Cultural Perspectives

Corona 2020 #3: Rhythms of Quarantine

~ Georgia Coats ~ Leave a comment

Sunday, March 29: In harmony with my heart

Virtual church at 11-ish.  Pilates and worship.  Coffee with my Sweet.  I’m grateful for his enthusiasm in making my perfect cup.  I have been working on the right lyrics that are in harmony with my heart.  Simon and Garfunkel always have space in my struggles.  But they must be interspersed with strength of the human spirit, and the hope of worship.  My heart is tender towards key words: shelter, isolation, hidden, breath…

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Walking makes me feel better, and alone.  The city is quiet and desolate with pockets of families huddled together.

We are defined by our safe people and everyone else.  Who are the people bio-connected to each other? What about those who live alone?  Who are their bio-connected “we”?

Following news out of Detroit.  Things are exponentially worse.  The Henry Ford hospital is where my hematologist of 15 years lives.  My babies were born there.  It is a state of emergency.

Michigan seems like a dream to me now… I’ve come to look for America… Michigan feels like a dream to me, too, Simon & Garfunkel.

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The Value of Closure

I am struggling with closure.  Some things have ended abruptly and I find they wreck me more emotionally than they would at another time.  My resilience is thin.  With tears, it’s best to sleep on it.  If my resilience is thin, others’ is too.  God, help me to see as you see.

Strong for my people.  Rest.  Prayer.  I am ready to take a small courageous step towards healthy closure in uncertainty.  Courage is fear prayed up.  Yup.

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Monday, March 30: It’s okay not to be okay

Ella is in tears.  She feels socially limited in the middle of her brother and sister.  She has done everything we have thought to do at home by lunchtime.  Aimlessness brings sadness.

She needs her middle school peeps.  I tell her it’s okay to cry.  It’s okay not to be okay.

Magic in the little things—a fixed bike, fresh berries and a can of whipped cream.  Zoe and Ella set off on a park adventure of their own.  Then we make lentil soup.  I see her perk up just a little.

It’s okay not to be okay.

Jamin’s new tetherball arrives from Amazon.  Steve and Jamin head to his school to hook it up to the pole there.  Jamin is that 5th grader—the one who has prayed for school to end since it started.  He is in a happy place.

My walks get longer and more emotional as I listen through my varied lyrics.  I am weak.  I am strong.  It feels like winter and loneliness. I rise up.  I have breath. I shelter in with people I love dearly.

It helps to have purpose and set baby goals… 

I have a little space in my emotional reserves to follow up my concern for my refugee neighbor friends. I check in and brought Legos for the littles (after running them through the dishwasher). I inadvertently photobombed their cute family pic—at a distance.

Seeing their faces made my heart happy. 😊

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I walk in the rain and the sunshine. I am oscillating.  Laughing. Crying. Purposefulness.  Aimlessness. Weight of the world. Isolation. Safety. And Fear.

 

Everyone check in with someone, ok? 

 

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Celebrating my small mom victories.  My kids seem more settled.  Cake pops made.  Tetherball played.  Lentil soup is perfectly seasoned comfort food—reminiscent of homemade dhal from a past season of life and friendship.

Brother, let me be your shelter

Never leave you all alone

I can be the one you call when you’re low.  NeedtoBreathe

I hug my people.  I have people to touch and kiss.  We pray together anticipating the new day. The new school schedule.  A plan. A purpose. We pray that summer camp won’t be canceled.

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Tuesday, March 31: Collecting scattered thoughts

Everyone sets an alarm. Online school is starting, and we have family implementation plans in place.  Ella is chattery about her teachers and friends.  Her eyes light up.  Jamin is moaning but following the plan. Zoe persists with vigor in all her endeavors.  Steve’s virtual work continues per usual.  I write 3 new virtual meetings set on my empty calendar.

Time to write. To think. To be alone with my thoughts in my bustling home.  Interruptions are frequent.  Flexibility of this new norm.

Clarity of thought.  Processing negative emotions in healthy ways.  Moving forward.

Deep breath.  I will turn on the news.

Physical goals: Engage my core muscles more often—to that end, wear less leggings and more regular pants.  Walk a little further.  Add a few extra sit ups, crunches, or pushups each time I do some. Baby steps in physical exercise make me feel like I can control something. And move forward in something.

Wednesday, April 1: Tears are my superpower

Aimlessness is real.

Scheduling is helpful.

Technology is frustrating.

Closure…find closure where you can on even the little things, since so many things ended or were put on pause so abruptly.

