Out of Alignment

It finally seems to be spring, I’m so happy to be warm, but thus far my spring has been a tiny bit more fraught than I’d expected. I’ve been so focused on cancer and healthy eating, myriad medical appointments, and all that, I forgot that I have a bad back. That three years ago, I had to be hauled, hallucinating in pain, out of my own bed by a throng of paramedics with dirty shoes, having torn two discs in my back innocuously lifting a printer. Apparently, it’s best not to lift anything heavy in the morning, seriously, I forget technically why, but it’s true. I was amazed how quickly I healed, going from crippled to just fine in 6-8 weeks with proper rehab. I’ve had a few minor reinjuries since then, because I forget about it and lift something too heavy or do so improperly, forgetting to stay aligned, but it’s not been a big deal. My back is the last thing on my mind, so as I was grilling dinner a couple of weeks ago, I was weed diving, wrestling with bittersweet root and those pesky weed maple’s, and I was definitely not aligned. Didn’t need the paramedics, but am back at the spine center twice a week and being very careful to heal and not reinjure, so I’m watching the weeds grow taller than my flowers while I stand by helplessly. I don’t like being helpless and it’s amazing how a back injury affects morale, it just makes me feel so breakable and frail, so stiff and unbendable. I like to feel bendable.

I am obsessed with decluttering and purging my perennially cluttered house, I can feel the mess in the basement and hovering over me in the attic. Despite countless bags of trash leaving the premises, even more bags going to Big Sisters, 6 packed shopping bags of books going to a fine place that redistributes them, the house is as cluttered as ever. You’d think I like clutter or don’t notice it, but I do notice it and I don’t like it, I just seem powerless over it. I’ve been purging the boys drawers and closets and have reached my own. Yesterday I filled a bag with some of my favorite, tried and true summer dresses, they all have pleats up top, breast pleats that upon trying on, hung sadly, empty, lonely, and as strapping on a false pair seems way too alien I packed them up for goodwill, no need to leave them, pretending they'll fit again. It’s not like believing you’ll lose the weight and those jeans will fit, no delusion possible. I was going to give some to friends I thought would like them, but then I realized they’d be no ordinary hand-me-downs and maybe we’d all be best served by them going anonymously to Big Sisters. There is a shop/gallery in my neighborhood that’s been taunting me with the perfect dress, right smack in the window. It’s made from a fabric I love, it’s a 1950ish atomic-type pattern with a wide collar {my favorite and hard to find}, big shiny buttons down the front and fits me perfectly, except for the damned darts. I love t his dress so much I asked them to contact the maker in N.Y. to see if they’d make one for me sans darts, but alas, no, they couldn’t. Every day I see that dress and it breaks my heart each and every time. In truth, I can’t really afford it and don’t particularly have anywhere special to wear it, but it’s just so perfect and beautiful and me in every way, or the way I was which I forget is not the way I am, in age, as well.

I know it’s really important to stay at an optimal body weight and not gain after treatment and yet I’ve gained 15 lbs. since then, and in between green smoothies and gulping handfuls of supplements, I’m mindlessly eating junk food, sugar, sugar, my life-long nemesis. I resolve to stop now, there I’ve said it and that will make it so. No more malted milk balls, brownie sundaes despite how happy my kids are when I make them or chocolate cake, I’ll have to find another pick-me-up. Do you hear that self?... it stops now.

Life’s been hectic, I’ve gotten myself in over my head with a fundraising effort for tall one’s football team. Not getting the promised help, and participation expected when I was asked to do this and for weeks have turned into the crazy lady selling raffle tickets on street corners, while my son is out and about, or bailing on me because his allergies are acting up. I’m tired of toting around raffle tickets and going to fundraising meetings on my only free evening. Last night the boy asked me if I can pick him up from a 3-day, not inexpensive, football scouting camp at Boston College, in June {ill-advised, as school is still in session}, drive him back to Providence for the Senior graduation ceremony and then straight back to Boston College. I couldn’t even respond, my brain started spinning and feeling incoherent, I just laid my head on the table whimpering and then said “no, no I really, really can’t... spend eight hours driving back and forth to Boston in one day because you want to keep your perfect streak of never missing out on anything you want to do. It’s my own fault, saying no hasn't been my specialty. Then we had to discuss the next week after that, when I’ll have to pick him up from Camp Counselor Training Week to take him back to school for his last final and then back to camp again, add the two together and my eyeballs were rolling around in their sockets unable to focus. What’s wrong with this picture? Modern life, and I consider ours fairly unscheduled... is insane. And yes, I partially blame you Providence Public School System for not doing a better job scheduling... too many days off and so we end way too late.

