I think my insurance company is trying to harass me into leaving or trick me into letting them kick me out. After returning all the forms which came with my “random” selection to have my coverage re-verified. I am on a treadmill getting a new fat envelope each week asking for more and more useless information. It’s not just a matter of figuring out and completing the forms, they all need something that requires time and effort -- my doctor’s signature, notarization, some time consuming task that makes me want to rip the paper to bits, but then they win.
I was mid-way through the form that asked me questions such as “do you smoke or use tobacco products?” “NO” “If you begin smoking do you agree to immediately join a smoking cessation program? WTF? If you hit yourself over the head with a cast iron frying pan, do you promise not to do that again? {o.k., I made that one up} How much do you weigh? If you gain more than 10 pounds... All needing my physicians signature. While still working on this form, the next fat envelope arrives, five more pages of Renewal Certification Forms all with ridiculously short deadlines. Paperwork is my nemesis, I hate it, I loose it, I rarely understand it because I read questions too literally. I can hear trees dying in vain to make the paper for these copious forms and instead of paying for my blood transfusions, they’re paying for paper and ink and postage and some person to send, read and file this nonsense. Not that I begrudge anyone their employment, but surely they could be put to better use.
I understand I’m an expensive subscriber, but that’s what makes the system work, right? I’m incredibly grateful to you healthy people who’s premiums are subsidizing my care, but it they kick me out, you’re not getting a refund and they’re already making a hefty profit, so I’d really like to just pay my premiums on time and in peace like everyone else.
Now that my tenant has moved out and baseball season has started for the tall one, I’m sans childcare for little dude while I go to work on Saturday’s. When I’ve brought him to the studio in the past, he loves it there... for five minutes, and then comes the chorus of “I’m hungry, I’m thirsty, when are we leaving?” Time and people march forward and yesterday, I had a Fez wearing assistant who had “one of the best day’s ever” and was a really big help, for real. He taped a sign to his fez that said “this fez is not for sale, but it IS really cool!” He sat in the chair of power, the tall director’s chair at the counter and rang up sales all by himself. He seems to be a good merchandiser too, he was constantly straightening up the sock monkeys so they were maximum cute and making sure everything had signs and were priced. It was sweet and lovely and he can’t wait to come back, which he will, like it or not, every other saturday, but like is so much better than the alternative.
The tall one has been between sports and has not gone back to his usual posse because it seems they spend their weekends driving in circles, looking for something to do {never finding it} and smoking pot and drinking, sound familiar? That's how I spent my high school years, but I was too dumb to realize how boring and stupid it was. My son is smarter than I was, he thinks it’s idiotic, and since he’s between teams, sans girlfriend and straight edge, he’s hanging out with the senior girls. What’s so wonderful about his school is that everyone mixes, it’s not just the theater kids, or the jocks, or the brainiacs... it’s one big group. The artsy kids and the valedictorian all hang out together.
We all know about the circle of life, but what I love are all the circles within life and all of the symmetry. When we moved to our road, our beloved street 15 years ago, G was two years old and two houses down was a family with a like-aged daughter. The mom and I clicked immediately and we spent night and day together with the kids, our maniacal toddlers. Our kids were as different as can be, but we have become family in every sense of the word. The girl is a couple of months older, so she’s a year up in school but as our families are family, they’ve always been in contact, and now we live directly across the street, so they can't really avoid each other if they wanted to. He’s all sports and she’s all theater but they are like siblings in that way when you’ve known someone your whole life. In middle school they drifted apart as always seems to happen when kids become either boys or a girls, but the past few years, while they don’t hang out, they’ve become the best of friends on the sly, texting, confiding, getting girl/boy advice from one another and walking home from the bus together. Now, all of a sudden, he’s become besties with her whole gang because girls are more fun... they play board games and watch movies, and talk and laugh their heads off. He’s even rediscovered the girl next door, "you know X is really cool" duh, it took him 10 years to figure that out despite knowing her since they were 3. So just as they'll start leaving for college, their relationships have come full circle and it's a beautiful thing.
When I have a room full of boys, which doesn't happen much any more, there has to be sports on T.V. and they sit there texting other people instead of talking to each other. Last night I had 3 boys and 15 girls over and while discreetly hiding in the kitchen, I heard such different sounds than I’m used to. Girls laugh, a lot. They are hilarious, I wish I could morph back in time and hang out with these girls, some of them knit, I never learned to knit and I think you've got to learn that shit young. And as far as my son is concerned, while I don’t think he’s looking for a girlfriend, if he wanted one, it’d be like shooting fish in a barrel, that is one lucky guy.
My ex has a girlfriend. I’ve suspected this for some time, well, since he moved out really, because you never saw a wedding ring fly off a finger faster and moving out was really the only thing I’ve ever seen him stay on task with. I was going to leave mine on out of respect until he moved out, or we were officially divorced, but his was off within 24-hours of us deciding to split. Then there’s his steadfast refusal since day one to ever have the kids on a Friday night, which really is so unfair. It surprised me though since I really believed in my heart, now I realize, rationalized in my heart, that he just didn’t want to be in a relationship, didn't need it, didn't crave it, wasn't capable of it. He showed no interest in me, or my life or meeting my friends, refused to introduce me to anyone at his job, even though he’s been there forever. I never even saw his office, I used to ask to, and offered to host dinner parties so I could meet his friends from work, but he wasn’t interested and I eventually gave up. I used to ask if people ever socialized, went for dinner, had parties, because I’d love to meet them. He wasn’t interested in sitting at the same table for dinner or going out or being a “we” in any sense. I thought it was him and now I realize it was me. He just didn’t want to share with me... didn’t want to be companions with me... didn’t want to show affection or interest in me, didn't want to work on the relationship with me. If I was watching a movie or show on t.v. I'd invite him to join me, he always said "no thanks." If I sat on the couch next to him, he'd leave pretty quickly, to get something from the kitchen or use the bathroom and when he returned, he'd sit at the other end of the couch. Death by a thousand cuts. And how lucky is he? Gets out just in time to start dating with a clear conscience. A mere few months later and he'd be stuck picking up the slack for a wife with cancer.
