Hello, lovelies! How are you? I have been dropping a lot of life on you lately…how are you holding up?
More importantly: how do you handle adversity and setbacks? I told you of a major setback in my life. But I didn’t tell you of the logistics. How does one begin to deal with something that changes the entire life you’d pictured, in an instant, and redirects your best intentions?
Mix it up. A little humor, a lot of optimism and a base of reality. Deal with the facts, but do not make them your life. Keep the basis of what works and forge ahead. Always one that’d gotten stuck in the details, forging ahead is often one of my biggest challenges.
I began practicing violin at the end of 4th grade. I chose it because my mother had played, the instructor was a young, effortlessly energetic woman – who I pictured I’d be when I grew up – it was easy, and I enjoyed it. My study became tricky a few years later, when I entered junior high school. I was getting caught up in the challenge of being the best – instead of building on the knowledge that I had already cultivated. Simply, I was so worried that I was not becoming a stronger player, that I couldn’t.
Welcome to the first of many self-imposed Stacy-road-blocks.
At my weekly private lessons, my road block proved impassable. I was stumbling over notes I’d played countless times before. It frustrated me beyond words. I didn’t practice, I felt ready to quit. If it wasn’t easy and I was no longer exceptional, I reasoned, why bother to continue on?
Slowly my teacher saw me losing interest and realized my hang-up. And then, on a sunny weekday afternoon, she taught me my very first life lesson, to look ahead – always. It was only my own self that was holding me back. As I began my piece, reading the music and playing the notes, she slid a white envelope over the notes I’d already read. Essentially pushing me forward. If I made a mistake, too bad – it was over. In the past. And you know what? I stopped dwelling on the notes I’d passed, read them for what they were, and played the best I could in each moment. My mistakes weren’t as important. They were character. Personality. And music.
In life, it’s much the same. The notes are the days of your life. Time, the clean white envelope that follows along, covering up the past and pushing you to your future.
This is how I began to become myself. When I encounter a problem, I still doubt myself, and even consider the easy way out. I still get caught up in not being exceptional. But, dealing with each stumbling block and problem and major decision with the tools I have in that moment, and then moving on, allows my life to sing the sweetest song during each and every verse. Of course… sometimes it’s scary or dramatic or even laughable, but I never worry about what the white envelope has covered up, because it’s gone. I remember that I did my very best with it while it was here – played it well, and made it sing.
How do you overcome your self-imposed road blocks? Remember my white envelope trick next time… it works.
I cannot think of what is most important in my life to tell you. I have had many moments. Many heart breaks. Many perfect days. But, I have had much of a regular life, where a breeze is the best thing that happens, and those days where a soft pair of socks, trashy TV & a diet Pepsi make my night.
I do have a moment that I relive on my darkest days, never often enough to fall into it, but enough to remember and honor it. And, this is how it all started.
The moment that changed my life onto the path it is right now was when I was diagnosed with AML – acute myelogenous leukemia. I was working full-time, going to school full-time and trying to live life very, very full-time. I had completed all of my nursing coursework, and was scheduled to begin my clinical rotations in the fall. In order to get into clinicals, you are required to pass a physical. Not thinking about it, I scheduled my physical for June. It was a Thursday/Friday – I went in, got checked out, had blood taken and left a urine sample. All unremarkable. The following Monday, my NP called to say that everything seemed fine, but that my white blood cell count was high and had I noticed any changes. I had not, so she scheduled a follow up blood test for Tuesday, July 3rd. Luckily she did, and did not put me on antibiotics to cure whatever illness I was suffering from. I did not realize I was having symptoms, but looking back was – I would come home from class in the morning and sleep hard for two hours before work, I had bumped my arm on the towel bar getting out of the shower and had a ginormous dark purple bruise, which I again dismissed. I was also having bone pain in my leg, but thought I pulled a muscle at work. The list goes on.
