My boys returned this morning from their weekend at their dad’s. The big one is a wired, jolly, lunatic and the little one is a sweet, happy elf, although the wired lunacy seems to be infecting him and that’s fine by me. Happy house, festive house, that’s my cup of tea, soon to be a full house, as we have our annual xmas eve soiree. I’ve been enjoying every minute of every day. The past month has been a string of perfect moments, unexpected moments, blissful moments, and tired moments, but I’m able to do so much more than I could a few months ago. Business at the shop has been great, kicking last year’s ass by a mile, and I’m having a full spectrum holiday experience. Sometimes I have a moment of panic, thinking that I’m so happy because it’s going to be my last holiday, or my last healthy holiday and then I just squelch it. I refuse to have that be true, that is just not possible, this phase of life, this chapter is a beginning, not an end. If I could will Jonah into existence despite profoundly flunking the fertility tests, I can will myself into health and enduring remission.
My living room has been sans music for two years, since I let the exiting party take the stereo system and the Bose radio which was rightfully his, a gift to us both, but from his father, so certainly it was right that it go. The only part of the stereo system that was mine was the Pioneer receiver which amazingly I’ve had since my early teens {wish they still made things so well!}, so I just figured he should take the whole thing. The only realms in which I’m brand conscious, because I just believe they make superior products that are worth every penny are Apple and Bose. Sure, I could listen to a thousand sound systems and find something comparable, but nothing’s going to be better or more compact than a Bose, and who’s got the time? But damn, they are expensive and I couldn’t justify the purchase. I’m always pondering it and then backing down, but last week on my way to work, before I even realized what I was doing, I was on 95 north, en route to Wrentham, where I know there is a Bose store. I walked in and out in 10 minutes with a beautiful new Bose wave radio, no regrets, and a little bluetooth accessory from which is streaming full, rich, holiday music from my laptop. Oh heavenly sound, the difference between what comes out of the laptop and what comes from the Bose is profound. I’m in love with the thing, despite it’s temporary home due to my old outlets and the need for an adapter. I’m grateful to my bossy subconscious that just plain took over and bought me this excellent holiday gift. Thank you me.
Wishing everyone a most excellent, very merry, happy holidays and a fine and fabulous new year!
Monday, December 24, 2012
Thursday, December 20, 2012
To Catch A Thief
I’m listening to the sound of little boy whistling bits of the Nutcracker while getting out his homework. Tall one at computer doing homework, tree lit and pretty, hum of gas fireplace keeping us warm. It’s been a good week, albeit an odd sleepy day. I’ve finally reached the point where I can wait for test results without anxiety, a switch has flipped. I saw the doctor I trust most, and she was baffled as to why my PCP ran a Ferritin test sans the tests that go with it. This one test alone, apparently is quite useless without the corresponding tests that give a more complete picture, additionally it doesn’t actually measure the iron content of my blood, it could just be residual wonkiness left over from chemo. This was explained to me, and it made sense at the time, although like most things, I can’t remember the details. She thinks my liver is stressed from spending a year trying to process so many vats of toxic sludge. So my levels are all out of whack and she thinks they’ll calm down. On the other hand they may not... and I may in fact be laden with heavy metals. Blood has been drawn and sent to myriad destinations, more will go on it’s way every month for the next few and we’ll see. I’m calm, I’m not placing frantic calls begging for results, when they call me, they call me, I’m not going looking for trouble. Nothing is interfering with my thus far, totally awesome, going way too fast, holiday season.
This eating thing has gotten so tricky that I just plain give up. If I have too much iron that means I shouldn’t eat meat, beans, spinach or foods with a lot of vitamin C {my beloved clementines}. My sugar is high, so I should avoid carbs and today I went for acupuncture and she told me not to eat raw fruits and vegetables because those are stressing my body, and as I don’t like cooked vegetables much, I like them cold and crunchy, that’s a problem. My liver is unhappy, so no alcohol, and after that, what is left? So I think I quit, I’m just going to eat what I want, trying to keep it within the confines of healthy and varied, unfortunately, the alcohol ban is an unfortunate no brainer, that I need to adhere to... until xmas eve.