He’s a tall, white male in upper management at a large corporation, he’s involved with someone from work... shooting fish in a barrel. I knew this would probably be the case, I know it was the case many years ago, and have always suspected it has at times been the case since, but didn’t want to be the controlling shrew he seemed conditioned to view women, or “wives” as, and I respected his autonomy so didn’t ask questions. Even the kids started to point out his absences. “Mom, it doesn’t take 3 hours to go get coffee.” But I figured, nah, he's not interested in relationships, if he was, he could have one with me. And still we're as friendly as can be, discussing the kids, while I enable his life and work like a dog, to keep my family in good shape. I've not asked questions and while his answers always sound so truthful, I know they're not, I've only caught him in out and out lies a few times, and I wasn't even looking, so you figure, for each time an unpleasant truth landed in my lap... there must have been so many swimming under the surface. And he always, always seems like the most honest guy in the world. I guess I just wonder why life seems so easy for some people and so difficult for others. I don't know how to make my life work, I try so hard, It's such a specific goal, but I don't know how, I just don't know how to make it all work, how to make the pieces fall into place.
I can’t find my barrel anywhere, I don’t think there is one, or maybe I don't have the energy or tenacity to find it, and I don’t quite think I have the same power rifle these two do. Nor do I really have time for a relationship, I have my kids all the time, sans Wed. night and every other weekend, weekends being Saturday to Monday morning {and I begrudge not a split-second I’m with them}. I’m self-employed which is non-stop, especially when you’re coming off a hiatus, even more so, when so much time has to be spent in doctor’s offices and I’m depleted from treatment and while they can try to “cure” you of cancer, they don’t tell you that you’ll never be the same.
My life is beautiful, my life is grand, but it’s hard being single in this complicated world, more so when you’ve lived with someone for so long, even if they didn’t talk to you. My longing for that soft shoulder to lean on and that person to laugh with makes my heart hurt and it’s not like I lost that when the marriage ended, I’ve been longing for it for years {and years}. I got no fish in my barrel, that should be a country song. I guess no one gets everything in life and really, right now, the goal is simply to have a life. I have so much, maybe wanting more is just greedy and tempting fate.
Sunday, March 17, 2013
Friday, March 8, 2013
Naturopath to Nowhere
I finally had my long-awaited appointment with the Naturopath who is also an M.D., which was my next step in my quest for a cancer-free fate. A very nice man in a beautiful, brick-walled office who could do little more than refer me to a Naturopath in Connecticut who works with cancer patients. He said, in general, having had cancer, I should make sure I have mid-to high levels of vitamin D {mine are low even with a supplement}, and take green tea extract and most importantly 30-40g of Melatonin each night as it’s a powerful antioxidant with cancer fighting properties. It makes “some” people sleepy, but I should adjust fairly quickly. I mentioned picking some up at Whole Foods and he said he really didn't trust Whole Foods products and I should get if from a place he recommends that I can click through to from his website.
Only later did it occur to me, that if Whole Foods supplements, which is a large part of what they’re known for, weren’t up to par, we’d have heard about it... it would be scandalous and some intrepid reporter would have broken the story. Fuck! Does that mean he wants me to click through to his place of choice because he has a vested interest, like kickbacks from purchases made through his site? Oh, I hope not, but it does make my usually naive self wonder.
Grocery shopping a week later at, yes, Whole Foods, I remembered the Melatonin but couldn’t remember the recommended dosage, so upon seeing that it comes in either 1g or 3g, I figured the doc had recommended 3-4g, but being cautious, I figured I’d start with one.
I’m a lifelong insomniac. I can take an Ambien and be wide awake... I can take two Ambien and still take awhile to fall asleep and wake up a few times during the night. I took 1g of Melatonin that night and my eyes rolled back in my head and the next thing I know I’m hitting the snooze button for the third time on a school day. Luckily, there was a divine intervention in the form of a cat puking on my bed right next to me which served to knock me out of my coma and drag myself out of bed. Deities are so creative in their methods, an alternative to cat barf, however, to assist my emergence from coma would have been preferred, but I’m not looking the gift cat in the mouth {especially since it just barfed}, it did serve it’s purpose.
Later that day, I looked at the notes the doctor wrote to realize that he had, in fact, told me to take not 3-4g of Melatonin, but 30-40g. What the hell?! If I had taken 30g of Melatonin my kids would have been calling 911 in the morning, there’s no way, I could have woken up from that or functioned for the next month. I’m still groggy and making stupid mistakes, one after another even several days later.
I’m sorry, but it can’t be good to put that much of anything in your body and then it occurred to me that Naturopaths want to drug you as much as regular doctors, they just want to do it with “natural” substances and not pharmaceuticals, but would 30g of Melatonin, or an excessive amount of anything not have their own host of complications?
Maybe you can’t fix the game either way. Maybe I just have to eat healthy, exercise, be happy and live my life as best I can. Maybe there’s no magic bullet or if there is I’d be so large I’d choke on it. Cause of death: magic bullet {while cancer-free}.