Zoe and I enjoy the show: Zoey’s Extraordinary Playlist.  Episode 8—Zoey’s Extraordinary Glitch—was so embarrassingly awkward.  The main character can’t stop herself from bursting out in song to express her deep, undealt with emotions.

I courageously show up for my meeting to find closure, and I cry through the second half of it.  I guess I’m still not ok and it’s going to come out somewhere—like Zoey does with song and dance in the show, I do with tears.  Closure on this one thing feels good and right and satisfying.  But I’m still crying.  Awkward, but unapologetic.  Express gratitude.  Everyone’s resilience is thin.  It’s okay not to be okay.

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Rollerblading with my girls is a sweet time on a beautiful day.  Normal, not normal.  Strange, not strange.  No one is out. Everyone is distant on a college campus in spring.  I feel simultaneously content and overwhelmed.  We go about our days distancing, while others can’t breathe. And others die.  How does closure come for loved ones who experience loss?

At the end of the day I’m both relieved and bummed that there were no innovative April Fool’s jokes going on at our house.  Not in a place to create and laugh and bounce back just yet.

Thursday, April 2: Wearing mascara doesn’t prevent tears

Time to face my fledgling teaching plan.  A meeting with my boss.  I teach adults.  Moms like me who show up to my English language class after their kids are settled in school.  I can just barely settle my kids to move forward with a plan of any kind.  I barely have a moment to catch up with my own thoughts and emotions… innovation is measly and uninterrupted minutes to wade through emails and move towards problem-solving are things from that other life realm.

Deep breath.  Grateful for the closure I found yesterday.  Like the strategy for debt snowball—knocking out smaller debts first.

Moving forward.

It’s okay not to be okay.  But it’s not okay to cry in this team meeting with my boss. Maybe mascara will help prevent tears.

I choose Pilates and prayer over fine-tooth-comb reading all the pertinent email strings before my meeting.

Deep breath, again.  In for 3, out for 4.

🎶 And I’ll rise up…

I’ll rise up
In spite of the ache
I’ll rise up
And I’ll do it a thousand times again
For you… 🎶

Innovation, momentum, problem-solving and resilience—in short supply.   Like ventilators for patients and masks for healthcare workers.

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Mascara does not help prevent displaced tears in zoom meetings. But actively turning off video or audio as needed provides a sense of control over the little things.

And having a boss who hears you… doesn’t prevent tears either.

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It’s cold today.  There is no mustering of motivation to run the track.  No energy to even think about trying to psych myself up for more than a cold, grey walk.

Listening to Simon and Garfunkel and remembering that time when I was on an island. And I missed my boat. And I cried about it… 😭💕🏝

🎶 I am shielded in my armor,
Hiding in my room,
safe within my womb
I touch no one and no one touches me

I am a rock
I am an island
And a rock feels no pain
And an island never cries 🎶

Islands are surrounded by salt water… you would never know if they were crying.

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Overwhelmed and grateful. I am definitely not an island.

 

Corona 2020 #2: Deep Breath

~ Georgia Coats ~ 1 Comment

Sunday, March 22: Small successes make us stronger

Virtual church in our home—that’s a good family rhythm.  Coffee with my Sweet.  Pilates during worship.

Deep breath.  The sun is shining.  We know how to rally as a family.  We’ve done that before.

I learned in grad school that when things get really challenging, it helps to take on doable physical challenges.  Before graduation, I was standing on my head for a solid 3 minutes or more.  Today I take on my ripstick—I haven’t done that since our move to Colorado in 2018.  I went further on the Poudre trail than I have ever gone on my ripstick.

I can do this.  All of this.

Drive-ins—a social distancing spring break treat post family physical activity.  Sonic is Mommy’s rare and spontaneously fun fried treat.  Desperately wishing I could wash my hands, the Sonic manager offers us disinfectant wipes at our window.  It’s the best she could do.  And I was thankful.

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Monday, March 23: Empathy and grief set in

Emotions are so mixed up. I can alternate tears and laughter without taking a breath.  I think the complexity of emotion keeps me going.  Empathy is a part of me.  So is shared laughter.  I can’t shut out the hurt of the world. I have to find a way in it.

Grief sets in as social media pours out the news of loved ones’ sick loved ones.  There are people who can’t breathe.  I feel pressure around my own lungs.  Or is it my heart?

