Breast Cancer- Prayers

With my winter jacket on and my keys in my hand, I pace the small kitchen. I check the clock again and only five minutes have passed since the last time I looked. The headlights of her car catch my eye and I run outside and open the driver's side door. My dad has driven my mom to my house so that I can go with him to take her to the hospital. The call from him came at 5:30 in the morning, I bolted out of bed when my phone lit up the room. "She's not good.", was the first thing he said. 

My mom is laying across the backseat of her Highlander SUV with a blanket covering her completely. I peer to look at her through the small space between the headrest and the door. My dad hands me papers, "what is this?" I ask. But as I look down I know exactly what it is, it's a stack of the comics that he saves for my kids from his newspaper delivery.
"Papers for the boys. You are going to drive, right?", he asks and that is when I see the look in his eyes. He's scared. My dad, this powerful and confident man...he's scared and he's looking at me to provide relief. "Why don't you stay here at my house, I'll take her." I offer.

I know that I'm the one who can do this job. When the house is on fire, you want me there. I'll get everyone out safely including the pets and I'll manage to magically grab important documents while maintaining being calm. Thankfully, I've never actually been in that situation but let's just say I'm really good in a crisis. People who are closest to me who have seen me in action, know what I'm talking about when I say that I'm going into "house is on fire mode". 

All of my senses are on full alert. I hear her breathing labored and unsteady in the backseat. I make my way onto the beltway and the prayer begins in my mind. Whenever my body is resisting a panic attack the prayer starts; Hail Mary, full of grace... it stems from my childhood of going to Catholic School. We actually aren't Catholic, but at the time, the local public school was not very good and a Catholic School was only a mile from my parent's house. I gravitated to the rituals of this religion. I loved the kneeling, the standing, the signs of the cross. I loved the predictability, but we weren't Catholic so I secretly said the prayers to myself and the Hail Mary was my prayer of choice. It speaks to me and has this ability to calm my soul.

I weave between lanes, rush hour traffic is beginning to pick up. My fingers are gripping the steering wheel, causing white knuckles and my hands to feel cramped. "Blink, Gretchen blink", I say to myself out loud as I scan the rear view mirror for police as I speed over into the far lane doing 85. My mom rolls over onto her back, I listen for her breathing. There is such a long pause between each inhale. I hold my own breath waiting for her to breathe again, she let's out a moan.

"Please God....", I say out loud my voice quivering. I continue in a whisper...."Not today. I'm scared. I'm alone and I know I'm up for the challenge of taking care of my parents as they age but please God not today. Not here. Not now.".... I trail off as I exit the beltway and make my way to the entrance of the ER. I run into the doorway and grab a wheelchair, as I open the backdoor a nurse comes out to meet me. I lean in and touch my mom's legs and say kindly, "Mom, we're here. Hold on to my hands I'm going to pull you up." She moans. I look back at the nurse and the look on his face changes once he sees her bald (cancer) head. The wheelchair is one of those really wide wheelchairs and it's pulled in right behind me, the space between the wheelchair and the car door and me there isn't enough room for the nurse to help me get my mom out of the car. 

"Now wrap your arms around my neck and pretend you are giving me a hug." I say to her. I place her arms around my neck and I squat down and I lift her with a strength that I didn't know that I had. I lift her completely out of the car and I place her so gently down into the wheelchair. I look up at the nurse and that is when I become aware of the shock on his face, surprised that I just did that on my own.  I quickly run through the details the way I've seen it done on TV shows. "70 year old. Cancer patient, my mom, weak and dehydrated. Diarrhea. Is not lucid." Short and direct, no complete sentences. A man in a black jacket takes the keys from my hand and puts a ticket in its place. Another nurse puts a bright yellow sticker on my chest, "Emergency Center". 

The nurse and I together lift my mom out of the wheelchair and into the hospital bed. "What did you say?", the nurse asks me. That's when I realize what I've been saying out loud, "Holy Mary, Mother of God..."
"I'm praying", I reply. For years I've felt shame about my connection to prayer. So it became this secret thing I did that no one realized was such a strong force in my life, my family included. Though my father is a Rabbi does not mean that my family is religious or spiritual for that matter, quite the opposite actually. I took that prayer shame shawl off and I didn't care if we were in the ER and I didn't care that other people might see me or make fun of me for it. I held her hand and I prayed. "Please God, not now. I need her still." 

Mammogram: My date with the Beast!

