How Much is Your Life Worth?

I recently got a quote for life insurance. I have been married for all of two months and my husband's car died. Before we made our first big married purchase, I called our insurance company to get a quote for our new ride. At the end of the call, the girl asked if I wanted a complementary quote on life insurance. I was home alone and didn't have anything better to do than answer a host of personal questions, so I said yes. 

What followed was a twenty-minute game of 'Who Engages in More Risky Activities-You or Your Husband?' I was winning. I got points for never having smoked anything ever, not traveling out of the country for business, and skipping bungee jumping. I called it a tie on things like family history of diabetes, cholesterol levels, and maintaining a healthy weight. Then right at the end she dropped the bomb- personal history of cancer? I knew it had to be coming, but it was literally the LAST question she asked. And with that, I lost the game. 

I was informed that insuring me would cost three times as much as insuring my husband. I wasn't happy about this, so I answered even more questions that required me to pull out my pink binder with the Stupid Cancer sticker on the cover. From my medical binder, I gave the woman on the phone exact information on the size and depth of my cancer, as well as treatment history, so that she could call back and give me a more accurate quote. I was sure the premium would go down. It had to. I did chemo. I've been cancer free for over seven years. 

I got a twenty-second slap in the face the next day when the insurance company called back to inform me that the quote I received wasn't accurate. Turns out I'm uninsurable. At any cost. I promptly sent a snarky text to my husband letting him know the good news that I am worth far more alive than I am dead. Then I thought about what this meant. According to some mathematical risk analysis formula, it is so probable that I will die young(ish) that this company wouldn't even take me on. I am a liability. I made a point of not thinking too hard about this, though; I have come to terms with my own mortality. Cancer will help you do that. I have thought I was dying enough times that I have an advance directive, and I have put a great deal of thought into the legacy I would like to leave. Everyone dies. It doesn't scare me. 

I thought my fear of being uninsurable was over once healthcare reform became a reality, but I hadn't even considered life insurance. Who my age does? As frustrated as I am about this, I am trying not to let it get me down. For all the unexpected (and unwanted) 'gifts' that cancer has given me (surprise- your thyroid doesn't work anymore!) There are many more gifts that I am grateful for. I have traveled the country, met amazing people, shared my story, created artwork, found my inner athlete. I have perspective and priorities. My life took a sharp left turn it wouldn't have taken without cancer, and I am eternally grateful for the change in course, because without cancer, I wouldn't be who I am- Someone whose life's value can't be summed up with a mathematical formula. 

Hope. Love. Run.

The Great Teacher

I hold a bachelors degree in elementary education. I graduated Suma Cum Laude and received an award for my near perfect score on the exam required to be an elementary school teacher. I also completed the coursework and passed the exam to teach art. Before I secured my first job, I started working toward a certificate in special education. I now have a masters in special education and I currently work under an additional state-issued certificate for something called an LDTC (you can look that one up, it's too complicated to explain what I do on any given day in this job).  I am currently considering a second masters in an educational leadership field.  I am twenty-eight years old and since I turned three, I have never really stopped going to school. Before I am an educator, I am a learner.

When I was an undergraduate student studying elementary education and fine art, I decided that I would never teach art. This is why I never actually bothered to pay for the certificate even though I took the classes and passed the test. Why? From the time I was ten years old, I knew what I wanted to be when I grew up. I had no idea what I wanted to do, but I knew I wanted to be someone who positively impacted others; I wanted to be the person about which people looked back on years later and said, "She changed my life. I am better because of her." At ten years old I just didn't know what I would do to become this person. A few years later I decided teaching is what would do. With all the wisdom of a college student, I was certain art teachers were not the kind of people who had a lifelong lasting impact on their students, so I would pursue a career as an elementary school teacher.

Part of being a lifelong learner is repeatedly finding that things you believed to be true are actually quite wrong. I have also come to embrace the idea that the first step to becoming knowledgeable about anything is accepting that you just don't know what you don't know. Only when you accept this can you actually begin to learn.

In my current role, I get to see what's happening in a lot of different classrooms. These visits aren't about the teachers; I observe students. However, I have learned more about great teaching doing this than I ever did watching teachers- a common task assignment for college students studying education. 

What I didn't know in all of my finite college-student wisdom was that being a great teacher isn't about what you teach, it is about how you teach. I am blessed to work with many great educators, and from being in their classrooms and watching their students, these are just a few of the things I have learned.

Great teachers don't know everything, and their students know it.
This comes back to my point about lifelong learners. Great teachers admit when they are wrong. They look up information to answer questions posed by their students and aren't afraid to say "I don't know the answer to that question, but let's find out together." This teaches students that it's okay not to have all the answers. It also teaches them that being curious and asking questions isn't pointless, and that their teacher- a grown-up- cares enough to take the time to answer a question. Fear the teacher who knows everything, because she doesn't know what she doesn't know.

