One of the many hard truths
Posted: August 12, 2011 Filed under: breast cancer | Tags: psychological effects of cancer, revision surgery after breast reconstruction, Salisbury Beach, young cancer patients 9 CommentsIt’s been a while since I’ve seen my dear friend and most beloved surgeon. He’s been busy this summer traveling and I’ve been busy avoiding his office. Not because I don’t love him and his staff–I do–but because the longer the gap in between appointments, the more I can pretend to be normal post-cancer.
Or so I thought.
I’m learning the hard way that there is no “normal” post-cancer. Most people (myself included) have the impression that once you’re diagnosed, have surgery, and complete treatment, you’re done with cancer. But you’re never done. This is one of the many hard truths about cancer: you’re never done.
Three-fourths of the way through my 2-week vacation, my thoughts more regularly return to cancer. And surgery. When I first arrived at Salisbury Beach, I thought, FINALLY! I’m here, I’m on vacation and can take a much-needed, eagerly anticipated, and well-deserved break from cancer. I’d thought of little else in the days leading up to my vaca and was ready, oh so ready to get on the plane and be there. 
It’s been great — good weather, huge waves, plenty of cocktails & lobster, and the company of friends who’ve become family. I missed all this last year because of that damned post-mastectomy infection, and I was determined to make up for lost time this year. And I have. Yet my brain isn’t entirely on vacation, and as I’m soaking up the sun and relishing the cool east wind, my brain says “Whatach think about your upcoming revision surgery, missy?”
I don’t want to think about it. I’m on vacation. I should be thinking about what to drink next, or whether to get the 1-pound or 1.5-pound lobster. Yet I do think about it. The brain prevails, and my thoughts turn from all things beachy to thoughts of yet another surgery. While the upcoming surgery is a good one in the realm of surgeries, it still means arriving at the crack of dawn, being assaulted with the dreaded hospital smell, enduring endless digging to find a non-wiggly vein for the IV, undergoing anesthesia, coming out of anesthesia, and starting yet another recovery process.
A couple of months ago when I scheduled the revision, one of my wise friends said don’t you think you might want to do this after the kids go back to school? I said hell to the no, I want to get this done ASAP and get on with my life; I don’t want to wait even one more week because I want to be done. But now I know that I’ll never be done.
Yes, I will get to a point in which I no longer have surgeries and revisions and procedures on the horizon, but I’ll never be done with cancer.
Thoughts of the “big C” will infiltrate my brain here, there, and everywhere. On vacation. In the grocery store. On the tennis court. At the baseball field. In my bed, while I should be sleeping but instead am thinking. About cancer. 
I woke up the other night–on vacation, mind you, with the windows open to the cool breeze and the sound of the crashing waves–thinking about cancer. Even when I’m sleeping, those thoughts are in my head. As my revision surgery approaches, I find myself with the same apprehensions I’ve had before every surgery I’ve had since my diagnosis. I may be nearing the finish line in terms of procedures required, but my thoughts refuse to budge. Instead of getting closer to being done, I realize there’s no such thing.
The new bucket list
Posted: August 8, 2011 Filed under: breast cancer | Tags: bucket list, ee cummings, fear of cancer recurrence, life after cancer, poetry, psychological effects of cancer, Salisbury Beach, young kids and cancer 3 Comments“for whatever we lose (like a you or a me),
it’s always our self we find in the sea.” — ee cummings
I love ee cummings. While I’m usually quite the stickler for adherence to the rules of grammar, spelling, and punctuation, I’ve always loved that cummings eschewed the rules and let the words and his thoughts flow unbridled.
He’s quite right about finding our selves at the sea. Not finding ourselves, but our selves. See the difference? Actually, it’s quite hard to see; it’s more something you feel.
Losing your self in the morass that is a cancer battle is fraught with peril. Having a potentially fatal disease changes you. It messes with your mind, shakes your sense of security, and makes you question the future. Having a potentially fatal disease at a young-ish age with young kids to raise really changes you.
