Cancer survivor? Cancer warrior?

I was putting away my "survivor" Race for the Cure shirt, and it's the one where I crossed out survivor and wrote "warrior." Five years later, I look at it and wonder if I'm a warrior or a survivor.

Overall, a lumpectomy isn't that bad. Sure, there's discomfort and drains. But within a week of my lumpectomy, I was hiking with my family. Granted, I was a lot slower than before surgery, but I was proud I could hike. I didn't want pity then, nor do I want it now. I just wanted everything to be over so I could resume my life.

But that was arrogant thinking. There is no "resuming of life." Life is completely different after cancer. The uncertainty, the tests, and more tests. It's port placement. It's chemotherapy: taxotere and cytoxan. Those drugs rapidly strip one's identity, one's hair. It's loss of taste, strength, eyebrows, and appetite. 24 hours after chemo, it's a white blood cell booster, that, 24 hours after it goes into the blood stream causes horrific bone and joint  plus a fever. It's days and weeks of smiling through pain so others don't feel pity. The doctor who removed my port was unhappy about doing it; he wanted a better surgery to complete. He made me wait for three hours for a 15 minute procedure. He didn't allow the lidocaine to take affect before he cut into me. He jerked and pulled the port until I thought I was going to roll off the table. He didn't even stitch me up; he left it to someone else who didn't do a good job. The scar is traumatizing.

I had only four treatments over the course of four months, but they were difficult. Hanging around a chemo room all day by myself was depressing. There were people suffering much more than I was, which made me feel guilty for feeling so bad.

Then came radiation. No big deal, right? Wrong. There were radiation tattoos; no numbing for me. In the beginning of treatment, it wasn't so bad. By the end, I had a terrible burn under my arm and that area was in constant pain. At least during radiation, my hair started growing back.

I applaud my arrogance at calling myself a "warrior" five years ago, but I'm really a survivor. Cancer is the disease that continues giving, long after it's gone. It's taken me five years to be able to walk more than a couple of miles. It's taken me five years to have energy. It's caused me to forgo dairy and gluten because I can no longer digest them properly. My hair is thinner than before. My eyelashes are not as full or thick as they once were. I am allergic to the sun so I have to wear SPF 50 sunscreen and a hat.

And then there's current treatment: every six months Zometa infusions and Tamoxifen. Of course, Arimidex was worse, causing terrible joint pain and me to walk like a very old woman. Every six months I see my oncologist who changes her mind frequently about my treatment.

Life after cancer is survivable; I have traveled more in the last few years than I had in my life. I'm trying new hobbies, planning for my future. Most importantly, I'm a survivor.

I'm a teacher, and I'm struggling

I know most teachers, particularly those with young children at home, are struggling to find a work/life balance in this brave new world of remote teaching. But I'm really struggling and my child is a young adult.

So why am I struggling? Screen time, for one reason. I'm in front of a computer from 8-3 each day. I take a short lunch break, and then I'm back to work. I answer emails, explain and reexplain what students are to do, grade, create lessons, and then attend webinars and/or learn new online platforms. At 5 pm, I have to jump back on and take attendance. And the next day, I do it all over again.

I'm struggling with lack of face to face contact with people other than my family. I'm an introvert. But I like my colleagues and I miss popping next door to talk about an issue or concern, or ever something good. My colleagues make me laugh. Sometimes they pop into my room and force me out of my shell. I'm lonely.

This experience has forced me to understand that I need to make friends and not rely on my teacher colleagues. I've asked a couple of colleagues who I thought were friends if we could have a video chat, but they can't. Or won't. I don't know. I'm sure they're as overwhelmed as I am.

I'm worried about my students. Several have indicated to me that they aren't doing well. And yet, I've offered to video chat with them, and they've politely thanked me and said no. I can only imagine their struggles.

I'm a teacher, and I'm struggling as I learn new platforms, new ways to teach. It's exciting and frustrating and difficult all at the same time.

I'm a teacher, and I'm struggling with the stiffness and soreness that comes from sitting for seven hours.

I'm a teacher, and I'm struggling with loneliness, sadness, grief. I'm mourning the end of the year without saying goodbye to my students. I'm mourning the end of the year without saying goodbye to my colleagues. I'm mourning the end of the year without saying goodbye to my classroom and the building. I'm mourning the loss of a routine that's as familiar to me as making spaghetti sauce.

I'm a teacher, and I'm struggling, and though I know I'm not alone, I feel like I am.

Remote meetings

I'm new to the whole "remote teaching" experience, and after two weeks without seeing my colleagues, I found myself eagerly awaiting my first video meeting today. Normally, I don't enjoy meetings, but I haven't seen my friends' faces for ages, and I couldn't wait to say hi and talk to them.

I was early to my meeting today, and when I saw my first colleague face, I nearly cried with joy. No exaggeration. I was happy to see a friend, hear her voice, and when other colleagues began arriving, my excitement was palpable. I know it was nice for some of them to see other faces as well.

It was a fascinating experience--talking to people from around the city. I can't imagine how amazing it is to video conference with people from around the world.

I'm going to try video conferencing with my classes this week, and I hope it goes well. I want to see my students again.

Remote Teaching

This week, instead of being with colleagues and students, I'm home. Like millions of other Americans, as well as most of the rest of the world, I'm hunkered down, hoping to avoid the coronavirus aka COVID-19. Because of my school district's focus on technology, I'm able to continue to work with my students and visit with colleagues from my home computer.

What are the positives of working from home? I get to sleep in...not too late because I have work to do. I can take my time eating my breakfast. I've worn leggings and sweatshirts all week and haven't done my hair or make up. I can play with my dog and take her on walks.I'm doing some of the projects I've avoided for the past couple of years in order to stay busy. I'm able to read more. I'm not worried about getting to bed by 9 pm. It snowed yesterday, and I didn't have to leave my house. As an introvert, it makes me happy to stay home, be quiet, and do what I love doing.

However, as an introvert, I'm not moved from my comfort zone. I only speak to my family and dog. Have once before been "quarantined" in my house with relatively few people to speak to, I can attest at how much it changes a person. Forced to remain in my home causes my depression to rear its ugly head. Remote teaching is tough. I miss my students and colleagues.