Great teachers cry.
My husband is continually amazed by the frequency with which I come home and report that there have been one (or more) crying episodes in my office. And these are rarely students. Great teachers do not cry out of despair. They cry because they love the twenty-or-so souls for whom they are the keeper for seven hours per day. They love other people's children so much that these children's triumphs warm their hearts and need to be shared, while a child's challenges become personal crusades of improvement. Often this passion is conveyed through hours spent brainstorming about how to reach a single child, the need to share a small victory, and through the corners of the eyes.

Great teachers have great students.
 ...Or at least they want their students to think they do. I have walked into many a classroom where students are told that they are capable, they are authors, athletes, mathematicians, researchers, musicians, artists, or scientists, and they believe it. Great teachers lead their students to believe that they are the best class ever. The smartest, kindest, most amazing class that teacher has ever had. Ever. The funny thing about having a teacher tell her students they're all of these things? They begin to believe it, and gradually they stand a little taller, slowly but surely they grow into all of these things.

Great teachers fill many roles.
Whether they have twenty students, three, or one hundred, great teachers make a difference not because of what they teach, or even who they teach, but because of how they view and interact with their students. A teacher's greatness is reflected  back, and can be seen in the eyes of their students. If ever you ask yourself if you are in the presence of a great teacher, or if you are a great teacher, look no further than your students, because their greatness is because of yours.

Cancer...On My Terms

I decided to give the old blog a face lift, and I decided to change the subtitle from Treatment saved me from cancer, running saved me from treatment. I'm in a very different place in my life than I was when I started Hope, Love, Run, and I decided to change the appearance and subtitle to reflect that. I originally started this blog to understand what cancer did to me, who I was as a result, and to share my story with the hope of having a positive impact on someone- anyone- so that something positive could come out of what devastated my life.

Flash forward a couple years...I essentially walked away from the blog and cancer for a while because I was finally able to embrace my life without the constant opression of cancer and all its aftermath- which was amazing. While I have yet to have a day in which I do not think of cancer, it is often on the periphery; white noise in the background of my gloriously mundane life.

I knew this day would come, but I also knew for a long time that I wasn't ready to do this. With the place I am in my life now, I am finally ready to directly use my experience to give back. Essentially I am choosing to engage with the cancer world, but this time it's my choice and on my own terms.

About a million years ago, several months after I returned from my first trip to Camp Mak-A-Dream, I reached out to one of the long-term survivors I met there following the death of another girl we met at CMAD. It was the first time someone I knew passed as a result of cancer. She was twenty-six. Some of the wisdom of the long-term survivor was this:

...In January I will celebrate 16 years of being cancer free. Every day of these sixteen years, I have thought about cancer. I expect I will be thinking about it for the next sixteen. You have to come to an understanding with cancer. I can't tell you how to do that, or what your understanding will be, but you have to get to that place where you can think about what you've survived, view it like a race you've won, and know you're here so you can be someone else's trainer...

I've reached my understanding with cancer, and through registering with Imerman Angels, I now have the opportunity to be someone else's 'trainer'. While it makes me remember many of the experiences that were painful, it also gives new purpose and value what I once viewed as the single worst thing that ever happened to me. And that? That is beautiful.

Hope, Love, Run,
JCW

A Note about Imerman Angels:

Imerman Angels carefully matches a person touched by cancer with someone who has fought and survived the same type of cancer (a Mentor Angel). Additionally, personalized matches are provided for cancer caregivers (family and friends of fighters) to benefit from other experienced caregivers. These relationships provide hope and comfort from someone who is uniquely familiar with the experience. This personalized matching service is absolutely free and is available to anyone touched by any type of cancer, at any cancer stage level, at any age, living anywhere in the world.

Imerman Angels is a federally registered 501(c)(3) not-for-profit organization.

Mission

Imerman Angels provides personalized connections that enable 1-on-1 support among cancer fighters, survivors and caregivers.

http://www.imermanangels.org/

Vulnerable

I just did some housecleaning to the blog, which was much needed and long overdue. I also did some updating that I should have done a long, long time ago. In case you missed it, I was in Self Magazine in October! I added a link to the online version on the Press page (above).

In mid-September I got a facebook message from a friend from high school, saying that she'd seen the article and me in it, and I should be proud. I was interviewed at the end of the summer and I didn't know what they'd published because I did a fairly lengthy email interview with a reporter and provided a substantial amount of information. I was honest and thorough in answering all their questions. When I got the message, I called Barnes & Noble  right away to see if they'd gotten the magazine in. They had, so I drove there and bought a bunch of copies. So why didn't I want to share this when it happened? Go read the quote. I said all the things they published, but I wasn't sure what it said about me. Sure, it was all true, but it still made me cringe to read what I'd shared about the ugly emotional part of cancer. The part where I felt abandoned and wasn't at all strong or brave, manifesting all the emotions I felt but couldn't put into words through tears shed while driving. Sure, the second half of what was published was the uplifting side where I overcame it and embraced health in the form of running, biking, and peace with my body. But back in October, this was overshadowed by the first part and I was not entirely comfortable with what I had shared with the  entire population of women who read Self Magazine.