For my thirty-six birthday I decided to give myself the gift of a breast reduction. I have always had large breasts and felt that it was time to finally take matters into my own hands and have the surgery that I've been dreaming of for years. I had enough money saved and knew it was the right time in my life, I was done having kids and I had maintained the same weight for years. During the required mammogram before the breast reduction the doctors discovered a tumor. Within a month I was lying on the surgery table to remove the tumor. (You can read more about the journey here.)

Since my breast surgery I have had to get a mammogram every six months. The type of tumor that I had removed, Phyllodes, has a high reoccurrence rate and grows rapidly. Thankfully I have not had any reoccurrences and this past week after the mammogram appointment the radiologist announced that she was going to recommend that I move to yearly mammograms. It's almost been two years since my surgery and I am beyond thrilled to not have to endure the emotional tumor of getting a mammogram every six months.

Every time I stand in the paper gown and hold my breath while the machine presses down on my breast I say a prayer in my head, "Please God don't let there be anything. Please God!"

"Okay you can breathe." The technician calls behind her glass encasement.

I try to release all of the worry but it's hard not to feel as though you are back in time, to the day when they did find something. Each and every time I have panic attacks as I drive to the appointment. I practice the breath work that I do in meditation and I try my best to remain calm but it feels as though I am on an emotional roller coaster. On the outside I look the same, but on the inside I am in turmoil. Flashes of my journey during the past two years enter my head, in between prayers to God and then doubt about making the decision to not have the full mastectomy....I think I age ten years in those thirty minutes before my appointment.

"We are going to miss seeing you.", my friendly technician says to me. I have been fortunate to get the same technician almost every time. She's probably about my mom's age and has amazing skills on being gentle while also being efficient and getting the images that the doctors need without having to redo them because of a skin fold or another type of hiccup. She makes this stressful process a wee bit easier to manage. We often end up in a conversation about yoga and I instruct her on some yoga poses to do in between patients. I live and breath yoga. Everywhere I go I have incorporatedit into my life.

"When you leave we all talk about your images.", she says chuckling to herself like she's a child telling a silly secret. "Huh?", I reply with a hint of worry. "Your pec muscles are gorgeous! Tell your yoga students that pec muscles make better mammogram images because the muscle pushes the breast tissue out. I've never seen a woman with pec muscles like yours." "Thanks, I think." She gives me a wink as I nervously laugh to myself. All of those chaterungas are paying off!

I haven't fully accepted and embraced my new body, I'm still healing physically and emotionally. I still feel betrayed by my body, yet at the same time I am in awe of my strength to not only endure this experience but to share my feelings and experience openly online and in my yoga classes. I've embraced the vulnerability of breast cancer. This two year journey has been eye opening. When faced with a life altering decision, you look at the world differently. You don't take things for granted. I've become very clear about my goals and how I want to share my message with the world. I'm continuing to surround myself with the people who lift me up and encourage me to be the best version of myself. 

And today I celebrate one year and 6 months of being sober!

You don't need breast cancer to reevaluate your life...put yourself on the to-do. You deserve it! Let's honor Valentine's day by focusing on self-love and sharing the best version of YOU with the world.  

   

1 year After Breast Surgery

Today marks the one-year anniversary of my breast surgery. A friend sent me an email this morning and said, “So it’s been a year- what have you learned?”

A lot.

My biggest lesson throughout this year has been to let things go. Committees and organizations that cause me stress, I let them go. The meetings that cause my shoulders to creep up to my earlobes, an anxiety attack as I walk into the room…. those “should-have” duties I have let go in my life.  If it doesn’t bring me joy or fill my well spiritually I’ve gotten rid of it.

Also negative people, having a rare type of breast tumor has given me a huge wakeup call in the company I keep. I want my days to be surrounded with people who give compliments, are compassionate, smile and are following their bliss instead of people who are living in a world of negativity and self-doubt.

I have learned the truth to the old saying “life is too short.”

I remain positive because that is all I have…my chances of having another breast tumor are high. I must have mammograms every 6 months for the rest of my life and I’m only 37 years old. I’m looking at my life and how I am living it, differently post surgery. 

You don’t need breast cancer to have your own wake up call. Take an assessment of your own life.

Are your days filled with people who lift you up and make you feel good? 

Are you following your dreams and committing your life to a higher purpose? 

Do you smile more than frown?

Take a moment today and think of your life and how you are living it. Let go of negative things in your life because it's true.... "Life is too Short!"

The Live Sincerely Pledge

I will live sincerely.