I got this song stuck in my prayers…

🎶 You give life, You are love
You bring light to the darkness
You give hope, You restore
Every heart that is broken
Great are You, Lord

It’s Your breath in our lungs
So we pour out our praise
We pour out our praise
It’s Your breath in our lungs
So we pour out our praise to You…

And all the earth will shout Your praise
Our hearts will cry, these bones will sing 

Great are You, Lord 🎶

Zoe bakes her first berry pie.  Yum.  She has been painting and creating and plotting a socially distant picnic with a neighbor friend.  She makes beautiful things.  She makes me smile… with teary eyes.  She is filled with purpose and plans and projects.

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Wednesday, March 25: To be seen and heard

I have a regularly scheduled virtual meeting with my colleague.  She hears exhaustion in my voice and heartache in my rhythm.  I needed her to say that I didn’t seem ok.  Someone noticed.  Someone said something.  I try to hold back immediate tears.  I’ll save them for later.  My tear bank is robust.  I am tired.  I am overwhelmed.

Thursday, March 26: The good, the bad, and the garbanzo beans

A walk with a friend.  I bring her chickpeas and pass them at a safe distance.  Canned goods are hard to come by at the grocery store and she is a garbanzo lover like myself.  It feels good to do a little good.  Colorado is in full shelter in place mode now.  Stores close earlier.  People might start to panic.

I think I am among the immunocompromised.  I google articles about leukemia patients, those on immunotherapies in relation to Covid-19.  I should be extra cautious.

Speaking of Covid-19… I read a comment comparing the “Covid 19” to the “Freshman 15!”  Hard to curb the quarantine baking spree.  I love that there are so many things to laugh together about.

Steve and I have an important virtual work meeting.  The meeting delivered bad news.  Not really anything to do with pandemic, just regular life bad news.  It hits hard. It feels like rejection.  Emotions are already at the surface and reserves of faith and grace and strength and resilience have already been reallocated.

Sprycel—my leukemia miracle med—is delivered as usual. Check.  The UPS man doesn’t ask me to sign for this pricy parcel.  He just leaves it and waves.

I slip out for a run on the track as I pour out my heart in my prayer.  My regular running playlist doesn’t seem fitting anymore.

Why is motivation so hard?

Goal setting.  That’s my specialty.  First, identify barriers: It’s hard to get to goals when you’re in the midst of grief.  Mourning and gratitude are both necessary.  But if you haven’t mourned, it’s hard to move forward.

Steve and I zoom in with our community group.  Thursday night is our regularly scheduled hangout time—part of our familiar chorus.

I’m still not okay. 

News of people sick, dying, or singing out their windows is global. 

Urgency and exhaustion in the voices of healthcare professionals. 

More emails regarding upcoming online school than I can process. 

Loved ones have sick ones. 

I worry for the most vulnerable, like my resettled refugee friends and pregnant mom friends. 

I worry for my healthcare provider friends. 

I am in tears for a hurting world.

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Check in with your inner self.  Practice heart presence. Breathe…. Oh yeah.

Steve gets a stern and caring reminder from our doctor friend to be extra cautious with his immunocompromised wife.  Clarity.  Caution. Heartfelt concern.

Friday, March 27: Emotional backlog

Things have to change.  My heart is being pressed in on all sides.  Everyone is caring about something else.  I feel isolated with the whole world.  I am.

So much has halted.  So much to process.  An emotional backlog. So many people going through something and the same things.  Momentum is gone in most of life’s places.

Deep breath.

I decide to start collecting the songs I need for this new rhythm of life.

I choose carefully how often I watch the news.  Today there is a healthy flow of tears watching a video montage of communities rising up and joining together.

🎶 And I’ll rise up
I’ll rise like the day
I’ll rise up
I’ll rise unafraid
I’ll rise up
And I’ll do it a thousand times again
And I’ll rise up
High like the waves
I’ll rise up
In spite of the ache
I’ll rise up
And I’ll do it a thousand times again
For you… 🎶

Thank you, Andra Day.  Put that one on the playlist.

Saturday, March 28: Naming negative emotions

I cross out lots of things on my calendar that didn’t happen and that won’t happen.  Good thing I write in pencil.  Saturday is Ella’s choice for special breakfast.  A rich cup of coffee with my Sweet.  Pilates and prayers.  My whole body feels heavy.

I have dealt with difficult things before.  I cry. I walk. I sleep.  I pray.  I listen—to truth, to hope, to sadness. To divine whispers.

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It’s helpful to just be present with negative emotions… 😕♥️
• grief—of losses big and small
• guilt—that we should be doing more, less, something else
• fear—of things we can’t control
• disappointment—of unfulfilled expectations
• discouragement—too many overwhelming things to take in at once
• sadness…
• madness…
•
🤲🏼👣

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Tomorrows have no structure.  We are oscillating between aimlessness and creativity’s  blank page.  Setting goals seems like such an uphill journey.

