Over the years I’ve been writing this blog, people have made recommendations that I change the name. “It’s kind of a cooking blog,” or “It’s kind of a gardening blog.” I’ve considered setting up one of those cool templates with different windows so you can choose your “track” on the blog– movie reviews here, recipes here, gardens here. Writing, religion, culture over here.
But what I end up telling people is: “It’s just Susan Sink.” I’m not trying to be a “blogger” or sell anything or get free products sent to me. I’m not trying to get as many followers as possible. I’m telling a story–what it is like to live in this place and this time– with seasons and cooking and forays outside my rural place for restaurant eating, films in the winter and gardens in the summer. It’s my life, here. It’s me. I am “the brand.” I started the blog in 2008 because I was writing, have always been writing, but had lost every single bit of patience with the “publishing” process.
Well, yesterday my life changed. I received a diagnosis of stage 4 ovarian cancer. I begin chemotherapy March 1st.
I know a number of people who are 10, 15, 20, even 25 years out after fighting cancer. That is calming. And mostly, though word is just starting to get out, I am already incredibly moved by the love and care I’m receiving. I feel a large part of gratitude that this happened to me when I am here in this place, in this marriage, in this life situation. I feel a tremendous amount of love and prayer coming my way.
At first I thought I would resist bringing it into the blog. But how would that be possible? This is where the story is going now. And, the first of several sleepless nights between “not pneumonia” and exactly what this is and how we’ll fight it, I opened a new Word document and titled it “Cancer diary.” The first entry is here on Cowbird.com.
I have no idea what I will be posting in coming months. Possibly shorter posts. Possibly more poetry. Fragments. Photos? Or not. I still plan on growing things this summer.
And so, friends and “followers,” here we are.
Susan, I first found you on Cowbird. Your stories still come to me, via email, yet I’ve abandoned Cowbird, because like you, my 9 year old WordPress blog is where I am me, at home, in the life I have crafted for myself. I love to write, just for me, and whoever else wants to read along,
I am sorry to learn of your diagnosis. That is a tough one, ovarian cancer. I’ll follow along on your journey. I’m hoping it’s a healing journey. Your writing brings me joy. Your diagnoses does not.
Yes, it’s a tough diagnosis. I imagine you are reeling from day to day. I am so sorry that people get cancer, especially you. I have a friend who died of ovarian cancer two years ago yesterday–but she lived nine years after her diagnosis, and eight of them were very good years indeed. I hope the same, or better, for you. I suspect that “of course” you will keep writing, keep growing things, keep making the world a more beautiful place. Best wishes and a place in my fervent prayer.
Oh, Susan. Just, oh. Prayers are coming, thrown out to the Universe, flung in a mash of emotion weighted with radical hope to fly all the farther.
Susan, I’m so sorry to hear of your diagnosis. At this time I suspect the imaginings and emotions are demanding air time. So you have to deal with them, too. As often happens when receiving such news, we think to when we last saw and talked with the hurting person. I did this when I heard your news–and felt I could reach out at touch you. We were in adjacent pews at Eucharist a couple weeks ago; I feel I can reach out and touch you. So I will–with a hug and to hold you up to God for whatever blessings you need. Peace, Mary Reuter, OSB
Thank you so much for this comment and for “following.” I saw you also liked “Hard Blessings.” You are on the right trail…
Jane, that is very encouraging to hear about your friend– a much better number than they give you when you get the “average.” Ten is the number I told my husband in the doctor’s office. Ten years is a lot of life.
Bless you, S. Julianne. I am incredibly blessed for my relationship with the Sisters and the prayers that will fly a mile over to me from your place.
I’ve been reading your blog for about two years and always look forward to the eclectic nature of your posts. I particularly loved the one about the relationship with your mother in law. I had a visceral response when I read this just now. May you be surrounded by healing thoughts and comfort.
Kris, thank you so much for letting me know you’re out there. And for your good wishes at this time.
Susan, the night my husband was diagnosed with late stage cancer, the Dylan Thomas poem played in my head: “Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” Ten years later, we continue to rage each and every day. So rage, Susan, rage! And know that your “village” is here to support you.
Distressed to hear your news, Hope all goes easily with the chemo and that soon all this will just be small bump on the journey that you have passed. Will you still be writing on Word Press or do we have to go to Cowbird? I am reluctant to add one more web site.
Many of us are grieving the passing of Betty Swenson. The service will be March 5 at two at her beloved Christ Church, Georgetown. Please hold her in your prayers then.
Sue Hawn and I hope to come out to Collegeville in the Fall, alas without Betty. Hope to see you then. Meanwhile, my love and prayers are with you at this difficult time. Dogs are very sensitive to the world around them. I had pneumonia at Christmas and my Jack Russell would not leave my side. Hope your neighbor’s dog will keep you company,
Thank you, Harriett. It will all be here– and links to Cowbird when needed! We are so sad at the EHOP to hear about Betty’s passing. I know you two were particularly good companions. I hope it works to come to Collegeville in the fall with Sue and I will see you then! Much love, Susan
Susan, I’ve been following your blog for about a year now. I love your little notes about what it’s like to live there, now. It’s so different from my life, and yet there are many similarities. I’m so sorry to hear of your diagnosis. I’ve had my own health challenges, though never life threatening, it was lifestyle threatening. Many, many lessons. I wish you all the best. This can be a profound time, if you dare to step into that. Blessings to you and your family
Susan,
My heart is heavy with your news however thankful we serve an awesome God. You know I am praying for you and your family. GOD HEARS OUR PRAYERS!
Much love,
Colleen Johnson
Thank you so much for posting a note, Jill. I know from the “data” that it can’t just be my mom and my FB friends reading the blog, but I don’t know who else is checking in and if they’re occasional or regular visitors. I wish you the best with your carpal tunnel struggles as well. The blessings are already pouring in for me.
Thank you, Colleen! You’ve been in my corner for a long time. Thank you for your prayers!
After connecting the dots about your diagnosis a few hours ago, I’m backtracking to catch up. I am so sad that you must walk this road. Though I’m far away, I will walk with you … Everyone’s cancer journey is different, of course, but I remember a season when it seemed ‘bad followed bad.’ For what it’s worth, I’m now 16 years with a clean bill after separate mastectomies and aggressive chemo. Praying this moment for God’s healing hand to rest on you. Love you.
Thank you, dear friend.
Susan, dearest friend, I have made very few visits to Cowbird lately and therefore I missed the post in which you announced your new predicament. I am so sorry not to have been there to tell you how much I wish you well. I know you are surrounded by family members and a community who love you and will give you great support, and that is so crucial on the road to healing.
“Go deeper
Past thoughts into silence.
Past silence into stillness.
Past stillness into the heart.
Let love consume all that is left of you.”
—
Kabir (1440—1518)
I knew you would surface sooner or later, Jean-Claude, and that when you did you’d know exactly what wishes to give me. Thank you for this Kabir poem!