Working Through It – Page 3

Patient vs. Survivor: The Impact of a Label

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The first devastating realization I had following my breast cancer diagnosis was that I was now a cancer patient. In my mind I immediately went from “happy-go-lucky, fitter-than-average” to “sick beyond belief”.

Except that nothing physical had changed. But my mindset had. And when I found out that my triple-positive tumor was going to require chemo, I knew that everyone else was going to be aware of my hairless, frail status.

Cancer. Patient. I imagined myself pathetic and scrawny, walking around hunched over in a hospital gown with light shining off my bald scalp. Sounds dramatic, huh?

How do your labels affect you?
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Recently, however, I learned that there’s been a change in the language surrounding those individuals who have been diagnosed, are undergoing treatment for or have finished cancer treatment. The word “patient” as it relates to someone’s status has been supplanted by “survivor” much earlier in their cancer experience.

This is curious to me because I went through a mini identity crisis after I was done with chemo and radiation–I thought that only then could I start calling myself a (hopeful) cancer survivor. But I was a bit anxious about doing so, because I didn’t know whether I truly deserved that title. I thought that I needed to have some special designation before I qualified as a survivor.

These days, the survivor label is given when you receive a diagnosis. The idea is that while initially we didn’t know your status, now that we’ve confirmed your tumor, you are going through the experience of surviving the disease. As stated on the Cancer.net site, “When people talk about ‘survivorship,’ they are usually referring to navigating their life experiences and challenges resulting from their cancer diagnosis.” Read more about how ‘survivor’ is used here.

This sounds a lot better to me than using the term “patient”. By referring to myself as a patient when I didn’t have any reason to–meaning no physical symptoms–I was imagining myself sicker than I really was, which increased my anxiety levels. That made my entire experience worse and it didn’t have to. I did that to myself (‘cept that I was only using the common labels of the time).

How are you choosing to define yourself?
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Instead of putting my energies into dealing with the side effects of treatment, I went down a dark hole.

Language matters! While there’s no doubt that cancer brings on stress and anxiety, terminology can make a difference in your cancer experience and that can either help or hinder you in the process.

So I urge you to consider the words you use to refer to yourself and pay extra attention to how that feels to you. You could be making yourself miserable without even realizing that you have some control over this.

What If We Re-Interpreted Anxiety?

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You may be familiar with the old story about the award-winning singer Carly Simon’s stage fright which prevented her from performing in front of an audience for 14 years.

Performance coach Tony Robbins famously compared her anxious reactions to those of superstar Bruce Springsteen (yes, I realize I’m dating myself) who would describe his physiological responses to going on stage in the same way that Carly did, but he associated them with excitement and not fear.

Anxious responses weigh heavily on us…but what if we could reassign their meaning?
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At least that’s how the story goes. And although I think some of this is an oversimplification of Carly’s experience, there is a lot of wisdom to breaking down both performers’ reactions to the point where we recognize that what we feel in our bodies can be interpreted in very different ways based on what’s going on in our heads.

I grapple with this issue myself when I am offered unexpected opportunities that can propel me forward in career and life…but which also cause me agony in terms of my fear of change.

What to do?

What has worked for me is to identify the sensations that I’m feeling. Naming them makes them less overwhelming and it’s a big plus if I can describe what my head feels like, what my chest feels like, what my belly feels like. I try to understand each sensation’s role in creating the overall experience.

Then I try to image that the emotion these individual sensations lead to is one of positivity and excitement. It’s the anticipatory “butterflies in the stomach” from doing something that seems amazing rather than an upset stomach arising from wanting to flee.

And I sit with all those things, bringing in reasoning too: thinking about the positive consequences while allowing the feelings and sensations to be there. Understanding that they are simply sensations and not dangerous on their own–they are physiological responses that evolved to help us out when we needed an extra boost of energy (think “fight or flight”).