My blogfriend and fellow cancerchick Michelle writes about this change. She writes of fear, of wishing for a return to the carefree, pre-cancer life. She mentions fear. The fear of recurrence. The fear of not being here to witness the millions of little things, seemingly insignificant, yet the essence of what creates our life.
See, for a cancer patient, the fear is always there. It resides deep in the “self” that we wish to find in the sea. Despite best efforts to be brave, move forward, and face the unpleasantness that is life with cancer, the fear is there. Sometimes just below the surface, like a homemade marinara sauce bubbling fragrantly and yummy on the stove. Sometimes right on the surface, as evident and painful as a sunburn the first day on the beach. Fear becomes the new normal. Michelle writes of the “new” normal:
“My new normal, I suppose [is] living each moment with equal parts gratitude, for experiencing it and really soaking it in now, and fear, that it may be over too soon.”
Hear, hear. Well said, Michelle.
Another blogfriend, Lauren, writes similarly. Because she is 5 years out from diagnosis while Michelle and I are more recent arrivals to cancerland, Lauren writes not of the ever-present fear but of the urgency to experience all the things we fear we might not be here to experience. The bucket list takes on a whole new priority post-cancer.
Says Lauren:
“It dawned on me that cancer survivors also have a different bucket list. One that isn’t the places we want to go, or what we want to buy or learn to do, but one comprised of the things we want to live long enough to experience and see come to pass.”
Yes, that’s true. While there are places I want to see and plenty of things I want to do, I know now, post-cancer, that there’s a difference. Everything is different post-cancer. I’m still looking for that new normal, and my bucket list changes somewhat, but one thing remains constant: while I’m still scared, there’s still plenty that I want to see come to pass.
For now, I’m enjoying the ocean breezes, the sound of the surf, and the sunset over the water, knowing that with each new day, there’s plenty to see. 
The BIG Belly
Posted: August 6, 2011 Filed under: breast cancer, food | Tags: diners, Greek immigrants, Salisbury Beach 1 CommentI’m not much for big breakfasts. Not real crazy about greasy, meat-centric fare either, but I didn’t want to pass up a trip to Pat’s Diner this morning. It’s gotten great reviews from Payton. He went there one morning last summer while he was at the beach without me. I was home, just out of the hospital yet again and attached to a wound vacuum, which was enlisted to clean up the mess from the post-mastectomy infection.
My boy spoke highly of Pat’s, and while that alone would be enough for me, the fact that it’s run by some fellow Greeks sealed the deal.
Pat herself greeted us and showed us to our table, instructing a waitress to wipe the table, even though it looked plenty clean to me. Pat reminded me of all the Greek women I’ve known in my life–dark hair without a streak of grey despite her advanced age; sensible shoes juxtaposed with a snazzy dress, crisply pressed; maddeningly wrinkle-free skin; bossy yet loving countenance. She was very familiar to me indeed (minus the Boston accent, though). I smiled to myself as I reminisced in my head about my Thea Sophia and all women like her. Sweet but opinionated, fiercely devoted to family, and absolutely not content until everyone got up from the table with a full belly. The Greek women I know live by the mantra “Food is love made visible.”
The fellas alongside me ordered some of Pat’s finest: the “short” stack — pancakes as big as the plate; Amesbury omelette (spinach & lots of Swiss cheese); Irish eggs Benedict (corned beef hash instead of Canadian bacon); and the beach breakfast: eggs, toast, home fries, bacon, link & patty sausage, and ham steak. By all means, don’t forget the ham steak.
I was the odd one out with my egg beaters w assorted veggies & wheat toast. Instead of home fries, I opted for the other side dish: baked beans. They’re not just for breakfast anymore.
We did indeed get up from the table with full bellies, and as we passed Pat at the register on the way out, I told her we came all the way from Texas to eat at her place. She was delighted, and insisted I take a to-go menu with me as well as her business card. She asked me to send her a card from Texas. I promised her I will.
