Fiddler on the Roof

My family and I got a little taste of Broadway when we went to see Fiddler on the Roof the other night (Thanks Jay and Stacia! Thanks Vicki!). The show was, well, traditional. The same familiar scenes with the same familiar tunes and the same colorful characters. And it is this sense of familiarity that makes this play one of my favorite.

The story is timeless, and so is the conflict. Many of us struggle to make decisions as we swing between our traditions and our modern day lives. Especially decisions that tie to raising our kids. As a Jewish woman, I acknowledge that most of the issues still exist many decades after Shalom Aleichem thought up the stories on which the plot is based. I don't infer that all Jews are the same or that we all think alike. Not at all. I argue that we share history, and we practice certain rituals which, needless to say, bind us as a group, as a people. Our level of commitment to religious practices differ greatly, and in most cases, the choices we make with regards to practicing Judaism do not have great impact on our lives otherwise.

I love our tradition and take pride in being a Jew. I love to share Jewish stories with my daughter, and I'm honored to celebrate Jewish holidays with family members and dear friends. Year after year, holiday after holiday. The brisket, the tzimes, the chopped liver, the matzo, and of course, the matzo ball soup. I enjoy welcoming the Shabbat (Sabbath) watching Mia lights the candles as she whispers the blessing. I love the smell of Chala (Jewish bread) as it is baking in the oven every Friday night. I love to hear the blessing for the wine echoed by "Le' Chaim!" ("To life"). My heart melts when I catch Mia citing a new prayer she learned during Sunday school.

Those who know me know that though I celebrate the holidays and most Sabbaths, I'm not an observant Jew. I eat non- kosher food, I drive on Sabbath, and I definitely don't perform enough Mitzvot (good deeds). I'm married to a non-Jew, and I participate in Christmas celebrations. But nothing and no one can take my Jewishness from me. Like many Jews, I often find myself shlepping, kvetching, and or going to Shul. I prefer the orthodox Shul (synagogue) for many reasons, but mostly, I prefer it because of tradition.

The other day, during a holiday celebration in shul, men were reading from the Torah. Women were not. By Jewish laws, they are not permitted to do so. A (female) friend of mine and I were joking that we should protest that, but frankly, I like the ritual just the way it is. I don't feel offended when men are the only ones reading from the Torah, and I respect that for thousands of years, this seem to have been the practice. It's a Jewish tradition, and I view it as such. I don't feel that it's unfair, oppressive, archaic or harsh. For me, it is simply a tradition.

I'm glad that as a Jewish woman today, I have a choice to accept things the way they are, to practice as an orthodox, a conservative, or a reform, or not to practice at all. I have a choice. In Fiddler on the Roof, Tevya was a pioneer as he had to make choices. He could insist on obeying religious laws, and by doing so, denying his daughters' happiness, but he didn't. He negotiated a path between his daughters' non-traditional demands and tradition. Like Tevya, I feel that I manage to successfully navigate between my modern life and tradition. Tradition which I cherish and love.

Le Chaim!

Snow Flakes

Snow flakes.

For the first time since we settled in the last frontier, I've been waiting for them! Of course, we have snow throughout most of the year, but I wasn't sure that I'll be alive long enough to enjoy their return. It's not very Alaskan to appreciate the returning snow, but for me, it is easy to rejoice in the redundancy of the seasons. Since diagnosis, I have been through spring, survived the summer, and I am here, welcoming the fall. I'll welcome the snow flakes as I did the drop in temperature. I'll welcome them with warmth. I find myself anxiously peeking through the window every morning, but so far, I've only spotted frost. This year, if and when I get to feel the weightless, gentle caresses of the white, fluffy flakes, I will rejoice!

As stress and panic imprison my weakened body, I know that I have to write. What may come of it is a mystery, but I expect each word to release some knots, allowing more air to replenish my chambers. It's cancer all day, now days. There is no escaping it. Inevitably, I often ponder how it will end. I want it to be elegant and pleasant, as pleasant as a death can be. I want my physical departure from my daughter's life to be as gentle and as peaceful as the warmth of our Alaskan sun, inflicting as little damage as can be. I want to hang on to hopes and comforts, but my pragmatism prevents me from doing so. After four years, I know how devastating this disease can be. It ravages one's physical self and corrodes one's faith. Finding the strength to stop the damage on both fronts is challenging, and avoiding a colossal disaster is impossible. The end result is the only constant in this formula, and whether I put up with the torturous treatment, the humiliating deterioration, or the humbling dependency, I will die. I will DIE as cancer devours me from within.