Little Boy’s been home sick all week, that strange, kinda sick, then not sick, then kind of. Can’t ignore the coming and going low grade fever and intermittent cough, but then he seems fine, and then not, and each day I think he’ll go back to school, but then not and I’m cancelling one appointment after the next in this, that was to be my catch-up-on-everything week.

I just had to break the news to him that his dad was picking him up today and as it does of late, it made him angry, made him collapse in a heap. I don’t know what’s going on with those two and I don’t know how to fix it. Then I realize it’s not mine to fix although this is my child, and so I am inherently involved. It is my problem, but not my problem, boundaries are difficult. I know that it is in his best interest to have a good relationship with his father, and I know his father loves him and means well, but those two just don’t get each other on some level that seems to be escalating. Or maybe it’s his delayed reaction to the cancer, doesn’t want to be apart from me. He used to be fine going to his dad’s as long as it wasn’t too much, our schedule is wed. nights and every other weekend which starts late morning saturday, so doable, right? He was fine with this, he left willingly and cheerfully, but the past couple of months he reacts worse and worse to news of the “schedule”. Now he’s taking it out on me, he gets angry, my chipper little love bug says I don’t care about him and hides under a blanket wailing “everything is terrible” which breaks my heart. Yeah, I know, he’s manipulating me, but it still hurts, hurts me to the core, it makes me nauseous, but I don’t give in, I can’t, a deal is a deal and his father should have time with him, and, uh, I need to get out of the freaking house every once in a while and it really is only once in a while.

So it’s spring, but thus far not feeling very springy. Things will flip on a dime, I know it. I think I’m as burnt out on the school year, the sports year, as the kids are. Well tall one’s not burnt out on the sports, he’s planning for playoffs, I’m planning for over. Ready for summer, ready for a new routine. Ready to stop having thoughts like -- stop wasting your time being stressed, this could be your last spring, you never know... back to cancer, so insidious, it’s always there, I really feel like my body is free of cancer, but it’s there like a ghost, haunting every thought. I want to go back to the beach, I want to go back on vacation.

Treacherous Toes

People keep asking me what I think about Angelina Jolie. At first I didn’t know what they meant, but after being referred to her New York Time’s Editorial, I suppose I should have an opinion, but I’m drawing a blank, I don’t really think much of anything about it at all. I’m sick of our celebrity culture, I guess that’s what I think. The BRCA1 gene mutation sucks, and it’s becoming more and more common for women who carry it, and who’s female family members have been decimated by it, to have preventative mastectomies. I think Angelina made a smart decision, an agonizing choice that some unlucky women are faced with, but heroic? Nothing heroic about wanting to save your own life. Nothing heroic about wanting to avoid cancer and it’s aftermath. Heroic I suppose, would be getting a double mastectomy so someone else wouldn't get sick or donating a kidney, or running into a burning building to save a stranger. Self preservation isn't heroic, it's instinct.

I’m glad Angelina was back to life as normal in only a few days, but I suppose that’s easier when that normal life includes drivers, cooks, nanny’s and housekeepers, not to mention a devoted partner holding her hand without needing to request time off from work, paid or otherwise.

Nice to afford the type of concierge medical treatment she can afford. The BRCA test costs well over $3,000 and women who suspect they have the gene often can’t afford it and the reason it’s so expensive is that the gene is patented and controlled by a single company, as is all of the information regarding it. So if you want to go for a second opinion about the interpretation of your results, too bad, it’s profit-based information which is kind of mind-blowing. I think there should be an editorial about that. I think we should all get to write editorials for the New York Time's whenever we feel like it and have them unquestioningly published.

