Dealing With Grief: Waiting For Opdivo

New Year’s Eve. December 31, 2014. His last birthday on planet Earth, January 1, 2015. Turning 71.

On the third anniversary of my husband’s death, June 27, 2018, I decided to publish this article which I started writing two and a half years ago. I had been unable to finish it. I was moving on with my life and didn’t want to relive these very sad and traumatic moments. Every time I went back to my draft, my mind went blank. All those years of struggle and later grief came back to haunt me. I remember my mother telling me after my husband’s death: “Annette, you are under a deep depression. You should honestly see a doctor.” and my answer was: “No Mom, it’s not depression, it’s just deep rooted sorrow. It’s a very strong feeling of loss. I will be okay.”

So no. I was not ready to finish it.

I am ready now.

I worked in the advertising industry for many years and my last job was as Commercial Director for Televisa Publishing + Digital Puerto Rico. A company in Puerto Rico that distributed the Spanish versions of Cosmopolitan, Good Housekeeping, National Geographic, Women’sHealth, Men’s Health etc. The Puerto Rican magazine Caras and the very popular latin magazine Vanidades. Not only did the sales department report to me but also marketing, promotions and the special projects department. I also managed social media for Cosmopolitan, Vanidades and BuenHogar (Good Housekeeping). I was extremely happy and at the peak of my career.

While visiting one of my very good clients who managed advertising for an important pharmaceutical company about a year prior to my husband’s death, she talked to me about a very promising drug called Opdivo (nivolumab) which was considered a miracle drug for prolonging life to melanoma type cancer patients.

She went on to tell me that it was now being tested on patients with metastatic non small cell lung cancer (NSCLC) but back then hadn’t yet received the approval from the FDA to treat lung cancer patients . I did extensive research on the drug which is actually immunotherapy which stimulates a person’s own immune system to recognize and destroy cancer cells more effectively. Immunotherapy would be used to treat some forms of non-small cell lung cancer (NSCLC). It was supposed to be very effective in fighting metastatic cancer, which had spread from the original tumor to other areas.

Finally around March 2015 Opdivo, was approved by the FDA to treat people with and advanced lung cancer: Squamous non-small cell lung cancer that had grown after they received platinum-based chemotherapy.

So as soon as I was able to and after hearing about the approval, (because Rafi was always in and out of a hospital in Puerto Rico either with dehydration, chemotherapy side effects etc.), I traveled with him on June 2015 to Cleveland Clinic in Weston, Florida. I took a nurse along with me who had been coming to my house for the last 4 months to help me with his bath, medications and would administer intravenous fluids to him due to the fact that he refused to drink water or any other liquid for that matter and would easily become dehydrated. Couldn’t walk. Was 6’1″ tall and I couldn’t move him by myself anymore.

Worst trip ever. We arrived at Weston Florida with him and on our way to the hospital we had to place him lying down on the back seat of the car because he couldn’t sit by himself anymore. He couldn’t walk and he was aching all over.

Nobody would help us get him out of the car when we arrived at the hospital. They wouldn’t because of liability issues. This was mind boggling to me. A hospital and they won’t help you get a patient out of the car and help you move him on to a wheelchair?Where has liability taken us?

So being ultra careful we struggled but finally got him out of the car, placed him in a wheelchair and took him into the clinic. He received an MRI.

The results of the MRI were back the following day and we took him to his first appointment with a neurologist, who was a true angel. He was the one to give him the news. His cancer had spread to his bones, to both of his lungs, spinal chord, stomach and I don’t remember what other organs were compromised. Very bad news. We were all devastated.

This is what happened at the appointment. If you already read this story which I posted a couple of years ago you may skip it. If you would like to read it, here is the link:

https://wordpress.com/post/annettevaillant.com/2814

After the appointment we took him downstairs to fill out some forms. He sat in his wheelchair next to the nurse while I stood in line. After I filled out all the forms, I walked over to him and he began to cry. I had NEVER seen Rafi cry. I grabbed him by the hand and told him, with that positive attitude that I always try to portray and remembering the movie Sound of Music and the song: Whenever I feel afraid I hold my head erect and whistle a happy tune so no one will suspect I’m afraid: “Rafi are you crying? No way! You are going to be cured. You are going to start your Opdivo treatment and you will be cured! Please trust me. We will get over this. Trust me!”

He looked at me and smiled.

Last trip to Weston. June 2015. He loved me to take him to House of Pancakes. Strawberry milkshake was his favorite.

We had been waiting for months for the FDA to approve this “miracle drug” for the treatment of lung cancer but Rafi didn’t fit into the protocol. Here was the catch: My husband had non-small cell lung cancer, which had metastasized and he had also received platinum-based chemotherapy, but his lung cancer was not “squamous” which is a histological subtype of non-small cell lung cancer. He was not a candidate as he did not fit into the protocol that was needed for the approval of the administration of Opdivo. Even so, his oncologist at Cleveland Clinic told me he would work it out. That he would get the necessary paperwork and approval and proceed to administer Opdivo to him. That he was working already with other patients who didn’t fit into that precise protocol. But he needed to get the approval first. So back to the hotel we went.