I will learn from each person and each day on my journey
and will share ideas and wisdom from my own experiences.

With a grateful spirit, I will acknowledge my need for others
and will in turn be loving and generous,
remembering that every member of a community plays a unique role.

I will remain strong in my convictions
while keeping an open mind to perspectives beyond myself.

Courageously, I will respect each movement of my heart,
through fear and joy, grief and peace.

I will cultivate my passions with delight
and also take time for honest introspection.

I will love the person I am today
while constantly striving towards my best self.

I will keep a healthy balance between the rewards of discipline
and the growth and wonder that spontaneity brings.

I will acknowledge both the marvel and the limitations of my body
and respectfully take care of it the best I can.

Accepting the reality that there are circumstances I cannot change,
I will seize my power to actively change that which I can control
with hope and creativity.

I commit to living each chapter of my story:
honoring the lessons and gifts of my past,
fully participating in the fleeting beauty of the present,
and bravely walking towards the unknowns of my future.

Knowing that life is an enduring but glorious struggle,
I pledge to live each day with purpose.

I will live sincerely.

Will you? Take the pledge.

Breast Surgery Update- I'm on the mend!

Pre-Surgery: very nervous, lots of tears!

Being wheeled into surgery. 

If you haven't heard about my recent brush with breast cancer please start here, my first post on the subject of my boobs and then come back and read the update.

On May 30th I had my surgery at Sibly Hospital to remove the Phyllodes breast tumor and to have a breast reduction at the same time. Dr. Magnant, the breast surgeon, performed the wide excision lumpectomy, originally she was going to remove 2 cm of surrounding breast tissue to make sure that all the cancer cells were gone, also known as "clear margins". A pathologist was in the surgery room to test the sample of surrounding breast tissue and in the end Dr. Magnant had to remove 4 cm of breast tissue around the tumor. 

Phyllodes tumors are very rare, they are not genetic so a breast cancer genetic test would not have predicted this type of tumor. What makes these tumors unique is that they grow rapidly and do NOT respond to chemotherapy. The only way to treat this type of tumor is to remove it with clear margins. If one cancer cell remains it could grow rapidly into another tumor.    

Once the tumor was removed Dr. Huang, the plastic surgeon, began my breast reduction. The entire process took three and a half hours. I was brought to the recovery room and my wife and mom, who came with me to the hospital, were able to join me. During the recovery stage I reached the point where it was time for me to leave, the nurses were getting my things together. But I didn't feel "right". I am very tuned in to my body and it's needs and at that moment I had this overwhelming feeling that I was going to black out. I told my mom that I'm not ready, closed my eyes and slept for a bit more. 

Always listen to what your body needs- you know better than anyone!

In Recovery, refusing to go home.

For 24 hours I was wrapped in bandages very tightly with 2 drains that had to be emptied and the amount of their contents recorded. Thank goodness my wife was able to do this for me! I am so thankful for her! The day after surgery, in the early evening, I had the drains and the bandages removed. I was instructed by Dr. Huang to wear a soft bra (no underwire) for a month, 24 hours a day.

Bandages and drains.

 I am currently three weeks post surgery and every day feeling better and stronger. I've learned many lessons during this experience. (blog posts coming soon) As cancer is prone to do...it makes you reevaluate your life. You find yourself asking "is this really important?". I'm taking that with me...aligning my life with people who radiate happiness and compassion. Giving my energy to projects that matter.
This was a wake-up call...and I answered.

College Park Patch: Telling Your Kids You Have Cancer

This article was originally published on the College Park Patch.

During a recent mammogram, the technician unexpectedly discovered a mass in my left breast.

After the appropriate number of images were taken, I was moved into another room to have an ultrasound performed. I couldn’t see the screen, but the technician had a permanent furrow in her brow as she swiped the wand back and forth over the same area on my breast. She stopped only to type something on the machine, and then she put the wand back to that exact spot. My heart began to race, and I was told the radiologist will speak to me in a few minutes.

The kind eyes of the radiologist and her directness about the mass put me at ease, and she assured me that at my age it’s most likely a benign fibroadenoma and just to be sure they would like to get a biopsy done. Thankfully, due to a cancellation, I was able to come the next afternoon.

I’m really good at keeping it together in these types of situations, but once I closed the door to my minivan, I pressed my forehead into the steering wheel and cried for a solid twenty minutes. I was scared, and it felt like my world was spinning out of control.

The next day, the doctor conducted a vacuum-assisted needle core biopsy to take four samples of the mass. After three long days of waiting, the doctor called to tell me that I have a very rare type of tumor that only 1 percent of women get.