Santa, as always is going to be far too kind to the residents of this house, but I know someone who’s getting coal, nothing but coal. That would be the person, whoever they are, who stole the bulbs right out of my xmas lights, the one’s they could reach anyway and that’s enough to keep them dark, those six empty sockets. These are the lights adorning my store’s sign, the one that juts out perpendicularly from the wall, the one that can’t be seen from the entrance of the building due to my less than optimal, far flung location, the sign that needs to be wrapped up in lights to be seen, to let people know that I’m open. Despite the countless other bulbs I have in my possession, none of them are compatible and I can’t change the whole string because I lost my ladder. Yes I lost a 6’ ladder, and I’m very sad about this because sometimes you really need a ladder and at my height it’s more often than not and additionally, I’ve had that banged up ladder a long time. All I can figure is that I left it at one of my events and it got absorbed into the maintenance room, but they’re not digging that hypothesis and are not giving up any ladders. They will also no longer lend ladders without the signing of forms and paying of a fee to the building manager and on principal, that ain’t happening. If it were left to the maintenance guys, they’d gladly help, but they fear the wrath of management and I don’t blame them. My question is “who the heck steals someone’s tiny light bulbs?” As I don’t expect an answer to that, I take solace in the big pile of coal that surely awaits them and karma.... please let karma be that bitch everyone says it is. I hate that B word, so I’m a little uncomfortable using it, but there’s really not an appropriate synonym. So go karma, go do your thing.
This eating thing has gotten so tricky that I just plain give up. If I have too much iron that means I shouldn’t eat meat, beans, spinach or foods with a lot of vitamin C {my beloved clementines}. My sugar is high, so I should avoid carbs and today I went for acupuncture and she told me not to eat raw fruits and vegetables because those are stressing my body, and as I don’t like cooked vegetables much, I like them cold and crunchy, that’s a problem. My liver is unhappy, so no alcohol, and after that, what is left? So I think I quit, I’m just going to eat what I want, trying to keep it within the confines of healthy and varied, unfortunately, the alcohol ban is an unfortunate no brainer, that I need to adhere to... until xmas eve.
Santa, as always is going to be far too kind to the residents of this house, but I know someone who’s getting coal, nothing but coal. That would be the person, whoever they are, who stole the bulbs right out of my xmas lights, the one’s they could reach anyway and that’s enough to keep them dark, those six empty sockets. These are the lights adorning my store’s sign, the one that juts out perpendicularly from the wall, the one that can’t be seen from the entrance of the building due to my less than optimal, far flung location, the sign that needs to be wrapped up in lights to be seen, to let people know that I’m open. Despite the countless other bulbs I have in my possession, none of them are compatible and I can’t change the whole string because I lost my ladder. Yes I lost a 6’ ladder, and I’m very sad about this because sometimes you really need a ladder and at my height it’s more often than not and additionally, I’ve had that banged up ladder a long time. All I can figure is that I left it at one of my events and it got absorbed into the maintenance room, but they’re not digging that hypothesis and are not giving up any ladders. They will also no longer lend ladders without the signing of forms and paying of a fee to the building manager and on principal, that ain’t happening. If it were left to the maintenance guys, they’d gladly help, but they fear the wrath of management and I don’t blame them. My question is “who the heck steals someone’s tiny light bulbs?” As I don’t expect an answer to that, I take solace in the big pile of coal that surely awaits them and karma.... please let karma be that bitch everyone says it is. I hate that B word, so I’m a little uncomfortable using it, but there’s really not an appropriate synonym. So go karma, go do your thing.
Friday, December 14, 2012
Green Fields & Heavy Metal
I’ve been imagining my body as a field of tall green grass, an endless field of fecund sprouts and wheatgrass below a stone still sky. This place is inconducive to cancer. Any stray adverse cell that wanders in is engulfed by my lush green grass, disintegrated and harmlessly absorbed by the soil, quietly, peacefully, easily.