While staying at Weston, I constantly went to the doctors office. Called endlessly to see if he had been approved. Rafi’s health deteriorating rapidly and his pain was getting worse. They even had to put him on medical Cannabis to ease his pain.

Fortunately his family started arriving. His daughter came over to stay with her dad, whom she adored, so that I could travel to PR because both my license and passport had expired and if I didn’t renew them I wouldn’t be able to travel anymore.

So off I flew back to Puerto Rico leaving Rafi with his daughter and the nurse.

Two days later his daughter called me at midnight telling me Rafi was at the intensive care unit in Cleveland Clinic. I got on the first plane to Fort Lauderdale, got on a cab to Weston the next morning and so did his other three sons. He was taken to the intensive care unit at Cleveland Clinic due to the fact that while he was being administered his food in bed he had thrown up and this material had entered his lung producing an aspiration pneumonia.

I was devastated. When I got to the intensive care unit I found him eyes closed and tubes all over. As I approached him, he opened his eyes looked at me and smiled with that so recognizable loving smile he always gave me when he saw me. He was so happy I was there.

I cursed the moment I had left him behind. I cursed my inclination to procrastinate. I cursed the fact that I had no one to blame but myself because it was me who should have been there. We had become inseparables. He had become my son. I could feel his pains, I knew when he was going to pass out, throw up, wet himself. I could sense all his normal bodily functions that become malfunctions as you age and become ill. After being with him for so long I knew, I sensed him, I felt him.

Many times in the middle of the night I would instinctively jump out of bed to lift him up when I felt he was going to throw up. But no, I wasn’t there. I was renewing my passport and license which I should never have allowed to expire. I had no one to blame but myself.

Blame. That’s all I felt for a long, very long time after he passed away.

My life with Rafi had become a full time job after I lost my job in December 31, 2014 due to the closing of the company. Sales had dropped because of the economic recession, the growing internet market which took over print and I also have to add that my priority had not been sales or my job anymore, my priority in life had been taking care of Rafi. Taking him to his doctor’s appointments, coordinating his physical therapies, making him smoothies (which was the only food he tolerated), administering his drugs, taking him out on his wheelchair so that he wouldn’t get depressed but most important of all, making sure he would hold on until Opdivo would be approved for lung cancer patients.

That night we left him with the nurse at the intensive care unit and went to the hotel. They were trying to deal with his aspiration pneumonia and he was improving.

The following day a doctor who apparently had an important position in the intensive care unit, which I later labeled “The Angel of Death”, came over to talk to us and tell us that we should not prolong his life any longer. “What?” I said. “But we are waiting for Opdivo!” “That’s only a palliative treatment”, she answered. “This will not cure him.

“No! I replied. “We’ve been waiting for Opdivo for almost a year now. It’s not a palliative treatment. I KNOW. I’ve been doing research on it for quite some time!”

For the next three days I stayed with him in his intensive care unit room, sleeping on a chair, never went back to the hotel, bathed or changed my clothes. I was not going to let anyone take him off his ventilator.

There was this nurse who was an amazing , caring human being, that would come during the night shift and told me we would get him out of this. “Of course we will I said, We need to. We have to get him out of the intensive care unit so that he can begin his treatment!” I waited for her to come each night. We would talk endlessly. She would tell me I needed to get some sleep. That she didn’t want to take care of two patients in the same room.

But the “Angel of Death” came every day. Asking us to please put him out of his misery. I truly came to the point of despising her. It had to be my decision. I was the wife. I had to give the okay for the doctors to take him out of his life support system.

For 3 days I struggled, cried, prayed and asked God for mercy. Couldn’t sleep. Watched him breathing while being under an induced coma. How can I kill my own husband? How can I make the decision of ending the life of the man I love, who smiled at me oh so lovingly just two days ago and for heaven’s sake we were waiting for Opdivo!!!

A Cuban Dr. who was extremely supportive also told me they would cure his pneumonia. That he was slowly but surely improving.

Then after three days of family reunions, talks with the “Angel of Death” who was there every single day in the process of convincing me to make the right decision because his cancer had spread to his bones, spine, stomach, other lung, etc. That he would never again enjoy or have any good quality of life. She told us that people who are very close to sick people, who have become their caregivers, don’t notice the deterioration process of their loved ones.

And that’s when it hit me.

She was right. Rafi was never going to be my Rafi again. He was never going to be able to dance. (He was a fantastic dancer) Sing “My Way” (His favorite song). Hug me, kiss me. Travel the world together. Go out to dinner. Enjoy his whisky. But worst of all, he was never going to recover. His pains would not cease. He would be living a miserable life and he would eventually and undoubtedly die. He deserved a dignified death as he had lived a dignified life.