A week later, the Naturopath/MD called me regarding the bloodwork he ran, he rechecked my Ferritin level. After my oncologist ruled out hereditary hemochromatosis, he dropped the ball and never mentioned it again and I decided to go into denial about it. “You’re Ferritin level is really high, I want to run an RNA test”, “I already had that test, it’s negative, do you have any idea what would cause my Ferritin to be so high?” and in a perplexed and very human voice he says, “no, but it’s really, really bad.” He had no ideas or suggestions, but offered to research it a bit, but as he had never heard of my type of breast cancer in the first place and if I’d listened to him about the Melatonin, I’d be in a coma instead of having this conversation, I said thanks, but I’ll just go pester my oncologist about it. OK, he said, that’s probably a good idea.
Ever feel like you’re walking in circles?
Only later did it occur to me, that if Whole Foods supplements, which is a large part of what they’re known for, weren’t up to par, we’d have heard about it... it would be scandalous and some intrepid reporter would have broken the story. Fuck! Does that mean he wants me to click through to his place of choice because he has a vested interest, like kickbacks from purchases made through his site? Oh, I hope not, but it does make my usually naive self wonder.
Grocery shopping a week later at, yes, Whole Foods, I remembered the Melatonin but couldn’t remember the recommended dosage, so upon seeing that it comes in either 1g or 3g, I figured the doc had recommended 3-4g, but being cautious, I figured I’d start with one.
I’m a lifelong insomniac. I can take an Ambien and be wide awake... I can take two Ambien and still take awhile to fall asleep and wake up a few times during the night. I took 1g of Melatonin that night and my eyes rolled back in my head and the next thing I know I’m hitting the snooze button for the third time on a school day. Luckily, there was a divine intervention in the form of a cat puking on my bed right next to me which served to knock me out of my coma and drag myself out of bed. Deities are so creative in their methods, an alternative to cat barf, however, to assist my emergence from coma would have been preferred, but I’m not looking the gift cat in the mouth {especially since it just barfed}, it did serve it’s purpose.
Later that day, I looked at the notes the doctor wrote to realize that he had, in fact, told me to take not 3-4g of Melatonin, but 30-40g. What the hell?! If I had taken 30g of Melatonin my kids would have been calling 911 in the morning, there’s no way, I could have woken up from that or functioned for the next month. I’m still groggy and making stupid mistakes, one after another even several days later.
I’m sorry, but it can’t be good to put that much of anything in your body and then it occurred to me that Naturopaths want to drug you as much as regular doctors, they just want to do it with “natural” substances and not pharmaceuticals, but would 30g of Melatonin, or an excessive amount of anything not have their own host of complications?
Maybe you can’t fix the game either way. Maybe I just have to eat healthy, exercise, be happy and live my life as best I can. Maybe there’s no magic bullet or if there is I’d be so large I’d choke on it. Cause of death: magic bullet {while cancer-free}.
A week later, the Naturopath/MD called me regarding the bloodwork he ran, he rechecked my Ferritin level. After my oncologist ruled out hereditary hemochromatosis, he dropped the ball and never mentioned it again and I decided to go into denial about it. “You’re Ferritin level is really high, I want to run an RNA test”, “I already had that test, it’s negative, do you have any idea what would cause my Ferritin to be so high?” and in a perplexed and very human voice he says, “no, but it’s really, really bad.” He had no ideas or suggestions, but offered to research it a bit, but as he had never heard of my type of breast cancer in the first place and if I’d listened to him about the Melatonin, I’d be in a coma instead of having this conversation, I said thanks, but I’ll just go pester my oncologist about it. OK, he said, that’s probably a good idea.
Ever feel like you’re walking in circles?
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
Beware of Grannies with Coffee
I’ve been seeing a sweet man for the past few months. Someone I knew peripherally, and ran into just as I was finishing up radiation. It was the most unexpected and lovely thing at a time I really needed it. Ultimately though, it didn’t work out. Something sweet and simple, turned fraught and difficult and complicated and as I was pretty sure we were both feeling the same way, I asked him to coffee this morning to tell him that I thought we were better as friends, it’s disrespectful, I think, to leave things just dangling until they fade away, and it devalues what you had even if it didn’t work out, but I admit, I was a little nervous. Well, you never saw a more genuine smile or happy man than this one, upon hearing what I had to say. For a minute I thought, well, sheesh, look a little disappointed, but of course, then I would have felt terrible and I never want anyone to fake it. How perfect that we were both feeling the same thing at the same time and able to talk about it honestly, and I know, that I have a new, close, friend for life, someone I genuinely care about, who’s company I truly enjoy and who I think feels the same of me. It would have been grand to have something more, but we all know things don’t always click or work out the way we would like.
We met today at my local café, the one I patronize often, but rarely sit at, so I figure I’ve accrued table points. We sat talking for a long time, friend talk, happy talk. Despite being done with my tea, we were firmly entrenched in our spot, I had an an empty chair covered in my briefcase, bag, bread, coat, and we were deep in conversation. I shouldn’t have been twirling my empty cup around, that was a dead giveaway that I was done with it, because a little old lady approached. One bad ass, little old lady, who wanted a table, and wanted it now. That woman kicked our ass, and you better believe, she’s still probably sitting in our spot. She looked like the quintessential sweet old lady, oh how looks can be deceiving, cunning and steely will, sadly, are invisible. White hair, hunched shoulders, heavy coat and handbag dangling from crooked elbow. She was balancing a plate with a muffin in one hand, and a cup of coffee filled to the literal brim in the other, just begging to spill and she says “excuse me, are you finished, were you about to leave?” I said, “well, um, uh, we weren’t really.” The table-coveting warrior, just stood there, staring, tenuous coffee, more tenuous by the second, “well, yes, actually, we were just about to leave.” We didn't look anywhere near about to leave.