Corona 2020 #1: Cancellations & Celebrations

~ Georgia Coats ~ 2 Comments

Friday, March 13: Seismic shifts

What a strange and beautiful day.  I left early on a birthday hike to celebrate my friend’s 40th birthday.  We had the Twin Sisters trail to ourselves as we hiked through mounds of freshly fallen snow.  I shared my Middle Eastern date cookies with her as a birthday treat.  I had just brought them back from Michigan three days earlier.  As we hiked, we processed the strange potential things that might happen, and we pondered the impact of recent social encounters and future plans.

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Sharing cookies… that feels thoughtful and delightful and celebratory.

It was my kids’ last day of school before spring break.  I knew I would arrive home post-hike to shifting sands.

And then the onslaught of virtual communication rushed in—every entity I am involved with is sending out emails of closure and postponement.

My kids dance around the living room celebrating the news of a second week of spring break, a.k.a., enrichment week, as the world is shutting down.

Saturday, March 14: Queen of flexibility

In normal life, I work 4 very fulfilling, part-time jobs—mainly, nonprofits, self-employment, and contract work.  I am queen of finding rhythm with flexibility and faith through many changing seasons of my various jobs.  And half my work is already virtual.

I got this. 

Bring on change. 

Bring on the unknown. 

Bring on kids at home and the anticipation of spring.

Let’s keep dancing around the living room and watch as many movies as we can think of, and eat large bowls of white cheddar popcorn.

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Sunday, March 15: Clean hands and pure hearts

This is ominously exciting.  The CDC cancelled church gatherings of 150 or more, but our small community group is getting together to watch it virtually and enjoy Sunday brunch together.  In the celebration of slowing down the pace of life and being together, there is a growing sense of urgency for quarantining. Some have opted out of our physical gathering.

Keep your hands clean and move to toe touches and elbow taps.

🎶 Give us clean hands, give us pure hearts
Let us not lift our souls to another

O God let us be a generation that seeks
That seeks your face O God of Jacob

O God let us be a generation that seeks
That seeks your face O God of Jacob 🎶

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I timed it… this chorus is a solid 30 seconds of prayer AND proper hand washing.

I love finding hope, meaningful connection, and laughter in challenging situations.

Monday, March 16: Plans proceed but toilet paper is scarce

We have summer camp coming up in July.  Kids need their wellness checkups.  It’s going to be a highly productive spring break.  I got two out of three kids went in the health clinic for physicals and vaccinations.  People wore masks and signs were posted about being cautious.

Toilet paper is a weird crisis.  We forgot to pick up our usual stash at Sam’s Club last month. Oops!  I feel more and more compelled to join the bandwagon of fear and scarcity.  Don’t panic… we’ll find some.

In the restroom at the local medical center for my kid’s wellness checkup…

Experiencing a new kind of temptation 😳🧻🧻

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Tuesday, March 17: A cold coming on

Ella’s wellness checkup is cancelled.  That seems to be the new rhythm.  Most things left on the calendar are also being cleared.  I feel a cold coming on and my mind trails to all the places I’ve been and the people I’ve touched.  I start to rethink some of our spring break interactions… and sharing date cookies.

Wednesday, March 18: Rhythm in chaos

When the winds of change disrupt normal life, I find it helpful to hold on to a familiar chorus—a loose framework of routine and rhythm.  I enjoy a morning cup of coffee with my Sweet. I run the empty track at the middle school. I do regular bouts of Pilates and prayers.

My throat is sore and I dig out the thermometer.  No fever. All three times.

My mom calls.  She’s worried about our lack of toilet paper.  My dad unpacks meat from his freezer and finds our favorite kind of Greek cheese at the restaurant depot.  We arrange a socially distant walk at a park halfway between our cities.  No hugs. No kisses. Just a transfer of food items and a lovely stroll.  The sun is in full shine, but road signs are flashing to brace for an impending winter storm.

Still no fever.  I would feel horrible if I were the one to compromise my parents’ health in their late 70s.

Thursday and Friday are cold and dark and snowy.  No place to go.  Every cough makes me a little nervous. Still no fever.  Ella coughs and sniffles.  No fever.

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Saturday, March 21: Keep baking, keep running, keep dancing

The week went by so quickly.  It wasn’t much of a spring break—except for excessive movie watching and creative baking and spontaneous dance parties.  Keeping our rhythm–Saturday pancakes.  The dog park is perfect for social distancing.  Another run on the middle school track while the gym is closed and the weather is decent.