Trevor whispered to Pat that I too am Greek, and she was really delighted. She dug around under the counter a sec and handed me something, muttering that not everyone gets one of these. It’s a matted 8×10 color drawing of the exterior of the diner. Very cool. I will definitely send her a card from Texas.
He does it again!
Posted: August 4, 2011 Filed under: breast cancer | Tags: family vacation traditions, Jacoby Ellsbury, Markey's lobster, Red Sox, Salisbury Beach, sand sculptures 5 Comments
Apparently my favorite Red Sox player likes having Texans in the house…since we’ve been here, he’s hit back-to-back walk-offs for Sox victories. Very nice. Last night’s was especially exciting because it was a walk-off home run. Just as we were hoping against extra innings, Jacoby delivered.
There will be lots of happy Sox fans on the beach today. I’m heading down in a few minutes for more fun in the sun.
Last night’s lobster feast at Markey’s was as good as ever. Macy had asked if she could have some of my lobster tail, and rather than share what IMHO is the best part of the lobster, I said, “Get your own, kid.” We figured she’d eat part of the tail and we’d have extra lobster to put in scrambled eggs this morning. Then we learned that there’s no such thing as “extra lobster.” That bug was picked clean. 
So there will be no lobster & eggs this morning. No matter; we’ll get more. That’s the beauty of being at Salisbury Beach — plenty of lobster, whether from Markey’s or steamed on site at the grocery store.
Trevor will be creating another sand sculpture today, to add to the two he’s already done: 
He’s taking requests, so if there’ something you want to see, by all means shout it out. His sand sculptures are pretty popular around here and are much admired, although I thought Macy might smack the lady who walked by yesterday and thought Perry the Platypus was a dinosaur. Sometimes being in the presence of art invokes strong emotions.
We’re all about traditions at Salisbury Beach. Whether it’s dinner at Markey’s or dessert next-door at Dunlap’s or sand sculptures on the beach, tradition rules, and this year our traditions are even more special. Like the Joni Mitchell song says, “Don’t it always seem to go, that you don’t know what you’ve got til it’s gone,” traditions become more important when threatened with extinction. To say I’m glad I’m here this year is to be loaded with meaning. I’m glad I’m here, in Massachusetts among friends I consider family at a beach my family loves. But even more so, I’m glad I’m here.
Walk-off
Posted: August 3, 2011 Filed under: baseball | Tags: family vacation, Jacoby Ellsbury, Red Sox, Salisbury Beach 4 CommentsIt’s a great morning at the beach. The Sox won last night with a walk-off hit by my favorite player, Jacoby Ellsbury. Hopefully the photo will load; I’m blogging beachside again and don’t want to interrupt my blissful morning to post on a real computer; if my iPhone and the WordPress app can’t handle the photo, I’ll get to it later. Maybe when a cloud passes overhead.
It’s unusually clear today, enough to see the Isle of Shoals. The sun is shining and the west wind is blowing. I’m pre-hydrating with a water course so I’ll be fully prepared for the beachside beverages, whenever they may appear. While the lure of the Bloody Mary is strong, I’m going to stay strong and wait for the pm bevvie.
Meantime, all hail Jacoby!
Blogging beach-side
Posted: August 2, 2011 Filed under: breast cancer | Tags: breast cancer, family vacation, psychological effects of cancer 3 CommentsMy toes are in the sand as I write this. The waves are crashing as the tide comes in; seagulls are squawking as they scrounge for breakfast. A few fisherman have set up long-cast poles, hoping the early bird gets the worm. I mean fish.