Actually, I don’t know when I had become so utterly blind. Cancer was actually doing what cancer does best, taking over mercilessly. Killing human beings and in the process killing itself. Growing undetected. Fooling our inmune system. Taking lives. Separating loved ones. Taking over children before they have a chance to become productive adults.

That silent inner monster. Enjoying our pain with mocking eyes.

I called my oldest son, Carlos, who lives in Miami. My son is like an old soul. When he was about to receive his first communion the lady who was preparing the children for Reconciliation told me this boy was special. That he had a direct line with God. Carlos is very keen and very objective at making decisions and very supportive in difficult times. Reminds me so much of my father…

I told him that Rafi’s family wanted to end this. That they didn’t want to see his father suffer any longer but that they were waiting for and respecting my final decision. But I also told Carlos that I had decided I was not going to make that decision. Rafi had to be taken out of the intensive care unit as soon as he recovered from his pneumonia.

This was my decision.

He said “Mom, do as they say. If it were my Dad I would like to have the opportunity of making that last and final decision.”

My son drove from Miami to Weston that same day. I waited until he arrived and only then did I agree for the doctors to take Rafi off his ventilator.

What came after this was truly appalling.

They took the tubes out. He struggled for air for two and a half hours. The sound of the death rattle was dreadful. It was the most shocking trial I have ever gone through. And believe me I survived breast cancer with 6 months of chemotherapy, 3 months of radiation, took care of my Dad who died of pancreatic cancer. I’ve been there. But this was way beyond anything I had experienced in life. While no one is ever fully prepared for the imminent death of a loved one even when it is expected, as was the case, this was way beyond anything I thought I could have ever dealt with. I went through feelings of sadness, anger, fear, guilt, anxiety. Two of his sons and his daughter where there with me. His youngest son was playing his father’s favorite music on his iPad, crying through the ordeal. His daughter truly amazed me with her total control of the situation.

My son and Rafi’s oldest son waited outside.

I spoke to him constantly because I knew they can still hear you. I prayed. I asked Rafi to please follow the light. We will all be okay. Your wife, I told him, (she had died in 1999, five years before I met him) is here for you, your father, your uncle. Follow the light my love. I spoke to him for two and a half hours. Non stop.

Finally, he let out a final gurgle and passed away. I immediately turned my head up to the ceiling, I KNEW he was there looking at all of us from above and said: “My dear and loving Rafi, I know you are here watching us. We love you. We will be okay. You don’t have to suffer anymore. You can walk again, dance sing your favorite song together with your dear old Frankie.”

I was totally devastated. How I had loved this man. My friend, my lover, who later became my son. How I cherished the moments together through his pain and sickness.

How I truly missed him.

After his death, my son took me back with him to Miami. Rafi’s sons would take care of all the details and transport his body to Puerto Rico.

For days I cried, screamed while driving alone in my car.

I have had family members die but I have never felt them so close as I felt Rafi after he passed away. I could “feel” him. I could sense him in my room. I KNEW he was there. Taking care of me and trying to ease my pain.

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This was us.

One day while driving my car I started to yell at him. Asking him to give me a sign. That I needed know where he was. That he had left me so all alone .

All of the sudden a song starts playing from my iTunes: Just Remember I Love You. A song from the 70’s by the band Firewall. These are the lyrics to it:

“Just Remember I Love You”

When it all goes crazy and the thrill is gone
The days get rainy and the nights get long
When you get that feelin’ you were born to lose
Staring at your ceiling thinkin’ of your blues

When there’s so much trouble that you wanna cry
The world has crumbled and you don’t know why
When your hopes are fading and they can’t be found
Dreams have left you waiting, friends have let you down

Just remember I love you
And it’ll be alright
Just remember I love you
More than I can say
Maybe then your blues will fade away

When you need a lover and you’re down so low
Start to wonder, but you never know
When it feels like sorrow is your only friend
Knowing that tomorrow you’ll feel this way again

When the blues come callin’ at the break of dawn
Rain keeps fallin’, but the rainbow’s gone
When you feel like crying but the tears won’t come
When your dreams are dyin’, when you’re on the run

Just remember I love you
And it’ll be alright
Just remember I love you
More than I can say
Just remember I love you
And it’ll be alright
It’ll be alright
It’ll be alright
It’ll be alright

When I was hearing this unconditional love song I started to cry and thank him when all of the sudden I listen again to the fourth stanza:

This is when I realized that it was truly Rafi who was speaking to me from another level. Rafi was quite a conservative man (a little on the jealous side) who would have never wished, ever, that I would meet someone new. And here he was telling me when you need a lover and you’re down so low…just remember I love you.

Someone who knows about life after death, told me I had to “let go”. Rafi would not make it to another level if I didn’t. He could not bear watching me suffer. That it was better for his soul for me to let go. So I slowly and sadly started talking to him and telling him to leave. That I would be okay.

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Our Wedding Day. November 24, 2006.

Three years have gone by today.

Yes, I have thought I found love again. I still feel young, active, healthy. I know I have a lot to give and deserve and am willing to give myself another chance.