Thursday was Dr. Ramus’ early day – so I was up early and in the office by 6:30a. A little after noon, my nurse practitioner called the office to discuss my blood work. I couldn’t take the call at the desk, and went into the back chart room. I can see it in flashes now, some as if I am in my body and some as if I am floating around myself. I leaned against the counter, my left arm crossed across my chest, and my other hand holding the receiver to my ear. I had this. She began to explain that my white count had continued to rise, by leaps and bounds. I heard her, but with my new medical knowledge, was running all of the possibilities in my head. I pulled a chair out at the table and sat down. Leaning my left hand on my face, I tried to hear what she was saying, but had stopped listening. I knew she had continued speaking only by the rhythm her voice made on the other end of the line. When that syncopation ended, I focused. The words came from my mouth before I had time to form them in my head. “What’s the worst case scenario?” She hesitated and answered. “Cancer. Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.” My biggest baddest planner-self hadn’t yet concluded that ending. I asked if she would hold on for a moment to explain to Dr. Ramus, so that he could relay it to me – surly he’d make sense of this situation. I placed the receiver on the sink, left the room and walked into the hallway, seemingly in slow motion, past nurses, patients, phones ringing and the day to day. I walked into his office, why he was even there at that moment is odd, blurted out the situation, and asked him to take the call. He walked with me back to the phone, with haste and also as if it was no big deal, took the receiver, and offered a greeting. Quiet, he listened for a moment and motioned for me to leave the room. I did. Swinging the door closed behind me. I felt safe. As if he’d take care of it. I went back to work. Charting, greeting patients, answering phones… I went back to my life, and allowed myself to be swallowed up by the work, as I pushed the moment away. You see, I had gotten quite adept at doing that, working there was my savior through the usual adolescent rough patches – and I was fantastic. In three years, I had worked my way up from chart girl to front desk to medical assistant to coder to assistant office manager. It felt great, I was more home there than anywhere else.
My moment ended when I turned around at the copier and saw Dr. Ramus. He motioned to me and we met in his office. He closed the door and sat on his desk, I leaned on the wall across from him. This is the moment in time I will remember with the most fondness of any other I can think of to this day. It was a random act of kindness from someone who shouldn’t have mattered. Who didn’t have to offer any kindness at all. “Stacy, it’s just an abnormality…anemia probably, I have many friends who live with such things and they’re fine.” In that moment, he truly saved my life. He allowed me to be that girl, that un-cancer-patient, with long newly-colored-red hair, who wore doc martens to work with a skirt, just a little longer than I should have. I never truly understood that moment until it was far too late to thank him. But, without question, it is written prominently on the book of my life forever.
I went home, changed, cancelled plans and had dinner with my family on the patio. It was breezy, quiet and palpable. Everyone was on edge, while I, again pushed it all away…I slung my legs over the chair and felt my soft cotton shorts against my skin and hung onto that. I was never more in the moment than right then.
Again, the next morning, I was up early and ready for work. This time because I had to go to the hospital and have my blood drawn… again. In case you’re counting – the third time in a week. The NP referred me to a Hematologist, who required a new blood draw, and would follow up with me on Monday. My mom drove me this time, and we waited a long time. I was frustrated because they were busy, it was the third time that I’d had my blood drawn for such a mysterious problem, when all I wanted to do was get to work and get on with my life. I had plans to go out that weekend, and to talk to a boy I was interested in and it was all good. It was a beautiful summer, I had a job, and I looked cute. It was perfect actually, except for this stupid blood situation. They had problems getting my blood – but they were finally able to fill each of the vials that were ordered. Afterwards, my mom and I stopped for a quick breakfast, and she dropped me at work.
It was no earlier than 2pm when my mother called me at work. The hematologist’s office wanted to see me immediately. Ever so concerned about my work and life, I told her to hold on; I had an appointment with them for Monday. My mother had to have begun putting the pieces together, because she had already contacted my dad, who was on his way home from work, so they could pick me up together and accompany me to the appointment, which was promptly scheduled for that afternoon. I was standing at the front desk when they came in – their faces told me of the lumps in their throats, but I ignored it. I was fine. Anemia, worst case. Not cancer. For sure not. I had looked up symptoms in the PDR that afternoon as I called lab results back. Normal lab results. Some that required a follow up. Nothing crazy. People never get the crazy. You just hear about it.
I walked through the tinted sliding glass doors into the back entrance of the hospital, which led directly to the hematologist’s office. My parents followed hand in hand. I walked fast, alone, determined to get this over with. I came around the corner and saw the nameplate first. “Hematologist/Oncologist”. I stopped sharp, as if on a dime, turned to my parents a few yards behind me and scolded, “Nobody told me that he was an. Oncologist.” My walls went up. I greeted the receptionist with haste. Filled out paperwork with haste. I was called back and even got on the scale with haste. It was all so very annoying to me.