Thinking about all the good stuff that opens up to us when we leave fear behind…
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I call this reasoning “mental calisthenics”. It takes some massaging and can even get a little metaphysical, but at some point I usually manage to get a grip of that good feeling as if I were gripping the edge of a wall and then pulling myself around to “turn a corner”.

Trying not to overthink it. Just allowing myself to feel into the sensation while giving it a positive spin. And then imagining myself “doing the thing” that I fear…and being good at it.

When particularly anxious, I may even exert myself physically to allow my responses to exercise to meet and match the fast heart rate and breathing that I’m already experiencing.

And that’s about it.

As with meditation, this is a practice and I have to keep reframing the situation in this way to remind myself that change can be unsettling but “unsettling” isn’t inherently negative. It may take a succession of days or weeks to come to grips with the new situation and that’s okay. Patience is the key that leads to progress, and every day that I reframe my sensations is another day that I improve my mental situation.

Hope this helps you too!

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Important: this is not about “toxic positivity”. There are some situations that are truly bad and understandably elicit an anxious response. Rather, this is realizing that our physiological reactions–the ones that evolved to protect us–may be holding us back because we associate them with fear rather than seeing them as the excitement of possibility arising from change.

Year 7 Mammogram in the Books

It’s enough to make me get a little cocky.

A few days ago I had my 7th yearly mammogram since my cancer diagnosis. Let me stress first, I am very aware of how fortunate I am. My appointment was early in the morning, my husband came with me (like he’s been doing, since he didn’t come during my diagnostic mammogram seven years ago) and I got a clean bill of health from the radiologist quite quickly.

I didn’t even feel those few minutes of hovering as I waited for the results. The technician had allowed my hubby into the mammogram room to wait with me, and he and I casually chatted so I didn’t notice the time pass.

Wow, things have changed.

‘Scuse me while I sit back and reflect on how fortunate I am for getting this far.
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Every year, this feels different, cancer feels further away and I feel less “impending sense of doom” that I had in the first several years.

That’s why something like Kate Middleton’s announcement that she had started chemotherapy for cancer shocked me back to reality.

No matter how good I currently feel about my own situation, there are many reminders that cancer is still a terrible disease that doesn’t care who you are or what you have going on. And it’s still grabbing people and throwing them into treatment.

So much for my cocky attitude.

At times like these, I take a moment to reflect on gratitude for how far I’ve come and, as suggested by my oncologist, how much more life I have in front of me. I don’t think I would have ever felt this appreciation as deeply if I hadn’t gone through the soul-tearing experience that cancer is. Which is not to say that I’m glad I went through it, because I’m not.

Still reminders like Kate’s announcement help counter the selfish little feelings that I sometimes get when I see the free things available to cancer patients now and pout that those weren’t there for me. Yes, those are “human” feelings, but you know what, I can do without them.

Instead, it’s so much more fulfilling to bask in the golden hour sun, taking deep nourishing breaths, and shoo away the everyday concerns that disturb my sleep. At least I have the luxury of being able to busy myself with them, the bothersome little things, and know that I’m still around to have them be a bother.

Unexpected News at my 7-Year Oncology Appointment

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A few days ago I had my seven-year post-diagnosis appointment with my oncologist. Seven whole years. And it was a weird conversation.

He said something that set me aback. He told me that he didn’t think I should worry about the cancer coming back. Essentially, I was cured (note: MY words, not his, but that’s the idea). [See bottom of post for disclaimer!]

He’s alluded to this before during previous appointments. But this time around felt different.

I’ve officially hit SEVEN!
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I returned home a bit confused. See, for the last seven years, I’ve been a full-on cancer survivor. Still holding on to the fear that at any moment, I would get those terrifying scan results back and–WHAM–I’m a cancer patient once more, back on that sickening rollercoaster ride through treatment.

As difficult as it was to accept that–even trying my best to live a healthy life–I had somehow been smacked down by cancer…now, I had a new problem. Reentering life as maybe not-so-much a cancer survivor anymore, but rather just a healthy, active postmenopausal woman with years ahead of her.

