Meet Lynn

Where to begin? I was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer on March 15, 2015. I am supposed to be dead, my prognosis at the time was 2 ½ years. Despite that fact, I was a long time distance runner, yoga instructor and honestly pretty good cook. My physician told me it did not matter. Fate was Fate. I honestly could not believe someone like me who ran nearly every day, did yoga, practiced meditation, and ate well could be experiencing this.

Honestly it seemed surreal!

One day, I was out running and felt a discomfort radiating from mid abdomen to my back on the right side. After running I always did yoga before leaving for work. The discomfort kept surfacing, so I decided to call my doctor who advised me to get to the Emergency Department (ED). He called ahead and ordered a CT scan and advised me to go NOW. So looking normal I entered the ED, no blood, no urgent need so I sat for hours. Finally at 7:30pm I got the scan. Curiously I was not upset as I watched others being evaluated, I felt fine; until two doctors entered the room and told me I had pancreatic cancer. I was all alone, my husband was traveling for work, my son was working as a transporter and stopped by to ask what I was doing there, at that time I had no idea.

My first survivor advice is to trust your own intuition. They wanted me to see a physician they had chosen, and I politely told them I wanted a different doctor. Then they told me they were admitting me, and I politely told them I was going home to speak with my family and they could arrange a surgical appointment ASAP. My favorite surgeon happened to have an open appointment at 3pm the next day, so I said “sold!” (trust your own intuition). I was an oncology case manager, so I admit to having an advantage; but, the likelihood of an open appointment with that surgeon is divine providence.

The second lesson is: have faith in something bigger than yourself. I know it is political suicide to talk about faith in the medical profession, but without it I honestly feel I wound not be here today. Now having faith does not mean you will live like I did, but I honestly believe faith heals something within us that is broken. Maybe it is a broken heart, a deep feeling of unworthiness, a sense of inability to cope with life. Faith always heals in some way if you are open to it. I do believe the universe is for me not against me, and that is what cancer taught me.

The third lesson cancer taught me is: life is not always easy; no fairy tales. My husband was suffering from a disease called myotonic dystrophy, so I carried the insurance. I worked full-time through my treatment, except one Friday afternoon when my blood draw indicated I had an absolute neutrophil count (ANC) of 0.0; so, no chemo and they sent me home.

Now, working full-time was not easy, and looking back over it I realize it was not possible to do. There is an old Irish saying, ‘the will of God will never take you where the grace of God will not protect you’. I believe this to be true, which brings me to the fourth thing cancer taught me: Be grateful, and accept every kindness as a gift . I wrote thank you notes and posted cards in my office nearly every day. When I was so tired I did not think I could take another step, someone would hold a door open for me and as tears welled up in my eyes I knew that person was a gift; and it may not have helped my fatigue, but it solidified my faith, and for that I am grateful.

Now my experience sounds very Pollyannaish, but I can assure you I swore a lot, and I mean A LOT, especially when I was alone in my car. And yes, I still did run, very slowly, but I went out every morning after being cleared by surgery with my abdominal binder on and I walked/ran my favorite route as best as I could sometimes swearing thru the whole thing; it was not pretty. So honestly, the fifth lesson I learned is: never deny your emotions. Feel what you feel, rage, let it out. If your God is not big enough to handle your anger, in my humble opinion, you’ve got the wrong God. There is lots of research now about how the body remembers life events, and I am here to say no truer words were ever written. Get it out with a friend, writing a journal, screaming at the sky, whatever works…get it out!

As part of the fifth lesson, I also learned eventually when the anger subsided, because I did not try to bury it, I eventually got to the point where I decided to take what energy I did have and turn it to the positive. Every week during my treatment cycles, I would buy myself 20 long stemmed yellow roses. They had to be fragrant, because I would smell those roses going into my office and coming out of it. Before long, I noticed doctors stopping by to smell my roses, and nurses, and MA’s, asking if they could give one of my roses to a patient in need. By Friday when I left for chemo, the roses were gone and sometimes the vase, too! I admit, this was an expensive habit; somewhere along the line I realized I was worth it, absolutely unequivocally, worth it.

The sixth lesson is to: know you matter and are worth deep self-love, also to realize so is everyone else. Now, that is the hard part. Now, full disclosure, there were days when I felt God or the universe pick your own label for loving kindness in life. I would feel as if God had truly abandoned me. “What a crock!” I would say to myself, as the dark days swept over me. Then, somehow or someone would shelter me in loving kindness. I use the term shelter because it always felt like a warm hug, a prayer shawl placed on my shoulders, a hug from a stranger. I remember one day sobbing my eyes out in the chapel. I had taken money out of my retirement account to pay the mortgage, and a new surgeon entered the chapel and asked if he could pray with me. I sobbed as he led me in praying and then hugged me. He was the new resident for my surgeon, the perfect gift that day.