Damn, that was one fine play. I thought, well, if I were sitting on a bus, I would have automatically gotten up and given my seat without a second thought, so I’m wondering does this age hierarchy work in all situations? When are you old enough to just demand what you want and how much younger does someone else have to be for you to expect them to give way. If she was 70 and I’m 50, does that mean that next time I’m at the café and there’s no seat for me, I can encroach on and shame a 30-year old into giving it up? I will point out that she was alone and there was room at the communal table. Why did she pick our table... there were other malingerer’s, chatters, did I blow it by twirling my empty cup around? Am I a terrible person for how begrudgingly I gave it up? I guess once you get a table, it’s not a given you’re going to keep it. Take nothing for granted, not even your temporary table, things may be more temporary than you think.
We met today at my local café, the one I patronize often, but rarely sit at, so I figure I’ve accrued table points. We sat talking for a long time, friend talk, happy talk. Despite being done with my tea, we were firmly entrenched in our spot, I had an an empty chair covered in my briefcase, bag, bread, coat, and we were deep in conversation. I shouldn’t have been twirling my empty cup around, that was a dead giveaway that I was done with it, because a little old lady approached. One bad ass, little old lady, who wanted a table, and wanted it now. That woman kicked our ass, and you better believe, she’s still probably sitting in our spot. She looked like the quintessential sweet old lady, oh how looks can be deceiving, cunning and steely will, sadly, are invisible. White hair, hunched shoulders, heavy coat and handbag dangling from crooked elbow. She was balancing a plate with a muffin in one hand, and a cup of coffee filled to the literal brim in the other, just begging to spill and she says “excuse me, are you finished, were you about to leave?” I said, “well, um, uh, we weren’t really.” The table-coveting warrior, just stood there, staring, tenuous coffee, more tenuous by the second, “well, yes, actually, we were just about to leave.” We didn't look anywhere near about to leave.
Damn, that was one fine play. I thought, well, if I were sitting on a bus, I would have automatically gotten up and given my seat without a second thought, so I’m wondering does this age hierarchy work in all situations? When are you old enough to just demand what you want and how much younger does someone else have to be for you to expect them to give way. If she was 70 and I’m 50, does that mean that next time I’m at the café and there’s no seat for me, I can encroach on and shame a 30-year old into giving it up? I will point out that she was alone and there was room at the communal table. Why did she pick our table... there were other malingerer’s, chatters, did I blow it by twirling my empty cup around? Am I a terrible person for how begrudgingly I gave it up? I guess once you get a table, it’s not a given you’re going to keep it. Take nothing for granted, not even your temporary table, things may be more temporary than you think.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Sweaty Pits to Brunswick Maine
A couple of years ago, I was setting up for an outdoor show on a very warm morning. Setting up is hard, sweat-inducing work and I realized I’d forgotton to put on deodorant that morning. Sweaty, sticky pits is something that is just intolerable to me, a true misery. I’m not concerned about odor, I’m not particularly stinky, it’s that awful sticky feeling.
That crazy lack of boundaries and I lamented my situation to my neighbor and instead of thinking I was nuts, she said “I can’t stand that, I bring deodorant everywhere I go, do you want to borrow mine?” She thought I might be put off by the non-politically correct hygenic aspect of it, but she was wrong, hygene doesn’t play a role in sweet salvation.
These years later, I sell that person’s work in my shop and count them as a friend. Friendships begin under the oddest, unlikeliest of circumstances.
I was in the shower the other morning and started to shave under my arms for the umpteenth {umpmillionth} time and it occurred to me that if the hair follicles were no longer functioning, maybe the sweat glands would be dormant too and I’d never need deodorant again. I have some experimenting to do.
I had to stop at CVS this afternoon to get a few last minute supplies before the tall one and I hit the road. He was out of deodorant and unlike at that summer show, he won’t use mine. Maybe because it has a flower on the label, maybe because sharing is gross, although he has no problem using my bath towel, even though it’s pink, signifying “girl”, meaning, paws off, use your own damned towel, because you are stinky.
Flash forward and, we are now in Maine, just the two of us having discovered on the ride up that we have much of the same music on our iPods! Newly licensed, I was the passenger for the first time for part of the way, I stayed much calmer than I thought I’d be and I think I was a pretty good “back seat” coach. We’re staying in a beautiful Inn and we'll visit three colleges in three days. Colby, Bowdoin and Bates, with Bowdoin having become his absolute dream school and let the realist in me say... reach school. Over the years, I’ve payed no heed to the coaches singing his talents, suggesting college play, “bullshit” being my most common response, as there are high school athletes at every school in every town, in every city, in this great, big, giant, competitive country, many with fanatic fathers and private coaches, and yet lo and behold,it seems there may be some interest in my boy. I would love to stand corrected! And he is the luckiest person I've ever met.
I’m learning as I go, but it seems that high-end academic schools with Division III {lowest division} sports need athletes that at least come close to their academic standards. Add in the Lucky 4, the four extra inches that make him a 6’4” lefty quarterback and pitcher and that he’s rocking a 3.8 gpa at the moment with four AP classes, we are meeting with the coach at Colby tomorrow and waiting for a call from the one at Bowdoin who our coach tells us is very interested after seeing his film and grades.