But the love I felt for Rafi. That unconditional love which makes you want to clean, nourish, touch his wounds and be there breathing his last breath, that love, was buried with him forever.

Forever he will hold a place in my life, my mind and my soul.

And if we meet again or not, it really doesn’t matter. He was a very important part of my life on Earth. He left my soul full of endearment, tenderness and love.

For that, I will be eternally grateful.

I loved and was loved unconditionally.

Blessed

Beauty Fashion & Survival

Dress: Stella Nolasco; Makeup & Hair: Alfredo Monterola; Raquel Pérez-Puig; Location: LL

A while ago I was interviewed by a very good friend and ex-co-worker and she asked me if life had been good to me. “Life is life”, I answered, “and I have decided to make it good.”

On a day like today, I want to give thanks for all my blessings. Last year, I was at my extended American family’s home celebrating Thanksgiving feeling quite miserable. It was my first Thanksgiving without my husband who had passed away only five months earlier after battling disease after disease for three consecutive years. Ten years ago today, we had gotten married and had promised each other to be together “Till death do us part.”

But life is so fascinating and oh so unexpected if you only stop to contemplate all that surrounds you. If you realize that we find ourselves in a temporary place and that we have the responsibility to make the best of it. This Thanksgiving I am happy because I decided to make life a happy place. I took charge of my life, as I always do.

At this very moment I am surrounded by family, health, was given the opportunity to combine all my skills to create a community of women who inspire me and I’ve looked up to them for advice. Women who also might feel lonely either because they are going through an empty nest syndrome, have lost a loved one, have been left by their significant other (and maybe it was his loss) and have welcomed me into their hearts and have made me part of their lives.

I am very blessed.

I know life is very unpredictable. I have been there. Tomorrow is tomorrow and I will deal with what comes my way then. I want you to do the same. But now, today, I give thanks to God and to the fact that I have been given this unique and magnificent opportunity to connect with so many people in such a positive manner.

May God bless you all and may you also be aware of all the beauty and blessings that surround you.

Open your eyes, open them wide and let that lovely light shine in.

This is our opportunity. We only have one life.

Let’s make it a memorable one.

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Dealing With Grief

Dealing With Grief, Family & Friends, Healing, Health, Survival

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Dealing with Grief

Remember please, if you don’t like to read about these matters just skip this post:

The last time we went to Cleveland Clinic, where my husband passed away, I travelled with a nurse who I had hired because Rafi was already very delicate and he couldn’t stand on his own two feet. It was honestly the worst trip I had done with him on my countless trips abroad. We literally had to carry him and lay him in the back seat of the car to take him to his different appointments. He had a Pet Scan done on the first day. The following day we went to the neurologist. The neurologist was a very kind man who dedicated all the time in the world to him and broke the news to us that Rafi’s cancer had spread to his bones and to many organs. This news was devastating for both of us. He started asking Rafi several questions to see how well he was coordinating his thoughts. He asked him to draw two interlocking pentagons which he tried to do to the best of his abilities and then the doctor asked him to write a sentence. Rafi wrote quite clearly: I love my wife.

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La última vez que viajé con Rafi a Cleveland Clinic, donde se complicó todo y murió, viajé con una enfermera la cual había contratado porque ya Rafi estaba muy débil y no se podía sostener en sus propias piernas. Fue el peor viaje que hice con él porque literalmente teníamos que cargarlo y acostarlo en el asiento de atrás del auto para llevarlo a sus diferentes citas médicas. El primer día se le hizo un Pet Scan y al día siguiente lo llevé a su primera cita que era con el neurólogo el cual nos dio la noticia de que el cáncer de Rafi había progresado y que literalmente ya estaba cundido. El doctor era sumamente amable y dedicado. Le hizo muchas preguntas a Rafi para ver como andaba neurologicamente hablando. Le pidió copiara dos figuras pentagonales entrelazadas y después le pidió escribiera una oración. Rafi escribió (en inglés): Amo a mi esposa.

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You’re not here…anymore.

Dealing With Grief

Suffering sucks. But the desperate feeling of not being able to find a way out makes hurting even worse. That’s why I run away from it. I keep myself very busy so that I have absolutely no time to think and realize that my long time companion is not here and will never be here again. So all of the sudden when suffering strikes, I write. This is my way of coping and if I can be of help to someone who is going through something similar then, fortunately, my hurting serves a purpose.

Yes, I remember him so well. So very utterly handsome and elegant. With his crisp cotton white shirts and black pants. Always a gentleman.

So I sit here today in front of my computer at our home, which he used to call his “Little Cave”, that we had remodeled to our liking, left with memories in each and every corner. Exactly ten years ago this month, we got married promising each other eternal love. Love which was fleeting.

When I’m not physically active, his presence falls upon me. Coco, Caña and Canela also miss him. He was their master. Now they snuggle with me at night. I hated to have the dogs sleep with us, but he would always convince me to let them in our room. Now I’m the one who brings them in. They give me love and companionship as only dogs can.