Not long after that, the thing showed up on Facebook and I was tagged. I fought back the urge to untag myself, because I didn't want to be the person who was ashamed of admitting to being emotionally vulnerable while having cancer (as I type that I realize how ridiculous it is that I felt that, and I am grateful I didn't untag it).

  I have made a point of being honest about the emotional damage cancer did to me, and now that I've come out on the other side, I hold my head high and admit that it was hard and ugly and took years of writing, running, and reflecting to recover from. I do this because I want other YA survivors who are feeling like I did to know that what they're experiencing is normal, and more importantly, it gets better.  But something about seeing that honesty next to my picture in a nationally published magazine caused a knee-jerk reaction of shame for me, and that is why I didn't share it in October. Like so many things, time has been my friend, and now I have the perspective to see that what I said was exactly what I wanted and needed to say, and there's no shame in telling the truth, even when it isn't pretty.

Back Again

It's been a while.

I just watched the first episode of season two of World of Jenks. I didn't watch the first season, but I caught a commercial for the second season and was intrigued by two of the three stories: A young adult with autism, and another with cancer. Interestingly, I recently came across Kaylin's blog, and then found out she's the young woman featured on the show. 

I'm not sure what I want to say in this post. I'm not even sure why I'm writing this, or why I haven't posted anything since October. Perhaps I feel an obligation to inspire, and I find that my life at present is so normal and typical of someone my age that there is nothing to say, at least nothing inspiring.

I am engaged. I am planning a wedding. I got a new job. I got an adorable dog. I am happy. I am normal. But I have moments when I think that maybe I'm not okay, that I have not dealt with all the residual effects of having cancer. I have these moments when I see other young adults fighting cancer, because it makes me feel something, and it reminds me of everything that happened and all the feelings I am not entirely sure I've dealt with completely, because I still feel this twisting, writhing tightness in my heart because I know what it feels like to be the only person in the room who's had cancer.

Then there's the other side of it. There are times I am in the company of people who don't know that I've got all these scars;they don't realize all the seasoned wisdom I've got in my back pocket; I have had more medical procedures than most people twice my age, I've known a lot of people who had a lot in common with me and they died. And there's no good way to bring that up. So I just keep letting these people think I'm typical, because there's no good way or reason to enlighten them as to why I know how a stem cell transplant works, or why hearing about an older friend with cancer who I've never met brings tears to my eyes.

I ran outside tonight. It's been a cold, windy, rainy few months, with not a lot of running, especially not outside. Tonight I thought a lot about all the things I just wrote about, and when I got home I had a notable running high that made me very glad I ran, and regretful that I haven't been doing much outdoor running in recent months. As things thaw out, I'm hopeful I will do more running, because tonight made me realize how much I've missed it.

Invincibility...rediscovered

When I was diagnosed with cancer, one of the first things I was able to articulate in terms of what I was feeling- but kept to myself- was the the sensation I'd been robbed or violated. My body was playing a cruel trick on me, and instead of being the vehicle to propel my spirit forward, it was attempting to kill me and all the potential I had. At twenty-one I didn't exactly know how it would all come together, but I knew I had great things to do, people to save, lives to impact, and suddenly it was all in jeopardy. There was this sense of loss, and I mourned for a long time.

What did I lose? I described it as my invincibility. I was robbed of my invincibility. Cancer took an open and endless future and built an invisible brick wall in front of me, and while I didn't know exactly where it was, I believed that at some point I would hit that wall, and it would all be over. I also had this picture in my head of this superhero cape being ripped from my shoulders. I carried this sentiment for a long, long time. For years I dreaded the day I'd hit that wall, because I knew it was there. I was angry, and I wanted my cape back.

At the beginning of the summer something funny happened. I went for a bike ride. It was one of the first long rides I did, and when I came home, I noticed my arms were a little pink. I gasped and felt a deep sense of guilt. I'd forgotten to put on sunscreen. The guilt was tempered by a pride and excitement, I had forgotten to put on sunscreen. I could not remember the last time I'd done that. As a melanoma survivor, I am very, very, very well aware that I should wear sunscreen, and I do. However, this particular day, I forgot. In the last six years, I had never, ever forgotten to put on sunscreen.

While I was mad I'd forgotten, I couldn't help but smile, because I knew in that moment that I'd just gotten my cape back. By forgetting the sunscreen, I'd done something the cancer-fearing, robbed-of-my-invincibility self would have never done. As for that invisible wall, I'm not sure whether it's in front of me or behind me, but I've made peace with that, because I wouldn't take back the journey that brought me here.