NY2020: Happy to Dis-appoint

~ Georgia Coats ~ 2 Comments

Dear Disappointment,

I’ve spent way too much time thinking about you.  But don’t flatter yourself.  We’re not becoming friends.  In fact, I’ve acknowledged you, unwelcomed, inside the kingdom walls of my heart.  I just needed a moment to reset, refocus, breathe. I guess I also needed to spend way too much time in the shower on a Wednesday morning.  Rest my thoughts.

Now I’m ready to take some action.

Here’s what I know about you:  You work from within to kick down little appointments.  You damper dares and infect healthy fear.  You friend frustration and fiend innocence about it all.  Your M.O—If you can frustrate small fulfillments of goals and longings, you can make room for your older, stronger relative—discouragement.  But discouragement is harder to go unnoticed, like you.

Your goal is to impede me from moving forward with mine.

You see, my 3 words for 2020 are…

small…

…..daring…

………… worthy.

It’s a tremendous trio.  It’s diamond strength I’m learning to weild.

Just in the first few weeks of 2020, I have seen what you do to daring. I’m on to you.  And small—that’s my word, and you can’t claim it.  Thanks to MLK Jr., I’m committed to figuring out how to do small in great ways.  Wouldn’t you just love to dis-appoint all that, in your small ways?

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But then there’s worthy—I have intrinsic value and this is my heart space, not yours.  I have authority to appoint.  All you can do is kick down edifications and expectations that others have built up.  You exist to make us fret the small stuff; you are right there when the cold, full glass of milk spills, and you lie in wait to see what we’ll do about it.

Well, I’m here to dis-appoint you.  Because I can.

In the little kingdom of my heart, I appoint hope to reign, which means despair is not welcome in my kingdom.  I appoint encouragement as ministry of defense, and offense.  Discouragement will meet defeat… outside my kingdom walls.

Thanks to you, I’m taking back my appointment power.

Thanks to you, I’m reassessing what I long for, and what I hope is fulfilled in my schedule of daily life.

Thanks to you, I’m reminded that even the greatest of greats in history faced you.  But the ones I aspire to be like looked past their unfilled dreams to fulfill their greater destiny.

You and I are both small.  But I have the power to appoint, and you don’t.

You don’t belong here.  I can acknowledge when you show up, but I don’t have to let you stay.  I don’t have to let you decide who gets to make my heart home.

I don’t have to let your disses make me feel smaller or less worthy, or even less daring.  You may have damper power, but I have a fire that goes before me.

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NY2020: Feeling Small

~ Georgia Coats ~ 6 Comments

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Dear Dr. Martin Luther King Jr.,

I’m feeling pretty small.  Things are kind of crazy at the onset of 2020.  Injustice. Intolerance. Mean words. In 2020 people are angry and feel like they have the right to take it out on others.

I used to feel bad for the time in the history that you had to face.  I was content to just be inspired by your legacy, that even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, we can still have a dream… that this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed… that all humans are created equal.

Your dreams and accomplishments made me thankful for how you made our nation a better place for everyone to live peacefully and safely.

What Went Wrong?

I’m not sure what went wrong, or if I just opened my eyes a little bit wider.  When I read, in 2020, your convicting words against racism, I feel like I could never live up to your standards.  I’ve never been discriminated by the color of my skin as you have.  I’ve never been as outspoken as you are.

You are our civil rights hero.  And we celebrate that.

But, in order to even fathom your dreams in this new decade, I’m realizing that it’s not always about being big and strong and fiercely outspoken.  It’s not about excusing myself from an impossible calling for more gifted people.

It’s about the small stuff. 

It’s about scooching over to make room on my bench for one more weary human to sit.  It’s about knowing my neighbor, looking into her determined eyes and seeing her very great smile of grit and gratitude.  It’s about being so amazed by the content of her character that I have nothing but respect for her.  It’s about sharing our humanity.

You see, I have some amazing friends.  And they have been judged by their ethnicity, religion, immigration status, and the color of their skin.  They have faced and overcome tremendous odds to get where they are today.  And they still have So. Far. To. Go.

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Pompa had been in this country for 9 years before she realized her husband had filed no immigration paperwork for her.  So, when he filed for a divorce, he figured she would have to disappear back into the bustle of Bangladesh.  With nothing.

He didn’t account for her courage, her fortitude.  Or for her faith in the God of the impossible.  He didn’t account for the kindness of others—both Muslim and Christian—who provided for her legal fees and her housing needs.  He didn’t imagine she had anything to offer that would inspire the faith and courage of others.  He was so wrong.

