by Amy Newmark
~Willie Nelson
“You’re not there for me,” I shouted. “I need you more than ever, and you keep pulling away. It’s like you’ve disappeared.”
“Lori, are you kidding me?” my husband yelled back. “YOU disappeared! You’ve been down and out for over a year and a half! I’ve been pulling more than my weight trying to keep our marriage and our life on track. I didn’t go anywhere. You did!”
They say the truth hurts, and after that exchange, we were both hurting. It had been months since a routine surgery to remove an ovary and its cyst had resulted in the loss of all my reproductive organs. Uterus, cervix, ovaries, fallopian tubes — everything had been removed due to the severity of endometriosis that had been found.
Prior to that, I was in the best shape of my life. I was strong and lean with six-pack abs. I had been a runner, bodybuilder, and cyclist. I was strong, joyful, and confident. As healthy as I felt, I had a few minor health challenges, namely a uterine fibroid and an ovarian cyst. I had opted to have both removed, hoping to alleviate the physical pain I had been experiencing for years. I went into surgery expecting routine results and a quick recovery. I woke to the unimaginable: a full hysterectomy as well as a double oophorectomy. Recovery would take a bit longer.
I struggled both physically and emotionally as the removal of my ovaries sent me into sudden, surgical menopause. I didn’t know how to help myself as my symptoms included hot flashes, night sweats, fatigue, insomnia, loss of libido, weight gain, lack of focus, a zombie-like state, depression, anger, and an overall lack of passion and energy for anything in life.
I had been an outgoing, vibrant woman filled with joy, and now I was a listless crybaby. I’d lost my curiosity, zest for life, and drive. Everything, from getting up in the morning to getting myself through my workday and finding the energy to socialize and maintain relationships, became laborious. Externally, I was functioning, but many times it felt like I was just going through the motions. Internally, I felt out of balance and weak.
The words spoken the day of that argument were difficult to hear, but they served a purpose as they scared me into action. My husband helped me realize how much I had withdrawn from him and from my life. I began to see that, as a result of my surgery, I had been feeling a huge sense of loss, which required time for mourning. It also required a time to heal and, ultimately, to rise.
I could no longer sit on the sidelines and wait for my symptoms to resolve. If I wanted to live happily, I had to choose joy over my circumstances. I had to turn my setback into a comeback.
I combined everything I knew from traditional and nontraditional healing practices, and I explored new paths and lifestyle changes to reduce stress and improve my life’s balance and overall wellness. I worked to bring more peace and calmness to my life through meditation. I spent more time focusing on the positive.
Any area of negativity or toxicity got purged.
I went to work on my mindset and habits. I became more conscious of my thoughts, words, and feelings. Instead of leaning into my sorrow, I needed to move, dance, smile, laugh, be grateful, and think positively. I had to guard what came into my life and my mind regarding television, books, the news, social media, and relationships. Any area of negativity or toxicity got purged. As I focused on the positive, I felt my mood lighten and lift.
I created better habits. I made sure I got a good night’s sleep and then began my day with quiet meditation. I followed that with music and dance. I moved my body. Every day, I wrote down three new things in my journal that I was grateful for. Throughout my day, I would watch short video snippets from funny TV shows. When my husband asked me to go to the movies, I always picked a comedy.
Consciously and consistently, I chose to be happy and grateful. Some days, this came with a decision to be happy before I truly felt it.
I learned that feelings are contagious. One day, I noticed that every person I encountered smiled at me like I was their best friend and said “hello.” I thought, Wow! Everyone is so friendly today. It’s like everyone’s in a good mood. Then I realized I was the one who was in a good mood. I was smiling. I was calm, relaxed, and walking with confidence. I was greeting everyone like they were my best friends. My smile was contagious, as were my positive feelings.
The twenty months after my surgery were the darkest period of my life. Surgical menopause rattled my cage and threatened to rob me of my confidence, sexuality, and motivation. However, in the journey through the darkness, I was forced to examine my mind and my thoughts so I could reclaim and maintain my balance. It was where I learned to change my perspective, focus on the positive, and find ways to laugh and be grateful, each and every day.
And every day that I choose joy, happiness follows.
— Lori Ann King —
A Simple Life Lesson
We tend to become like those we admire.
~Thomas Monson
It didn’t take long after meeting my neighbor Josie to realize she ran circles around women twenty years her junior. She was a gourmet cook, adjunct college professor, and all-around know-it-all.
For some reason, she took a liking to me and chose to fit me into her days on a regular basis. She would call me over throughout the week to taste-test recipes, which was a pleasure since my cooking consisted primarily of grilled cheese and tuna melts.
Early each morning, Josie forced me to join her on her “daily constitutional,” as she liked to call it. I believe we were supposed to be walking, but it felt more like mini-sprints. I had my rules. If I couldn’t talk or breathe, I would stop.
I stopped every day at the end of our block. Josie would return bright-eyed and cheery a half-hour later and make me breakfast as a reward for making the attempt!
Our communal garden was a testament to Josie’s green thumb. Every conceivable flower and vegetable made its debut once a year. In some instances, I could not even identify what was growing, but we had the freshest salads in the neighborhood all summer long!
