A Cheesy Happy Sparkly Holiday Message

It's been so long since my last blog entry, that the holiday season is now almost over!  I get excited about the holidays - cheesy music and delicious food and everything covered in glitter and lights (so many sparkly things!!) - but I also look forward to the tradition of reflecting on the year past, where we've been, how far we've come, and all we have to be thankful for going forward.  I'm extremely grateful that American culture has stubbornly held on to a sliver of the "spirit" of the holiday season, and the money-grubbing tramp Konsumerism Krampus hasn't completely taken over everything yet, despite his best efforts.  Especially since - I mean, I hate to brag - but I have a crap-ton to be thankful for; my life kicks ass.  No really, it's true... just hear me out.


Someone once told me that three major things influence your happiness, and if you are content with even just two of those three, you can lead a happy and fulfilling life (it was probably Mom, she's full of good life advice like this, despite the lack of instruction manual).  Those three things are 1) where you live, 2) what you do for work, and 3) the people around you or your support system.  You know what's not on that list?  Your health.  Yes, it's true, you can still have an amazing and happy life while dealing with major health issues, and I'm here to prove it.  So let's review the big three, shall we?

1.) Where I Live.

As you all know by now, Tom and I bought our first house in the summer of 2013, within weeks of getting my original diagnosis.  Despite the stress of owning a house and the insane amounts of money that goes into it, we could not be happier.  We absolutely love our house and all three of our ridiculous pets.  We love our neighborhood; our neighbors are some of the nicest people we've ever met, and we fit right in to the neighborhood personality.  We love our town and the surrounding area; we have conservation land and farms and nature all around us, and yet we are just a handful of miles away from anything we might ever need.  We love that we are an hour away from Boston; how lucky am I to get treatment at one of the world's best cancer centers conveniently?  We love that the vast majority of our family lives in New England, and we have been able to see many of them over the past year.  We don't plan on moving any time soon, if ever, and we're fine with that, thrilled even.  So, I can definitely check "where I live" off the happiness list.

2.) What I do for work.

As mentioned in my previous post, I am pumped to be back to work.  My job is awesome and I love it.  My partner-in-art-crime is great, as are the other specialist teachers.  The rest of the staff and my colleagues are good people, and they respect me and the arts.  Like all teachers, I have my fair share of challenges with students or curriculum or access to supplies, etc, but overall my job is great.  I feel fulfilled when I teach, and I feel like I am using my skills and talents in a positive way.  I love art like a freakin' nut job, I love helping people, and I love kids.  My job suits my creative-and-caring-yet-obsessively-organized-and-slightly-bossy personality, I'm in my element, I might even go as far as to say I was born to do it.  And now that I am working three days a week, and share some of the burden of the position, I don't feel like my job rules my life.  How many of us can say that we feel that good about what we do?  Happiness list item # 2, check.  (And if you want to see our art room website, go here: http://acbmorgan1.wix.com/brophyart)

3.) My support system.

I've written a lot about how fantastic my family and friends are (see last year's Holiday letter), but there's always room for a little more: my support system is fucking outstanding.  The people in my life are so amazing, the stories I tell literally make my psychologist tear up.  Point in case: my brother, Josh, and my sister-in-law, Allie.

Several months back, Josh and Allie had shared with us their dream of moving to the west coast in the near future.  I was excited for them, but at that point in my treatment, I couldn't help thinking that there was a chance that I might not be around to see it happen, much less ever be geographically near them again.  I was doing pretty well, yes, but the future was incredibly uncertain, especially with my second lung surgery looming in a few short weeks.  I had kept Josh and Allie in the loop about my treatment, but, in retrospect, I probably downplayed parts of it, and with the distance, I wasn't sure that I had accurately expressed how serious my situation could be.  After weeks of debating whether I should even bring it up, I shared my concerns with them when my parents, Tom, and I visited in July.  It was a difficult conversation for all of us, carrying on late into the night, and we went to bed feeling rather drained.  The following morning, Josh and Allie told us that they had decided to move back to New England, and they wanted to do so by the end of the summer... in three weeks.  They confirmed that some of the nuances of my illness had in fact been lost in translation, and they wanted to move closer so they didn't miss out on anything in the future.  After working through the million emotions we all felt, we got to work trying to help them find jobs, a place to live, and move across the country in just three weeks.  It was crazy and intense and insane and amazing all at once, and I barely did anything compared to Josh and Allie.  But somehow they did it, and I have been beyond thrilled to have them in the same time zone, and even more excited to have them so close to us.

For awhile, I felt hugely and entirely guilty and responsible for uprooting Josh and Allie's life and throwing such a massive wrench into their plans.  But after much conversation and reflection, I recalled the phrase "one person doesn't get cancer, a whole family gets cancer"; my diagnosis did and does not just affect me, but everyone around me.  At the time, I had been slogging through those physical and emotional effects for a year, recognizing and growing accustom to the anger, fear, anxiety, and disappointment that comes with such a life-changing event.  Unfortunately for them, Josh and Allie faced the majority of these effects all at once, one super-powered bitch-slap that slammed their dreams brutally off course.  And yet, they powered through, tackling the challenges with a bold determination I truly admire.

Photo Credit: Alexandra Gitzes

From this past year and a half, there are many other stories of real selflessness I could share here, but the point is that #3 on my happiness list is rock-solid.  Josh and Allie are just two superstar examples of the many people for which I am proud and grateful to say are part of my support system.  At some point, I'll have to write something horribly embarrassing about my Numero Uno support guy and how great he is too, but I'll save that for a later date when I'm feeling a bit more reckless ('cuz he'll probably hate me for awhile).  These people made it easy for me to go through the past year and a half, and are a huge part of why I'm doing so well now.  My most recent tests came back empty: all of my treatments and surgeries were successful, and there is currently no cancer visible to scans.  To ensure nothing comes back, I'm still on the Pazopanib chemo pill, though a reduced amount from last time.  And with only a few side effects (slight fatigue, sore callouses on my feet, food tastes bland, I can no longer tolerate spicy foods, my hair is turning completely white), I'll be on it indefinitely.  And indefinitely could be a very long time; it's a good sign when your oncologist says "wow, that drug really does work for you."  Truly, it's all good news over here, even though I shouldn't be mentioning it, since health isn't on the happiness list :)

As a new year begins, I hope all of you can meet two if not three of the happiness factors in your own lives.  And if you already do, I hope you can join me in putting aside the craziness and stress of the holidays to recognize how good we have it, and how lucky we are.