I looked at the website of the clinic Angelina was treated at which she was allowed to mention and advertise in her editorial, and under the “Nutritional” heading it states “Up to one third of all breast cancer is the result of poor dietary and lifestyle choices. Overweight or obese women, for instance, have twice the breast cancer recurrence and death risk.” This is just not true and I’m stunned that a reputable medical facility would preach such damaging misinformation, especially one getting free publicity from Angelina Jolie. Poor dietary and lifestyle choices can, in fact, increase one’s chances of developing cancer, but I’ve read or heard nothing, nothing, like the statistic of one third of breast cancer being a result of lifestyle choices and many lifestyles are not choices, organic food is expensive and geographically inaccessible to many people, but hey, let's blame the victim. I’m sure the environment plays a large part in growing cancer cases, but that’s not a lifestyle choice, we can’t choose the air we breathe or know what's going on in our groundwater. We knowingly build elementary schools on sites of former toxic waste dumps, who knows what we don’t know. I have to quote Dick Cheney here, something I never {ever} thought I'd do, there are knowns and there are unknowns and then there are the unknown, unknowns. Everyone mocked Dick for this, and god knows he's mockable, actually, Dick Cheney is not funny, he's just too scary to be funny, but this was actually a good quote, I love this quote. Back on point, while I have read that maintaining a healthy body weight and/or not gaining weight after treatment {argh, which I'm not doing} is slightly correlated with a better outcome, it’s barely mentioned by most western doctors, also inexplicable. Being overweight does not double one’s chance of survival, that’s just preposterous, oh that it were so simple. So I guess that’s all I have to say on that. Except that having surgery preventatively, gave her the option of “nipple sparing” surgery, so she’ll wind up with breasts looking very much like other Hollywood breasts, the breasts she would have likely ended up with regardless. I think Angelina will be just fine, in fact, I think Angelina will be more than fine.

Back here in the real world, I’ve been busy with getting the kids down the end of school year homestretch and we’re all pretty burnt out and I'm never, ever volunteering to do fundraising again. Since my first mani/pedi, I’ve become obsessed with nail polish. 49 years of bare nails and now I feel naked without nail polish, explain that. My glorious blue sky blue enamel, slowly chipped away and I aimed to choose a springy tangerine as it’s replacement, but wound up with traffic cone orange instead, which by the end of the day, I loathed enough to make a 9p.m. trip to CVS for nail supplies. I removed the nail polish and went back to my blue which is delights me still and again, but damn, doing your own nails is hard, what a mess, I had to try three times and that stuff stinks, can’t be healthy. So the toes, I just covered with a layer of what I thought was deep pink, but is the deepest scarlet. They don’t suit me, they look like scheming, untrustworthy toes. I explained this to Jonah and he said “you know... I’m inclined to agree.” What other twelve year old boy would understand that, my boy is right, we are two peas in a pod, we just get each other. Since I’m busy and tired, I’m stuck with treacherous toes for a while. Clearly, the girly nails are compensating for the loss of other girlie parts, I think instead of forcing everyone needing a mastectomy to consult with a plastic surgeon, pushing the sacks of saline, they should just recommend a manicure. Hey, there's another item that should be in the cancer goody-bag, coupons for free mani/pedi's {for life}, that would go a long way and really save the insurance companies a fortune. My shop closed for the season, abruptly ending my cash flow, so unlike Angelina, I can’t keep going for mani/pedi’s even on discount Wednesday. So for now, I'll dwell in the minutia of nail color and cleaning off my porch and feeding my children. Sometimes the minutia is better than the big picture.

Deep Green Sea & Blue Sky Days

I’m sitting on my porch, it’s warm with a cool breeze, the sky is a rich perfect blue. The porch is dirty and messy, but is confident in it’s potential, it knows I have plans for it and will soon be the master room of the house after a long winter of neglect. I’ve got some potted plants out on the rails, the glorious Martha Washington Geranium I successfully wintered over indoors and it’s offspring which I’ve transplanted to it’s own pot. Martha Washington kept my spirits up all winter and if her baby thrives it will be a good omen. Despite my best intentions, I’m unreliable and don’t have the greenest thumb. I’ve got pots of basil and wheatgrass going, to which I’ll add parsley, the first and last for green smoothies and the basil for tomatoes. I’ve already hurt my back gardening, diving recklessly for weeds.

There’s a long, wide bookcase cluttering things up since I rescued it from the trash last year, it weighs a ton, and has seen better days, but I’m hoping to paint it this spring and bring it into the living room, so I can sell the behemoth antique, mahogany piece that came with the house which I’ve grown to loathe. It’s not my style and I feel like an idiot for actually buying it, but when I bought the house I was feeling nostalgic for the three spinster sisters who lived most of their lives here. I felt like if their ghosts came for a visit, the place should still feel a bit familiar, thing is, I don’t really believe in ghosts. It’s the damned furniture that’s been haunting me.