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And Zuzu.  She has never let her refugee status conquer or even dampen her spirit.  Instead, she embraced the opportunity of a fresh start in a new country.  As a mother of 3, she also manages the family finances and cares for her aging in-laws while pursuing her education in her 4th language.  Her husband also works tirelessly so she can go to school and together they can achieve in this country what hasn’t been possible for them back in war-torn Syria.

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My newest neighbor is a Gentle Soul with the brightest smile I have ever seen.  She met and married her husband and gave birth to their 10 kids in a refugee camp in Rwanda.  Now, as a widow, she braves a strange new community as a single mom with NO English language.  She works nights at a meat packing plant and relies on the kindness of others, her deep faith, and the services our great country has to offer to help her kids thrive.

I feel so small. 

I have so little to offer.  But I also know that every little offering is something.  I have held hands in prayer with Pompa.  I have celebrated Zuzu’s achievements over little cups of tea.  And I have connected deeply—mother to mother, woman to woman, human to human—far beyond words with my Gentle-Souled neighbor.

Dr. King, thank you for these words:

If you can’t fly then run, if you can’t run then walk, if you can’t walk then crawl, but whatever you do you have to keep moving forward.

I can’t tell you how relieved I am that you actually said this.  I have seen my three beautiful friends move forward and cross insurmountable barriers with hope and grit.  My friends have been incredibly patient and grateful and gracious.  They have taught me to never waste a moment—to live, to learn, to move forward, to love others, to dare greatly.  They have shown me equality in our pursuits of happiness.

I feel so small in a big, scary 2020 world.  But, I’m learning that I can do the small stuff.  I can move forward, even if my steps feel ever so insignificant.  I can scooch over.  I can give my neighbor’s kids a ride home from school.  I can help her understand the electric bill.

I can take on small… I could even be great at the small things.

If I cannot do great things, I can do small things in a great way.  -MLK, Jr.

Dr. King, did you really ever start out small?

Chronic Hope: the Video

~ Georgia Coats ~ 1 Comment

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I feel incredibly grateful. I feel like I’ve been given a second lease on life. If not this time in history, if not this diagnosis, if not so many things along the way, I may not be here. I may not been able to live 20 years with this cancer diagnosis.

It has been a full circle year for me.

This year, my husband and I celebrated 20 years of marriage.

This year, I also have had the privilege to reflect back over my cancer journey from a healthy place, back in the place where it all began.

To cultivate gratitude.

To set goals for the future.

To be amazed by the grace and power of God along the way.

I’m thankful for my amazing husband, Stephen Coats, who produced this 7-minute summary of our 20-year cancer journey:

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This video was produced alongside a series of Chronic Hope articles for the Yemeni American News, 2019:

Georgia Coats is a Language & Culture Learning Coach, freelance writer, educator, wife, and mother of three who is passionate about healthy mind-body-spirit living.  Chronic Hope is Georgia’s collection of stories, lessons, and life adventures of living alongside chronic leukemia, cancer of the white blood cells, for two decades.  She often shares what’s on her mind at: www.onmymindbygeorgia.wordpress.com

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CHRONIC HOPE #5: From Battling Fatigue to Balancing an Energy Budget

~ Georgia Coats ~ 5 Comments

I knew the call would come, like the expectation of a winter storm.

My oncologist forecasted that my body would eventually build up a resistance to my medication for chronic myeloid leukemia (CML) after going off of it 3 times to have 3 miracle babies.

That dreaded call came the day after Christmas in the middle of a family movie.  The nurse dictated dates for blood tests and biopsies.  It was clear as I fumbled for a pen while running out of the darkened theatre that she didn’t care which dates worked for my grad school class schedule, my teaching hours, or my family life.

Bottom line, I needed to rewrite my priority list—ASAP!

I was thankful for a short commute between hospital and university in the heart of Detroit.  I naively thought I could change medications and not skip a beat in class.  I didn’t account for the unexpected toxicities of Sprycel, my new miracle medication.  It was super effective in treating cancer.   But my fatigued body could barely make it through a day.IMG_5394.JPG

5 Steps of Energy Budgeting

I know what it’s like to live on a tight financial budget.  I’ve been stretching dollars for decades.  Taking Sprycel syphoned off a significant portion of my energy each day.  It was clear that I drastically needed to rebalance my energy budget to account for success within my new limitations of fatigue.