I kept flight attendants Scott & Devin hopping on the way here. They did a very good job refreshing my beverage and they served me a lovely salad topped with grilled shrimp with fresh fruit on the side. The fresh-baked white-chocolate-macadamia-nut cookie went straight back to my kids who were slumming in coach. My new flight attendant friends were bummed that they’d run out of cookies before realizing my kids were back there. I watched Mardy Fish trump Ryan Harrison on the tennis channel in flight, started a new book, and accepted cocktails from the dynamic duo. There was a slight miscommunication though, and Scott offered me one more as we started our descent, not knowing that Devin had already locked up the bar. I teased them enough that they sent me off the plane with a bottle of wine, wrapped festively in a cloth napkin. We drank it on the train and toasted my new friends.
Yesterday was one of the best beach days ever. Today looks like a repeat performance. I’ve had a cup of coffee and made a quick run across the state line to the nearest store to procure a few supplies we didn’t pack because we carried our luggage on. We had a quick turn-around between landing at Logan and catching the train to Newburyport. Despite my sage warnings yesterday, my kids got sunburned–Macy on her arms, Payton on his legs. My little darlings are accustomed to the aerosol sunblock, but were left to their own devices with the old-fashioned, rub-on kind. There’s nothing fun about getting scorched on the first day at the beach.
Our lovely hostess treated us with homemade lobster pie upon our arrival, after bubbly on the beach. Both were as decadent as they sound. Acutely aware of all that i missed last year, I’m savoring every crumb, every drop. Soaking up the sun, relishing the sound of the ocean and the feel of the cool breeze. Cancer and its myriad troubles are a long way away.
Vaca starts today!
Posted: July 31, 2011 Filed under: breast cancer | Tags: cancer and young kids, cocktails on the beach, family vacation, Markey's lobster pound, psychological effects of breast cancer, Salisbury Beach 8 CommentsThis is it. Today’s the day. I’m leaving the heat & humidity of Houston behind for 2 weeks of balmy-but-not-hot weather and cool ocean breezes. My right-brained son pointed out a few days ago that I haven’t been to Salisbury Beach in 2 years. Duh. Of course I knew I missed the trip last year — was painfully aware in fact — but hadn’t thought about it in those terms. So it goes without saying that I have a lot of making up to do. A serious re-do is in order, and it starts today.
We’ve been making this trip for a lot of years. My kids looked like this when we started:
We were much more bogged down with bulging carry-on bags to entertain these little guys on the 4-hour flight. Lugging diapers and endless snacks, as well as car seats, across the country while fretting about how to keep them still during the travel time.
Nowadays they’re much simpler (and thankfully out of diapers). They’re entertained by their iTouch or iPhone and can even load their own devices with songs and TV shows from iTunes. Now that’s progress!
We’ve been talking for days about hitting all our favorite haunts: Markey’s lobster pound, Dunlap’s ice cream shop, Willie’s candy store, the arcade, and of course Blink’s for fried dough.
The order is always the same at Blink’s — chocolate frosting with chocolate jimmies. I try to talk the kids into sharing a piece every year, and every year they insist they need their own. Because fried dough hot out of the fryer and covered in frosting and sprinkles is a tradition at the beach, they win that debate. They’ll burn off the junk-food calories chasing waves in the ocean. The water’s a bit cool for this Texas girl to frolic, but it will make me happy to watch my kids battle the waves in giant tubes.
My heart is full as I gather my last-minute things and zip my suitcase. This time last year, I was learning the ins & outs of home health care and lugging a wound vacuum around while my kids flew across the country without me. I was learning just how insidious cancer is and the many ways in which it disrupts one’s life. I had wrapped my head around my diagnosis, endured endless testing, made heart-wrenching decisions, and faced a nasty surgery and long recovery. All of that was bad, no doubt, but the worst was putting my kids on a plane to go to our beloved beach without me. This time last year I wrote about it on my Caring Bridge page:
“The kids are excited, and they’ll have a fantastic time. I can heal in peace for 12 days with no one to think about but myself. That’s bizarre to me. After spending the last decade-plus taking care of my kids every day, minus a few days every year for a girls’ weekend, that’s kind of weird. If I miss them too much, I can always flip on SportsCenter of Disney Channel and leave a trail of dirty clothes around.”