No one could come into our apartment without Coco trying to bite them. Now Coco has become a tremendously gentle dog. He doesn’t have to protect his master who he sensed was so lacking in health.

We shared unforgettable moments together. He was my husband, my lover, my friend. Now I find myself in that hollow status, so lacking in feelings, I’m his “widow”. This is my new reality and one that I will have to cope with for the rest of my time in this mystery called life.

But yes, I want to believe that we will someday all be part of a new world where we will all meet in solidarity. Until then, my dear Rafi, I write thoughts on my wall which probably only make sense to me. And with that, my dear, I am content.

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Sufrir es feo. Pero la desesperación de no encontrarle salida a tu sufrimiento es peor. Por eso le huyo con todo. Me mantengo sumamente ocupada para no darme cuenta de que mi compañero de años no está y no va a estar nunca más. Porque ese pensamiento de “nunca más” me desespera. De momento me agarra el dolor y ¿qué hago? Escribo. De esta manera me salgo de mi misma y quizás ayude a alguna que está pasando por lo mismo. Entonces mi sufrimiento agarra algún tipo de sentido.

Sí recuerdo a mi marido hoy. Tan pero tan buenmozo, tan elegante y caballeroso. Con su camisa blanca almidonada y su pantalón largo negro. Hoy estoy en este, nuestro hogar, al cual él llamaba “La Cuevita” la cual remodelamos juntos a nuestra imagen y semejanza, y la cual él abandonó a destiempo dejándome llena de recuerdos en cada rincón.

Justamente este mes, hace diez años nos casamos y nos juramos amor eterno. Amor eterno que en esta vida fue demasiado fugaz.

Siento mucho su ausencia cuando no estoy activa. Coco, Caña y Canela lo extrañan también. Su amo era él. Y ahora se acurrucan a mi por las noches.

Yo odiaba dormir con los perros. Pero Rafi siempre buscaba la manera de convencerme para que los dejara dormir en nuestra habitación. Ahora los entro yo misma. Son mis tres compañeros y me dan mucho amor, y compañía. Como solo los perros lo pueden hacer.

No había quién entrara en mi casa que Coco no le tirara protegiendo a Rafi. Ahora Coco es un perro dócil que recibe con mucho cariño a mi familia e invitados. Sí, me cuida a mí, pero ya no se siente en la obligación de proteger a su amo, el cual Coco intuía carecía de salud.

Pasé muchas lindas etapas junto a Rafi. Amante, amiga, compañera y esposa. Ahora soy esa palabra tan hueca y carente de sentimientos su “viuda”, la cual me niego a utilizar.

Esta es mi realidad y no voy a dejar que me tumbe. Lo quiero y lo extraño muchísimo, pero hay que seguir hacia adelante en este misterio que se llama vida.

“Hasta que la muerte nos separe”, así nos juramos. Y quizás, nos unamos algún día. Quiero pensar que está en un mundo mejor al cual llegaremos todos en unión y solidaridad. Hasta entonces, mi querido Rafi, serás sólo esto, una serie de palabras en mi muro que quizás solo a mí me hagan sentido. Y con esto, por ahora, me tiene que bastar.

Diagnóstico: Cáncer de Seno ( also English version below)

Healing, Survival

Esto fue escrito en el 2001 a dos años de haber sido diagnosticada con cáncer de seno por un pedido de una revista a que compartiera mi experiencia.

Me pidieron escribiera sobre mi experiencia personal con el cáncer. Mientras hacía el borrador recordé las vivencias me tocaron vivir hace ya 2 años.

Sí fue fuerte para mi revivir todos esos momentos de ansiedad que creía olvidados. Los angustiantes exámenes, la pérdida del pelo acompañada del temor al ridículo. Las interminables horas de quimio. El miedo, mas que miedo pavor, que hacía que me despertara a media noche temblando sin control para después levantarme con una sonrisa: “Yes, Mom is doing just fine.”

El tratar de darles apoyo y ánimo a otros que pasaban por lo mismo fue para de esa forma salirme un poco de mi misma y encontrar el sentido de todo lo bueno y lo malo por lo que pasamos en esta vida. Ello, como intercambio divino, fortalecía mi espíritu.

Buscar la lección que yace escondida en todas y cada una de las vivencias que nos toca vivir.

Durante todo este proceso me hice indiferente a la enfermedad, considerando que si uno no se regodea en las calamidades, las calamidades se olvidan de uno.

No permití que me tuvieran lástima. La lástima te paraliza, es un arma que utilizamos para la manipulación. No sabiendo que en el proceso de manipular quedamos atrapados en nuestro propio juego. No crecemos.

Todas nuestras experiencias deben ser utilizadas para un proceso de crecimiento, si no se convierten en una experiencia estéril, en una mueca.

