Author: peachy

I keep receiving all sorts of sweet surprises. Today it was a tube of red Dior lipstick from a dear friend of Sister and KB. He knows a gal who wrote a book called “Why I Wore Lipstick to My Mastectomy.”

We’d probably get along.

I finally got dressed in real clothes this morning – drains hiding underneath my loose shirt – and we’re hoping for a coffee shop outing this afternoon!

The only pain meds I’m taking now are Tylenol and ibuprofen. Still have a healthy appetite, drinking lots of water, and sleeping through the night. My scars look good.

All seems well.

I meet with my breast surgeon again on Wednesday and my oncologist on Thursday. They’ll have the final pathology reports then. We’re hoping they don’t find anything in my lymph nodes.

I’m going to assume they won’t.

XOXO

Well, I’m home again. And doing just fine.

We had a bit of a setback yesterday afternoon. All of a sudden it felt like an elephant had plopped down on my chest and I broke out in a cold sweat and started getting nauseous. But my sister held a cloth to my forehead and I practiced my breathing while Thug called the nurse at Dr. King’s office. She was worried it could be my heart, but we ruled that out and now we’re assuming it was either a massive (probably long overdue) panic attack, or simply my body’s reaction to getting rid of the anesthesia.

It started to happen again this morning; we calmed it down.

Then I had my favorite breakfast – grapenuts with blueberries, a soft boiled egg, and fresh squeezed grapefruit juice.

Then Sister climbed into the shower with me. (Really nice of her.)

Then Claire came over with Indian food for lunch.

I was hoping she and I could go for a long walk around Town Lake today (!). Not a chance. Gonna rest now.

There are no words to express my gratitude for all the love you’ve shown me.

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Today my mom and sister come back to Austin. And John arrives tomorrow!

Dad’s already here.

I’m sure there have been many times over the past eight years that he’s shown up for me and I haven’t noticed – because I’m not paying attention or I’m somewhat disbelieving. But on occasion he makes *sure* I don’t miss him.

Once he appeared as a glittering spiral of light. Every now and again he’ll leave a whiff of his hairspray or Doublemint gum in his wake.

And then, not too long ago, after a really, really hard day, I pulled into my driveway and found a little owl waiting for me. He was just sitting there, near my front door. I kept my headlights on and hopped out of the car, asking “Are you hurt honey?” He wasn’t. He spun his head away from me, then turned back and looked right into my eyes. That’s when I felt my body start to tingle.

I said, “Wait a second. Who sent you here?” He turned away again, then looked hard at me. I said, “Do you know Dad?”

Later, as I was telling the story to Gus, and I got to this part, he asked, “Peach, WAS it Papa Don?”

I believe so with all my heart.

When that little owl flew away I followed him to my neighbor’s yard, but couldn’t find him up in the trees or beyond.

Turns out owls are guardians of the afterlife. And they protect us from harm. Seems like the very creature Dad would choose to deliver a message to me.

I’m safe. He’s got me.

So do all of you.

I can’t thank you enough for that.

This feels like a primal sort of gathering. And oh! What a circle of support I’ve got surrounding me.

Sister will post on Tuesday. My surgery is scheduled for 12:30pm.

I’m feeling more than okay, just a tad nervous, and much loved.

Dear loved ones of Peachy,

Our impression is that Peachy likes to walk. Walking seems to be her church, her therapy, it centers and grounds her, literally.

On so many roads in our lives, we have been blessed to walk alongside Peachy. Peachy and Aly served in student council together at Rolla High School. In the summer of 1998, Aly also joined her in facilitating her APACT (Achieving Power and Community Together) project at a Chicago Youth Center in Cabrini Green in Chicago. When Peachy was organizing for the Obama campaign in South Carolina, she and Sam (Greenville, SC resident) became close. If you distill the essence of our shared sojourns with Peachy, it is time spent in service to others. A familiar refrain we suspect most of you know well.

Now Peachy is on a journey down a new path and like so many of you, we want to link arms alongside her. On Sunday, September 30, 2018 we can by joining Peachy’s loved ones for the 2018 Komen Austin Race for the Cure – an event where we can support Peachy with our arms and our feet and our hearts and walk in service to her and to others. Learn more about the event at: https://komenaustin.org/

Peachy’s team is forming and we will share the information widely once we get it up and running. In the meantime, save the date. Also, we need help with a team name and thought it might be good to get inspiration from those who love Peachy the most (common team names are: Karen’s Friends of Komen…but we think we can do better). Please submit your ideas here as comments, or in a direct message to either of us, by Friday, January 26th. Peachy will choose the winner.