It’s called a Phyllodes tumor.

“You need to see a breast surgeon,” the doctor on the phone informed me.

I tried to respond, but no sound would come from my mouth.

“Now. Oh...and Happy Birthday!”

I waited a few days before I told my children. I wanted to have all the answers to their questions. I did what I do best in these types of situations and I read everything I could on this type of tumor. On a day when everyone was in a good mood I told my 6- and 8-year-old sons that we needed to have a family meeting.

“Remember when I went to the doctor and they had to do some tests on my breast and I had that bandage?”

Both boys nodded their head. My youngest son, Z, chewed on the side of his mouth the way I do when I’m nervous.

“Well the doctor’s found a tumor and it’s called cancer.”

“What’s a tumor?” Z asked.

TO CONTINUE READING CLICK HERE

Take that- tumor! You are being evicted!!

After a mammogram in April I was informed that I have a Phyllodes tumor in my left breast. I didn't share it right away with the world....I wasn't sure if I was going to... I wasn't ready for breast cancer to be my reality.  
I was really sad. I was sleeping more than normal, I tried to be honest with my feelings and embrace each one when it happened. Which means I cried at really inopportune times.
Everything seemed the same and yet everything was different. I would look down at my breasts and feel disgusted with them, like they were traitors-hiding this secret from me. 


I would be teaching yoga and thinking about this tumor, 
reading bedtime stories to my children and thinking about this tumor, 
riding in the car; staring out of the window and I'd be thinking about this tumor.


When I wasn't thinking about the different options of surgery I would be reading about Phyllodes tumors, connecting with other women through support groups on Facebook and asking their advice and opinions. (These women have been a huge help!)
I've been living and breathing information on Phyllodes tumors for the past month.
It's what I do when I'm faced with a crisis. I read. I gather information so that I am armed and ready to make the best possible decision.


I met with my breast surgeon, Dr. Magnant at Sibly Memorial Hospital and my plastic surgeon, Dr. Huang and we've come up with the best option for me. I'll be having surgery on May 30th. Dr. Magnant will remove the tumor with wide margins (wide excision Lumpectomy) and Dr. Huang will do the breast reduction at the same time. There will be a pathologist in the surgery room that will test the tumor to make sure that all the cancer cells are removed from the margins while I am laying on the surgery table. This takes a huge weight off my shoulders knowing that the cancer cells will be gone!
Five days later I will know the results from pathology, and hopefully that will be the end to my breast cancer experience.
Thank you for the emails, phone calls and encouraging words. Please continue to pray and send healing energy for me on May 30th!
And if your are local, stop by and say hello!

Unleashing the Teacher Within: Yoga Class with Dana Trixie Flynn

Gretchen Schock and Dana Flynn

The vibrations from the other voices in the room lifted me up while we were singing a chant in Sanskrit. One woman’s voice sang higher; hers has been given the gift of being able to harmonize with the other voices. We are yoga teachers from all over the world who came together at the Yoga Journal Conference in NYC.  Sitting semi circle around master teacher Dana Trixie Flynn (co-owner of Laughing Lotus Yoga Center), as she spoke of inspiration and creativity.

She told a story of how she wants to sing in more of her classes but it’s the thing she fears the most. It’s hard to believe when looking at this woman that she has any fears. Half sleeve tattoos on one arm, spikey brunette hair; she speaks with such fire and intensity.  

“As teachers we need to allow ourselves to be vulnerable, to try something new”, Dana says to the enthusiastic faces that surround her. Many of us smile, whether the other women also share her fear of public singing… I don’t know. But I smiled because I suffer with allowing myself to be vulnerable.

Once on our feet her class felt like a dance. My body moved in ways that it hasn’t in a long time. I closed my eyes; I could see the fire of dance inside me being rekindled. My thumbs tucked in, a habit I’ve never been able to break in my yoga practice but this time it didn’t matter. A vision of Madame Petrov, a ballet instructor from college, flashed in my head. “You catching a ride?”, she would say with a thick French accent to students in dance class who’s thumbs were sticking up in the air. It doesn’t matter that every time we lift a leg high in the air that my feet are perfectly pointed from years of being a dancer.

“Allow your practice to be an extension of your creativity.”, Dana says as she walks by me placing her hands on my lower back while in downward dog- pushing me further into my pose. Dana taught the class a few made up poses that derive from the Laughing Lotus Flow that is taught in her studios, “deep down inside” and “OMG!”. The Laughing Lotus poses connect to traditional yoga poses so that we flowed on our mats in a dance formation.

