Haiku Pour Vous

In college, I received an A+++ on a Haiku assignment. I was damn proud of that A+++. After all, how many A+++'s do you see in one lifetime? And I'd never even considered myself a Haiku master. Typically, my writings tend to veer toward the rambling and long-winded side versus the tight, succinct poetic form. (Shocking, I know.)

When I put together my first work portfolio, I included the A+++ Haiku paper. This decision resulted in great entertainment for my husband.

"Do you really think an employer is going to be impressed with an A+++ paper... on HAIKU?"

In my defense, however, I was applying for a job as a writer with Hallmark Cards. Of course they'd be impressed with my ability to wax poetic. (Obviously, Hallmark was not blown away. I made it through to the final cuts, but didn't ultimately land the Kansas City job. That, however, is a different blog post altogether. One that might aptly be titled, "The Darkest Hour" or "Fuck You, World" or something similarly angst-ridden and devastating.)

Throughout the past 22 years, my Haiku grade has become a household symbol of my need to be Right. Or The Best. Or The Smartest. (Insert your own moniker here.)

Some examples?

ME: Mary Claire only missed one on her spelling test.
CHRIS: That's good, but it's definitely not an A+++.

ME: I'm having trouble with this chapter of my book.
CHRIS: Honey, you got an A+++ in 1992. You can do ANYTHING.

ME: Why can't you actually pick up your dirty socks and put them in the hamper?
CHRIS: Well, obviously, it's because I never got an A+++ in Haiku.

You get the point.

So, here's where things get dicey.

I don't want to be Right anymore. It's so damn unattractive.

And what am I if I'm not right?

I'm so much more.

I'm open, authentic, loving. I'm a safe place to land.

I want YOU to be right. I want you to have an A+++.

And that, my friends, is what we call a shift.

So, today, I leave you with this...

Universal love
From an open hand and heart
Is most powerful

XOXO

Abundant Gratitude

Where have I been, you ask? Where have I been? Sit back, friends, and I'll fill you in. (Thank you for being so patient, Jody. I know... I know!)

After finding out that my boobs were going to be around for a bit longer, I began the Third Part of a Three Part transformative journey. This past weekend, I began a 90-day leadership and personal enrichment initiative and am proud to announce that...

I AM INDY 58.

(That's the name of my class. That's who I am. That's me, Baby. That's me.)

Along with 49 other people, I intend to change the world one person at a time.

And the story (because everyone has one, right?) goes like this:

Once upon a time, there was a little girl who was put-upon. With no father, no money, no new clothes, no backyard baseball games, no house, she felt slighted. Oh, she loved her mother and her sister fiercely. She was grateful for the things she had, but always pined for the things she didn't. Why did everyone else have so much and she so little?

And she grew up living within that reality.

As she got older, she perpetuated that identity with her view of the world. She wasn't unhappy. She fell in love with a wonderful, giving, nurturing man and together they created four beautiful, smart, sassy, vibrant children. She had a circle of true and trusted friends who loved and laughed and cried together. Her life was good. But she knew something was still missing.

Often, she felt overwhelmed by what life threw her way. There was never enough time, never enough money, never enough of her to go around. She overcommitted and under-delivered like it was her job. She talked about her dreams -- and even worked on them a bit -- but she never truly believed in her ability to make things happen.

Then she met some angels.

With poignant whispers in her open ear and tough, soul-searching honesty, they began to help her see things differently.

Whisper by whisper, her view of her world and everything in it shifted.

Suddenly, the sun was a little brighter, her friends a bit more beautiful, her children's eyes a bit bluer, and her husband... uh huh. Yeah, you know what I'm saying...

When she was able to recognize abundance, to open her hands and heart in giving without expectation -- that's when the world tilted to embrace her. (Shit, she even began to cook!)

Today, I want to say thank you to those angels. (You know who you are.) Thank you for your wisdom, your guidance, your love without limits. By example, you led. You led me straight into the heart and soul of what matters.

And that's where I intend to stay.

Grateful

We got the call as we were leaving for the airport last Thursday.

"Mrs. Willis, we need to schedule a second mammogram to re-image your left breast."

A million thoughts flooded my mind. But the question that came out of my mouth...?