A friend the other day asked if I was back to working a lot. I answered -- well, I could be working a lot, I’m just choosing not to. She asked what I was doing and I told her I didn’t really know... bopping around, visiting with people, doing whatever the heck I feel like. Actually, I have been at work a good bit, just not every minute like I would normally do and I confess to spending a good bit of my time there wandering around talking to whoever I run into and probably chatting my poor studio-mate to death.
I’m starting to cook again, I’m listening to music instead of the news, watching movies and being cozy by our xmas tree. I’m happy, I’m watching Dr. Who with my little buddy I’m living in the moment. The tall one is now 6’ 3 & 3/4”, I am 5’ 3 & 3/4” so I think he will stop growing now and be exactly a foot taller than I, there’s something poetic about that. When you look at a ruler, a foot is substantial, but not overwhelming, but when you stand next to someone a whole foot taller, a foot is huge, and when it’s your baby, well, that is something. We are making college lists... well, talking about making college lists and procrastinating the actual list making. Dude rocked the PSAT, I just found that out a few minutes ago, my guys are both in good places, happy campers.
I’ve been feeling great, I finished radiation barely two months ago, but it feels like two years, I’ve so enjoyed my furlough back into real life, my stint on the sunny side. I saw my surgeon for a follow up a couple of weeks ago and she urged me to see my primary care doctor for a check up, to get all my blood levels checked. I was so surprised when I finished chemo, that they just sent me on my way. I asked if they were going to check all my levels and see if everything was working as it should, and I was told “no, you’re done, see you in three months” which struck me as odd, but a lot of how the practice of medicine is done strikes me as odd.
So I went, gave some blood and got the results back in the mail yesterday and well, I hate to say it, but all I can say is holy shit, they didn't look good, they were not what I was expecting. Levels are high, levels are low, but most glaringly, my Ferritin level, which is the amount of iron in my blood is off the charts. I’ve been googling like crazy and what I’ve learned is that high iron levels are called Hemochromatosis. There are two kinds of this condition, Hereditary and Acquired. Hereditary, as you would assume, is caused by a defective gene and these folks keep their iron level down by essentially, regular blood letting. They get a jug of blood drained out every few weeks or months to get rid of the excess iron, excess iron is dangerous, it can kill you. The other kind of Hemochromatosis is caused by an underlying condition or very often {most often} caused by having excessive blood transfusions. I had six transfusions within a three month period, not so very long ago, so which do you think I have? No brainer, right? Sorry, not if you’re my oncologist, I was told through the nurse intermediary because god forbid he actually gets on the phone with me, that he wants to run the gene test because he suspects I have Hereditary Hemochromatosis despite there being absolutely no instances of it in my family and I’ve had not only normal, but low iron in the past and I had six blood transfusions, I know I’m not a doctor, but please! Regardless of cause, I'm a heavy metal chic for the first time ever... literally, and yes, I might do a little head banging, albeit, up against a wall.
So while I’m reading that Hemochromatosis causes organ damage, heart failure and all sorts of other undesirable things when left untreated and my levels are definitely in the need-treatment-zone, I am expected to wait a month until my genetic tests come back before we discuss it. Are you screaming in your head too? My glucose was also high and do you want to know what cancer likes? What cancer’s favorite tasty treat to snack on and thrive is? Sugar and Iron. I’m starting to think I need more than tranquil green grass. I Might have to arm that grass with laser guns or poison darts.
I have loved, loved, loved every minute of my parole, but I know what’s coming, tests, biopsies, mysteries, another odyssey through the medical industrial complex, chewed up and spit out. I felt so healthy before opening that envelope, but now my liver hurts, my heart hurts, I know it’s psychosomatic and yes, I knew that cancer treatment is not benign, but I’ve got to admit to being mightily disappointed in, and surprised by this development. I was much enjoying my recent trajectory and most definitely did not want to veer off back in the direction of hospitals and terror, I was feeling more and more optimistic the further away I got. Yeah, yeah, I’ll be a good sport, but do I keep having to develop the maladies that require abstinence from alcohol? Because I could use a drink or two, three, four, five.