1. Set Goals

Set clear, attainable goals. Identify the most important places to spend limited resources of energy. For me it was: Finish grad school.  Aspire to excellence—as a mom, wife and student.  As I pushed forward with my Master’s degree, I became a goal-setting master.

2. Prioritize 

Show up wholeheartedly

Decide the most important ways to expend mental, emotional and spiritual energy, and then let go of the other stuff.

If I aspired to excellence as a mom, wife, and graduate student, I couldn’t also be an excellent teacher.  I quit my teaching job, and we creatively rebalanced an even tighter financial budget.IMG_4263

3. Eliminate Excess

Identify and get rid of unnecessary energy drains.  It’s like knowing you’re going to shipwreck if you don’t throw stuff overboard.  Learn to say “NO” to superfluous obligations and to excess noise in your head.

Nursing a grudge or second-guessing good decisions were luxuries I couldn’t afford.  Instead, I learned the energy-rejuvenating power of clear thinking cultivated by a rhythm of rest, walks, and intimate times in prayer.

4. Show Up Wholeheartedly

Once goals are set, priorities are clear, and junk has been eliminated, be present in your priorities. Embrace them fully and generously.

It was costly to be a mother of three and a non-traditional, cancer fighting grad student.  I wasn’t going to miss any of those prioritized moments. I studied hard. I also learned to set studies aside and wholeheartedly cherish puppy movies with my feverish 4th grader as the privileged place of being a mom.

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5. Celebrate Success

Find joy in the things that contribute to success.  Setbacks and shortcomings are ingredients for grit when it comes to celebrating achievement.

I regularly thanked my amazing professors.  When my worn out body ached, I thanked God for my cozy bed as I crawled into it.  I cried tears of gratefulness as my husband picked up my slack at home.

When I finally finished graduate school, debt free, after 5 ½ years, celebrations of success were the sweetest.IMG_5393

I learned to thank God for my miracle medication.

It keeps my body cancer-free.  It has afforded me peace of mind, power in weakness, freedom in limitations, and grace in weariness. I have learned to live more lightly and freely as I regularly surrender all my priorities to my highest priority of all—loving God with all my heart, soul, mind, and strength.

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This article was published in a series of articles for the Yemeni American News, September, 2019, p. 10:

Georgia Coats is a Language & Culture Learning Coach, freelance writer, educator, wife, and mother of three who is passionate about healthy mind-body-spirit living.  Chronic Hope is Georgia’s collection of stories, lessons, and life adventures of living alongside chronic leukemia, cancer of the white blood cells, for two decades.  She often shares what’s on her mind at: www.onmymindbygeorgia.wordpress.com

 

CHRONIC HOPE #4: A Potential Risk of Fighting Cancer

~ Georgia Coats ~ 5 Comments

“How dare you be so irresponsible with your wife’s health?  Don’t you understand the risks you’re putting her through by getting her pregnant in her condition?”

I watched my husband’s face change from shock to anger as the nurse unleashed her stern lecture on him.

Five years into marriage and four years into my cancer diagnosis, I was nearing my 30th birthday.  We had given up on making long-term life goals.  I let go of the dream of living abroad for language and cultural studies, and I quit graduate school.

But the dream of being a mom got stronger.

My super-effective miracle medication for chronic myeloid leukemia (CML) extended both my quality and quantity of life.  Aside from 3-month check ups, an annual bone marrow biopsy, and my daily meds, I lived a normal life.  But normal life made me hope for normal things, like a family of my own.

Truth: In this world we all face struggles.

My doctor was STUBBORNLY clear: pregnancy was out of the question.  It was too risky to subject a fetus to the potentially hazardous effects of my miracle meds. And it was too risky for me to go off my miracle meds for any reason.

After multiple heart-wrenching conversations, desperate prayers, and seeking counsel from others who had faced life’s storms and held on to hope, my husband and I felt like it was risky NOT to start a family.

Two significant things happened:

  1. We learned that we must calculate our risk and take the first step into the storm; and expect God’s reassuring presence to show up along the way.
  2. My stubborn doctor left. His replacement was willing to treat me as a whole person, instead of just treating my disease.  We needed someone to champion for the fullness of life.

Hope is a function of struggle. 

“Hope is a function of struggle,” affirms Brené Brown, author of Daring Greatly: How the Courage to be Vulnerable Transforms the Way We Live, Love, Parent & Lead.

Eighteen months of chemotherapy injections were considered “safe” for growing three wondrous new lives, but they left me feverish and weak.  As I lay limp on the couch, I regularly recalculated our risk.