My body screamed- YES! YES!! YES!!

My vinyasa flow began to look like a modern dance. Nina Simone and other powerful voices crooned through the speakers and Dana continued to lead the room of women like a master conductor. Fueling each of our fires, letting go of our egos, we allowed ourselves to feel the connection.

Throughout the class Dana is speaking about unleashing the creativity of our inner teacher. At times I’m present and listening to her and then all I can hear is my body celebrating the movement.

Plank,

Chaturanga,

Cobra,

Downward dog.

Movements I’ve done probably thousands of times suddenly it felt connected to my soul, my spirit. At the beginning of the class Dana mentioned that many teachers loose sight of their practice. We are all so busy teaching that we don’t make time to roll out the mat. This is true for me right now.

“You need to make the time; get up early and do it!”, Dana’s voice rises higher as her fist pushes through the air. “It is our connection to source. That light is channeling through us and as teachers we go and share that in our classes.” I’ve lost sight of this, as many other women in the room expressed the same frustration.

As my body moved, the connection to source happened. My Cobra was a surrender and in Camel I literally felt my heart open. It was effortless, which Camel has never been for me. I came out of it with grace and moved into a balancing side crane with extended legs for the very first time! I’ve been practicing this pose for months and today was the day when I was truly connected, that everything was in alignment.

We moved through a series of poses, at times you could only hear the breath of the women in the room. We reached our summit, our bodies in celebration we begin our descent towards the ground, lying on our stomachs. I can’t lie on my stomach yet from the core needle biopsy performed the previous week.  Propping myself up on my elbows and drawing my chin to my chest I get a glimpse of the bruises on my left breast and I exhale, instantly feeling deflated. I tune out the music, to Dana and my mind races through breast cancer scenarios. I’ve been able to avoid thinking of breast cancer for the last three days and now here it is …feeling like it’s smacking me in the face!

How will a mastectomy/lumpectomy change how I teach yoga? I like the way I teach, I like that my classes are challenging. Will a breast surgery force me into the world of gentle yoga? The thought of that makes my heart sink.

“You have everything already inside you.”, Dana says while leading us through our final vinyasa. My body is no longer in a celebration mode, my movements seem tired and my spirit has been shifted.

Laying in Shavasana, there was a break in the music and Dana says it again: “You have everything.” She pauses and then continues, “You have everything already inside you. Allow your practice to change. Allow IT to change your practice.” It was if God was speaking through her, instantly tears stream down my cheeks. I get it!!!! Allow breast cancer to change my practice. I’ve been assuming that it will lead me into gentle yoga classes with senior citizens. But I never thought that it could change my practice for the better! Or that it would open new doors for me with other women who have experienced breast tumors.

My breath is steady but the tears continue to slip from my lids and slide down the side of my face dropping onto my mat. I have an out of body experience- in my minds eye I am looking down at myself laying on my yoga mat in a room full of women and from my ribs to my head is basked in light, I am glowing.

“Roll onto your side.”

I am instantly pulled back into the present moment. As instructed I come to half lotus, wiping my eyes, Dana and I make eye contact and I half smile. She gives me a look of compassion while continuing to finish the class. We sing one final chant. I can barely get through it without crying.

Hands at prayer…Namaste…we bow.

It’s as if there is an invisible line pulling us to each other, I go to Dana and her to me. She embraces me and whispers in my ear, “It’s okay.” I pull out of the embrace but she continues to hold me close so that we are face to face, her arms are wrapped behind my back. Being in this position forces me to look her in the eye. I inhale.

“Last week I was diagnosed with a breast tumor. And it’s likely I’ll be having surgery…I just don’t know what kind. Possible mastectomy.”

“Oh sweetie-“ she draws me into an embrace again whispering in my ear “You are going to be-“ In my head she said “great”, a phrase I say daily to my children as they head off to school, but in reality I’m sure she says “fine”.

This is God doing her magic again.

My voice quivering, “I’ve been so caught up in how breast cancer is going to change my practice but thank you, your class really spoke to me- to allow IT to fuel the change. The change could be spectacular! Thank you! Thank YOU!”

She kisses my cheek and holds me for a few more seconds before we both release the embrace.

I gather my belongings while other students surround her.

I feel lighter.

I feel connected to God, to source, in a way that I haven’t in a really long time. Thank you Dana Trixie Flynn for being the instrument.