And that is a weird feeling.

For the first five years after my diagnosis, I was frustrated, even angry. Cancer was a devastating detour at a time when I was already struggling to find my way back into a career. Well, forget that. Derailed. I was bitter.

Eventually, I realized that while life sucked, it sucked for a lot of people and I wasn’t special in that regard. That was an important turning point in how I perceived my own role in my cancer story–it was humbling but also gratifying.

Humbling because my experience could have been so much worse. There were people whose treatment did not end well. I was incredibly fortunate, even when it felt like I’d been thrown in a sack and beaten with sticks. At least, I made it out.

Gratifying because early on I held myself responsible for getting cancer, even though I had literally done everything protective (lots of exercise, high fitness, plant-based diet, breastfeeding, not smoking, not drinking) that I could think of. I was desperate with frustration and helplessness about this. Letting go of that guilt was healing.

Feels like I’ve got the green light to hurry up and get on with the rest of my life now.
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So the last two years have been more about understanding my perspective and then stepping out of it to view things more objectively. Mindfulness and meditation helped with that, which is why I often write about them here. But I hadn’t been ready to get out of the breakdown lane and drive myself back into mainstream life, in part fearful of the pain of having the expectation of cancer-free “normality” smashed to smithereens by a potential diagnosis.

Gradually, that’s changed. But this last appointment felt like getting shoved out the door by someone yelling, “YOU’RE OKAY, DAMMIT!” Here I am, standing and blinking in the sunlight, trying to make sense of exactly what that means for me now. Wow, after seven years, I can actually stop being afraid.

I don’t know if I even remember what that feels like.

Yes, I’m still going to refer to myself as a survivor, because it’s a part of my natural history. I’m never going to forget that experience and I continue to be driven by a need to support others going through this disease.

And if it does return? Well, at least I will have had a brief glimpse of life completely outside the notion of cancer.

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Of course, because we’re talking about cancer, the statements above call for level-headness in the midst of levity. While my oncologist feels that the chances of the same cancer coming back are low, the possibility for a brand spankin’ new tumor, breast or otherwise, never goes away. It happened once, it can happen again. But that’s life. I’ll take it.

February: A Great Month for a Diagnosis Reenactment

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It’s February and that means it’s the start of “diagnosis season” for me. At this point in cancer survivorship, I don’t get as affected by everything that happened “on this date X years ago“. However, I have an oncologist appointment and my yearly 3D mammogram around this time, so I can’t forget what this month means.

You would think that since 2024 marks seven (!) years since my initial diagnosis, I’d feel pretty good about having made it this far past my treatment…and you would be right.

Seven years down and still going strong!
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I’m now living the feeling that I so desperately wished for seven years ago when everything felt devastating and out of control. My outcome, even with the many pesky moguls that I’ve had to clear, is something I’m so thankful for.

But of course, even as mellow and relatively unconcerned as I am now, there are little reminders of the rough and tumble past that unsettle me.

Like that point in my mammogram when the tech finishes up and leaves the room to consult with the radiologist, and all of a sudden I don’t feel great anymore. It’s maybe 5-10 minutes or so of sitting in a quiet room all by myself, wrapped up in that bathrobe-y gown made out of fabric that seems like it should be less scratchy, trying to focus really hard on the tropical ocean video that they have playing on the tv screen on the wall.

No matter how warm the room is, there is a cold spot in the pit of my stomach. The hospital does its best making the surroundings seem inviting. Really they try. But it’s kind of hard to mellow out the echo of an impending sense of doom.

Same goes for every time my oncologist says something like, “Hmmm, should we do another chest MRI?” No, no we should not. That’s about 45 minutes of being stretched out like superman on a surface that’s clearly meant for a woman much shorter than me, while getting my ears blasted.