No need to do that this year — I’ll be right there with ’em. Macy reminded me that we’ll be watching the sunset on the beach tonight. I might even get myself a piece of fried dough.
I’m definitely taking the advice of a very wise friend, who said “Drink cocktails. Eat lobster. Love life.”
Good fat
Posted: July 28, 2011 Filed under: breast cancer, Surgery | Tags: breast reconstruction revision, fat transfer, recovery from breast cancer, Salisbury Beach, the Big Dig 5 CommentsAnother thing to add to the long list of things to love about me: I have “good fat.”
So sayeth Dr Spiegel, who recognized the high quality of my fat at first glance. So skilled in assessing fat is she that a physical exam wasn’t necessary. No need to grab the fat; she could tell the caliber of my chunky-monkey-ness just by looking.
That’s good, because I need that fat for my upcoming revision. While the Drs S did an outstanding, better-than-expected job at reconstructing my sunken, mastectomied chest, there are a few little tweaks needed before I am “done.”
One big lesson about breast cancer and reconstruction: you’re never really done, and it’s never really over.
Much like the plight of an at-home mom in a house full of busy, messy kids, there’s always something else that needs to be done. In this case, rather than errands, laundry, and getting people to & from activities, what needs to be done is correcting asymmetry, changing shape from oblong to rounded, and filling out a few collapsed areas. The best way to do this? Suck out some of that good fat from my hips and inject it up top. 
Remember the “dog ears” left on my hips after closing my 17-inch belly incision during reconstruction? Those pesky globs of fat have tormented me the last 4 months, since surgery. They’ve gotten a bit smaller as I’ve counted calories and gotten back into the gym and onto the tennis court, but they’re still there. At last they will serve their purpose.
I wanted to get Dr Spiegel’s opinion on the best way to go about this before I went under the knife with Dr S. Since the 2 Drs S worked so well together on The Big Dig, I coveted her advice on the revision. I also knew I’d get very clear answers to my questions, as she is very good at communicating and explaining options.
She had the same ideas as Dr S for how to handle this revision. That’s all the confirmation I need. While I’m not looking forward to it (more anesthesia, pain, and downtime), it’s one more step closer to being done. Or as done as a cancer patient ever gets.
Here’s the plan: I go on vacation to Salisbury Beach for 2
weeks, to forget all about the trials & tribulations of the last year. I soak up every second of my favorite beach in an effort to make up for missing it last year. I say yes to every adult beverage offered me, regardless of time of day, food consumed, or number of beverages preceding. I revel in the balmy weather, listen to the sound of the ocean, and relish my friends’ company. I eat lobster in some form each day. I savor the traditions this trip provides my family. I thank my lucky stars that I’m present for this tradition.
Then I come home–tanned, relaxed, refreshed & slightly worried about the state of my liver–and have 2 days before my revision procedure.
I know, I know — having fat sucked out of an area you don’t want it and relocated into an area you do want it sounds like a dream come true. In theory, anyway. I would find it a lot more dreamy if it didn’t involve tools that look like this
Thank you, Google images, for helping me visualize the method of extraction. I’ve been looking forward to bidding adieu to the dog ears since they became a part of my body and to finally having some symmetry to my newly constructed chest, but like everything in this “cancer journey,” it comes at a cost.
LL mom gone wild
Posted: July 27, 2011 Filed under: baseball | Tags: Andre Agassi, crazy parents in youth sports, East Texas state baseball championship, Faulkner Field, First Colony Little League, hockey dad, Janet Chiauzzi, Michael Costin, Mickey Mantle, Open, Texas Cheerleader Murder mom, Thomas Junta, Wanda Halloway 7 CommentsHaving just returned from the State Championship and spent the vast majority of the summer involved in Little League baseball, this story caught my eye.