This is the first chance I’ve had to write about our vacation, it’s been several turns of the dial past hectic since I came back, but there is still a part of me relaxed and transformed by the trip.

We had a long travel day down, exiting the baggage claim at 9:30 p.m. greeted by gusts of hot, muggy air, jarring at first, but feeling good immediately. I took off my sweatshirt and socks and got in the car for the hour ride to our condo and the sound of beach from the screened porch.

Next day, after lounging under an umbrella for a bit, I got up and walked straight into the water. It was chilly, but I decided not to feel it, so I kept going, past where the waves were breaking, to the calm water and I laid on my back, arms outstretched {yes, like jesus}, and just floated. Floated and floated in the green water, and when I opened my eyes I could see my blue toenails segue perfectly into the blue sky. Perfect moment. It was just like I imagined all those times in the chemo chair, huddled under blankets, shivering, hurting, feeling sick, wanting to climb out of my own skin. I just floated, feeling warm currents alternating with colder ones and back to warm, the sun on my face, floating, effortlessly, no body to feel, just the warmth and the water.

That’s pretty much what I did every day. I felt calm and peaceful and still do. The boys had fun, we ate fish for dinner and ice cream and I had cold beer after a long ride on the wagon, which tasted really, really good. The shells were addicting, I couldn’t stop picking them up and they’re in endless supply. I got up early and walked on the beach alone, 2 hours passing like 20 minutes. One night I went for a nocturnal walk with my sister-in-law and we got lost, very lost on the pitch black, moonless beach. I was excited to be having an adventure, we walked, and walked and walked and finally found our way off the beach onto the one road on the island, sans street lights, also crazy dark. No one seemed to have lights on and we realized that we were where we had driven for dinner. I have no idea how we got that far and we discovered we are equally navigationally impaired, so naturally we started walking in the wrong direction. Finally we heard soft voices from a porch, so we went up and knocked, and a sweet pair of Swedish cousins, offered us beer, bananas and the use of the gps on their phone to point us on the right course. I was exhausted, but just so glad to be doing something out of the ordinary.

We went on a dolphin cruise and got splashed by dolphin water which has only intensified my new fixation on dolphins, and my irrational belief that if I hug a dolphin I’ll be healed. This is more unlike me than I can say, but it’s true, I believe this. I decided this just before we went to Florida and I was perfectly convinced that while swimming a dolphin was going to come up and nuzzle me. At least, as a good friend points out, It’s only dolphins, not mermaids I’ve become fixated on... at least they actually exist. Seriously though, I’m going to find a place where you can swim with dolphins, can’t explain it, I just need to swim with a dolphin.

Four days is too short for a vacation. I wanted to throw a temper tantrum at the airport on the way home, dig in my heels and scream, “I’m not going.” Alas, I knew that wasn’t going to get me anywhere but ridiculous, so I got on the plane and came home. I finally understand why people go on vacation. I’m sad I haven’t travelled in my life, I’m sad my kids don’t have family vacations to look back on, but there’s no point looking back, forward is the only direction we get to go and hopefully we get to keep going until we’re done.

Fun with Executive Leadership

Sitting in the bank representative’s cubicle, opening a new account, I answered the phone to my son’s panicked voice. My straight A, never been in trouble in his life son, panicked and rattling off his tale of woe. Prom being the next day and photo opps dancing around in my head, I didn’t really care what he did, no, he was not going to be suspended because that tux had already been rented, yes, I have my priorities straight. But when I heard his story, my mama-bear fury was unleashed, and I mean... for real.

I have never been impressed with his school’s principal, each and every time I’ve heard him speak it’s been a grammar-mangled, self-aggrandized, mind-numbing stream of who-knows-what. It seems students are allowed to submit school news blurbs to be read over the morning announcements, sports outcomes, upcoming events and the like. The previous day, this public school's baseball team played the exclusive local private school's team of which Principal X’s son is a player. Having played in different leagues over the years, the different school's teams all know one another and are friendly. My son wrote up a recap of the game {quite well written, I must say} which they had won and ended it with, “against a dominant offense, Dude X went hitless {Dude X being Principal's son}. The team had come up with this, but it was my boy who wrote it up and submitted it, and honestly, I think it’s funny. I have no doubt it was meant in good humor, a bit of harmless teasing. Principal X didn’t even hear the announcement, but a teacher thinking it so funny, told him about it and Principal X it turns out, not only has no grasp of grammar or pronunciation, he is thin-skinned, can’t take a joke and has anger issues.