We had dinner tonight at the pub at the Inn where we’re staying. We were seated against the wall and near the end of our meal a couple came in and sat at the next table. Turns out it was trivia night and as we got talking to them, we ended up playing the trivia game together, unofficially contributing answers. Turns out octopus’ have three hearts and Chow’s have black tongues. There was a large, really obnoxious table of people in the middle of the room who seemed quite cozy with the folks running the game, so we started bonding through a shared axe to grind, annoyance with this group, so true confessions... we cheated. G had his iPhone and he looked up a couple of answers, turns out though we would have won without his help because we won by a lot and he and I weren’t officially on their team, we were “innocent” bystanders mumbling out answers, of course, that still makes us cheaters, but it was really fun, we totally kicked everyone’s ass including the 2nd place noisy group which didn’t make the game leaders happy, so they pretty much smacked down the small pile of money on our neighbor’s table and that was that. A quiet night in our hotel room turned into a really fun evening with a lovely couple who told us what a fabulous place Brunswick, Maine is and that when Griffin goes to Bowdoin we should come visit them. A pretty and very competitive obstetrician and her cute and sweet physical trainer husband, who we bonded with by cheating at trivia, odd and unlikely circumstances. A perfect day, one of the things I thought about in the chemo chair was not being able, not having the energy or stamina to do things like take college trips with G and here I am, feeling great, happy as can be, the only difference is I'm staying in a nice hotel, not a crappy motel cause if life is short and you only get one... I'm taking the nice hotel route. As a bonus, G, for the very first time, I think, understands why I always talk to strangers. It used to embarrass him, but slowly, I hope he’s learning that some boundaries are for suckers, talking to strangers makes life richer, literally, as they insisted on sharing the pot with us, we're $15 richer.
That crazy lack of boundaries and I lamented my situation to my neighbor and instead of thinking I was nuts, she said “I can’t stand that, I bring deodorant everywhere I go, do you want to borrow mine?” She thought I might be put off by the non-politically correct hygenic aspect of it, but she was wrong, hygene doesn’t play a role in sweet salvation.
These years later, I sell that person’s work in my shop and count them as a friend. Friendships begin under the oddest, unlikeliest of circumstances.
I was in the shower the other morning and started to shave under my arms for the umpteenth {umpmillionth} time and it occurred to me that if the hair follicles were no longer functioning, maybe the sweat glands would be dormant too and I’d never need deodorant again. I have some experimenting to do.
I had to stop at CVS this afternoon to get a few last minute supplies before the tall one and I hit the road. He was out of deodorant and unlike at that summer show, he won’t use mine. Maybe because it has a flower on the label, maybe because sharing is gross, although he has no problem using my bath towel, even though it’s pink, signifying “girl”, meaning, paws off, use your own damned towel, because you are stinky.
Flash forward and, we are now in Maine, just the two of us having discovered on the ride up that we have much of the same music on our iPods! Newly licensed, I was the passenger for the first time for part of the way, I stayed much calmer than I thought I’d be and I think I was a pretty good “back seat” coach. We’re staying in a beautiful Inn and we'll visit three colleges in three days. Colby, Bowdoin and Bates, with Bowdoin having become his absolute dream school and let the realist in me say... reach school. Over the years, I’ve payed no heed to the coaches singing his talents, suggesting college play, “bullshit” being my most common response, as there are high school athletes at every school in every town, in every city, in this great, big, giant, competitive country, many with fanatic fathers and private coaches, and yet lo and behold,it seems there may be some interest in my boy. I would love to stand corrected! And he is the luckiest person I've ever met.
I’m learning as I go, but it seems that high-end academic schools with Division III {lowest division} sports need athletes that at least come close to their academic standards. Add in the Lucky 4, the four extra inches that make him a 6’4” lefty quarterback and pitcher and that he’s rocking a 3.8 gpa at the moment with four AP classes, we are meeting with the coach at Colby tomorrow and waiting for a call from the one at Bowdoin who our coach tells us is very interested after seeing his film and grades.
We had dinner tonight at the pub at the Inn where we’re staying. We were seated against the wall and near the end of our meal a couple came in and sat at the next table. Turns out it was trivia night and as we got talking to them, we ended up playing the trivia game together, unofficially contributing answers. Turns out octopus’ have three hearts and Chow’s have black tongues. There was a large, really obnoxious table of people in the middle of the room who seemed quite cozy with the folks running the game, so we started bonding through a shared axe to grind, annoyance with this group, so true confessions... we cheated. G had his iPhone and he looked up a couple of answers, turns out though we would have won without his help because we won by a lot and he and I weren’t officially on their team, we were “innocent” bystanders mumbling out answers, of course, that still makes us cheaters, but it was really fun, we totally kicked everyone’s ass including the 2nd place noisy group which didn’t make the game leaders happy, so they pretty much smacked down the small pile of money on our neighbor’s table and that was that. A quiet night in our hotel room turned into a really fun evening with a lovely couple who told us what a fabulous place Brunswick, Maine is and that when Griffin goes to Bowdoin we should come visit them. A pretty and very competitive obstetrician and her cute and sweet physical trainer husband, who we bonded with by cheating at trivia, odd and unlikely circumstances. A perfect day, one of the things I thought about in the chemo chair was not being able, not having the energy or stamina to do things like take college trips with G and here I am, feeling great, happy as can be, the only difference is I'm staying in a nice hotel, not a crappy motel cause if life is short and you only get one... I'm taking the nice hotel route. As a bonus, G, for the very first time, I think, understands why I always talk to strangers. It used to embarrass him, but slowly, I hope he’s learning that some boundaries are for suckers, talking to strangers makes life richer, literally, as they insisted on sharing the pot with us, we're $15 richer.
