Gindi Vincent

The Dish on Career, Fashion, Faith, and Family

Women

Sharing Our Stories

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Recently, I was voxing my best friend about some struggles our family is having with someone aging.  A few days later, she told me about a client who just came to their office.  The husband was struggling with the same thing we were experiencing.  And when she shared our experiences with him, he looked relieved.  As she commented, “it’s just nice to know you’re not the only one going through it.” 

This has been the refrain in my life over and over. 

My best friend group telling each other, don’t apologize for sharing, that’s what we do, we share our stories and it helps. It serves a purpose. 

I was on the phone with an old friend this weekend who was suffering.  She commented through tears, thank you so much for sharing your story (cancer) because it’s helping so many women. 

Lisa Jo Baker recently posted, “Joy is multiplied when it’s shared.”  But suffering, when shared, divides the pain. Shares it. Breaks it up.  We shouldn’t be compelled to only share the joy.  The pretty.  The good.  Others know they’re not in it alone when we share the hard too. 

Ann Voskamp recently released a blog post sharing some of the gut punch grief she’s experiencing after her father died.  She told of a tree which had been cut down and yet showed signs of life.  She writes, “What the ecologist discovered was that the tree stump’s roots have been grafted together with roots from other trees, something that is known to happen when trees sense they can share resources with the trees around them.  That’s the miracle: Cut down lives can revive when we share our lives.” 

By you sharing what you’ve been through, you’ll help the next person going through it after you. 

I recently heard a pastor share one of my favorite verses in preaching this same message: And they overcame by the blood of the Lamb and the word of their testimony. (Rev. 12:11)

The word of their testimony. That’s just someone sharing their story. It has the power to help others overcome.

We must share our stories. 

The broken places.  Busted and patched up chapters. Threadbare souls. 

Because it doesn’t just lighten the load for the sharer, it lets those in the same circumstances know they aren’t alone. 

Marriage is hard for everyone.  Parenting can be a kick in the face. Infertility. Alzheimer’s. Cancer. Finances. Job loss. Broken friendship.

That is all a tapestry of my own personal story. 

But just a piece. 

It’s woven in there with threads of gold and sunlight too. 

Triplets. Promotions. Marriage. Satisfaction. Travel. Sunsets. Adventure. Good wine. Best pals. Swimming pool cannonballs. Leadership. Rollercoasters. Graduation. Belly laughs. 

Go tell your story. And I’ll keep sharing mine.

Six Months Later

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Six months ago, I walked into MD Anderson alone (because of COVID) to have a malignant tumor cut out of my right breast. 

Six months ago. 

There are days it feels like I just finished but most of the time it feels more like years. 

I wanted to write to mark the milestone. 

I haven’t been back in to MD Anderson since early May. 

My follow up appointments come in September and October.  I’ll have new imaging to confirm all is clear and will continue on that twice a year schedule until they tell me I’m allowed to go back to annual appointments. 

I’m taking Tamoxifen and will be on some sort of estrogen blocking drug for five years.  My tumor was estrogen positive so these meds help to limit recurrence. 

Before we left for Bar Harbor I thought it had caused blood clots, a possible side effect, so I sat in a couple of ERs.  Finally, I got in to see my primary doctor, and it wasn’t blood clots but just bad leg cramps. Another side effect. The oncologist allowed me a three week break from the medicine, but now I’ve resumed. I’m still having the cramps but they are manageable. 

Besides the tiny white pill, there are other side effects. 

My right breast (this is yucky but the unvarnished truth) itches all the time.  I’m assuming it is all that scar tissue healing but it drives me insane.  And you can’t exactly walk around scratching your side boob. 

Laugh. Sigh.

Bras don’t fit quite right. I just bought three new ones and it’s better, but I’d rather be braless.  That is usually frowned upon in Corporate America though.  Actually, it’s frowned upon anywhere in American for a mom in her 40s. 

The most painful side effect is from the radiation.  I’ve lost some range of motion in my right shoulder.  It hurts to lay on my right side. I have a hard time getting some tops on and off. 