No soy ninguna heroína. Vivo en la lucha diaria por desenmascarar al miedo. Soy una mas de las tantas mujeres que viven con este diagnóstico, y si de cierta manera puedo darle aliento a alguna y dejarle saber que la vida continúa, que no pierdan el poder del asombro. Asombrarse ante la pureza de las nubes, un bello árbol, una sonrisa.

No eres tu enfermedad. Eres un ser humano único, indestructible, eterno. Vive tu eternidad en las cosas pequeñas del día a día. Vive como si día a día estuvieras haciendo poesía.

Poesía será tu vida.

English Version:

Diagnosis: Breast Cancer

This was written in 2001, two years after my breast cancer diagnosis, following a request from a magazine asking me to share my experience.

They asked me to write about my personal battle with cancer. While preparing the draft, I remembered all the things I had to go through.

Reliving all the anxiety was very excruciating. The frightening exams. The hair loss, accompanied by fear of embarrassment. The long hours of chemo. The panic that made me wake up in the middle of the night, trembling helplessly, only to wake up with a smile, thinking ‘yes, Mom is doing just fine”.

Helping others going through the same situation helped me get over my own problems and allowed me to find some sense in all the good and bad that makes up our lives. As a consequence, my spirit was strengthened.

I started discovering the priceless lessons embedded in each and every experience we go through.

During the process, I became completely indifferent to the disease. My thought was, ‘If I don’t pay attention to calamities, the calamities will forget about me’.

I did not let anyone feel pity for me. Pity paralyses a person, and it is a weapon we use to manipulate. If we are not careful, it can get us trapped in our own game. We simply stop growing.

All our experiences must be cherished and used for our own good. Otherwise, they become sterile, useless, a mockery.

I am far from being a heroin. I live in a constant, daily battle to fight fear. I am only one of the countless women living with this diagnosis, a normal woman with a desire to help others who have also been diagnosed with this disease and let them know that life goes on, that the sense of wonder must never be lost. That what really matters in life are the simple things: a white cloud, a beautiful tree, the laughter of a child.

You are not your disease, but a unique, indestructible, eternal being. Continue enjoying the simple things in life. By doing so, your life will be filled with the most amazing poetry.

I’ll Play the Violin

Dealing With Grief, Healing

Keep yourself busy. Yep, that’s what I preach. Busy, busy, busy and then you won’t have time to think. By the time you get home, you will be so tired that you won’t remember your sorrows, or your name, for that matter. You’ll take a bath and fall right into bed.

I don’t know why we’re so disturbed by death when it’s the only sure thing we have in life. We don’t know if we’re going to be born, if we are going to succeed, marry, have babies. But die? Yes, that one’s for sure. And yet so many people fear death. I surely don’t. And let me tell you, I have shaken hands with it before. But yes, we are so devastated when someone we love passes away…and it’s so hard to recover. They leave this space in your heart and sorrow seems to be your true companion. And we deal with it. Or at least we try…

Well, yesterday was one of those very busy days where I filled mine with constant activity, doing what I love best which is to be surrounded by people and meet new ones. I was at a women’s symposium at a mentor’s booth where I would talk to women who scheduled an appointment with me, about innovation. And boy, do I know about innovation. I have reinvented myself about a hundred times in my no expiration date life.

I walked out of the activity at around 5:30pm because I had to go home and change to go to yet another activity at night, carrying my stand up banner (which I thought was unnoticeable) inside this thin long bag in my arm when a friend comes up to me and says hello. I had not seen him in a long time. He asks me what I was doing now. I answer him, (feeling quite silly, by the way), “I have a blog”. “Oh yes,” he tells me. I’ve seen some of your comments in Facebook. “Yes”, I answered. “I make comments on Facebook”. “And what is that thing you’re carrying in that bag, a violin?” Believe me, my dear friends, I stuttered while I answered, “No, it’s not a violin, it’s a stand-up banner” He looked at me in dismay. I asked him what he was doing here at the hotel and he told me he was picking up his wife who was also attending the symposium, to have some drinks. And that’s exactly when it hit me.

Rafi didn’t like to go to my work related activities, but he would always come to meet me and have some drinks, or dinner afterwards. And then, just then and there, I realized this was going to be my reality from now on. I will always leave these activities alone carrying my case with my stand up banner, and yes maybe I will, maybe I’ll take some violin lessons.

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Mantente bien ocupada. No pienses. Sí, esto es lo que siempre predico. Así cuando llegues a tu casa estarás tan cansada que solo tendrás fuerzas para darte un baño y caer de bruces en la cama.

No entiendo por qué nos asombramos tanto con la muerte si es lo único seguro que tenemos en esta vida. No sabemos si vamos a nacer, casarnos, tener bebés, triunfar. ¿Pero morir? Sí esto es cien por ciento seguro. Y tantos le tienen miedo a la muerte. Yo honestamente no. A pesar de que tuve, en su momento, un encuentro cercano del tercer tipo con ella . Pero sí, nos quedamos tan devastados cuando alguien querido y cercano se muere y es tan difícil la recuperación. Nos deja este vacío en nuestras vidas y en nuestro corazón. Así y todo nos recuperamos. O por lo menos tratamos.