He called my son into the main office and in front of everyone there, screamed, spit and pointed at him in the face for “20 minutes” which I would assume means 5-10 minutes, but none the less. My son had “humiliated both him and his family and his son was going to have to live with this for the rest of his life and he never wants to see his face again, no you can't speak, no you can not apologize”, seriously, he said that. “Don’t ever come into this office again”, you know... the main office where you sign in and out and see your guidance counselor and the nurse. What a horse’s ass.

Indeed he called me, and I was ready. I was awesome and most impressively, I stayed calm and coherent. I also understand that he had every right to find the joke unfunny, in which case you call the kid in, tell him so, let him apologize and move on, I assume that’s the type of conflict resolution we should be teaching our kids and yes, I shared this thought with him. He told me it would be a good long time before he let my son apologize, he’d be thinking about it, but he doubted he would accept any apology from him ever, yes, grown man talking, school principal, role model. He yelled at me and I saw the face of Buddha and sucked it up and explained that friendly teasing is often a sign of affection and respect and I can assure him that was the spirit in which it was intended, and he could have teased them right back, it would have been a “school spirit” moment. He tried to hang up on me at one point and the Buddha and I said “excuse me please, I’m not your student, I’m a parent and we need to finish this conversation.” I said, calmly and politely, after sucking it up some more and apologizing and feeling his pain, that I wanted to be sure there would be no negative repercussions stemming from this event, to which he screamed “that is the most condescending thing anyone has ever said to me.” I wanted to ask if that was really the word he was looking for, but went on to apologize some more and he assured me that he dedicates his heart, soul and lifesblood to the success of these kids and of course there would be no repercussions.

Now the word that comes to mind is hypocrite, because he had already called in the baseball coach and tried to get him kicked off the team, but they settled on a one-game suspension, no biggie. But after my call, that was rescinded and he tracked down my son and said “I accept your apology and can you give your mother a courtesy call.” My son stomped off, he's got things to learn too.

That’s right, I’m a bad ass mama and no one yells at my kid but me, and the prom pictures were fabulous!

But this is a cancer blog you're thinking, what does this have to do with cancer? Lots, because cancer patients become warriors, we live in the moment, we're not gonna miss prom night, we don't know what other milestones we may miss, so don't fuck with us, our kids or our cameras.

Simple Things

In the shower, when I look down and unexpectedly see my blue toes it makes me laugh to myself, it can make me laugh all day, it delights me and I don’t ever use the word “delight”, I don’t like it much, but I can think of no better description of what the toes are doing for me. Who knew that colored, tended toenails could act as a serotonin reuptake inhibitor. The secrets are in the simple things.

When I see myself in the mirror, that does not delight me. The poofy hair makes me look like one of the golden girls and I erred in letting the pink ribbon people frighten me out of doing my hair my usual pink, purple doesn’t suit me. A few more inches and I’ll be past the nana stage... I hope. I look like a Q-tip, well, I’m a bit heavy to be a Q-tip so suffice it to say, from the waist up, I look like a Q-tip.

After weeks of pestering, it finally comes to light that the tall one has no shorts that fit, except ratty sports shorts, so I was shopping like a mad woman at 10:00 last night and having given up on discerning what on his floor is clean and what is dirty and leaving it in his reluctant hands, I’ve given in and am on laundry load #8, it’s time for a fresh start in the boy cave.

I left a few too many work tasks to the last minute and while I expected to be packed early, I’m waist deep in sock matching and laundry folding, but nothing can dampen my excitement for this trip. Jonah is raring to go, but before we’ve even gone, he say’s our next trip should be to another country and I agree. Sad truth, Mexico and Canada aside, I’ve never left the country. He and I even agree that we should go to Italy or costa rica where both of us scaredy cats are going to zip line. The tall one is being gracious enough to not complain about going on vacation. He has missed baseball games, S.A.T. studying and social things on his mind, but I know that once we get there he’s going to have a great time. We are all going to have a great time. I’m so used to having bad luck I’m actively trying not to break a tooth or throw out my back or have some random thing rain on my parade, which I know is impossible, the fickle hand of fate can not be controlled.

