Keep Calm & Carry On

It has been a while since a post so I thought I'd throw in my two cents...

Last fall I had lunch with a friend I only see occasionally.  During that lunch I shared all that was going on with our family.  Towards the end of the conversation he said something to me that has stuck with me for months - "You are a duck.  You look calm on the surface, but I bet underwater your paddling like crazy."  I think this has stuck with me because it is true.  I've wrestled for years with my internal belief (fostered, in part, by the stoic community in which I was raised) that being a good leader means not freaking out in a crisis.  This belief causes me, in my public and professional life, to, more often than not, remain rather non-plussed by everything.  This gets me in trouble because this restrained emotion can come off as being aloof, distant, uninterested, upset, or even angry.  I've used this restrained approach, admittedly my default, throughout our families journey through Stacey's cancer and other recent challenges, but under the surface I've been paddling like crazy.

I think one of the reasons there has been no post in this space for over a month is that at some point the treatment of cancer becomes a daily reality.  It just develops into the life you are living.  Nothing much seems like news or breaks into the routine with a revelation.  Each weekly trip to chemo bleeds into the last.  Doctors talk about patients getting "chemo brain," a foggy headed feeling and some very minor short-term memory loss, but I think those close to the patient also develop a bit of a foggy brain too.  A brain that is just a bit numb to the whole thing after a while.  Everyone's attitude moves quickly from the shock of  diagnosis ("Is the really happening?"), to the resolve of early treatment ("We are going to beat this thing!"), to a very level "Keep Calm & Carry On" (that great WWII British statement of unemotional resolve and determination - those posters were meant to improve morale!) of ongoing treatment.  We are deep into the "Keep Calm & Carry On" phase.  

I have woken up many mornings in the past few months with a song in my head.  The track comes off one of my favorite albums of last year Some Nights by Fun.  The song that my brain has often brought me into a new day with is Carry On.  The chorus states:

if your lost and alone

or your sinking like a stone

carry on

may you past be the sound

of your feel upon the ground

carry on

I have never once felt alone on this journey.  However, I have felt lost, and like I'm sinking (I've described it to friends as feeling like I'm drowning).  Frankly, most days I feel like the best thing I can do is carry on.  Simply keep moving one foot in front of the other - keep my little duck legs paddling like crazy under the surface and staying calm above water as best I can.  Sadly the calm is mostly broken by yelling at the kids who are themselves just trying to make it through the mess.

Stacey has two more chemo treatments.  That portion of the journey ends on Feb. 6.  She tells me everyday how much she just wants to feel normal again.  Once chemo is done its on to radiation, and continued hormone therapy.  

Paddle, paddle.

Step, Step.

Keep Calm & Carry On.

Joel K.