Last month, Josie decided to take up art. She enrolled us in a painting class. Her masterpiece is prominently displayed on her living room wall. The teacher said I could re-enroll next semester without charge in order to finish mine.
Each night around sunset, Josie and I would touch base on our porches before retiring for the evening. We would chat back and forth, exchanging worldviews as easily as off-color jokes.
One evening, Josie was a “no-show.” I started over to her door when I heard the ambulance and saw her husband and children running outside.
Josie had suffered a stroke.
When I next set eyes on her, she was leaning in a wheelchair, covered in a thick shawl. She looked smaller and older than I remembered, but her smile, though crooked, was still dazzling, and her eyes still sparkled. Her speech was slower, but her voice still had the lilt I loved.
Josie’s world had shrunk overnight from exotic travel destinations to the few rooms in her condo. But it’s what she does with her surroundings that gives me pause and perspective.
When Josie feels well enough to eat, her husband brings her breakfast in bed. She calls it “dining out.” They listen to soft music in the background and light candles as though they were sharing a table together along a Parisian boulevard.
On days when Josie has some strength, her husband wheels her into the living room, and they watch old movies together huddled under the blanket. She calls it “date night.”
And on the most special of days when Josie is doing really well, her husband takes her for a walk outside in her wheelchair. She calls it “going on vacation.”
Despite the fact that Josie is not expected to make a full recovery, she continues to dine al fresco, go to the movies and take lots of mini-vacations.
She is grateful to listen to her grandchildren giggle, to smell a summer barbecue, to share a laugh with her favorite neighbor, and to be here for another day.
I am thankful for her simple life lesson: Find the positive, and you’ve found your reason to live.
> — Lisa Leshaw —
The Mickey Mouse Watch
I only hope that we never lose sight of one thing — that it was all started by a mouse.
~Walt Disney
In the spring of 1968, I was nineteen years old and living the life. I had a good job, a new car, and a steady girlfriend. However, that was all put on hold when I received my draft notice ordering me to report for induction into the U.S. Army.
Upon completion of infantry training, I was sent to Vietnam for one year where I served as a combat squad leader. Life in the steamy jungle was miserable. In addition to being far from home, soldiers also contended with the enemy, snakes, voracious insects, and oppressive weather conditions.
The one thing that kept soldiers going was support from home, primarily in the form of mail. During the first half of my tour, I received letters from my girlfriend nearly every day. Her devotion sustained me and kept me focused. As a result, hardly a moment went by when I did not dream of the day I would return home so we could get married.
As I entered the second half of my tour, her letter writing dwindled to the point where several weeks would pass without a word. When an occasional letter did arrive, it read like a high school homework assignment. The passion was gone, and she often wrote about places and events that I had never heard of. It was obvious that my girlfriend had found someone else.
I was devastated at the realization that I no longer had someone waiting for me. My morale fell to an all-time low. I had trouble concentrating and often took unnecessary risks because I no longer cared if I survived the war.
Then one night, a fellow soldier handed me his luminous Mickey Mouse pocket watch so I could keep track of my guard shift in the dark. I stared intently at the timepiece as Mickey smiled back at me. I began to think about when I was a kid and how much I loved sitting in front of the television after school to be entertained by The Mickey Mouse Club. I thought about sitting in my parents’ home where I was warm, safe, well fed and carefree. I thought about the neighborhood kids and all the fun we had playing baseball, ice-skating and camping in each other’s back yards. I even missed my father yelling at me.
Suddenly, something magical happened: All my anxieties vanished! I looked again at Mickey’s silly grin. It seemed to tell me not to worry because everything was going to be okay. I smiled back with a nod, as if I were actually communicating with Mickey. I still had to complete a danger-filled tour, but that watch made me care again and gave me the confidence to survive the war unharmed.
Shortly after returning home from Vietnam, I purchased a Mickey Mouse wristwatch, and I have worn one ever since. I wanted to have a constant reminder that no matter how many obstacles life sends my way, no matter how bleak the situation, things could be worse, so I am thankful to be alive. A luminous Mickey Mouse pocket watch on a dark, lonely night did that for me.
— Arthur Wiknik, Jr. —
Hymns of Praise
The sun is a daily reminder that we too can rise again from the darkness, that we too can shine our own light.
~S. Ajna
“What do you mean I have cancer? There’s no cancer in my family! That’s impossible.”
But it was possible. I stared helplessly at the doctor who had performed the colonoscopy. He patted my hand and told me not to worry. My niece and my husband sat with their mouths slightly open, as stunned as I was.
This couldn’t be happening! I couldn’t take it in. My best friend had just passed away a month before after fighting her cancer for four years. I had been with her at her appointments and chemotherapy treatments. I had watched her fight fearlessly. Her faith grew stronger as her body grew weaker. How I wished Joanie were with me now. But, in a way, she was.
As I navigated countless tests and scans, her face was before me. I tried to emulate her courage as I canceled our twenty-fifth anniversary trip; my surgery would be right on our anniversary. My daughter flew out from Minnesota to be with us during this time and take care of my disabled husband while I was in the hospital.