I do not remember the specifics. But I can tell you, it was quiet. It seemed that we were the only people in that entire office late on that Friday. In the exam room, we sat three to a row. Myself, my dad and mom, left to right. I can see the kind doctor coming into the room; I remember the small pleasantries he exchanged with us, how I had no idea how important he’d be to me. It seemed he quickly got to the point, which I was thankful for. He sat forward on the standard issue doctor stool, clasped his hands together, rested his arms on his knees and looked at me solemnly. “You have cancer, leukemia….” He continued speaking, but I fell over on myself, curled up onto my own lap, and then fell into my dad, who immediately put his arm around me. An image instantly came alive in my head, a sickly bald girl, green with nausea, curled up in the fetal position on a bathroom floor. I can still see it now. It was terrifying, but I wouldn’t let them know it. He asked me if I had any concerns. “Nausea.” I answered. Really, Stacy? He basically just told you that you need to fight your best fight when you haven’t been training and have no idea how to shoot a gun. “Chemo is different now, and we will do our best to target your disease.” He was wonderful, took his time and offered anything we needed. He offered for us to take our time in getting a second opinion, trying his best to stress that our time was of the essence. We declined. I had agreed with everything he said, and was ready to get this show on the road. It was not in the slightest the show I’d planned, but I was ready to get on with it. Without further delay, it was decided that a sample of my bone marrow be taken to confirm the diagnosis and ensure the best treatment schedule. I was ushered to the room across the hall and prepared for the procedure – where they screw a needle-ish device into your hip bone, to obtain both a piece of bone and marrow. I had no idea what to expect, nor that these procedures would be my new norm. There was a lovely nurse who held my hand and helped me breathe through the pain, and the frustration, and the heart break that I was now a bona fide cancer patient. No ifs ands or buts about it.
My counts were too extreme for me to return home. So without any belongings, or preparation, I walked – again a few yards in front of my parents – to the in-patient rooms to be admitted. My sweet grandmother had passed away just two months and four days prior. I could hear my mother behind me trying to apply logic, “Thank God, she passed away, because this would have killed her.” I take that in ways both good and bad depending on the day in which I am recalling this part of my life…
We got to the room. I was admitted. I was immediately started on IVs. And had to call my sister. She was waiting at home, aware of what was going on, and waiting to hear. I choked back tears so she wouldn’t hear the fear in my voice. I calmly asked her to bring me a pillow, some comfy clothes and my childhood stuffed animal. The hot tears I held in burned a lump in my throat. This was not right. Not fair to her. The quintessential little sister. My mother did the rest of the calling, including one to my dad’s cousin – a hair dresser. She came that night along with everyone else – my whole Italian family – because I insisted on cutting my newly-dyed-red locks. We went for short. Just short. No style, just as close to my head as she could get it. I refused to be a cancer patient with big patches of long hair falling out around me, and began taking my life back. It was all I could control, so why not.
That night I was alone. I kept the lights on. I could not sleep. A nurse came in and we talked. She was just a few years older than me. Her boyfriend had overcome lymphoma, and she helped him fight. We discussed their situation. They were newly engaged. They’d gotten through it. I felt hopeful. She left around 3am. She offered to turn the lights off. I kept them on and stared out the window. Time was passing. Life was going on, but I wasn’t sure if I wanted it to move on, to stop, or speed up. I had carved a tiny piece of perfection in that moment, and didn’t know if I could do it again in the next.
My mother returned early the next morning, and my oncologist came for my first in-patient visit. He sat next to the bed and I asked him statistics. My chances. What were they exactly. 60% survivable. I was at the same time relieved and saddened. It was over 50% which is always good, right? But my mind couldn’t help but think of the people who were in that other percent. That scary part of the percent. He noticed my gaze shift, and had to of known exactly what I was thinking. “Stacy. It will not be easy, but we have to fight like hell.” The sharpness of his tone told me that this was my man. He was fighting my war, side by side with me.
The rest of that weekend is a blur. Everyone came. I could see the visitor corridor from my window. I knew people were there although I do not remember each one. I will never forget my friend Andy walking down the hall – his face painted with concern and fear at the same time. He came into the room at one of my lower moments, and wasn’t having it. He grabbed my sweatshirt from the end of the bed, threw it over my shoulders and required me to get up and walk. We lapped the nursing station countless times, as he pushed my IV poles, talking of everything that didn’t matter and nothing of the moment. Not my hair or my cancer or why we were here in a hospital and not out on this summer night, being young and normal. Lisa and I had worked together for the past three years. She was a few years older than me and we had an instant and wonderful friendship. She came to visit the next afternoon and brought eggrolls. When she greeted my parents and addressed them as ‘Mr. & Mrs. D’ I thought it odd and comforting at the same time, it made me giggle in my head. Why that stands out to me, I have no idea.
Monday morning was there in an instant on some level, and on another it seemed as if we’d waited years for it to arrive. The nurses changed my IV for the ride, as I’d refused an ambulance transfer to my the hospital where I’d receive my treatment, I wasn’t that sick. Or at least I thought I wasn’t. I looked down to my arm, bandaged with the IV, which was now covered in bright red blood. Suddenly, I couldn’t clot. I bled through the lines. Through the puncture wounds. It was the day my body began to break down before my eyes. It was true. No matter how hard I fought. I was sick. More than I’d ever been, and I was scared to death that this was the beginning of the end.