In case you’ve never taken a ride in the tube, this is what it’s like. Don’t forget your earplugs. Bonus for chest MRIs: you’re lying on your belly with your arms stretched past your head for almost an hour, giving you plenty of time to reconsider your life choices.

My husband says the MRI sounds like a broken dot matrix printer. I think if your printer is making sounds like that, it’s time to evacuate the building.

Ah the memories. But again, I am talking about this from the vantage point of seven years away. It is nicer being up here above the fray. It also gives me a great view of the potential rollercoaster disaster that this season could become, if my scans go south.

But seven years into this, I’m betting it probably won’t. So far, so good.

Reflections on 2023; or “Focusing on What Doesn’t Suck”

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Warmest wishes to everyone for a joyous start to 2024! I hope you had a wonderful holiday season with your loved ones and are ready to launch into the new year!

I…learned a few things about myself in 2023.

My family and I had our share of misfortunes, bumps and hiccups and stumbles that started piling on. An apartment flood, two sizable rent increases, physical pains, emotional turmoils, family illnesses.

It’s easy to focus on the negatives (and *ahem* trust me, I did many times). But there were also some significant positives this year, not the least of which is that my cancer has not returned and I am still alive. Those are two biggies.

But I also found myself somehow managing, even in the midst of the worst stressors. I didn’t respond the way I had in the past, which would have been with a bought of nausea, racing thoughts and tortured nights.

So I know that something has changed: there is actual space between me and the things that suck. Now, there’s not always a lot of space–occasionally it’s a teeny gap that you could only slide a credit card through. And at those times, I might not even remember to take three deep breaths. But when I come to my senses I can breathe more space into that gap.

You need to stop and reflect on how far you’ve come to understand the benefits of what you’ve been doing.
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That, my friends, is called progress.

And as frustrating as it is that anxiety sometimes gets the best of me, my reaction is still so much better than it used to be and that provides motivation to stay consistent with a meditation practice.

So, if I learned anything, it’s that you don’t know how far you’ve come until you look back at the road you’ve been on and reflect on where you started.

But I also learned something else this year: sometimes you need to back off in order to go forward. I dealt with body pains that affected both my strength and conditioning exercise and yoga practice. I fought against taking it easy because I was so afraid of “falling behind”.

Well, nothing good comes of that. If anything, it prolongs recovery.

I was pushing myself to train harder and not respecting my changing limits. At the same time, I was juggling several online classes because I was also afraid of falling behind career-wise, on top of which I was concerned about finding a new apartment.

This was a classic case of spreading myself thin.

Constant striving made it impossible to my body to heal and rest and for my mind to assimilate information and construct useful goals and plans.

It was not until late December that I was forced to prioritize my well being because it hurt too much not to. Stressful events that came in the last quarter of the year gave me no choice. But in doing so, pain in my hip improved significantly and in backing off my expectations, I opted to focus on a single class, while at the same time continuing to sort through our belongings and get rid of things that we no longer need.

I slowed down and made more progress than if I had continued beating myself silly.

Look at all the beautiful positives that show themselves when you focus on the good stuff.
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All in all, as frightening as 2023 was at times, I can see all the good that took place, and that’s the third thing that was a major revelation for me. I’d describe my view of the world as being like a picket fence. Sure, if I only look at the pickets I see the negatives that have taken place. But adjusting my focus on the the world that is visible between the pickets, it becomes clear that there’s so much more that hasn’t gone wrong.

Even when it seems that you’ve suffered so many setbacks–and it felt like I really stumbled during the second half of the year–when you review what DID work out, the sense of gratitude and relief is uplifting.

So even in the midst of everything that stressed me out, 2023 doesn’t seem so bad afterall. And that little burst of positivity is what I’m taking into 2024 with me.

Happy New Year!

“Left Behind”: An Unanticipated Side Effect of Cancer

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Apologies because this might sound like a rant but this topic has been on my mind a lot lately.

When you’re diagnosed with cancer, you learn about the many side effects of treatments.