Meanwhile, I have to be happy and grateful for what I have. And I AM! Believe me, overall I've had a wonderful life. I have been enveloped with love, kindness, care, and warmth more than words can articulate. But does that mean that at age 37, I should accept that there will be not much more? How can I come to term with having to leave my young daughter without a mother? What medicine can cure or at least alleviate the sense of helplessness a mother feels when she knows the pain will come like a crushing mountain, and not only she's the cause, but she is also unable to do a thing about it?! How can I come to terms with leaving Mia motherless, with missing her Bat- Mitzvah, her prom, sending her to college, watching her father walking her down the isle? How can I let go of the pain of not being able to be there to hug, to comfort, to love and to give advice?

I'm pissed off! The cancer is back, as I'm sure you all know. This time, it's here to stay. I'm pissed off, did I mention? I've seen one doctor or another every day for the last two weeks. I've had gazillion tests, I've been probed and pocked. I'm tired. Not one piece of good news. Well, putting things in perspective- I could have been hit by a bus. But I wasn't. I've been given the gift of living with the knowledge that I don't have long. Consider this the "chronicles of death foretold." As I'm spinning around, attempting to find a stable post, I need to think how to best spend the time I have left. The only problems is- I have no idea how much time there is. Of course everybody is supportive and loving- what else would you do when a friend is told she's going to die? I appreciate it. I really do. However, it's like attending your own funeral. You appreciate the love and support, and you're glad everyone showed up, but...you don't really want to be there! 

This one is for Elizabeth Edwards. In truth, I know very little about her. My knowledge of her has been quilted by the numerous media excerpts, published in recent years. Nevertheless, her death affected me beyond what I would fathom. As a survivor, I feel stronger with every day that passes. I know that the cancer can and may come back, but I feel like a winner! I win one day at the time, and one night at the time. One more moment unaffected by the pains involved with having cancer and joyous for every moment I’ve been living passed that. Then, something reminds me of the frailty of our existence. On Monday, December 6, 2010, I read Elizabeth Edward’s note on Facebook. Mrs. Edwards decided to stop her futile cancer treatment. On Tuesday, December 7, 2010, she died. I felt my throat tightening. I felt pressure in my chest. I wanted to scream that this cannot be! One day she was here, and the very next day, she was gone! It was clear to me that it was the cancer sending its macabre threats. It perpetuates its presence through the lives and deaths of others. Through others’ pain and joy, it reminds me to live each day expecting the cancer to return and hope that it won’t. It’s not easy. In fact, appreciating each day for what it brings is difficult, but I try. Elizabeth Edwards’ farewell note was inspiring as it reflected her inner peace and readiness to move on; to leave our world and to do so with grace. I don’t know that I’ll be able to come to terms with dying early. But like Mrs. Edwards, I vow to find the strength to make each of my days on earth “meaningful and precious.”

For a while now, I’ve been thinking about writing a blog. I am not sure why, but it must involve my desire to write. I haven’t been writing much in the last couple of years and, recently, something within have been pressing; “write!” So I am going to write. I don’t have a plan, and I’m not sure what is there to write about. Be warned; my writing may involve some dwelling as I wallow in my recent past- specifically, my experience with breast cancer.

I decided to call my blog “The Joys of Cancer,” to remind myself of all that I’ve learned from my experiences in the last three years. Don’t misunderstand me. Having cancer is no picnic, but it puts things in perspective, and at least for me, it’s been an insightful ride.

My life will never be the same, and though at times I’m sick of it, I think about cancer every day. Not necessarily as a disease, but as an entity that helped shape me (physically and otherwise). I think about it as a lump because of which I became who I am, and in light of what I’ll become.

