I Love New Mexico

Today’s an important day in history. It’s Veteran’s Day.

But it’s an important day to me as well. It’s the day an oncologist sat down in a chair at the end of my hospital bed and said, “You have stage IV colon cancer.”

I was at the hospital because I had a slight pain in my side on Thursday, November 8, that had turned into an ache that an urgent care doc said might be appendicitis. I had had no symptoms up to that point other than weight loss (22 pounds down in ten months, which didn’t break my heart at the time) and some inconsistent dizziness (I was bleeding out internally from the 5.5 cm tumor that had perforated my colon wall).

I went to the ER expecting to get some medication and be sent home. I hadn’t had a colonoscopy because I was just fifty-one, barely past the recommended screening age. I had no family history. I exercised every day. I didn’t smoke. Other than a tendency to love cold beer and margaritas, I had no vices of any sort.

I was, I thought, the healthiest person in any room.

In that moment on November 11 in that hospital, my life changed. My focus shifted to getting well, to paying attention, to doing the most important things first, because suddenly I wasn’t sure about what time I had.

Eight years. The miracle is that I was spared. I don’t know why, although I’ve just finished a book entitled Lifesaving Gratitude. It will be published in January 2021.

In the book I write about a daily practice of gratitude which may well have been one of the pieces of magic that helped me survive. I’m not saying that’s the answer for everyone; it’s what worked for me, along with chemo and surgery and more chemo and about twelve thousand prayers and positive thoughts and a lot of physical care from my family and friends.

Today I’m cancer free.

These days I’m determined to help people who find themselves in the same place I was eight years ago. I worried about money, about my kids, about my parents, about my health (usually health was last in the line of worries I had time or energy for). Mostly I worried about money. I don’t want patients who need to focus on their health to have to worry about money.

I devote a lot of time, energy, and cash to helping northern New Mexicans get to their lifesaving treatment by serving on the Board of the Cancer Foundation for New Mexico (“CFFNM”). CFFNM provides mileage reimbursements, grocery cards, overnight stays, and emergency funds so that patients can get to treatment in Santa Fe. If you’re living in Mora or Taos or Tierra Amarilla and need food to feed your family, that’s what CFFNM provides. If you need new tires for your car in order to get to treatment, we’re here to help.

If you’re required to have radiation five days a week for seven weeks (my friend Jock Soto found himself in that boat), the Foundation provides free overnight stays. And the Foundation also provides support groups and the volunteers at the Chemo Suite.

I’m such a fanatic about CFFNM that they’re going to let me step into the Chair position on the Board next August. Crazy, right? Big stuff for a small town New Mexico girl.

I don’t know why I was spared. But those of us who survive something like I did all know one thing – to whom much is given, much is required.

This week I’m gathering up auction items for the CFFNM Sweetheart Auction. (By the way, if you go to this link, that’s me in that banner photo, holding up my bid sheet, between my daughter-in-law Lesley and my husband, Toby.)

This week eight years ago, I was going to my first oncologist visit, reordering my life, moving my daughter back into my house so that she could be my caregiver although she was still in college, wishing I could be anywhere but in this world where I had suddenly become a cancer patient. All I knew about cancer at that moment was that There Was No Stage V.

What a difference eight years make!

Life is short, friends. My best advice today is to make it count. You are the answer to someone’s prayers every day, whether you believe it or not. You are a gift to the world. To Whom Much is Given, Much is Required.

I’ll close by saying what I used to say in every Caringbridge post I wrote during that difficult time.

Thanks for checking in.

Oh, and by the way, if you have a talent, like my author friends Doug Preston or Hampton Sides or Lincoln Childs or Michael McGarrity (who are all donating books and Zoom happy hours), like my famous opera soprano friend Heather Dials (who is donating two singing lessons), like my friend Haleigh Palmer of Chocolate + Cashmere; like my dear pal Dennis Hogan, who is donating a stunning piece of his jewelry that usually appears in Sundance; if you own a vacation home, if you have a beautiful piece of art, if you’d like a sweet tax deduction while helping cancer patients in northern New Mexico, message me here. Every single donation and every single dollar counts.

Hundreds of folks have already donated amazing items. I’ll keep you alerted to what you’ll have a chance to bid on when the time rolls around.

I’ve asked a pile of celebrities on Instagram to donate a 15 to 30 minute happy hour or concert. I think I may have had a reply from Keith Urban and Adele but I’m not 100% sure those replies are legit.

I’ve asked my friend Bill Hearne for a concert with him and his buddies Lyle Lovett or Robert Earl Keen. I’ve contacted my friends Rob Dyrdek and Bryiana Drydek. All I’m asking from these folks is that they give us a few minutes in 2021 that will turn into grocery cards and overnight stays and mileage so that some young mom from Las Vegas, NM, can get here for her chemo, so that a grandmother from Chama who is raising her grandchildren can put groceries on the table.

Maybe you know someone I could reach out to. You can comment with suggestions or email me at bunnyterrycoaching@gmail.com.

I’m never too proud or timid to make the ask. I know how these patients feel. I want to help make their burden lighter.

If you just want to donate, please consider a monthly donation, which you can sign up for HERE.

And once again, Thanks for Checking In!