You will be informed about the physical and even psychological effects that cancer patients deal with, but there are also considerable financial repercussions. Patients may struggle with hospital bills: some lose their insurance coverage, others might never have had any to begin with, those who have coverage may find that it’s insufficient. It’s not uncommon to hear how cancer has driven survivors and their families into bankruptcy.

On top of that, cancer can do a number on your career aspirations for years to come.

Money issues are one of the side effects of cancer that don’t get a lot of airtime…but really should.
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In case you think that it’s uncool to complain about one’s career in the face of having survived cancer, let me get this out of the way: being a cancer survivor is a privilege. I’ve written before about how acutely aware I am that I have lasted longer than many cancer patients.

But as the effectiveness of cancer treatments improves, the number of cancer survivors increases and long-term repercussions become a more and more serious consideration, particularly how they affect ongoing quality of life.

For people who are still working out their careers, cancer can derail progress because it plants a huge stop sign in their path.

Think of going into the chemo infusion room: the days leading up to it entail appointments, port placement, purchasing supplies (anti-emetics, anyone?) and in general prepping for being out of commission about a week.

It’s not the time to focus on stressful work deadlines (and most sincere condolences to any patient who has to do that!).

Ironically, as much as I feared infusions, they actually gave me an excuse to focus on myself instead of worrying about everyone else. I posted about that here somewhat sadly that chemo allowed me to rest without feeling guilty.

It was at that point that I’d realized I’d been pushing myself, always expecting more and not feeling like I was measuring up. Chemo gave me a break from that. Which was good…kind of…

But after chemo and radiation came endocrine therapy, so just as I was winding down from one set of side effects, up popped another.

Right? RIGHT?
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And all those plans I’d had for myself were put off again and again. Career goals seemed more out of reach because my timeline had shifted.

Well, I’m not stupid, so I changed my career goals. Makes sense, right? Cancer provided a different perspective on things and motivated me in another direction.

But in the wake of cancer treatment, I feel like I’m walking in cement shoes…if it’s not one thing it’s another. I got off aromatase inhibitors (early) and then realized that I was having memory and focus issues. Whether Cancer Related Cognitive Impairment (CRCI) or menopause-driven brain fog, all of a sudden I’m dealing with something else.

It feels as though the train to prosperity has left the station and I was just a little too late to catch it.

Great.

Right now I’m looking at sky-rocketing costs-of-living in a part of the country that literally got expensive around me. Instead of moving up in the world, my family and I are desperately searching for less pricey housing which will put us in worse conditions and a longer commute to work.

And at age 57, when most of my friends are looking at enjoying retirement in the years to come, planning for what they’ll do in their golden years, I’m trying to reeducate myself, shifting into a career that doesn’t make much use of previous work experience.

And it feel exhausting. Sometimes I want to cry.

I want to believe this, I really do. But I don’t think that there’s a reward for surviving cancer beyond simply surviving cancer.
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Yes, I’m happy to be alive. But no, this was not the way I thought things would go. When initially I was told that I had a decent chance of surviving for five years, that was all I could think about. In fact, that was all that mattered.

I wasn’t thinking about the fact that if I managed to live through this, I’d still need to find a way to make a living. And the interruption that was cancer could do a number on that.

At this point, I need to stress that my intention is *not* to try to scare cancer patients into dreading survivorship. Goodness knows, there are enough things to navigate within the cancer experience as relate to the usual treatments that will take your energy and attention.

I wish nothing less for you than 100% remission and many years ahead to enjoy your “survivor” label.

At the same time, I encourage you to remain present and mindful of the fact that you might have to pivot if you’re not already well-established in your career. If things start to change in a direction that’s southward of what you expected, be patient and readjust your expectations. Nuture acceptance and keep an eye on how you can put yourself in a good position to meet the future. And be kind to yourself.

I’m still working on it.

The Satisfying Pleasure of Letting Go

If you’ve read my last couple of posts (here and here), you’ll know that I’ve been dealing with the frustrations of water leaks, never-ending renovations and unfortunate coincidences.