Ayer fue uno de esos días donde llené mi día de actividades. Fui invitada a un simposio a un stand de mentores donde señoras que sacaron cita previa, podían hablar conmigo sobre innovación. Y sabré yo sobre innovación si en mi vida, sin fecha de expiración, me he reinventado mas de cien veces.

Salí del salón como a las 5:30pm para buscar mi auto cargando un maletín estrecho y largo el cual tenía adentro mi “stand up banner”, cuando en eso se me acerca un amigo, al cual no veía hacía tiempo, me saluda y me pregunta que estoy haciendo ahora. Me sentí bastante tonta y le contesté: “Tengo un blog”. “Ah sí, te he visto haciendo comentarios por Facebook.” “Sí”, le contesté. “Hago comentarios por Facebook”. “¿Y qué llevas dentro de ese maletín, un violín?”. Aquí me puse un poco gaga. “No, no es un violín, es un “stand-up banner”. Me miró un tanto asombrado. Le pregunté que hacía y me contestó que venía a reunirse con su esposa la cual también estaba en el simposio para tomarse unos tragos. Aquí fue donde me tocó la fibra.

A Rafi no le gustaba acompañarme a actividades relacionadas a mi trabajo pero siempre se encontraba conmigo después para darse unos tragos y comer. Aquí me encontré cara a cara con el hecho de que esta iba a ser mi realidad de ahora en adelante. Iba a salir de las actividades sola cargando mi “stand up banner”.

Y sí, ¿por qué no? Quizás me ponga a tomar clases de violín.

Dealing With Grief

Dealing With Grief, Healing

If you have been reading my posts on my Fan Page in Facebook: Annette Vaillant The Blog, you may already know that my husband passed away on June 27 at Cleveland Clinic in Weston Florida. He was my love, my friend and my companion. I will be sharing the healing process with my followers. If you don’t want to read about this, or if you already read them on my Fan Page, don’t worry, I will continue to write posts about beauty and fashion here. Just skip the ones with the title: Dealing With Grief. I will start sharing my past posts from Facebook on this blog.

May God bless all of you who are in the process of healing too. You are more than welcome to share your experiences right here with me.

Remember, this blog is about Beauty, Fashion and Survival. I am in a survival mode at this time.

Is Annette Vaillant a Model? The Story Behind the Blog

Survival

No, I am not a model. Nor do I pretend to be one.

A while ago a lady wrote a message on my fan page explaining to me that there was something she didn’t understand. That it was not clear to her whether I was in USA with my husband having him treated for his condition or whether I was modeling in Puerto Rico. The answer to these questions is: Neither.

Yes. My husband has a chronic disease. Right now I am actually sitting in a tiny chair in the corner of a hospital’s emergency room waiting for them to move us into a room (this has been my reality for over two years now). Proof that the internet has limitless possibilities and that you can post from anywhere in the world.

So this is the thing. I do photo shoots once a month which I post every week. I sit most of the time behind my computer with a bad hair day, no makeup and looking quite terrible. I often laugh at myself thinking: “If they could see me now”. Thank God blogs have no Skype.

I had worked in the magazine business for the past 14 years and had gone through all the different departments. I was Editor in Chief for a very important local magazine company, I was director of sales for two magazines, and my last job, which lasted for the past 4 years, was Commercial Director for Televisa Publishing + Digital which closed it’s doors last December. Fifty people were left without a job, including myself, of course. Here, at Televisa, I managed the fan pages for Cosmopolitan, Vanidades and Buenhogar magazines for almost 3 years. This is where I got my experience and the sensibility needed to handle social media.

I had worked on my blog for the past 9 months before launching it when I lost my job. I was kind of like a little scared of doing it because I didn’t know what the reaction would be. Why? Because most bloggers are pretty young and thin. I am neither.

Being a true advocate of women’s rights, I refuse to let anyone put a label on me or tell me what I can or cannot do because of either my sex, age, weight or whatever other limitation they want to impose on me.

We, women, have no expiration date. We can accomplish anything we set our minds to.

I am not a model. I have won no recognitions. The only badge I carry is being a breast cancer survivor. The reason why I “pose”, hire professional photographers and makeup artists, is because I want to present to women the most beautiful images I can. I am a perfectionist and want everything to be visually beautiful. The design, the photographs, the outfits.

The people who I hire to work with me on my blog, are all ex-employees of Televisa who were left without a job.

Even though I am quite opinionated, I will not write about religion, politics or any other issue whatsoever. My blog is about Beauty Fashion and Survival. There are a lot of bad news out there and all of us need some time off. We women need to dream, to hope.

This blog is totally aspirational. I don’t own most of the outfits I post. It’s been over a year since I last partied, traveled for pleasure, or had dinner at a restaurant with friends, for that matter.

