Smiling Through The
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Bree Fram, Right Before Surgery on April 8th, 2022
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I’m one year out from a 12-hour surgery and chemo to rid me of traitorous abdominal cells. It feels like a lifetime. I hope that says I've really lived in the past year, with all the amazing and heart-breaking moments that are part of it. And, if a year can feel like a lifetime, that I've got a whole lot of cancer-free lives yet to live.
Why share this story? The experience taught me a lot, the first lessons were about empathy and support. The weeks before the surgery had been such a roller-coaster of emotion. Putting my affairs in order, making videos for the kids in case I didn’t make it, all the calls and hugs with friends and family that may have been my last, planning a last meal at home. All those ‘just-in-case’ things. The list of moments, little and big, was enormous.
Nothing hit me harder, and in such a dramatically different way than anything in my life, than when Peg and I got on the road to travel to the hospital in Baltimore the night before the surgery. I got a call saying the doctor was going to be unable to make it due to emergency surgery of his own. What?!? I was literally stunned. Thankfully I wasn’t driving, we pulled over. I literally needed a minute just for my brain to restart. We had just done everything to be ready for this day, now we had to wait again? Resume life as ‘normal’? Go back to work? Have to say goodbye to the kids again? Twice!?! Do all of this twice? Ugh. It took a while for my brain to restart and get in gear. The thought then was “Ok, got it. Let’s make the most of what we have.” We continued to Baltimore to meet my mom and aunt, who had flown there to support me, and have dinner with them. We stayed the night and drove home. We made the most of the week we had until the rescheduled surgery.
After all that madness, it was much easier for me to understand others going through life-threatening situations, but it opened my eyes to how little I knew beforehand. Thankfully, my leaders at work, asked all the right questions and were there to support me and my family in whatever way they could. It was such a relief knowing their attitudes about putting me and my health first, not the work. The work would be there waiting when I got back. It reinforced the lesson of how intentional leaders need to be about learning about what support people in challenging situations need. It’s going to be different for everyone.
The second big lesson was about the power of framing. I was absolutely terrified going into this procedure, and for a long time afterwards during a difficult recovery, but by framing the journey in gratitude things were a lot easier than they might have been under a frame of pity or victimization. I didn't feel bad about being in the situation, instead I was thankful for everything I'd been given in this life and the opportunities I’d had to enjoy it. So many have had so much less than I do and thrived. How could I do any less? I tried to take advantage of every opportunity and to be thankful for all the support around me. My last thoughts and words while on the operating room table, as the oxygen mask descended, were to thank the staff there for taking care of me. I could have easily wallowed in a sea of “why me?” but what good would that have done me? It’s almost classic stoic philosophy to take control of what we can, our attitude, and to let go of what we can’t. Even know thinking about what I’m thankful for puts a smile on my face, which makes facing today’s challenges a bit easier.
There's work to do, love to share, and adventures to be had. Let’s go do it with a smile.
Why share this story? The experience taught me a lot, the first lessons were about empathy and support. The weeks before the surgery had been such a roller-coaster of emotion. Putting my affairs in order, making videos for the kids in case I didn’t make it, all the calls and hugs with friends and family that may have been my last, planning a last meal at home. All those ‘just-in-case’ things. The list of moments, little and big, was enormous.
Nothing hit me harder, and in such a dramatically different way than anything in my life, than when Peg and I got on the road to travel to the hospital in Baltimore the night before the surgery. I got a call saying the doctor was going to be unable to make it due to emergency surgery of his own. What?!? I was literally stunned. Thankfully I wasn’t driving, we pulled over. I literally needed a minute just for my brain to restart. We had just done everything to be ready for this day, now we had to wait again? Resume life as ‘normal’? Go back to work? Have to say goodbye to the kids again? Twice!?! Do all of this twice? Ugh. It took a while for my brain to restart and get in gear. The thought then was “Ok, got it. Let’s make the most of what we have.” We continued to Baltimore to meet my mom and aunt, who had flown there to support me, and have dinner with them. We stayed the night and drove home. We made the most of the week we had until the rescheduled surgery.
After all that madness, it was much easier for me to understand others going through life-threatening situations, but it opened my eyes to how little I knew beforehand. Thankfully, my leaders at work, asked all the right questions and were there to support me and my family in whatever way they could. It was such a relief knowing their attitudes about putting me and my health first, not the work. The work would be there waiting when I got back. It reinforced the lesson of how intentional leaders need to be about learning about what support people in challenging situations need. It’s going to be different for everyone.
The second big lesson was about the power of framing. I was absolutely terrified going into this procedure, and for a long time afterwards during a difficult recovery, but by framing the journey in gratitude things were a lot easier than they might have been under a frame of pity or victimization. I didn't feel bad about being in the situation, instead I was thankful for everything I'd been given in this life and the opportunities I’d had to enjoy it. So many have had so much less than I do and thrived. How could I do any less? I tried to take advantage of every opportunity and to be thankful for all the support around me. My last thoughts and words while on the operating room table, as the oxygen mask descended, were to thank the staff there for taking care of me. I could have easily wallowed in a sea of “why me?” but what good would that have done me? It’s almost classic stoic philosophy to take control of what we can, our attitude, and to let go of what we can’t. Even know thinking about what I’m thankful for puts a smile on my face, which makes facing today’s challenges a bit easier.
There's work to do, love to share, and adventures to be had. Let’s go do it with a smile.
Bree, atop the 14,066' Mt. Bierstadt, six months after her surgery.