Seems a Long Island, NY, Little League mom had a bone to pick with her son’s coach when her little darling wasn’t chosen to play on the All Star team. Instead of accepting the coach’s decision to leave her 11-year-old son off the roster, Janet Chiauzzi, age 44, went nuts and threatened him and his family, including his son (who I assume is her son’s peer). She also wrote to the school principal and accused the baseball coach of indecent behaviour toward the boys on the team.
Here’s the note she sent to the coach’s son:
“Tell your stupid father to back away from the East Meadow baseball team or he will be sorry. There are other things in life than baseball and if he wants to enjoy them he will get out of East Meadow baseball for good. Accidents happen and I would hate to see something happen to your mom or dad or sister because of your dad’s stupidity… think about it, if something terrible happens to your dad or mom or sister you can blame your dad for not taking my threat seriously. He will be harmed and the outcome will not be good for you. You might never see your dad again. You all better watch your fucking backs. This is no joke. This is as real as it gets.”
Wow. That is some crazy stuff. Way to go, Mom. Outstanding job setting a good example of how to receive bad news, take the high road, and get on with life. Granted, All Stars is a big deal. As I’ve said before, we plan our entire summer around Payton making the team and the team winning district and sectionals and going to the State Championship.
All that over Little League baseball. Man, I shudder to think what might happen if Chiauzzi’s kid is turned down at a job interview. She has been charged with four counts of stalking, two counts of falsely reporting an incident, two counts of endangering the welfare of a child and four counts of aggravated harassment.
Listen, overbearing parents are nothing new in youth sports. It’s a tale as old as time. Some of the greatest athletes in the sports world had obnoxious parents. Poor Mickey Mantle, one of baseballs’ greats, reportedly wet his bed until he was 16 years old because of the emotional stress of his dad’s expectations of him. Tennis Hall of Famer Andre Agassi admitted he hated tennis because of his dad’s overzealousness. He’s the only male singles player to have won all four Grand Slams on three different court surfaces (grass, clay, and hard-courts) but hated every minute of it, because his dad was a jerk.
According to Andre’s autobiography, Open, his father Mike Agassi “banged on the fences with a hammer during Andre’s matches when his son lost a point, screamed at officials and was ejected more than once.”
In all my time logged in the bleachers, I’ve seen some bad behaviour from the players’ parents, usually the dads. Never once have I seen verbal abuse help a kid turn his game around. In fact, it usually has the exact opposite effect.
In Open, Andre tells the story of his father making him play a match for money against football legend Jim Brown in 1979, when Agassi was just 9 years old in his hometown of Las Vegas. When Brown complained about the cancellation of a match he was due to play for money, Agassi’s father suggested that Brown play Andre and put up his house for the wager. Brown countered with a $10,000 bet instead. Andre won easily, 6-3, 6-3, 6-2, and said he was relieved that his family’s life savings were no longer riding on him. He was 9 years old. 9 years old.
Crazy parents have no place in youth sports, yet there they are. Perhaps the most famous case of crazy parents in youth sports is the Texas Cheerleader Mom, Wanda Holloway. In 1991 Wanda solicited a hit man to off the mother of a rival cheerleader, hoping the girl would be so bereaved that her own daughter would score a spot on the middle-school cheerleading squad. 
The story captivated the nation and spawned two made-for-TV movies and landed Wanda on the cover of People magazine.
Holloway was convicted of solicitation of capital murder and sentenced to 15 years in prison, but the conviction was overturned because a juror was on probation. Rather than face a second trial, Holloway pleaded no contest, was found guilty and sentenced to 10 years. She served only 6 months of the sentence and was released on March 1, 1997. I wonder if her daughter still speaks to her.