I want to prove to all the women out there who either feel lonely, lost their jobs, are raising children by themselves, are going through a terrible empty nest syndrome, are caretakers for a loved one etc. that there is always a new beginning and that you are not alone.

This blog is your time off.

Here, in this tiny little chair in a corner of an emergency room, I have wings and I can fly.

Spanish Version:

¿ANNETTE VAILLANT ES MODELO?

(Para las nuevas seguidoras de este blog y del segmento “El Blog de Annette Vaillant” en “Viva la Tarde” por WAPA TV, quisiera leyeran este post, finalmente traducido al español, el cual fue uno de los primeros que escribí. Así, quizás, entiendan mejor de que se trata esta iniciativa. Gracias!)

¿Annette Vaillant es modelo?

No, no soy modelo. Ni pretendo serlo.
Hace un tiempo atrás recibí un mensaje en mi fan-page: Annette Vaillant The Blog, de una mujer con una duda muy peculiar: A ella no le quedaba claro si yo estaba en los Estados Unidos cuidando a mi marido que padecía alguna condición médica o en Puerto Rico modelando. La contestación: ninguna de las dos.
Sí. Mi esposo padece una enfermedad crónica. De hecho, en este momento estoy sentada en una pequeña silla en una esquina de la sala de emergencias de un hospital en Puerto Rico, esperando que nos trasladen a una habitación (mi realidad desde hace dos años, y prueba de que el internet nos da la posibilidad de mantenernos comunicados desde cualquier parte del planeta).
Esto es lo que hago: participo en las sesiones de fotos una vez al mes y las “posteo” cada semana. Sin embargo, la mayor parte del tiempo me la paso en la computadora, con el pelo desaliñado, cero maquillaje y un aspecto fatal. Cuántas veces me he reído de mí misma pensando “¡si me vieran ahora!”.
Gracias a Dios que los blogs no tienen Skype.
Durante 14 años laboré en el mundo de las revistas, y tuve la oportunidad de desempeñarme en todas sus áreas. Fui Editora en Jefe de una casa publicadora muy importante en Puerto Rico, directora de ventas para dos revistas y, por los últimos cuatro años, Directora Comercial para Televisa Publishing + Digital, la cual cerró operaciones el pasado mes de diciembre. Cincuenta personas quedaron sin empleo, incluyéndome a mí. En Televisa además, era la encargada de los “fan pages” de revistas como Cosmopolitan, Vanidades y Buenhogar, y fue allí donde desarrollé la sensibilidad que se requiere para manejar las redes sociales.
Antes de lanzar el blog, trabajé nueve meses puliéndolo, perfeccionándolo. Estaba un poco asustada de lanzarlo porque no sabía cuál sería la reacción del público. ¿Por qué? Porque la mayoría de las blogueras son jóvenes y esbeltas. Y yo no soy ninguna de las dos.
Como verdadera defensora de los derechos de la mujer, rehúso que me pongan un sello o me digan qué o no hacer por razón de mi sexo, edad, peso o cualquier otra “limitación”.
Nosotras, las mujeres, no tenemos fecha de expiración. Y podemos lograr todo aquello que nos propongamos.
No soy modelo. No he ganado premios ni reconocimientos. La única medalla que llevo conmigo es el ser una sobreviviente de cáncer de seno. La razón por la que “poso” para las sesiones de fotos y contrato maquillistas y fotógrafos profesionales es porque deseo regalarles a las mujeres unas imágenes llenas de hermosura. Soy perfeccionista y me gusta que todo a mi alrededor luzca visualmente bello: los diseños, las fotografías, los vestidos.
Los profesionales que trabajan en este blog son todos ex empleados de Televisa que quedaron sin empleo.
Aunque siempre tengo una opinión para todo, no hablaré en este blog de religión, política o cualquier “issue” de ese tipo. Mi blog es acerca de la Belleza, la Moda y la Supervivencia. Hay bastantes malas noticias en este mundo, y creo que necesitamos un descanso. A nosotras nos hace falta soñar.
Este blog es un total sueño: no soy dueña de la mayor parte de los vestidos y hace ya más de un año que no voy a una fiesta o a un viaje de placer.
Quiero mostrarles a todas las mujeres que se encuentren solas, desempleadas, criando hijos por sí solas, sufriendo el síndrome del “nido vacío” de manera terrible o cuidando de un ser querido enfermo, que siempre hay un nuevo comienzo, y que no estás sola.
Este blog será tu tiempo libre.
Aquí, en esta pequeña silla en la esquina de una sala de emergencias, tengo alas… y puedo volar.

On Love and Companionship

Family & Friends, Health

“Till death do us part”

And so it shall be. Caring for a loved one through pain or misery can take a heavy toll on you. For the better. Those motherly feelings arise once again and you realize they were never meant to fade.

Returning from Cleveland Clinic with my husband from his latest chemo session.

On Survival

Health

There are many types and forms of survival. Breast Cancer was one of mine. I met all my angels while on this path. I learned that you cannot walk alone; you must surrender. It’s an extremely humbling experience.