Saturday, February 9, 2013
The Upside of Stubborn
I’ve read, and I know to be true, that after experiencing a stillbirth, people have very different reactions. Some never want to think about being pregnant, and taking that chance at heartbreak again. Some are damaged, or traumatized into paralysis and devolve into chemical dependency or plain old anger, many divorce, some get plain looney, some spend the rest of their life "honoring" that child, and some refuse to take no for an answer. I fell into the last camp. My daughter will haunt my heart until my last day, but from the minute I lost her I began planning and plotting for another baby. Losing that baby made me so clear on what I wanted and the meaning of life and what was important and how life was a gift, all those nauseatingly corny things, true, true, true. I learned to take nothing for granted {that’s why cancer is so redundant}. I wanted to adopt, but there were roadblocks and my spouse was soundly in a different camp. Every night I laid in bed dreaming of the day I would bring my baby home, how it would feel to nurse her, hold her in my arms. Time passed, nothing happened and the fertility docs said I’d resoundingly flunked. My FSH was high which meant no more eggs, no more babies, fertility drugs would be useless, there was nothing to ovulate. I went for a second opinion to a really nice guy who headed the fertility dept. at Women & Infants and he said that having a baby for me was a million to one chance, that I’d have a better chance of winning the lottery and I just couldn’t plan my life around having another baby {oh, those statistics}. In effect, I was told that I had 100% chance of never having another baby.
Maybe I was insane at the time, but not for one minute did I accept that I wouldn’t have another baby {despite the statistics}. I’m not usually the denial type, in fact, I absolutely suck at denial, but for not a single night did I go to sleep thinking about anything other than my sweet future baby. I obsessed over names, not infertility, I designed baby announcements in my head, her first birthday party, I liked the name Diana, for the warrior. I spent more money on pregnancy tests than I care to admit and I always did them a little too early, I was so desperate for a line. I’m sure friends felt sorry for me, and thought I was nuts, but have I mentioned my son Jonah? My beloved? My soulmate? My sweet baby boy? The only thing I got wrong was the gender which he cleared up for me about 4 months along by sending me the most powerful burst of boy energy and from there on in his name was Jonah, my sweet Jonah.
I don’t believe in god, or fairies, or miracles, I believe that I willed that child into existence. I believe perhaps we are more powerful than we know, and I also know that I could not have lived the rest of my life without that baby, I could not, would not take no for an answer, I guess I can be stubborn. I needed and wanted that baby in a way I can’t describe. Once you give birth and leave the hospital with nothing in your arms, when you go home to an empty nursery and pile of pink jammies, things change, everything changes. And when that day you go home happens to be the fourth of July and you can hear people celebrating and shooting off fireworks all around you well into the night, well, maybe you just throw down, maybe grief makes you a warrior, makes you relentless.
And then the odyssey of the pregnancy and one diagnosis after another. Hydrocephalus, brain damage, placental problems {this part was true}, for a good bit, my doctors didn’t think he’d reach viability, but I did. I knew him, and I knew he was spunky and he is, in fact, the most stubborn person I’ve ever met which I guess is my fault because he was the product of my sheer stubbornness.
Seven weeks early and didn’t even need a respirator, he could breathe on his own. Tangled intestines meant major surgery at 4lbs and a day old but afterwards he could pull his nose tube out hand over hand. I wouldn't believe that possible had I not seen it with my own eyes, I was so proud of him. Five weeks in the NICU and has barely been sick a day in his life. Brain damaged, oh I think not. The cleverest, most creative character I have ever met, as well as the oldest soul with the truest, kindest heart. Ever.
So I figure if I can will that to happen, then I can will my body into being a place where cancer no longer grows. I can will myself into seeing my kids grow up. I do not accept cancer, I do not accept these odds anymore than I accepted the odds of ever holding a baby in my arms. I’ve been looking for a doctor that will give me different odds, but suddenly I realize the odds are what I make of them and I have decided with all my heart and soul that I will not be the one that relapses, I will not die of cancer, not in the near future anyway. I am cancer-free, I will remain cancer free, that’s just the way it’s going to be. I haven’t allowed myself to look into the future because it breaks my heart, but not anymore, I’m going to dream of graduations and weddings and all those happy things. I’ll live in the moment and look into the future with anticipation and I will that into reality, just like I willed my baby into being. I will think about my future every night the way I used to think about my baby, but outwardly, I’m moving on, I’m getting out of cancertown, I don't want to be a cancer groupie, I'm not going to wear pink and go to pep rallies and walks for awareness. I’ll do what I can do, I’ll exercise, I’ll keep drinking those green smoothies and most importantly, I’ll be happy because I think that’s the healthiest thing anyone can do. I'm taking over, I'm the new boss of me, not these doctors and not these statistics, I tet it, I finally get it.
Maybe I was insane at the time, but not for one minute did I accept that I wouldn’t have another baby {despite the statistics}. I’m not usually the denial type, in fact, I absolutely suck at denial, but for not a single night did I go to sleep thinking about anything other than my sweet future baby. I obsessed over names, not infertility, I designed baby announcements in my head, her first birthday party, I liked the name Diana, for the warrior. I spent more money on pregnancy tests than I care to admit and I always did them a little too early, I was so desperate for a line. I’m sure friends felt sorry for me, and thought I was nuts, but have I mentioned my son Jonah? My beloved? My soulmate? My sweet baby boy? The only thing I got wrong was the gender which he cleared up for me about 4 months along by sending me the most powerful burst of boy energy and from there on in his name was Jonah, my sweet Jonah.