Hopefully, this will be the third and last installment of the trials and tribulations concerning this situation. But just to catch you up, the cabinets which were supposed to be installed Thursday, not in time for our houseguest’s arrival on Wednesday, but just a day late…were not.

Yet again, there were dashed expectations: one of the cabinets arrived with a crushed side and was unable to be used. So the innards of these cabinets are still piled up on and under the dining table and the place looks disheveled.

When things start blowing up, sometimes all you can do is sit back and enjoy the show.

And due to the completely unrelated construction taking place outside, which will prevent daytime access to our unit for several days, there will be no cabinet installation for at least another week, regardless of when the new cabinets come in.

But you know what? It’s okay.

I had wanted to have everything put together for our guest. That was not possible, so–admittedly after much jaw clenching–I completely let go. The crushed cabinet, the disruptive construction, I’m simply accepting it and that feels so good.

It really doesn’t matter when the cabinets are put up or what other monkey wrenches are thrown into the mix. We’ll get to closure when we get there.

Which is a good thing because on Saturday evening, I discovered another leak in the walls that soaked the new (still unpainted) drywall and flooded out the unit below us. And I’m totally serious. The inside of our hall closet sounded like a rainstorm.

Well, we needed rain…

I guess I could have been more stressed about it, but with everything that had already taken place, I shrugged. We notified out unit owner, we called the plumber, we waited for the leak to be fixed.

Another day, another leak, another disruption, another hole in the drywall. Still okay.

These are still problems that need to be dealt with. But whether it’s skillful mindfulness (probably not) or simply emotional exhaustion (more likely), it’s not getting to me and it feels amazing to stay calm under such circumstances.

I know I cannot avoid stressors in my life. So I’m trying to remember what this feels like. If I can draw on this experience the next time an upheaval occurs, perhaps I can slip into gentle acceptance and let reactive anxiety pass me by?

Managing Expectations: A Reflection

As I sit at home waiting for the stormy remnants of what used to be Hurricane Hilary to pass by, a bit of reflecting…

There is a saying attributed to Buddha: “The root of all suffering is attachment.”

While there is much that can be and has been written about this, I’d like to bring it down to something very concrete in my life.

It seems so simple, this letting go of our expectations. But we humans are hard-wired not to do that!

One of the wonderful attributes that we as humans have is the ability to plan. Yes, that’s been evidenced in very clever animals, but humans take it to a whole new level.

Where that incredible gift fails us is that in the process of planning, our goals and expectations become very real in our minds, and if they don’t play out as we had anticipated…well, sometimes we don’t deal with the disappointment well.

For instance, in such situations I experience stress and anxiety. Others may react with anger and frustration.

Regardless of the outlet (whether handwringing or yelling), it’s safe to say that the outcome is not pleasant for anyone. And yet letting go is hard when we are really counting on the expectation being realized. Or perhaps even worse, when we get lost in thoughts of how things could have been.

Consider this scenario: let’s say that following a leak in our apartment and subsequent slow repair process, two months later our water-damaged kitchen cabinets haven’t yet been replaced.

But wait, I get word that the cabinets are coming finally coming in this Friday, August 25th and will be installed the following Monday (28th)! Expectation established! And it’s not a small one because most of our kitchen and the entire dining room have been sitting in the living room area for over eight weeks.

Oh, how difficult it is to sit with what’s happening in the present moment — we’re always looking to see what’s up ahead or somewhere in the past. The greatest peace I’ve ever felt is to simply be here.

WOW, do I want this to get fixed! We have a house guest arriving on Wednesday the 30th who is supposed to sleep in the living room. Weeks ago, when she arranged to visit, I was sure that all the repairs to our apartment would have been done long ago. But now, between the cabinet installation and her arrival, I don’t have a lot of time to clear out the mess and get everything back in its place.