My friend and I have started working out together again in the mornings (5:15 – yawn!).  I’ve noticed that it feels like my right shoulder and chest muscles are shredding as I work out. But I’m hopeful the pain will lessen with workouts.  Maybe this new work out regime will not only help me lose the pandemic/cancer pounds, but also really improve my strength and range of motion on the right side.  I take responsibility for having let it go this long without working it more.

Besides all this physical stuff, there is another less tangible side effect.

Overall, DURING the cancer, I was pragmatic. I try to be efficient. Action oriented. Craft a to do list and then cross things off. 

So I did that with cancer.  Talk to these people. Get these doctors. Calendar these items.

KNOCK. IT. OUT.

I even had people say, kindly and supportively, if anyone can kick cancer’s butt, it’s you.

We all know that’s not true. Cancer does not care if you are efficient or action oriented. It is no respecter of age or gender or disposition.  (Sadly, much like COVID.)

Yet, I DID ALL THE THINGS.

Except. I don’t know that I ever processed it.  I’m not sure I grieved. 

There are places emotions have leaked out, but not so much in the cancer space. 

Then I was asked to share my story to a cancer support group.  The two women who run the group chatted with me over Zoom and asked me to share my story with them.  So I started walking through what happened.  And I just started crying.

I had no control over it.

It even caught me off guard.

I remember saying, through tears, as I shared, I guess this is all still really fresh. 

So I’m looking back at that time and figuring out if there’s some emotional work I need to be doing too.  If the physical work is necessary, and overdue, isn’t the mental and emotional? 

The absolute best side effect of cancer has been helping others with their diagnosis.  Three weeks to the day after my last radiation appointment, I was able to connect with three women who received their first diagnosis.  I had a coffee.  A conference call.  Made a cancer bag like others did for me.  I feel so honored to be able to walk with others through this valley. 

But instead of just jumping in with both feet to help, which my little Enneagram 3 Wing 2 does on autopilot, I need to process some things as well. If I’m actually going to be of any help to others struggling, I need to be healthy. And honest about what cancer meant in my life and my family’s lives.  Honest about what it means for our future. 

It’s six months today.

I am incredibly grateful for my outcome.

Overwhelmed by the people who surrounded us. 

Indebted to a Savior and Heavenly Father who held me through it all. 

And I’m hopeful. For what’s next.

Day 23 – Ring the Bell

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It’s done. I rang the bell.

Hallelujah!

It was a really good day.

I cried on and off all day. I’m just so overwhelmed by the goodness of God.

Music is a big part of my faith experience. I love music and it’s so often the tool God uses to draw me close.

Driving to my last radiation treatment, I turned on the radio. I don’t often listen to our local Christian radio station while driving to the hospital, I might listen to news or a podcast, but this morning I felt compelled.

While driving in, this was the playlist that came on: Jericho by Andrew Ripp, Dry Bones by Lauren Daigle, Waymaker by Leeland, and Known by Tauren Wells.

If you’re not familar with these songs, here some of the lyrics:

Long before I ever called your name, you were fighting for my victory. Carved in your flesh and bone are wounds that have said my soul’s forgiven. All of my fears like Jericho walls gotta come down, come down… (Jericho)

But we know that You are God, Yours is the victory. WE know there is more to come that we may not yet see. So with the faith You’ve given us we’ll step into the valley unafraid. As we call out to dry bones, come alive, come alive. We call out to dead hearts, come alive, come alive. Up out of the ashes, let us see an army rise. We call out to dry bones, come alive. (Dry Bones)

And you are way maker, miracle worker, promise keeper, light in the darkness. My God, that is who you are. (Waymaker)

I’m fully known and loved by You. You won’t let go, no matter what I do. And it’s not one or the other, it’s hard truth and ridiculous grace to be known, fully known, and loved by you. I’m fully known and loved by you. (Known)

While I was at MD Anderson, the amazing team of therapists I had were so excited for me. My entire family came and stood outside the glass door that looks in at the bell so they could cheer me on. The women were so excited to “meet” the triplets they’d heard about.

After my final dose of radiation, we walked down the hall. You read a poem on the wall, “Ring this bell, three times well, it’s toll to clearly say, my treatment’s done, this course is run, and I am on my way!” Seriously, I’m crying typing it. I was crying reading it. Then you toll the bell three times. Bray and the kids were outside cheering.