The sixth lesson is: let your friends in. I know I was truly blessed to have two incredible friends who walked this journey with me. Nearly every Friday, one or both of them would sit with me during my chemo, insisting I watch grumpy cats on an I-Pad and eat chocolate. They were my rocks, the anchor of my soul, and the greatest blessing someone could have in that moment. Let people in, tell them what is happening, and most importantly eat chocolate. If because of close proximity in treatment rooms support cannot be physically present, make friends with your fellow patients if possible. And always ask people to pray for you, or send good vibes, whatever works for you during treatments. There are so many others who write about the interconnectedness of all humans. I believe that to be true. Unfortunately, we live in a world where we are indoctrinated to differences and enemies to make ourselves feel safe. To believe all people are good is ludicrous, but trusting that some are is essential.

The seventh lesson is: to your own self be true, like the line from Hamlet. If you have ever read Benne Brown or listened to her podcasts, she has a talk on YouTube, called “Do Not Negotiate Who You Are”. Had I not listened to that talk before writing this, I would have written something entirely different.

The eight lesson is to: dream big. My oncologist knew I loved to run, and I mean loved. He would always cheer me on during the dark days telling me we would run a marathon together. Now he is 6’3” tall, and runs a sub 6minute mile. I do love him dearly, but at my best, 8-minute miles were possible; now, 12 to 14 minutes were my norm. But I never gave up; I was brave. On the day I was predicted to be dead, I ran the Rock and Roll half marathon in Philadelphia. I ran the first ever Rock and Roll marathon in San Diego, and the first ever half marathon in Virginia Beach. So, I am proud to say I am one of 737 people who rocked both coasts! I am understandably proud of that middle of the pack runner that I am. But, nothing made me prouder than that half marathon in Philadelphia. I ran it alone because I knew I would need to take my time. I had run Jay’s Run in PA with my radiation oncologist and cried the whole way, realizing how much of my running ability I had lost. So, with my husband who was having difficulty walking, and my son, I went to the race. My husband was sitting near the finish line with my son caring for him. I ran wearing my purple cape one of the doctors made for me with pancreatic survivor in shiny silver letters across the top, with the words ‘thank you’ and the names of every physician, nurse, friend, family member, and associate of mine at the hospital signing my cape It was not easy, but I ran About half way through the race I ran past a man in a huge sand chair who had glioblastoma; his family, parents, wife, brothers, sister, children, aunts, and uncles, everybody running/walking along side of his chair, his brother pushing. As I ran past, they started yelling and cheering me on, another gift, I still cry remembering it. My ninth and final lesson is: to laugh at yourself as often and as deeply as possible. One day in particular, I was really struggling at work with radiation burns in my GI tract, so I called my oncologist and he said go to the pharmacy and get a bottle of Maalox. So, I ran down and they handed me the bottle in a brown paper bag. I hopped on that elevator, and chugged that Maalox in the brown paper bag. Then, I realized there were cameras in the elevator, and security saw everything I was doing, so I pulled the Maalox out of the brown paper bag and showed the camera what I had.

I was laughing so hard by the time I stepped off that elevator; everyone smiled at me not sure what else to do, another gift.

In closing, I work as a nurse navigator at Pen Bay because I have seen the fear I see in others in my own face, and I am privileged to work with a group of people who genuinely care for and treat patients with loving kindness. I am not following the party line or trying to fit in, this is exactly what I see in the cancer care community here at Pen Bay, and also at Waldo County General Hospital. Having watched Dr. Inhorn with patients solidified my desire to work at Pen Bay. Because whether or not he would identify with my description of him or not, his presence and ability to convey information to patients is exceptional. We are so fortunate to have a doctor and a group of nurses and MA’s and front desk staff, managers, triage nurses, and schedulers here who really, truly care about patients. They are the real deal. I am new to Pen Bay’s navigator role, but intend with all my heart to do the best job I can for the patients who come here. To say that at times as I am leaning I will not make mistakes is ludicrous; we all learn in the same way along life’s journey. We make mistakes; if we are smart, we own them and move on. May we all move on together. Blessings to all of you who have read my story. May your days be filled with kindness and love. Please always remember to hold doors open for people; you never know what they are living through.