A friend the other day asked if I was back to working a lot. I answered -- well, I could be working a lot, I’m just choosing not to. She asked what I was doing and I told her I didn’t really know... bopping around, visiting with people, doing whatever the heck I feel like. Actually, I have been at work a good bit, just not every minute like I would normally do and I confess to spending a good bit of my time there wandering around talking to whoever I run into and probably chatting my poor studio-mate to death.
I’m starting to cook again, I’m listening to music instead of the news, watching movies and being cozy by our xmas tree. I’m happy, I’m watching Dr. Who with my little buddy I’m living in the moment. The tall one is now 6’ 3 & 3/4”, I am 5’ 3 & 3/4” so I think he will stop growing now and be exactly a foot taller than I, there’s something poetic about that. When you look at a ruler, a foot is substantial, but not overwhelming, but when you stand next to someone a whole foot taller, a foot is huge, and when it’s your baby, well, that is something. We are making college lists... well, talking about making college lists and procrastinating the actual list making. Dude rocked the PSAT, I just found that out a few minutes ago, my guys are both in good places, happy campers.
I’ve been feeling great, I finished radiation barely two months ago, but it feels like two years, I’ve so enjoyed my furlough back into real life, my stint on the sunny side. I saw my surgeon for a follow up a couple of weeks ago and she urged me to see my primary care doctor for a check up, to get all my blood levels checked. I was so surprised when I finished chemo, that they just sent me on my way. I asked if they were going to check all my levels and see if everything was working as it should, and I was told “no, you’re done, see you in three months” which struck me as odd, but a lot of how the practice of medicine is done strikes me as odd.
So I went, gave some blood and got the results back in the mail yesterday and well, I hate to say it, but all I can say is holy shit, they didn't look good, they were not what I was expecting. Levels are high, levels are low, but most glaringly, my Ferritin level, which is the amount of iron in my blood is off the charts. I’ve been googling like crazy and what I’ve learned is that high iron levels are called Hemochromatosis. There are two kinds of this condition, Hereditary and Acquired. Hereditary, as you would assume, is caused by a defective gene and these folks keep their iron level down by essentially, regular blood letting. They get a jug of blood drained out every few weeks or months to get rid of the excess iron, excess iron is dangerous, it can kill you. The other kind of Hemochromatosis is caused by an underlying condition or very often {most often} caused by having excessive blood transfusions. I had six transfusions within a three month period, not so very long ago, so which do you think I have? No brainer, right? Sorry, not if you’re my oncologist, I was told through the nurse intermediary because god forbid he actually gets on the phone with me, that he wants to run the gene test because he suspects I have Hereditary Hemochromatosis despite there being absolutely no instances of it in my family and I’ve had not only normal, but low iron in the past and I had six blood transfusions, I know I’m not a doctor, but please! Regardless of cause, I'm a heavy metal chic for the first time ever... literally, and yes, I might do a little head banging, albeit, up against a wall.
So while I’m reading that Hemochromatosis causes organ damage, heart failure and all sorts of other undesirable things when left untreated and my levels are definitely in the need-treatment-zone, I am expected to wait a month until my genetic tests come back before we discuss it. Are you screaming in your head too? My glucose was also high and do you want to know what cancer likes? What cancer’s favorite tasty treat to snack on and thrive is? Sugar and Iron. I’m starting to think I need more than tranquil green grass. I Might have to arm that grass with laser guns or poison darts.
I have loved, loved, loved every minute of my parole, but I know what’s coming, tests, biopsies, mysteries, another odyssey through the medical industrial complex, chewed up and spit out. I felt so healthy before opening that envelope, but now my liver hurts, my heart hurts, I know it’s psychosomatic and yes, I knew that cancer treatment is not benign, but I’ve got to admit to being mightily disappointed in, and surprised by this development. I was much enjoying my recent trajectory and most definitely did not want to veer off back in the direction of hospitals and terror, I was feeling more and more optimistic the further away I got. Yeah, yeah, I’ll be a good sport, but do I keep having to develop the maladies that require abstinence from alcohol? Because I could use a drink or two, three, four, five.