I don’t believe in god, or fairies, or miracles, I believe that I willed that child into existence. I believe perhaps we are more powerful than we know, and I also know that I could not have lived the rest of my life without that baby, I could not, would not take no for an answer, I guess I can be stubborn. I needed and wanted that baby in a way I can’t describe. Once you give birth and leave the hospital with nothing in your arms, when you go home to an empty nursery and pile of pink jammies, things change, everything changes. And when that day you go home happens to be the fourth of July and you can hear people celebrating and shooting off fireworks all around you well into the night, well, maybe you just throw down, maybe grief makes you a warrior, makes you relentless.
And then the odyssey of the pregnancy and one diagnosis after another. Hydrocephalus, brain damage, placental problems {this part was true}, for a good bit, my doctors didn’t think he’d reach viability, but I did. I knew him, and I knew he was spunky and he is, in fact, the most stubborn person I’ve ever met which I guess is my fault because he was the product of my sheer stubbornness.
Seven weeks early and didn’t even need a respirator, he could breathe on his own. Tangled intestines meant major surgery at 4lbs and a day old but afterwards he could pull his nose tube out hand over hand. I wouldn't believe that possible had I not seen it with my own eyes, I was so proud of him. Five weeks in the NICU and has barely been sick a day in his life. Brain damaged, oh I think not. The cleverest, most creative character I have ever met, as well as the oldest soul with the truest, kindest heart. Ever.
So I figure if I can will that to happen, then I can will my body into being a place where cancer no longer grows. I can will myself into seeing my kids grow up. I do not accept cancer, I do not accept these odds anymore than I accepted the odds of ever holding a baby in my arms. I’ve been looking for a doctor that will give me different odds, but suddenly I realize the odds are what I make of them and I have decided with all my heart and soul that I will not be the one that relapses, I will not die of cancer, not in the near future anyway. I am cancer-free, I will remain cancer free, that’s just the way it’s going to be. I haven’t allowed myself to look into the future because it breaks my heart, but not anymore, I’m going to dream of graduations and weddings and all those happy things. I’ll live in the moment and look into the future with anticipation and I will that into reality, just like I willed my baby into being. I will think about my future every night the way I used to think about my baby, but outwardly, I’m moving on, I’m getting out of cancertown, I don't want to be a cancer groupie, I'm not going to wear pink and go to pep rallies and walks for awareness. I’ll do what I can do, I’ll exercise, I’ll keep drinking those green smoothies and most importantly, I’ll be happy because I think that’s the healthiest thing anyone can do. I'm taking over, I'm the new boss of me, not these doctors and not these statistics, I tet it, I finally get it.
Friday, February 8, 2013
Dana Farber, Blizzard Edition
I’ve checked another box off my list, I’ve been to the castle on the hill, Dana Farber, for a consult at the conclusion of which, my body finally gave in to the head cold it’d been staving off and now I’m home watching the snow fall surrounded by balled up tissues.
Dana Farber was depressing. It’s efficient, I will say, a procedure for everything and runs like clockwork. I met yet another oncologist, who while personable had nothing to tell me I didn’t know. 70/30, that’s just the way it is. I went and got myself one lousy disease. There are no idicators that can predict who will be the 70 and who will be among the 30, or why the heck anyone gets this in the first place, and like all good western practitioners he believes there isn’t a thing I can do to improve my chances, to stack the cards in my favor.
He told me to live in the moment, enjoy every day... if I’ve always wanted to go to Paris I should go. I should do what I want unless that happens to be buying an old house that will take 20 years to fix up... that wouldn’t be the best choice. Speaking of poor choices, that wasn’t the best analogy. Neither was bringing up writing a will and having my affairs in order. While good advice, I don’t want to hear that from an oncologist.
I still refuse to believe there’s no mind/body connection, no nutritional connection. Not that I would expect either of those to be a cure all, but they’ve got to play a role, have got to improve one’s chances. Many western practitioners don’t believe a wit in acupuncture while a whole other culture embraces it completely. There might not be FDA approved evidence, but there must be a more well-rounded picture.
The last stop on my quest will be in two weeks when I visit a naturopath who is also an MD. I’m hoping he can be my partner in health, help me keep my body strong so it can fight off any relapse at the start. They didn’t even examine me at Dana Farber, just a chat... all those records and slides and films, for what?
So I go back to my life, I feel like I really have been living in the present and I remind myself that 12 years ago I flunked every fertility test and was told I’d have a better chance of winning the lottery than having a baby. I remember so vividly, how I simply would not hear that, would not acknowledge it, would not embrace it and I think I willed my beloved into being, I truly believe that. So I am powerful, and I must will myself into the 70%, but just in case, I won’t waste a minute.
I baked two batches of chocolate chip cookies today instead on one, and I’ve planned a trip to Maine with the tall one to look at colleges in two weeks over february break and I got us the nicest hotel room I could find.
I give in and next week I’m putting him on my auto insurance so he can do part of the driving and show off, and yes, I might take a sedative first.
I’m suddenly fine that my wholesale biz is tanking, I’m going to help the tall one’s football coach raise lots and lots of money to take the whole team to forida. Payback for all he’s done for my boy which is even more than a lot, and because those boys will have the time of their lives and I want to help make it happen, here and now, because I’m here... now. And yeah, I’m going too.
