only have to look over my shoulder to see two beautiful faces sleeping calmly beside me to know that all is right with the world. Tomorrow is always another day and it’s worth getting up for. <br /><br />All my love<br />JennJenn Zahavichhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/14236248985162801834noreply@blogger.com1