Monday, December 3, 2012
Best Ever
Well gosh darn it, I had the best birthday ever, and having turned 49, I’m entering the last year of my first half century. I have a completely different perspective on getting older these days, I can’t think of anything better than living to be old. Every year is a gift and an accomplishment. I celebrated my birthday for a good four days. Things began well on the actual day, with an unexpected card slid under my studio door. That night big stayed home to watch little so I could go out. I went with friends to the Craftland Holiday Party, so much fun and then for a lovely dinner. I, who am camera shy actually forced other people to have their picture taken with me.
Next day, while I was at work, the guys cleaned up the house, they actually did, I am a witness. Vacuuming happened, trash went out, books and things went back to rooms, the kitchen floor even got swept. My son’s friend-who-is-a-girl picked up my giant “happy birthday to ME” cake because she is swell, and by 5p.m. the house was festive, happy and swimming with friends, wine and food. One of the nicest nights I’ve ever had, and the first time in a long time, I’ve had a house full of people. After everyone left, the girl, my two boys and their new older brother a.k.a. the tenant and I watched a Saturday Night Live Holiday Special and laughed like mad and I danced in my head, because my feet were too tired.
This is going to be a good year!
Next day, while I was at work, the guys cleaned up the house, they actually did, I am a witness. Vacuuming happened, trash went out, books and things went back to rooms, the kitchen floor even got swept. My son’s friend-who-is-a-girl picked up my giant “happy birthday to ME” cake because she is swell, and by 5p.m. the house was festive, happy and swimming with friends, wine and food. One of the nicest nights I’ve ever had, and the first time in a long time, I’ve had a house full of people. After everyone left, the girl, my two boys and their new older brother a.k.a. the tenant and I watched a Saturday Night Live Holiday Special and laughed like mad and I danced in my head, because my feet were too tired.
This is going to be a good year!
Wednesday, November 28, 2012
Dope Slap
I’ve been cancer-free now for a few weeks and well, it was just too dull. I missed the doctor’s, I missed hospitals, I missed getting jabbed with needles that really hurt, and so I devised a cunning plan to stab myself three times, simultaneously in the same hand and to bleed as much as possible. No easy feat... I’m not sure how this was actually possible, but since replaying it in my mind trying to figure out the chain of actions and reactions makes me queasy, I’ll leave it a mystery. However, it seems that if you combine chemo-brain {poor decision making abilities}, brand new, very sharp paring knife from IKEA and a bag of chestnuts, you get emergency room, puncture wound in palm, stitches in thumb, lot’s of bandages and a tetanus shot. I am now officially a drama queen, reluctant, but none the less, I think I qualify.
I’ve been wholly infatuated with roasted chestnuts the past few weeks. I bought some at the farmer’s market recently and scored them with an X on top, roasted the little angels in the oven and then sprinkled with sea salt, and accompanied by a couple of juicy clementine's they were intoxicating. When you roast them, the X opens up making a little pouch that you just peel away, they’re gorgeous, the perfect snack -- aesthetically pleasing, delicious and nutritious.
A few years ago, when I had a working fireplace I tried to roast chestnuts by wrapping them in foil and tossing them in the fire. I didn’t know you had to score them first to avoid launching a volley of flaming projectiles. One by one they exploded, sounding like gunfire, and shot across the room taking refuge under the couch. There were no casualties, but not everyone was amused and burnt carpet doesn’t smell good.
I was at Stop & Shop the other day and was thrilled to see an overflowing bin of chestnuts so I stocked up. They were harder to slice this time and the very minute I thought “girl, you are gonna cut yourself,” I cut myself, duh.
Yet again, disabled, I’m taking a few days off of work to holiday shop which I didn’t get to do last year because I was already so sick from chemo. My hair fell out a couple of days after Christmas. I wandered aimlessly around target today, tomorrow I’m going to the mall, I need to ogle some Apple products and buy some presents. On Saturday, I’m throwing myself a Birthday BINGO party which the boys are really excited about and that makes me happy beyond words. The tall one keeps offering to help {!} and they both have lot’s of suggestions for the guest list which I think is sweet as can be. I’m not used to celebrating my birthday because in years past I left it to someone who wasn’t interested and last year I had chemo on my birthday and so a party this year, the last of my forties, seems necessary. I want my kids to learn how to celebrate. Celebrate well and celebrate often.