This vacation is the only thing that takes me back to the chemo chair because it's all I thought about, well, other than coping. It was the thing I focused on over and over, just beach, breeze, palm trees which is so funny because I never go to the beach, I'm most definitely not a beach person. But that's where my mind went, that's where my beat up body wanted to be, floating in the warm ocean and so that's where we're going because if I didn't go, it would feel like unfinished business. This trip is closure. I like moving forward, I'm not one to go backwards, I don't like redundancy, I'm a been there, done that kind of girl, so the thought of having a relapse seems more and more unthinkable. Yeah, I have bad luck, I'm not surprised this uber sucky thing happened, but it's not going to happen again, because that would be going backwards and I don't do that. My life is baby steps, but baby steps always moving forward from one thing to the next, nothing dramatic, just my slow, slow, sloth-like forward moving trajectory, you know, when I'm not bouncing off the walls. A relapse would fuck up the whole pattern of my existence, so it's just not in the cards, it wouldn't make sense.

I’m as prepared as I’ve ever been, we have SPF protectant shirts, I have not only a shirt, but a long, wide scarve, and a wide brimmed hat which J says makes me look like an old fashioned movie star. Sun plus me, was always a bad combo, but throw in all that chemo and radiation, I’m likely to spontaneously combust. If I could have found a fashionable, lightweight, SPF burka, I would have gone for it guess I just didn't find the right catalogue.

48 hours and we’ll be hovering over Florida. I’m unplugging, only bringing my phone for emergencies, no laptop, no iPad, just the distractions of the moment, life in real time, which I am oh, so grateful for having, granny hair or not.

Lymphatic Drainage

Can you think of anything that sounds worse than having Lymphatic Drainage performed upon your poor self? Well, that’s a book not to be read by it’s cover. Lymphatic Drainage helps prevent Lymphodema, a dreadful condition anyone who’s had their lymph nodes tampered with is at risk for, so lymphatic drainage is recommended, and it’s heavenly, quite heavenly. It involves a dark room and a specially trained masseuse who gently massages the lymphatic system, especially the side of the missing node(s), to get the remaining lymph nodes to stop freaking out and clustering, hence blocking the drainage purpose they perform. It’s only one step down from a full body massage, but unlike deep tissue, it’s soft and gentle, so relaxing and totally covered by insurance. You recommend I come once a week? Well, okey-dokey, sign me up!

That was a few days ago. Today I had my hair colored, sorry, but I had to throw in a little purple because every time I passed a mirror I said “hi nana”. I had higher self-esteem being bald than with the short, curly gray, granny-doo. Maybe once it gets longer I’ll leave it be, but during this phase, it needed a little pick me up. After I left the salon, I spontaneously went for my first ever pedicure. Yep, went almost 50 years without a pedicure because I'm terrible about doing things just for myself, and was afraid they’d laugh at my pudgy little toes on my wide duck feet. Additionally, I thought it best not to draw attention to the little piggies, but I’ve been so wanting to have colored toenails, I finally did it. I meant to do some shade of pink to match my flip-flops, but wound up with light blue, it just seemed like the right thing to do at that moment, so I went with it, and I’m newly infatuated with my silly little toes. Some day I’ll work up the courage for a manicure. My feet were finished just in time to fetch little boy from school, feed him, hear about his day and then...dun, dun, dunnnnn... I left him home on his own for three whole hours which is a first, so I could go see tall one pitch a game. Taking J to G's baseball games is a master misery for all involved.

Such a beautiful day to sit outside. I missed G's whole baseball season last year which I felt really bad about. I went to one or two games, but didn’t last long, didn’t have the energy to sit on the bleachers feeling naseaus and like I would fall off from dizziness. Just walking was such an effort. The tall boy invited me to his game and reminded me about it repeatedly throughout the last week, and I was so glad to go. He pitched a great game and it’s been so long since I saw him pitch, I was shocked by how hard he’s throwing.

Today was a good day. Three more until we get on the plane and fly off on our adventure, much to do, but really enjoyed all of the day's detours, I can be productive tomorrow.