Goodbye sensitive, complicated, independent, beautiful, young Stacy. Hello sickly, weak, bruised, fighting-hard-for-uncertainty Stacy. You never know how strong you are until being strong is the only choice you have.
This was my moment. And this is exactly how and why I became who I am now. It all starts somewhere. So, here we go.
I am not one who makes it a point to celebrate dates. Birthdays and anniversaries, of course – but not those dates of less importance. I feel we’d all have a thing to celebrate each day and then, well, it nullifies the importance we set out to mark in the first place. After all, dates are just days, and if we’re stuck focusing on what happened on some day in the past, how will we find the potential of that day in the present?
But one date has decided to twist my view and to reprise it’s role in my life. Next week, July 6th will mark 10 years since I was diagnosed with cancer. And it’s been quite heavy on my heart. Not because I am still fighting the leukemia, or because I am scared it will return, but because July 6th was the day when the fingers of fate were snapped and I had no other choice but to immediately grow up. There was no more time to fumble, and find my way, there was only time to understand a question, promptly figure the best answer, and move on to the next. You have no idea what you will do when dropped into a life or death situation until that life or death becomes your daily reality. I’m sure you’ve thought about it – what you would do, everyone seems to – ironically, I even did. But what you think you’ll do, and what you think others should do all melts away when it’s all you and all reality. I became overtly logical, and ran my treatment like a business – I was thrust into position of acting CEO, and I was good at it – while most everyone else in my life continued working their real jobs, going out to enjoy the summer and reveling in the comfort of their regular life. My diagnosis was a ripple in their lives, but after the initial moment, the ripple smoothed out and the new normal of my life began while theirs continued on as is.
This act of life going on around me never truly bothered me, to be honest – I never really thought much about it. But, a few months ago, when I began interviewing my friends for the personal side of my 30 by Thirty, it dawned on me that the moment I was diagnosed was the moment I was instantly robbed of finding myself as a young adult, standing on my own, proving myself – without chance that I would turn back to a carefree college student at the stroke of midnight.
So, is July 6th just another date? Yes. But this year it is bigger for me. July 5th is the last day of the past decade, as it all comes closed in to a full circle. So for me, this year July 6th is the first day of my renovation, where I begin redesigning and explore who exactly I missed out on and what this girl can do on her own.
The truth is that things are changing. There has been a shift within me that I have chosen to embrace. Far larger than anything I have experienced in my life, I have decided to focus on unraveling the mess, and am way too invested to waste a moment longer being fearful of the possibilities. My mind has begun opening in ways that even I am surprised at – this ride is full of all sorts of crazy, wild excitement and adventure.
So, I’m going to write about it. Right here. Yes, I am still an interior designer, and yes, this will continue to be Design Something Better. But beginning right now, it will be about designing life, not interiors. How does a designer design life in the midst of a sudden life renovation? Stick around to find out. At least it’ll be interesting… xo
{Source}
I’m watching. Are you? xo
Happy Thursday of a short week, friends! I have a love/hate relationship with short weeks. They are always welcome (as is the long weekend that shortens them), but leave me in a constant state of reminding myself which day of the week it actually is. Fun, yes? Possibly. But, totally no where near as fun as my most favorite blogs (nice segue, right)? Today, five of my most fabulous daily blog reads. To you, from me…
3. Hyperbole and a Half (Fact: I cannot read this post without laughing so hard I cry.)
5. GapMag (Trust me.)
{Please know: These are things of happiness that I have found in the ole’ internet. I have not been paid to endorse these items/products, nor have they been provided to me. That’s right… I just like them.}
Good morning, friends! The countdown is on – one week from today, I’ll be launching Who.How.Now.! I am seriously over the moon about this series that peeks into the mind of a creative to uncover how they do what they do. Each week will feature a new creative and their thoughts on different questions, in the quest to find out more who they are, how they live, and now what?
WHO
Describe yourself.
Well, hello – nothing like diving right in yes? My name is Stacy and I am the gal that came up with this idea in the first place. I am a dreamer that probably should’ve awakened long ago. As I grow older, my dreams continue to grow larger and larger, while I slowly chisel away at creating their likeness in my very own reality. In the regular day-to-day tangible world, I am a lover of a strong iced coffee, feeling sunshine on my face and all things purple.