We so look forward to lacing up our shoes and loving Peachy with each step. We hope you will join us.

What a gift it is to walk alongside Peachy Myers.

Onward,

Sam + Aly

Samantha Sowers Wallace and Aly Sowers Schoenfeldt

samanthaswallace@gmail.com, aly.schoenfeldt@gmail.com

Just got the call I’ve been waiting for from the breast surgeon’s office and I’m relieved to report that I’ve finally got a surgery date on the calendar! My bilateral mastectomy will take place on Tuesday, January 23.

This wasn’t a tortured decision for me to make. Given the kind of cancer I’ve got in my right breast, coupled with my woeful family history, Dr. Debra Patt (my oncologist) quickly recommended the most aggressive treatment plan. She said it’s what she would do if she were in my shoes.

Dr. Heather King (my surgeon) was initially more inclined toward lumpectomy + radiation…but less so after the MRI revealed I’ve also got two suspicious spots in my left breast. Ugh.

I don’t want to fuck around with this and find myself going through it all again 2, 3, 5, 10 years down the road.

So we’re all set.

Both boobs, as well as my sentinel lymph nodes, will soon be gone.

The surgery should only last about three hours, and I’ll go home 24 hours later. Recovery will take just a few weeks. That’s because I’ve decided *not* to do reconstruction. When I told Dr. King, she literally leaned back in her chair and balked at me. Then she composed herself and said of course she’d support me no matter what, but was I sure I didn’t want boobs? I didn’t even have to think about my response. Here’s what rolled off my tongue:

a) I’ve tried to hide my boobs since I was 11. I’m actually looking forward to moving through the world without them.

b) My sense of self and identity as a woman is not bound up in my body, or anyone else’s idea of what my body ought to be.

c) I won’t be breastfeeding the baby I adopt. And if I try again to get pregnant (and by some miracle it works), I’m fine with formula.

d) I’ve already had decades of fun with my boobs. (Although I *am* hoping to give them one more romp. A friend who’s friends with Alexander Skarsgard asked him to be my Make a Wish. Fingers crossed!)

e) I’m not about to go through an additional series of risky surgeries for a pair of boobs that I won’t even feel. They’d be for his pleasure, not mine. No thanks.

Down with the patriarchy!

I’ll keep you posted as we get closer to the date. Austin peeps, look for an email from Claire East about coordinating meals post-surgery. I hope you’ll come see my new scars. And out-of-towners, let’s map out your visits.

On New Years Day I drove from St. Louis to Chicago, corn fields and farmhouses to my left and right covered in snow and moonlight.

Little did my friend Jen know that I’d spend Tuesday sprawled out on her couch – my body desperate for stillness. After calling my oncologist’s office, my breast surgeon’s office, my radiologist’s office, my plastic surgeon’s office, my pharmacy, and my adoption agency (more on that later), I closed my eyes and slept. All day long. Didn’t even move a muscle when her cat named Pussy snuggled up next to me. And I *strongly* dislike cats.

When I woke up I felt like I was moving through mud.

In other words, my boots were heavy.

But I felt better enough on Wednesday to meet up with some of my old favorites from the Obama campaign.

And Thursday Jen and I drove to Iowa. It was my third pilgrimage to the place where Dad fell. It’s one of those sacred places where the veil between here and gone is just a little thinner. And if you stand quietly and pay close attention, you’ll feel your whole body start to warm up and vibrate. Even when it’s below freezing outside.

I stood in the very spot where God and my grandparents reached down and held Dad, then pulled him back to them.

I laid a rock down in the snow.

And I thought of the poem Scott shared with me at Christmas:

“‘Tis a fearful thing

to love what death can touch.

A fearful thing

to love, to hope, to dream, to be –

to be,

And oh, to lose.

A thing for fools, this,

And a holy thing,

a holy thing

to love.

For your life has lived in me,

your laugh once lifted me,

your word was gift to me.

To remember this brings painful joy.

