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A Joyful Noise

chemo

Conquering cancer, one step at a time

September 27, 2017 by Melodye Shore

This is the face of a woman who shows the world her best side: friendly, confident, brave. Even when her insides are wracked by nausea. Even when her legs feel Gumby-ish and her ch-ch-ch-cherry-bomb shoes are cushioning the stabby pains of neuropathy. Even when her hair’s gone missing, and her puffy cheeks bear silent witness to the cumulative effects of cancer-fighting pharmaceuticals.

This is the face of my friend Donna–a woman who’s fighting cancer with every fiber of her being, and who challenges every stereotype you might have about that battle. Peek behind her mirrored sunglasses, and you’ll see the fierce look of determination in this warrior woman’s eyes.

Donna’s the pinniped-loving member of my posse. You might remember her from previous blog entries, including the one where she advised Secretary Clinton to “Let yourself be great!”  She’s not one to ask many favors, but she’ll always support your dreams.

This is the point where Donna’s chemo buddy enters the story. Had you already noticed the woman in blue, with the beaming smile and sunny yellow laces?  That’s Marilyn. An inspiring woman in her own right, she’s been waging war against cancer for more than two years now. If you’d asked me beforehand, there’s no way I could’ve predicted what they’d accomplish together in Boston, last Sunday.

The sun was strong and the humidity was almost unbearable. Even worse, both women were feeling the lingering effects of their latest chemo treatments. But Donna agreed to walk a “mere” six miles of a 26.2 mile marathon, alongside Marilyn. She wasn’t entirely sure how (or if) she’d make it, but they’d pledged their mutual support for  The Boston Marathon® Jimmy Fund, and it’s not like either one of them to renege on a promise.

Check out the sweatshirt! When Donna spotted it at the starting line, she just about fell out into a fit of laughter.  Happenstance, or a secret nod from her harbor seal friend, Freckles? Food for thought. For sure, it fueled a few miles’ worth of discussion, as Donna explained to Marilyn the  longstanding joke between the two of us.  (Donna: You need to take a pail of herring to Freckles! Me: No way! It’ll stink up my car! Donna: Then roll down the window…let him smell you coming!“)

Marilyn’s granddaughter, Molly. Posted with her mommy’s permission.

Donna followed through on her promise, and then some! She walked the entire 26.2-mile route with Marilyn–one foot in front of the other, from Hopkinton School to Fenway Park, to the top of Heartbreak Hill and around the corner, until (“Don’t ask me to tell you our time”) they finally crossed the finish line at Copley Square.

This is the medal they placed around her neck last Sunday–a token of achievement for having accomplished something very few people manage, even when they’re healthy. It symbolizes the whole of her life: refusing to run from her diagnosis, but electing, instead, to move forward every day with a healthy sense of humor, generosity, and positive intentions.

Author Brené Brown once said, “You can’t get to courage without walking through vulnerability.” My friend Donna lives this quote every day, and this is her race to win.

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Posted in: Boston Marathon Jimmy Fund, cancer, chemo, Jimmy Fund, Let yourself be great, writing Tagged: Boston Marathon Jimmy Fund, brene brown, cancer, chemo, chemotherapy, courage, Donna, freckles

Then and Now: A huge fan, backing a winner

August 16, 2017 by Melodye Shore

THAT WAS THEN… 

(June 2017): Chemo, radiation, chemo, radiation–my friend has battled the ravaging effects of cancer for the better part of a year, now. She’s managed to stave off the inevitable hair loss, but given her increasingly aggressive treatments, it came as no surprise to either of us that molting season had finally arrived–for my friend and her pinniped pal, Freckles.

“No way am I going to wear a wig,” she said.

“Of course not.”

She’s a bare-faced beauty, 100% natural.  Synthetic hair? Don’t be silly.

“I’ll still be me,” she said. “If someone doesn’t want to see my bald head, not a problem. They don’t have to look at me!”

“Yep,” I said. “But hey! You could decorate your scalp with temporary tattoos…”

Red Sox logos, we agreed, would be just the ticket.

AND THIS IS NOW…

Freckles is back to his sleek, handsome self.

And my friend is sporting a new look.

The face of a champion, nearing the one-year anniversary of her first cancer treatment.

A lifelong Red Sox fan. A warrior woman, with unflinching courage. A winner.

Extra innings?  No problem! Surprise plays? Easily handled. Grit, determination and a healthy dose of humor…these are her superpowers, and my friend’s using everything in that arsenal to beat back cancer.

Tattoo images via her hairstylist, Karen

Want to place your bets on the winning team? Lay odds on her.

No question in my mind: She’s got this.

Posted in: bald, cancer, chemo, Donna, fan, Red Sox, Red Sox fan, Winner, writing Tagged: cancer, chemo, Donna, fan, Red Sox, Red Sox Fan, winner

Thankful Thursday: Molting Season

June 8, 2017 by Melodye Shore

She raked her fingers along her scalp, stopped abruptly when hair came away in her hands.

We stared at our cell phone screens, eyebrows lifted. Close friends from opposite coasts, facing together a new truth.