"I'm leaving for the airport right now. Can it wait until I get back?" I asked tentatively.

"When will you be back?"

I explained my itinerary and they scheduled my follow-up on the day after I returned from Denver.

"A doctor will be in the room with you to explain what's happening. You'll have answers right away."

And thus began five of the longest days of my life.

While we were in Denver, I touched my boobs more than I'd ever touched them in my life. Felt all the idiosyncrasies, all the asymmetries, all the bumps and striations. I had many hours alone to think about what might be happening, what I might find out, what course may have been mapped for me.

I spent anxious nights letting my mind wander and penned long-winded emails to Jenny who has brought me to a whole new level of consciousness over the past few months with her wisdom and guidance. And, as always, she stood beside me. But she made me promise one thing: no fear. She was unwilling to let me work from a position of fear. Anxiety? Okay. Unrest? Fine.

But no fear.

So I made her a promise and I gave up the fear.

And everything changed.

As our Denver days passed, Chris and I drank a great deal of wine and talked unabashedly about our future, our options, our dreams and desires. And during the course of that time, I developed a firm resolve to handle whatever came my way with dignity and grace. If I had cancer, I intended to live. I intended to be a bald, beautiful ass-kicking survivor.

And I was no longer afraid.

It's interesting to examine the thoughts that run through your mind during a time like this. I'd always thought that sacrificing my boobs for my life (if the time ever came) was a no-brainer. But these saggy, baggy has-beens once fed my babies. (Well, all of them except Sam. And Chris will argue to this day that my unwillingness to breastfeed our firstborn is the source of all his lifelong problems and insecurities.) My mind raced back to those foggy, sleep-deprived moments when I would sit with my newest baby in the dark of the earliest morning hours and calm, comfort, and sustain him or her with nothing more than my body. Those were magical moments -- the rosy-cheeked, half-sleeping baby in my arms, the gentle tugs, the milk-drunk smiles.

From the beginning, Chris was convinced that whatever the doctor was seeing on my films was nothing more than an overgrown milk duct. After all, I was a freak-of-nature milk producer. When a baby would cry in the night, I would aim one of those milk-engorged weapons right at Chris's face and spray him until he woke up. When Gus was in the NICU, I would pump and freeze endless bags of milk. The other NICU mothers would rejoice over their hard-earned half ounces while the bin in the communal freezer with my name on it overflowed, doubled, tripled. Once when I was adding more milk to my obscene collection, a NICU nurse looked at me and stated simply, "Oh, YOU'RE the one."

A milk-producing legend, I was.

I vacillated between wanting Chris to be with my at my follow-up appointment and wanting to be alone. But it felt right for him to be there. And that's where he wanted to be. Thus, we ventured into the unknown together.

After the 2nd mammogram, the technician came back into the room and told me that the doctor wanted to follow-up with an ultrasound.

That was Step Three, my friends. (OF COURSE I'D BEEN SEARCHING THE INTERNET.)

Step One - Mammogram.
Step Two - Follow-up mammogram.
Step Three - Ultrasound.
Next step? Biopsy.
And after that? Consultation that will alter the course of the rest of your life.

So, Chris waited in the ultrasound room with me, nervously drumming his fingers at warp speed. We didn't speak many words -- we just sat together in solidarity.

The doctor returned, performed the scan, and assured me that what he was seeing was normal breast tissue. In fact, he explained that the denser tissue on the left was actually more pronounced milk duct tissue than what he was seeing on the right.

I'll be damned if my husband didn't call it. I mean, he IS almost a doctor, but I'm pretty sure that an MD and an EdD are two vastly different things.

I was ultimately sent on my way with a clean bill of health and an order to come back at the regularly scheduled time next year.

And as we left the building, I truly felt like I might be able to fly. That's how pronounced the relief was, that's how heavy the now-lifted burden had been.

Today, I embraced my strong, healthy body. I jogged in the wee morning hours, met Jenny for breakfast, shared a mid-morning walk and talk with her, met Erin for lunch, and rejoiced in the everyday blessings that were mine to enjoy.

I am more than grateful. I am abundantly blessed.

And The Girls seem pretty happy that they get to stick around for awhile longer, too.