‘Tis a human thing, love,

a holy thing, to love

what death has touched.”

(Yehuda HaLevi)

You all know I dove deep into my grief when Dad died. That was a holy thing too. And I feel echoes of that same sort of holy now. The perspective-taking, the internal rearranging, the focusing on what matters most –

Which, of course, is to love, and to let you love me.

We came up with an important list tonight re: Getting Rid of my Boobs:

PROS

easier to go running / might inspire me to go running (I never run)

won’t have to buy or wear bras anymore

less soap in the shower – will save money over time

no more boob sweat in the summer

no more bra marks on my shoulders

no one will yell “fat titty bitch” when I’m walking down the street anymore (I mean, maybe)

no more nipping out

CONS

no more motorboating

Seems like we’ve reached a decision.

Cooper got me the perfect Christmas present this year!

Every now and again since we’ve been home Charlie will climb onto my lap and pat the place where I’m hurt.

And the girls have lots of questions about my upcoming surgery.

And Gus is mostly remembering to be gentle with Aunt Peachy’s body.

The sweetest sort of gifts.

Two days after my diagnosis I rolled my mat out in the back of the room at Angie’s yoga class, knowing I’d mostly be skipping flow and staying still in savasana. During practice, she asked us to be open to receiving – whatever comes our way. Meaning, for me, illness, but also all that is offered (and unexpected) in the days and weeks and months after finding out.

Not easy for me. My instinct is to say, it’s okay, don’t worry, I’ve got this. But since December 13 I’ve started to realize what she means about the beauty of saying yes. And I’m going to continue accepting the gifts offered to me. Gifts like reiki, meditation and yoga classes, second opinions, doggie / kid dates, mountain and beach respites, gold light and energy from priestesses in Brooklyn (!), meals, prayers, poems, medical research, movies, books, wine, rose quartz, T’s Fuck Cancer Fund, connections to friends of friends who have gone through this, Central Market gift cards, daily messages, flowers, and so many offers to come to Austin and stay with me while I’m healing.

Gifts like your closeness, Dad’s closeness.

The littles in my life.

Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Merry Christmas! I’m home. Drove 12 hours from Texas to Missouri yesterday. I’ve always loved a good solo road trip. Especially now. It’s a little bit like walking for me. Instead of thinking about things, I don’t think of much at all. I remember after Dad died how being in the car – suspended somewhere in-between – allowed me to quiet my mind, rest, breathe. Still a welcome reprieve.

I woke up this morning to a lighter heart and more sweet messages and it made me realize grace is already at work again. When Sister and I were walking around Town Lake the other day, I told her I didn’t know how I’d ever thank her. Then I stopped and said, “Well, I’ll just do the same for you when it’s your turn.” Which made us both think of this long-ago video of Cooper when he was a little sick:

Click Here to Watch Cooper’s Video

[If that video link didn’t work for you, try this one.]

I promise when it’s YOUR turn – no matter what life brings – I’ll be there for you like you’ve been here for me.

Hi! Sister and I thought it would be a good idea to start a blog and keep us all connected as this next winding (unexpected, a little scary, not quite welcome but I’m ready and willing to receive it) journey for me begins. I can’t even begin to express how grateful I am for all of you and the many ways you’ve already encircled, accompanied, supported, and fiercely loved me since learning I’ve got breast cancer. I’ll be posting updates here, and Sister might pop in every now and again too. This site will *not* replace my need for our one-on-one conversations. (Please, please keep calling and texting and checking in and showing up for me!) But it will give me a single place to share news with all of you, so I don’t have to repeat things about my diagnosis and treatment over and over again. So. Here we go.

Have I mentioned how bad ass my oncologist is? Thanks, Holly, for recommending her:

https://www.texasoncology.com/doctors/debra-patt

It certainly hasn’t been uneventful around here. But I’m off to see my therapist now and my spirits are high and I’ve set some guiding intentions for how I want to go about all of this. Starting with wishing for what I already have. And what I have in abundance is FAMILY AND FRIENDS who lift me up. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

PS – Beauty in the Mess comes from my beloved yoga teacher Angie. In the magical class she offered Sister and me this morning, she reminded us that sometimes we can’t see the whole picture, but that doesn’t mean things aren’t just as they should be in this moment. Amen.