Though I love writing, sharing my private thoughts is excruciatingly difficult for me (almost as difficult as spelling excruciatingly…). Those who know me well may arch an eyebrow at the previous sentence as you know me to have opinions about everything. Yes. I do! But exposing myself through writing may be a difficult task. We’ll see where it’s going to take me. Consider yourselves my therapists! One thing I had to do while fighting cancer was taking risks and be brave. So here I am; I’m being brave!

Keep reading and, who knows, you may get a glimpse into my (very) ordinary life!

Young Women Beware! Breast Cancer is an Option for You!

Today, one of us will be diagnosed with cancer. This time, it may be you! A little over two years ago, it was I who received the dreaded news.

At the age of 33, and although I am the daughter of a breast cancer survivor, cancer was the last thing on my mind. Mothering my then three year old daughter, preparing for my husband’s deployment to Iraq, and fighting to keep my career going took most of my time, and it seemed I had so much time to move on, step by step, living and establishing the life my family and I envisioned for ourselves.

Then I found a lump. Then the mammogram, the ultrasound, the biopsy, and the results. Cancer. At the age of 33, I was diagnosed with Invasive Ductal Carcinoma (IDC).

At the age of 33, three months, and 16 days, my breast was removed, and a small device known as the port was implanted in my chest, right above my heart. For the next two years, in an effort to rid my body of cancer, fluids would enter and leave my body via that port. Some time later, I realized that I probably will not be able to have more children, and by age 34, the remaining breast was removed. To top it all, sometime through treatment, I lost my job. Life, as I knew it was no longer; neither were the lives of my husband and child.

Those unusual cells that my own body produced took me on an incredible journey through numerous obstacles. Thanks to the support of my family, my friends, and some warm- hearted strangers, I got rid of the cancer, and I am now wiser, healthier, and stronger then I have ever been.

Being diagnosed with cancer has adverse physical and emotional effects, and each of us will experience the disease differently. Being diagnosed with breast cancer at a young age may be especially challenging as it is often unexpected and because most breast cancer patients and survivors are older than you. This emphasizes the need to spread the word around! Though less than 7% of women with the disease are younger than 40, young women can and do get breast cancer.

Fighting breast cancer at a young age can feel very lonely as most breast cancer patients and survivors are older. In addition, it seems there is less research and fewer studies that focus specifically on younger women with breast cancer. Younger women with breast cancer also face issues like fertility which may not be relevant to women of the older group.

My journey was long.

I remember the first time I looked at my chest after the mastectomy. A devastating sight! The area on which my daughter rested her head on so many occasions was now grotesquely asymmetrical. The breast completely gone, replaced by a lengthy scar.
Then came chemotherapy. I recall the awkward sensation as the first bag of chemical was administered. It wasn’t painful, and I didn’t feel sick right away. My body didn’t recognize the invasion. This happened several hours later in my living room as my stomach rejected the intravenous attack into a bucket that became a close companion in months to come.
A couple of weeks later, I lost my hair. My long, thick hair fell out in great clumps, and it was a matter of days before I became completely bald. I once heard the phrase “The bald and the breastless.” I can’t remember where.

I made the decision to fight the cancer

when I set to remove my breasts and undergo chemotherapy. It wasn’t a tough decision to make, and taking one glimpse at my daughter reminded me why I must fight! Living up to my decision was much more challenging, but I discovered that beyond the obstacles, even cancer has a positive side.

In the last two and a half years, I learned to appreciate that life can be over before one is ready for it. I learned that I have to have a plan B even when I don’t have a plan at all. I developed a new perspective on dealing with difficulties, and I found that I’m strong. I learned to ask for help, and I had to work hard to learn to accept it. I learned that not everything is in my control, but I stayed in control of what was happening to me. I learned to allow the support of my family, friends, and strangers fulfill my depleted energy source, and I did it! I found the light! Two years, new breasts, and several surgeries later, I am here to remind you to get checked!
It is important to emphasize that early detection usually translates into higher chances of survival. Get to know your breasts. Learn how to do a breast self exam and do it at least once a month (you can learn how to do it online, or you can inquire with your doctor). In addition, make sure to schedule regular physical exams and mammograms. Consult your doctor to decide how often you should have a physical and/ or a mammogram. Your doctor will advise you based on your age and circumstances.

Most importantly get checked! You are your first line of defense and a simple self breast exam may save your life.

It saved mine!