I had a lot of people praying for me, but I was still in pain when I woke up in the hospital. I asked the nurses to keep the shades shut and the door closed. Every bit of light or noise seemed to intensify the pain.
One morning after being medicated, I had settled down to try to nap in the darkened room. Just as I was feeling drowsy, the door opened a crack, and a man peeked in. “Is it okay if I come in and clean your room?” he asked. He had a big smile on his face, so I refrained from throwing my pillow at him.
“Sure, come on in,” I answered without any enthusiasm.
“Can I turn on the lights so I can see to clean?”
Oh, great, lights, too, I thought to myself. But I just said, “Sure.”
I closed my eyes against the light and hoped he would finish and go away. Surely with my eyes closed, he would see that I didn’t want to “chat.”
“You should open these shades and let the sunshine into your life,” the man said as he pulled them open. “It’s a beautiful day out there!”
I didn’t answer or open my eyes. He returned to cleaning the bathroom while humming a hymn! What was wrong with him? Couldn’t he read my signals?
“Do you like hymns?” he asked.
“Yes, I usually do, but I’m not feeling very well today.”
“Oh, I will cheer you up. I love hymns, too.” Now he added words and sang his way around my room.
Lord, I thought, why did you send this guy to me? I kept my eyes closed.
“Do you go to church?” he asked.
“Yes, I do,” I told him. “Eastside Christian church.”
“You do? That’s where I go, too. They play praise songs there, which is great, but I love the old hymns, too.”
I opened my eyes wide now, and we began to talk to each other.
God, you must have sent this guy to sing to me and break through my fog of pain. Thank you, Lord.
As my new friend finished up the room, he shared with me that he had been an executive with a company that designed high-end wine cellars. He had traveled all over the country installing them in the homes of celebrities and other wealthy people.
“A few months ago, I was laid off,” he told me, “and I didn’t know what I was going to do to take care of my family. My wife went back to work, but I couldn’t find anything. Then a couple of days ago, this job just dropped in my lap. I can tell you, I was glad to get it. It doesn’t pay much, but I love cheering up the patients.”
“You certainly did that for me,” I told him. “I’m glad you came into my room and my life at this moment.”
Before he left, he asked if he could pray for me, and it was a lovely prayer of hope and encouragement. He came every day that I was there and filled my room and my heart with joy as he sang his hymns and left me with a prayer.
My attitude really changed after that. I was alive. They had discovered the cancer early, at stage 2, and I didn’t even need chemotherapy. I was so grateful.
I haven’t had any recurrence of the cancer since the operation, and I am thankful every single day. I look for all the good and happy things around me. My husband and I are starting to travel. Sometimes, we eat dessert first. I donated our old towels to an animal shelter, and we use the good ones every day. We volunteer and open our home and hearts to family and friends. We never end the day without counting our many blessings.
Every day, I “open the shades and let the sunshine into my life.” That was the best advice I’d ever heard, received just when I wanted to give up. My heart is filled with joy, and I want to spread that to others like the man who cleaned up my hospital room — and my attitude.
— Judee Stapp —
The Bucket List
What you get by achieving your goals is not as important as what you become by achieving your goals.
~Zig Ziglar
About ten years ago, a casual conversation with a stranger changed my life. We were taking a one-day course together, and during the lunch break, f
ive of us started talking about things that help us get organized. That’s when a young woman told us about something she and her friends do every year. They get together and pick 100 things they want to accomplish in the next year.
That number sounded daunting to the rest of us. We all looked a little skeptical, so she explained that the “goals” could be something as simple as eating a jawbreaker. She told us how they all remembered liking that hard candy when they were kids, so they decided to try it again. Her review: “They weren’t as good as we remembered, so no one actually finished theirs. But they’re well named because they really do hurt your jaw!”
So, while I’ve never had a desire to eat a jawbreaker, her idea resonated with me, and I decided to give the list a try. It took me a few days, but I came up with twenty-five things I wanted to accomplish. Here’s a sample from the original list:
• Cook a dish I’ve never made before. (That’s how I learned how to make a perfect omelet.)
• Try a food I’ve never eaten before. (I finally tasted poutine — truthfully, I’m still not sure what all the hype is about.)
• Go somewhere I’ve never been (Rome, Italy).
• Dance.
• Go to a play or concert.
• Visit a museum or art gallery.
• Take a class. (I took Intro to Social Media.)
• Do something good for someone else.
• Volunteer for something you believe in.
Over the years, my annual list has expanded to include 100 things, and the best ones are repeated every year. I go over the list every few weeks and check off the things I’ve accomplished. Those updates also help me to focus on the next challenge I’m going to tackle.
I can say honestly that because of a chance conversation with a total stranger, I’ve now been to Europe (I talked about it for years, but never actually went until I added it to my list); learned to kayak; and rode Zero Gravity with my six-year-old grandson. (This is an amusement-park ride that goes really fast while spinning you upside down as well as backwards and forwards — and, yes, it qualifies as doing something that scares me!)