I’d stopped for donuts for the therapists and picked some up for the kids too. I got to drop them off at school (a little late, we got special clearance to come celebrate with me)!

On our way to school, God blessed me with more music. Amen by King and Country and New Today by Micah Tyler. Resurrection day is here. Bells are ringin’ loud and clear. Caterpillar to a butterfly. Risen to another life. All the people say Amen! Amen! All the people say Amen! Amen! From death to life. Amen means SO BE IT. It is an affirmative response. And a conclusion. What a gift to have AMEN playing on the radio at my conclusion. Then:
Your mercies are new today, your mercies are new today. I can rest on your shoulders, there is grace to start over, your mercies are new today. (New Today) After the conclusion, I had the gift of a reminder: TODAY IS NEW! There is grace to start over. Today is a fresh start.

What a gift. God affirming messages through music that He has been teaching me all along the way. People all day trickled in with texts and messages. A dear friend dropped flowers. A precious co-worker zoomed me. (Ha!)

After little bit’s softball practice, Bray took us all out to dinner to celebrate. We went to the exact same spot he took us after we’d found out the cancer news and we were all so sad. We had laughed so hard that night, for the first time in two days, and it was such a celebration this time. He ordered champagne and dessert, big splurges for us, and we ended up seeing three separate families we knew at the restaurant who cheered us too! I opened a good bottle of wine a precious executive had given me a few years back for a big win. I let him know he was helping us celebrate another big win.

It’s all been a gift. All of it. The drains and the miracle of how it got out. The surgeon and the miracle of how I got her. COVID and the miracle of how everyone caught it but me. The community who utterly surrounded us and loved us and showered us with their presence and their presents.

I’m not out of it. I’m still burned and tired and it will take a few weeks. But I’m SO completely deep in my bones grateful. For this. For God. For my family. And for you.

Day 22 – What’s Next

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Tomorrow will be the big “we’re finished” post!

What’s next?

Today I’m less than 24 hours away from my final radiation treatment.

I have a follow up appointment in May with my plastic surgeon.

Then in the fall I will have my six month appointment with my radiologist, oncologist, and will do another mammogram. Those won’t end but that just means that I got to keep my boobs! So it’s a-okay.

The week of that appointment is also the Susan B Komen Race for a Cure which I plan to RUN. This may not seem like a big deal. But I can’t run down the street right now much less a 5k.

So next is pulling it back together. I feel like between the pandemic and cancer I just gave up on my body. I ate whatever I wanted and really didn’t exercise except to walk the dog. This is time to double down. Cut back on the wine. And cheese. And sugar. You know, all the good stuff. Really focus on exercising. The kids are 11 – this old body needs to last for a long time.

We’re going to do fun stuff too. We’ll do a yes day – I promised. The family has that fabulous long vacation in Maine. A 5th grade graduation and a 50th birthday and a summer. All good and joyful things!

We focus on the good. And we build more of it into our lives.

One day more. (In the words of the legendary Jean Valjean…)

Day 21 – Last Week

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Well, I did it!

I managed to write every day of radiation.

Maybe I’m jumping the gun. 

There are two more days left.

That’s right. Two. More. Days.

Today was Day 21 and my last day is Wednesday. 

I hesitate to say how I am because I feel like it’s the underlying theme in all my posts.  Tired. And burned.

But even with that, I’m almost done.

It’s extraordinary to me. 

I had my biopsy on December 2nd.  Then my doctor called on December 7th to tell me the tumor was malignant.  By December 21st, I’d met with my full team of surgeon, oncologist and radiologist at MD Anderson. 

In just over one month, February 2nd, they’d cut the stinkin’ tumor out. 

Then, this month, 23 radiation visits at 7:30 am from March 1st to March 31st.  I finish right before Easter.  I’ll be ringing the bell well before our June summer vacation that I planned LAST SUMMER with no idea of what was ahead. 

The two hurricanes that would smash the family farm. 

COVID classrooms. 

Cancer. 

Actual COVID hitting everyone in our house but me. 

An apocalyptic winter storm.

We had no idea when we clicked “reserve” on a big house on the water in Bar Harbor, Maine what a gift that time away would be.  What a celebration of life and God’s mercies. 

Two more days.