Time

I’m finally getting to the other side of my cold and trying to catch up from the time spent in bed. Last week was little boy’s 12th birthday and the year anniversary of my surgery. I realized that I’m barely six months out of treatment and while it’s still on my mind, still so much a part of my every day, it seems like ages ago. Only a year and a half since diagnosis, can that be true? Less than two years ago, I was a mere civilian living a normal life rife with possibilities, decisions unencumbered by trauma, disability and potential relapses and death. Man, that was one serious tornado that sucked me up and spit me out and Kansas never came into the picture.

J wanted only to spend some special time with “mom” for his birthday. I think he’s going through a delayed reaction, fear of loss, excess appreciation, he tells me not to get into any car crashes, and I think “honey, car crashes are the least of our worries”. He invited to me to watch his afterschool improv class during which he waved to me throughout, unthinkable that he’s almost a teenager, he’ll never be that kind of teenager. We went home afterwards, had warm brownies and ice cream and watched an episode of Doctor Who on the laptop. Then it was lego bliss for the next day and a half as he assembled the Battle of Helms Deep.

We’re going on vacation in a week and I’m hoping that sitting under a palm tree I’ll be able to breathe. I don't think I'm fully breathing, I need my chest to open up, my teeth and shoulders to unclench and just breathe, breathe, be quiet and breathe. A change of scenery, new smells, new sights, I think will do me a world of good and actually getting a vacation together instead of just talking about it will feel like an accomplishment.

I was listening to NPR in the car today and there was a story about the Human Genome Project. A  man with leukekemia has a relapse and was sinking fast, the doctors didn’t think they could do anything for him. But a doctor, I don’t know who, or how the chain events took place, but a needle-in-a-haystack-creative-physician decided to look at the genome of healthy blood {I think it was the blood, it could have been something else} and compared it to the genome of the patients’ and found the patient was making excess of a protein he shouldn’t be, so they deduced that this protein was feeding the cancer. They did a massive search and found an approved drug for another condition who’s unwanted side effect was to turn off production of this protein. He started the medication on a Friday and by Monday, the difference in his blood counts shocked everyone and years later, he’s chatting about it on the radio. I haven’t encountered any of these physicians on my “journey”. I’ve heard of them, and wonder if one can intersect with them in any way other than accidentally.

I’m sitting in the waiting room of a Toyota dealership while Sparky has her 6-month checkup. Kelly and Michael, formerly Kelly and Regis, formerly Regis and Kathy Lee is on T.V., this show is on in every waiting room I visit. I realize that there are millions of people at home watching this show, which I can’t imagine. Maybe I’m a misanthrope, but I can’t stand watching these rich, beautiful, perfect people having zany fun and acting like they’re my happy-go-lucky BFFs or next door neighbors, but the audience cheers and cheers. Apparently, people love this insipid show.

The place I bought Sparky was a dump, filthy, crowded, noisy, but what they saved in overhead, got me a good price on my car. The dealership I took her to for the bashed bumper had a tiny, yucky waiting room, but thanks to a tip from Librarian Sarah, who has been my new car mentor, I’m sitting in a plush, comfortable room at the spacious, luxe toyota dealership. I tried to buy my car here, but they wouldn’t give me a good price... there are advantages and disadvantages to overhead, I’m loving it from this point of view. So there’s my advice, buy your car at a dumpy dealership and service it at the posh one.

There’s a Target right up the street, so when the car is done, I’m zipping right over to pre-vacation shop, taking the whole day off work. I can’t even remember the last time I strolled through a Target, I’m always working or sleeping. It’s kind of twisted when a trip to Target is such a treat. I’m getting really excited about our trip and I need to buy a suitcase and some snorkels to fill it with. Kris Carr, a famous, trendy, cancer survivor and author thinks cancer patients should do a lot of frivolous shopping. I didn't know that, so I'm starting now {more on Kris Carr later}.

I’m aiming for the restorative powers of swimming with the fishies. I can’t remember the last time I swam in the ocean. I’m such a wuss, New England water is too cold for me. Immersing my achy, itchy, tired self into the gulf of mexico sounds divine, just waiting for my SPF shirt to arrive, I'll be the one under an umbrella wearing a burka... the sun hates me and it's kind of mutual. Having my kids visit a tropical beach, if only in Florida also seems like something one should check off the parental to do list. Tall one needs to snorkel before going to college, for some reason, that will relieve a bit of parental guilt... erase all the times we've eaten dinner in front of the t.v., which is, um... always. That's another of my deep dark secrets... we don't do family dinner, we rarely all eat at the same time. Snorkeling will ease my conscious.