Giving up a safe miserable life without big dreams, for the opportunity to cultivate new life, changed something in me forever.  Ultimately, wherever beauty and life-giving possibilities exist, they are worth the pursuit.

Brené Brown reminds us that, “the willingness to show up changes us. It makes us a little braver each time.” 

My desire to be a mom dared me to set 9-month goals.  Three times. That led me to reconsider the daunting goal of graduate school to become a Language and Culture Learning Coach—this time as a non-traditional, cancer-fighting, mother of three.

Chronic struggles forged profound hope that pushed me higher and deeper in mind, body, and spiritual potential. And, in setting an example for my miracle children to live courageous lives.

The ongoing challenge is to keep hands open while living courageously—to never close in on the great gifts of life we’ve been given. I’ve been given 20 years to cultivate chronic hope. IMG_4212I find myself in a privileged place to champion others.  My heart is for those who face war, leave home, and migrate across cultural and linguistic barriers in search of the fullness of what life can be.  To these souls I hold out small offerings with open hands.

What are your dreams, forged in struggle?

Who are your champions?

What are the little offerings in your hands?

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This article was published in a series of articles for the Yemeni American News, August, 2019:

Georgia Coats is a Language & Culture Learning Coach, freelance writer, educator, wife, and mother of three who is passionate about healthy mind-body-spirit living.  Chronic Hope is Georgia’s collection of stories, lessons, and life adventures of living alongside chronic leukemia, cancer of the white blood cells, for two decades.  She often shares what’s on her mind at: www.onmymindbygeorgia.wordpress.com

 

CHRONIC HOPE #3: Cancer Complicates My Identity Issues

~ Georgia Coats ~ 4 Comments

The life of a creature is in their blood.  Blood is the essence of who a person is.

By blood I am Greek.  By nationality I am a U.S. citizen.  By education I am a Spanish speaker.  By cultural experiences I resonate with my Middle Eastern neighbors of Dearborn, MI.  By faith I am a follower of Jesus the Messiah.

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My whole life I have dabbled in multiple worlds, cultures, languages, and social groupings.  I hover on borders, struggling to figure out where I fit in.  That’s why I became a Language and Culture Learning Coach.

That’s why I have identity issues.

Enter Cancer.

By blood I have a cancer diagnosis.  More specifically, chronic myeloid leukemia (CML) is cancer in my blood cells.  Ironically, the white blood cells that function to fight off disease have become diseased.

Someone advised early on,

“Don’t let your cancer diagnosis define who you are.”

That piece of wisdom has both haunted and inspired me for that last 20 years.

When cancer runs in your blood, how do you not let it effect who you are?

To complicate things even more, I am on a cutting edge, super-effective, immunotherapy treatment. No complaints there.  When I tell people I have cancer, they want to know: Am I a survivor? Am I in remission? or Am I still battling the disease?  YES!  I dabble in all of those things.  My treatment keeps me in remission, as long as I keep taking it, daily.  Forever.

In my blood, disease moves slowly.  It’s a lifelong chronic disease, which makes me a peripheral member of another group.  The Chronic Illness Group.  People with chronic illness spend a lifetime on meds, and suffer from their diseases for decades.  There’s no glory in chronic illness.  To find support and strength in a chronic struggle, it helps to own it.  To identify with others who struggle in a similar way.

Blood-Related Issues

This summer I will travel to the Old Country, Greece, with my parents, siblings, and kids, to share with my kids a sliver of their heritage—of the identity that runs in their blood.  We will kiss my aunties and meet another generation of cousins.  We will eat great food and connect with the passion, grit, and generosity of our people.  I will admit my shortcoming to learn, and to teach my kids, the Greek language.  Relatives will look at me through the sympathetic cancer lens and say I look good, considering my health issues.

While I don’t want to be defined by the disease in my blood, I also cannot deny that it hasn’t had a significant impact on who I am.  Cancer brings definition to my character.  And for that, I am grateful.

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Thankfully, YOU don’t have to have my issues to embrace the wonderful beauty of your design.

And together let’s learn to share in the struggles of others.

Because, cancer or not, we all have issues.

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This article was published in a series of articles for the Yemeni American News, July, 2019:

Georgia Coats is a Language & Culture Learning Coach, freelance writer, educator, wife, and mother of three who is passionate about healthy mind-body-spirit living.  Chronic Hope is Georgia’s collection of stories, lessons, and life adventures of living alongside chronic leukemia, cancer of the white blood cells, for two decades.  She often shares what’s on her mind at: www.onmymindbygeorgia.wordpress.com