What did you dream of becoming/plan to be when you grew up? Honestly, I never truly gave it much thought until high school – when I fell into creative writing. I loved it, it was effortless for me and a form of expression that I was unable to achieve elsewhere. So I thought I’d pursue English and become a writer or teacher or whatever it is you do with a B.A. in English. But then, life decided differently – I was working at a local doctor’s office, which slowly changed my course to nursing and saved my life. (To be continued in a 30 by Thirty post soon.)
What inspires you?
Words, textures, textiles – moments. I feel that I’m always looking to translate a feeling with tangible items, so that others can experience it as well.
Motto/personal statement: “Own it.” No matter what or how you live, own every word and action that you generate. First of all, it’s you and if you cannot be accountable, how can you maintain successful relationships with the people around you?
HOW
Training – BFA. Interior Design
First creative job? First job ever – working as an assistant in a dress shop helping with alterations. First ‘creative’ job (or rather first job post college) planning furniture systems in the facilities department of a corporation. Isn’t it odd that the job where I didn’t have the degree was far more creative than that one where I did?
Is your work your passion? Slowly, I am trying to make my work (blogging – writing) my passion. It does not pay the bills at all – but I love it so very much, so I make room for it in my life. Design is most definitely in my bones, and it does pay a few bills. However, it is in my bones, but not my passion.
When did you decide to start your own business? Honestly, there are some days where I feel that I have yet to actually ‘start’ my own business. Do I do what I love for myself? Yes. Does it create a profit? No. So isn’t that technically a hobby? I am still deciding the answer to that question… See, just as promised in my description, I am still a dreamer.
NOW
Is being in a creative career what you thought it would be? Right now, for me – no. It is far more difficult than I expected. But new creatives – don’t be discouraged! I am an Interior Designer-wanna-be-writer, who graduated right when the housing bubble burst. Not to mention, I have this crazy dream of working for myself which instantly dials up the difficulty of it all. I have had moments of perfectly wonderful fulfilling work that I have actually gotten paid for – it’s out there, but you must create your own idea of how you prefer to work, and know what fulfills your passion, which instantly makes it all so very much attainable.
How do you continue to drive yourself/grow? Reading, writing, exploring. I think that the best way to grow is to live in the world around you. Inspiration and growth can sprout from anything – I disagree that you must be inspired for something specific by something specific. I do read fantastic blogs that journal the most wonderful images, ideas and words. Of course, I do my fair share of exploring on Pinterest! And I take classes. All of the time. Painting, yoga,
Most challenging aspect of being a creative? Explaining to people what you do. Yes, I realize that my parents are out there right now shaking their heads and saying ‘It doesn’t matter what other people think.’ True. But also false, because if they do not understand what you do, how will you work for them, or garner respect from them or finally catch your breath from explaining yourself? Which is just another battle for another day.
Song in your head right now: Love You Madly – Cake
What are you hoping I will ask upcoming visitors for Who.How.Now.?
Thanks to all the heroes in my life, those I know and those I will never meet, on this day and always.
In honor of Week 9, I have composed a list of nine random Stacy facts. (I just can’t stay away from these lists…)
1. Nursing school saved my life. And is the exact reason I am not a nurse.
2. My most favorite car ever: A white, standard transmission Dodge Neon, that took on water like a sinking ship each time it rained – but was amazingly fun to drive.
3. Words are more inspiring to me than anything else.
4. When I set out to do 30 by Thirty, it was a simple Friday project for my blog. But, slowly, it’s grown to something much larger in my personal life. It spawned an interview series that has brought pieces of my self into focus which had been blurred and long ago forgotten. Besides, who sets out in life thinking “wow, this person is going to be so influential in my life, I better keep track of them" or “next Tuesday will completely be the one that I forever relive in my memory” – let me tell you, totally not me. Meeting with old friends and people whose influence has reached further into my life than the number of days we’ve ever spent together has opened my mind, my heart, changed how I think and ironed out the creases of who I am. I have yet to decide how to best compile these interviews – book, blog or personal journal – I have no idea as to the path they will take. The only thing I know for certain, is that this crazy endeavor has absolutely fulfilled me the most of all the crazy endeavors I have ever set out to complete (let me just clarify, the definition of Stacy should be: one who sets out on endless crazy endeavors).
5. I would marry the elliptical trainer if I could – I love it so much, but have a desire to train for a marathon. So far, the treadmill and I are not friends.
6. I despise artificial banana flavoring.
7. The clothing in my closet hangs in rainbow color order.
8. My best thoughts often occur while I’m driving.
9. Wednesday is my favorite day of the week.
And, so I don’t feel like I’m on the stage all alone – what’s the most crazy endeavor you have set out upon?