And I’ll enjoy watching the snow fall without giving any thought to shoveling, that’s for another day, I’ll be grateful that I’m holed up in my warm cozy house, and I’m going to stop thinking about numbers and statistics and cancer and just live my life and try to leave nothing and no one unnoticed or unappreciated. Really, what else can I do?
Dana Farber was depressing. It’s efficient, I will say, a procedure for everything and runs like clockwork. I met yet another oncologist, who while personable had nothing to tell me I didn’t know. 70/30, that’s just the way it is. I went and got myself one lousy disease. There are no idicators that can predict who will be the 70 and who will be among the 30, or why the heck anyone gets this in the first place, and like all good western practitioners he believes there isn’t a thing I can do to improve my chances, to stack the cards in my favor.
He told me to live in the moment, enjoy every day... if I’ve always wanted to go to Paris I should go. I should do what I want unless that happens to be buying an old house that will take 20 years to fix up... that wouldn’t be the best choice. Speaking of poor choices, that wasn’t the best analogy. Neither was bringing up writing a will and having my affairs in order. While good advice, I don’t want to hear that from an oncologist.
I still refuse to believe there’s no mind/body connection, no nutritional connection. Not that I would expect either of those to be a cure all, but they’ve got to play a role, have got to improve one’s chances. Many western practitioners don’t believe a wit in acupuncture while a whole other culture embraces it completely. There might not be FDA approved evidence, but there must be a more well-rounded picture.
The last stop on my quest will be in two weeks when I visit a naturopath who is also an MD. I’m hoping he can be my partner in health, help me keep my body strong so it can fight off any relapse at the start. They didn’t even examine me at Dana Farber, just a chat... all those records and slides and films, for what?
So I go back to my life, I feel like I really have been living in the present and I remind myself that 12 years ago I flunked every fertility test and was told I’d have a better chance of winning the lottery than having a baby. I remember so vividly, how I simply would not hear that, would not acknowledge it, would not embrace it and I think I willed my beloved into being, I truly believe that. So I am powerful, and I must will myself into the 70%, but just in case, I won’t waste a minute.
I baked two batches of chocolate chip cookies today instead on one, and I’ve planned a trip to Maine with the tall one to look at colleges in two weeks over february break and I got us the nicest hotel room I could find.
I give in and next week I’m putting him on my auto insurance so he can do part of the driving and show off, and yes, I might take a sedative first.
I’m suddenly fine that my wholesale biz is tanking, I’m going to help the tall one’s football coach raise lots and lots of money to take the whole team to forida. Payback for all he’s done for my boy which is even more than a lot, and because those boys will have the time of their lives and I want to help make it happen, here and now, because I’m here... now. And yeah, I’m going too.
And I’ll enjoy watching the snow fall without giving any thought to shoveling, that’s for another day, I’ll be grateful that I’m holed up in my warm cozy house, and I’m going to stop thinking about numbers and statistics and cancer and just live my life and try to leave nothing and no one unnoticed or unappreciated. Really, what else can I do?
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Prom Queen
Tomorrow is my big outing to Dana Farber Cancer Center in Boston. Things have fallen pretty far when that’s your big day out. In the past few weeks, I’ve been giddy with excitement, as if I’m preparing for the prom at a fancy hotel, my first fancy hotel. In the past few days, however, aided by being cooped up at home with a sick boy, and maybe fighting off a bug myself, I’ve become a tad petrified.
I’m happy that a new pair of eyeballs, world reknowned eyeballs will be looking at my copious tests, slides, samples and reports. I’m looking forward to comparing and contrasting the facilities and philosophies. My hope is to gain a new level of optimism, that a relapse doesn’t mean certain and somewhat rapid death which is the information I’m currently in possession of. I can deal with some level of early death, but if I relapse, and that’s mostly likely to occur within five years, I need to eek out a few more years, I need to get my kids further on their way, I have to have time to get so many things in order. I want to hear about options and resources and experimental treatments and I’m hoping for some better numbers, or something where the arrow points up instead of down.
Life has been so good these last few months and as I feel better and better and can do more and more a relapse seems unthinkable, but then I realize that this whole situation is unthinkable, but is, none the less, quite real, quite thinkable.
It’s so hard to look ahead, to make plans which is, on the one hand, freeing, but on the other, paralyzing. I have to rebuild my business, earning money is a necessity, but that requires long term planning and it seems crazy to do that, and equally crazy not to.
I hope to come away with something from Dana Farber that helps me move forward but I also know that might be something I have to just figure out how to do on my own.
I’m happy that a new pair of eyeballs, world reknowned eyeballs will be looking at my copious tests, slides, samples and reports. I’m looking forward to comparing and contrasting the facilities and philosophies. My hope is to gain a new level of optimism, that a relapse doesn’t mean certain and somewhat rapid death which is the information I’m currently in possession of. I can deal with some level of early death, but if I relapse, and that’s mostly likely to occur within five years, I need to eek out a few more years, I need to get my kids further on their way, I have to have time to get so many things in order. I want to hear about options and resources and experimental treatments and I’m hoping for some better numbers, or something where the arrow points up instead of down.
Life has been so good these last few months and as I feel better and better and can do more and more a relapse seems unthinkable, but then I realize that this whole situation is unthinkable, but is, none the less, quite real, quite thinkable.
It’s so hard to look ahead, to make plans which is, on the one hand, freeing, but on the other, paralyzing. I have to rebuild my business, earning money is a necessity, but that requires long term planning and it seems crazy to do that, and equally crazy not to.
I hope to come away with something from Dana Farber that helps me move forward but I also know that might be something I have to just figure out how to do on my own.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)