“Well, that’s not good,” she said, “I was hoping to keep this hairstyle for at least a couple of weeks.”

I can’t say that I blame her. It’s a super-short, sassy ‘do, well-suited to someone for whom every day’s a physical struggle.

A recent photo, but her hair is clipped much shorter.

“Must be molting season.” I teased.

“Shutttttt uppppp!”

I flinched, just a little. Whenever I used that phrase as a child, hellfire rained hard upon my head. Even as an adult, it evokes the faintest hint of sulphur.  But my outspoken Irish Catholic friend isn’t one for censoring her thoughts. She exemplifies the lessons I’m (re)learning: that conformity is a destructive influence, and speaking your truth is a healing balm, with mostly positive side effects.

Our video chats are lighthearted. Aside from that sobering moment, this one was no different. We extolled the virtues of salt water taffy, and discussed the “catastrophic molt” that harbor seals undergo every spring. Her favorite pinniped was shedding his winter outerwear, and would soon be sporting a sleek new coat.

“Oh hey, you’re just like Freckles!” I said.

The phone went silent for a moment.  She wiped the falling strands from her face, swept the hair tufts from her pillow. “My spirit animal,” she eventually said.

“Yes,” I answered softly. “Your spirit animal.”

She was hooked up to an IV when Hillary Clinton called to wish her well. Imagine, if you will, talking to a presidential candidate while you’re undergoing chemo!  But she quickly turned the spotlight back to Hillary. “Let yourself be great!” she said to the former Secretary of State. A simple affirmation, served without any fanfare during a hard-fought campaign. That’s the unique brand of compassion my friend is known for.

Chemo, radiation, chemo, radiation–my friend has battled the ravaging effects of cancer for the better part of a year, now. She’s managed to stave off the inevitable hair loss, but given her increasingly aggressive treatments, it came as no surprise to either of us that molting season had finally arrived–for my friend and her pinniped pal, Freckles.

“No way am I going to wear a wig,” she said.

“Of course not.” She’s a bare-faced beauty, 100% natural.  Synthetic hair? Don’t be silly.

“I’ll still be me,” she said. “If someone doesn’t want to see my bald head, not a problem. They don’t have to look at me!”

“Yep,” I said. “But hey! You could decorate your scalp with temporary tattoos…”

Red Sox logos, we agreed, would be just the ticket.

That was the last I heard of her hair loss, until our phone chat on Wednesday morning. She mentioned, with no small measure of pride, that she was able to stomach real food at dinner time—roast beef, potatoes and cooked carrots.

She was dressed, same as always, in what I’d call casual chic: black pants and a turtleneck, and a FDNY hooded sweatshirt  that helped protect her from bracing winds and rain. Her hair was bristle-short but tidy. It was her first real outing in over a month, the first meal she’d kept down in weeks.

Comfort food. Fresh air and warm hugs, shared among long-time friends at a neighborhood diner. Everything she needed, to help stave off the worst side effects of chemo.  Small but important victories, cut short by losers.

Two delivery men hunched over their plates at the next table, shoveling food into their mouths as if they were afraid someone might steal their food. They wore uniforms that identified them as employees of a home improvement store. They were loud and coarse, with unkempt hair that fell below their shoulders.

One workman caught his partner’s eye, hitched his thumb in the direction of my friend. “What is that?” he asked.

Her cheeks blazed.

His partner shrugged. “Can’t tell if it’s a man or a woman,” he said.

They slapped their thighs with glee.

She met their smugness with a steady gaze, rose slowly from her chair, and sauntered over to their table.  With surgical precision–think Edward Scissorhands, shaping a topiary from an unruly hedgerow—she then stripped those bullies of their power.

“Are you really making fun of my hair?” she asked. “Well, let me tell something. It’s short because I have cancer. It’s patchy because of chemo. I’m enjoying my first real meal in a very long time. If that’s not okay with you, I suggest you leave, right now!”

The manager scurried over. She engaged both workers in a stare-down, maintaining her resolute posture as she gave him the Reader’s Digest Condensed Version of her story.

Didn’t matter that he was a friend; the facts spoke for themselves. “It’s best that you get out of here.” the manager told them.

They beat a hasty exit.

My intrepid friend? She tucked into her meal again, as if nothing had ever happened.

“I’m so proud of you,” I said, although I wasn’t the least bit surprised. It’s the type of behavior I’ve come to expect from my friend. But I’m still thinking about it today, with no small measure of awe and gratitude. When she rose to her feet, she lifted the rest of us onto her shoulders.  When she said her piece, she spoke for everyone who’ve suffered abuse in silence.  When she stood her ground, she built a solid footing for the rest of us.

Random recollections, maybe, but they paint a beautiful portrait of my friend. I’m featuring it on this page, where she can’t easily slough it off. She’s a good egg(head), and we’d do well to learn from her example.

Posted in: cancer, Catastrophic Molting, Donna, Election 2016, Freckles, gratitude, Harbor Seals, Hillary Clinton, Molting Season, Thankful Thursday, writing Tagged: bald, chemo, Donna, harbor seals, laguna beach, thankful thursday

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