I’ve been wholly infatuated with roasted chestnuts the past few weeks. I bought some at the farmer’s market recently and scored them with an X on top, roasted the little angels in the oven and then sprinkled with sea salt, and accompanied by a couple of juicy clementine's they were intoxicating. When you roast them, the X opens up making a little pouch that you just peel away, they’re gorgeous, the perfect snack -- aesthetically pleasing, delicious and nutritious.
A few years ago, when I had a working fireplace I tried to roast chestnuts by wrapping them in foil and tossing them in the fire. I didn’t know you had to score them first to avoid launching a volley of flaming projectiles. One by one they exploded, sounding like gunfire, and shot across the room taking refuge under the couch. There were no casualties, but not everyone was amused and burnt carpet doesn’t smell good.
I was at Stop & Shop the other day and was thrilled to see an overflowing bin of chestnuts so I stocked up. They were harder to slice this time and the very minute I thought “girl, you are gonna cut yourself,” I cut myself, duh.
Yet again, disabled, I’m taking a few days off of work to holiday shop which I didn’t get to do last year because I was already so sick from chemo. My hair fell out a couple of days after Christmas. I wandered aimlessly around target today, tomorrow I’m going to the mall, I need to ogle some Apple products and buy some presents. On Saturday, I’m throwing myself a Birthday BINGO party which the boys are really excited about and that makes me happy beyond words. The tall one keeps offering to help {!} and they both have lot’s of suggestions for the guest list which I think is sweet as can be. I’m not used to celebrating my birthday because in years past I left it to someone who wasn’t interested and last year I had chemo on my birthday and so a party this year, the last of my forties, seems necessary. I want my kids to learn how to celebrate. Celebrate well and celebrate often.
Saturday, November 24, 2012
Thanksgiving
It’s a fine line between informative and narcissist, as it is between observant and redundant. Straddling that line is tricky business especially when your memory is shot. None the less, here I am, blogging again.
I was driving up to Vermont on Thanksgiving morning enjoying the scenery, and the autonomy of driving myself and my dozing boys to the place of our choice in Sparky, our safe and comfy new car. I was feeling really grateful, and powerful for getting us packed and out and on our way. I used to be the passenger and now I’m the driver. I don’t know what the heck we packed, but we all had socks and underwear and really, everything else is optional, right? I had my iPod loaded with occasion appropriate music, Alice’s Restaurant and Pete Seeger’s This Land is Your Land. I was writing blog posts in my head about my gratitude and they were poignant and elegant, uplifting and you’ll have to take my word on that as those words are long gone. My brain is still a sketchy thing, it doesn’t retain information for long. J is always asking if I remember this or that and I don’t... I really don’t, even though it was something we did or talked about only weeks or months ago. This unsettles him, so now I pretend -- I know, honey, that was so funny, I could never forget that.
It’s so much easier to be positive and optimistic when you’re feeling better, which is a good feeling, but maybe a trap. There’s a woman named Laurie Cordeiro from Bristol, RI who was diagnosed with Triple Negative Breast Cancer 2-3 years ago. I don’t know her but I know several people who do {or sadly, did}, and so our common cancer and those six degrees of separation make her seem real {as of course she is} and personal to me. She went through the same treatment as I did at the same age and after her year in hell, she had a year or so of triumph and optimism and took a job at Gloria Gemma Breast Cancer Foundation, helping other patients and families and then her cancer returned and I got an email in tribute to her yesterday speaking of her death a few days ago. It’s hard not to wonder how many green smoothies she drank and how often she exercised. She makes all those statistics turn flashing neon, the statistics I’m trying so hard to stay away from.