Thomas Junta, aka “the Hockey Dad” must have watched the two movies about Wanda Holloway and got some ideas of his own. He was convicted of involuntary manslaughter after an incident at his 10-year-old’s hockey practice in July 2000. Apparently Junta was complaining to the coach, Michael Costin, that practice was too rough. Costin replied that hockey is supposed to be rough. That must have enraged Junta, because he attacked Costin and beat him mercilessly in front of the kids. The 156-pound coach had no chance against the 275-pound Junta, and died from a ruptured artery in his neck. Junta was convicted of involuntary manslaughter.
Too bad Costin’s hockey team didn’t have a Statement Concerning Spectator Behavior, aka Ground Rule #18, like we do in our Little League. This rule was read over the PA system at the games this past weekend, and the text of the rules appears in the programs sold at the games:
“Any person who publicly criticizes the umpires, tournament officials, opposing players or coaches will be asked to immediately leave the complex and will be barred from the complex for the remainder of the tournament. Tournament officials will ask that all players be placed in their respective dugout and play will be stopped until the offender leaves the complex….We will insist that the focus of the game remain on the kids. Please do not embarrass yourself, family and team by violating the Ground Rules as stated and approved by your District Administrator.”
When I heard the rule read aloud, I chuckled to myself and thought it was a bit of overkill. Reflecting upon people like the Long Island Little League mom, the Texas Cheerleader Murder mom, and the hockey dad, however, I get it, and I chuckle no more.
The stakes are high at the State Championship, and every parent there wanted their kid’s team to win. After missing the entire thing last year, I really wanted my kid’s team to win. But I’m happy to report that I did not embarrass myself, my family, or my kid’s team by violating the Ground Rules. I sure wish the Long Island Little League mom had been guided by our Ground Rules. Talk about embarrassing your kid. Sheesh.
It’s all over except the crying
Posted: July 25, 2011 Filed under: baseball, breast cancer 3 CommentsIt pains me to report such bad news. Real pain, and seriously bad news.
I’m guessing you can see where this is going.
The mighty Red Raiders went down in flames last night inthe State Championship in the great garden spot of Tyler Texas. I’ve been so busy sweating my fool head off in the 100-plus-degree heat and swilling beer after the games that I haven’t had much time to comment, and the news has not been fit to print. Yes, I know it’s a huge honor to even make it this far. Yes, I know the boys have a lot to be proud of. Yes, I know there are lots of teams in our district who would have happily come to Tyler, even if it meant going home with a loss. I get it. But I’m still disappointed.
I’m proud, but disappointed.
This team did make history in our neck of the woods. These boys were the first team in First Colony’s 25-year history to go to State two years in a row. That’s big. We have a competitive league, full of parents with the time and money to provide the kids with private lessons and coaching. We have several former pro ball players who coach and whose kids have grown up in the league. We have a whole lot of smart and dedicated parents serving on the league board, managing teams, running the fields, and cheering from the stands. So for this group of 11 boys to achieve such a back-to-back feat is worthy of notice.
But I’m still disappointed.
We dedicate our summer to baseball around here. We plan our vacation to Salisbury Beach around the potential of playing–and staying–in Tyler. For the duration of the tournament. But alas, this wasn’t our year. It was a great run, but it ended too soon. The same 4 teams from last year faced off this year, and our boys just didn’t have it. Scoring just 2 runs total in 2 games doesn’t cut it. Last night we were scoreless going into the 6th inning. Literally 0 to 0. We were starting to think about the possibility of extra innings, and wondering how much longer we would swelter in the vicious Tyler sun. Unfortunately, their bats came alive at the end of the game and ours didn’t. Landing in the losers’ bracket right off the bat is foreign territory for us. None of us–players or parents–likes it, but there are lessons to be learned from loss. Like how to be a good sport when what you really want to do is cry or cuss. Like holding your head high in the midst of crushing disappointment. Like the self-control required when facing frustration. Like the strength of character needed to dig deep and battle hard.
Sounds a lot like the lessons I’ve learned this past year in facing cancer.
The best team doesn’t always win in baseball. It’s a cruel fact. In baseball, and in life.