I cannot let go of the need for everything to go smoothly. But while I’m struggling with the burden of that need, I’m simultaneously living through the stress of, “oh no, what if it doesn’t work out that way???”

So there you go, a double-whammy. All this because although I know better, I latch on to how I want/need things to be. Either expecting perfect success or total disaster.

Letting go will never be as easy to do as it is to talk about. But in my brightest moments, I am able to step outside the confines of my thinking, move out of myself and get perspective on the present situation, accepting that I cannot predict and shouldn’t expect too deeply. That’s when I experience the highest level of calmness.

And then, as will happen, I forget and sink back into my small, highly personal mind, where I once again cling to having things be a certain way.

Hang On, Honeybee!

A few days ago, I took my daughter to the train station, about a 7-mile drive.

As we pulled out of our driveway, I noticed a honeybee on my side window, close to the middle of the pane. It was a foggy morning so the little girl must have lost her way.

In the past, when I start accelerating and there’s a bug on the glass, the insect takes off (or the wind “encourages” her to take off). But not this little bee. She hung on tightly.

Part of the drive was along a stretch of road with a faster speed limit, reaching over 50mph. I wanted to get my daughter to the train early, so I couldn’t drive much slower. At the same time, I was getting very invested in the bee, still hunkered down and holding on.

My daughter suggested that we take the freeway for part of the trip, but I protested, concerned that the bee’s grip wouldn’t be able to handle the acceleration.

Through faster and slower speeds, my tiny hitchhiker clung hard. Her little wings seemed to be fluttering, battered by the wind, but she was not letting go.

She made it all the way to the train station, holding on like crazy! My tenacious little girl! Then took the opportunity to clean herself up. ❤

And then we finally arrived at the station. My daughter made her train with time to spare and I sat in the lot nearby waiting for it to depart. In the meantime, my little bee had started to preen herself, cleaning up her antennae and straightening the hairs on her legs.

I was so impressed with her ability to hold on!

By this time, the fog had lifted but it was still very cloudy–not proper bee-navigation weather. And I was concerned that if the bee took off from the station, 7 miles from home, she’d never find her way back. I needed to return her to familiar lands!

When we returned home, she sat very still. I held my breath.

Now I was 100% into this. And apparently, so was my little bee. Because in the process of grooming she had edged closer to the frame of the car window. Smart girl, because that meant less air resistance! As I started driving, she expertly tucked her wings together, widened her stance, and…if a bee could give a thumbs up, I’m sure that’s what she’d have done.

On the way home, I drove a little more slowly, trying not to go over 40mph and a lot slower whenever possible. She looked determined to make it.

But when I pulled into our driveway and parked the car, she and I both sat motionless. C’mon, I thought, you’ve made it this far. You’re home. You’ve got to be okay!

Looking more closely it seemed like one of her legs was moving, perhaps twitching a bit. But nothing more.

I wasn’t going anywhere until I knew all was well. At that point, clouds were starting to thin and the outline of the sun becoming visible through them. THE SUN! Coming to the rescue!

My little heroine recovered and immediately took to smoothing her antennae, as if 14-mile journeys were an everyday thing. ❤

Eventually, my little bee started straightening her hairs again, then grooming quite vigorously. The air was warming, the sun was coming out, and my darling girl was getting herself together after taking a battering on the road.

Finally, the sun was bright enough to cast shadows, increasing in strength by the minute. And my bee, stalwart little travel companion, walked up the glass onto the door frame to finish warming up.

One last view of her as the sun was coming out. She was vigorously brushing through her hairs and antennae. Ready to return to her sisters and charm them with stories of where she’d been, what she’d seen and how she’d held on. ❤

I returned to my apartment feeling uplifted by the tenacity of that little creature. She had a purpose and was committed to it. What a beautiful analogy for holding on when we think we can’t go any further, when no one would expect us to keep going. Even then, we manage. Because no matter how bad things seem, the sun will come out and we will find our way home.