Her death makes me realize that you never get out of Cancertown because while you were there, you’ve met so many, heard so many stories, and our outcomes will all be different. The lovely Kim I met at radiation, lost her husband and soul-mate a few weeks ago to Multiple Myeloma and there was nobody more optimistic than they were, he was barely 40. Once you visit Cancertown you experience more death than you’ve ever known, even if it’s not your own, it affects you surely. You lose your innocence in so many ways. You have more joy but it comes with corresponding sadness. You have to live every day like it’s your last and plan for the future at the same time. Reconcile that dichotomy. I suppose that’s what we all should aim for our whole lives, but cancer makes it imperative. Little boy has been telling me all weekend how grateful he is for me and we’ve been having such a nice time together and I can’t imagine how he would react if given the bad news I can’t speak or write and try not to think about. He’d look at me with those great big beautiful eyes and say “but what would I do without you? who would take care of me? who would understand me?” It’s unfathomable to me, unthinkable, it’s an experience I could not bear, but we don’t get a choice, do we? I don't like that... I like to have a choice, we get used to excessive choices in our lives, but when it comes down to it, we don't have a choice at all... it's almost a foreign concept... I guess we deceive ourselves with all these small choices. Some children lose their parents, they do, they really do. Oh please, oh please, oh please, let that not happen to mine. If I didn’t have kids, I really think I could be graceful and philosophical about dying young. I wouldn’t like it, but I would go quietly. But I have kids, kid’s that without a shadow of a doubt count on me more than anyone else and who are loved so purely and without reservation in a way that could not be compensated for by any one any where and so leaving is just not an option. Just not an option!
How does one incorporate all this knowledge and foreshadowing into a happy life? I don’t know, but you do, you have to, somehow. You have to learn how to live without thinking I suppose, just forge ahead with blinders on and leafy greens in the fridge.
We're leaving Vermont later this afternoon, have had a lovely time, but I'm resentful for the undercurrent of reality and loss that has followed me here. Was feeling almost carefree last week, so aiming for that again, footloose and fancy free and the stamina to drive home. Grateful and thankful as we’re zipping through the green mountains.
I was driving up to Vermont on Thanksgiving morning enjoying the scenery, and the autonomy of driving myself and my dozing boys to the place of our choice in Sparky, our safe and comfy new car. I was feeling really grateful, and powerful for getting us packed and out and on our way. I used to be the passenger and now I’m the driver. I don’t know what the heck we packed, but we all had socks and underwear and really, everything else is optional, right? I had my iPod loaded with occasion appropriate music, Alice’s Restaurant and Pete Seeger’s This Land is Your Land. I was writing blog posts in my head about my gratitude and they were poignant and elegant, uplifting and you’ll have to take my word on that as those words are long gone. My brain is still a sketchy thing, it doesn’t retain information for long. J is always asking if I remember this or that and I don’t... I really don’t, even though it was something we did or talked about only weeks or months ago. This unsettles him, so now I pretend -- I know, honey, that was so funny, I could never forget that.
It’s so much easier to be positive and optimistic when you’re feeling better, which is a good feeling, but maybe a trap. There’s a woman named Laurie Cordeiro from Bristol, RI who was diagnosed with Triple Negative Breast Cancer 2-3 years ago. I don’t know her but I know several people who do {or sadly, did}, and so our common cancer and those six degrees of separation make her seem real {as of course she is} and personal to me. She went through the same treatment as I did at the same age and after her year in hell, she had a year or so of triumph and optimism and took a job at Gloria Gemma Breast Cancer Foundation, helping other patients and families and then her cancer returned and I got an email in tribute to her yesterday speaking of her death a few days ago. It’s hard not to wonder how many green smoothies she drank and how often she exercised. She makes all those statistics turn flashing neon, the statistics I’m trying so hard to stay away from.
Her death makes me realize that you never get out of Cancertown because while you were there, you’ve met so many, heard so many stories, and our outcomes will all be different. The lovely Kim I met at radiation, lost her husband and soul-mate a few weeks ago to Multiple Myeloma and there was nobody more optimistic than they were, he was barely 40. Once you visit Cancertown you experience more death than you’ve ever known, even if it’s not your own, it affects you surely. You lose your innocence in so many ways. You have more joy but it comes with corresponding sadness. You have to live every day like it’s your last and plan for the future at the same time. Reconcile that dichotomy. I suppose that’s what we all should aim for our whole lives, but cancer makes it imperative. Little boy has been telling me all weekend how grateful he is for me and we’ve been having such a nice time together and I can’t imagine how he would react if given the bad news I can’t speak or write and try not to think about. He’d look at me with those great big beautiful eyes and say “but what would I do without you? who would take care of me? who would understand me?” It’s unfathomable to me, unthinkable, it’s an experience I could not bear, but we don’t get a choice, do we? I don't like that... I like to have a choice, we get used to excessive choices in our lives, but when it comes down to it, we don't have a choice at all... it's almost a foreign concept... I guess we deceive ourselves with all these small choices. Some children lose their parents, they do, they really do. Oh please, oh please, oh please, let that not happen to mine. If I didn’t have kids, I really think I could be graceful and philosophical about dying young. I wouldn’t like it, but I would go quietly. But I have kids, kid’s that without a shadow of a doubt count on me more than anyone else and who are loved so purely and without reservation in a way that could not be compensated for by any one any where and so leaving is just not an option. Just not an option!
How does one incorporate all this knowledge and foreshadowing into a happy life? I don’t know, but you do, you have to, somehow. You have to learn how to live without thinking I suppose, just forge ahead with blinders on and leafy greens in the fridge.
We're leaving Vermont later this afternoon, have had a lovely time, but I'm resentful for the undercurrent of reality and loss that has followed me here. Was feeling almost carefree last week, so aiming for that again, footloose and fancy free and the stamina to drive home. Grateful and thankful as we’re zipping through the green mountains.
Monday, November 12, 2012
Cork Pop
I’ve been meaning to post for days. I’ve written posts in my head, none of them terribly compelling, but not sat down to write them, because i’ve been really busy and it occurred to me that real life should take precedence.
I got my shop opened and it looks beautiful! Each and every one of my consignee's is a lovely and talented person, many of whom I’ve come to count as friends and the new one’s have been dreamboats to work with. I had a grand re-opening party which was fun and then I was getting ready for Craftopia which is a large event I host {with two lovely partners} twice a year. It’s stressful and always crazy busy as the event gets closer.
I had a bottle of champagne sitting in my studio mini-fridge, kindly given by an unlikely source at my re-opening party, but I didn’t open it. It was a really good night, but I wasn’t feeling celebratory enough, there just wasn’t the right moment.
Craftopia was yesterday, I’m so tired I can barely walk, but while exhausted, I’m content. It was the best event we’ve put on yet. We got a crazy amount of media attention, we were on the morning news, featured in the Providence Journal and in every local paper, we have built something from nothing and to me, that is a beautiful thing and incredibly rewarding. I remember how hard it was, the first few shows to even get a simple listing and now we are routinely featured and reporters actually call me. We were on the morning t.v. news, how nutty is that? We were jam-packed from the minute we opened the door to when they closed. Set-up was a breeze because we have the best vendors and I love when customer’s tell me how cohesive the event feels. High quality, with a distinct feel, YES, that’s the plan, it is a carefully curated event and I love that people notice that!
My beleaguered, neglected business is off to a good start. My posse of teenaged boys got themselves up at 7a.m. and came to help and their good nature and dependability touches me deeply. These boys I’ve watched grow almost into men. My son, of the larger variety, and his friend-who-is-a-girl and our tenant, turned housemate, turned member of the family worked the front entry table all day and they did a great job and had a blast. I always wanted a big family. I could tell my son was really proud of me, lot’s of high fives and even a great big hug as he departed which is a rare and special thing.
As vendors started the long process of packing up, I had my cork-worthy moment. This was the first week in such a long time where I felt better every day instead of worse. While I have a calendar full of follow-up appointments, there are no procedures scheduled, no ghastly new treatments to begin and it had been a great, great, successful day. So I popped my cork, grabbed a bunch of cups and visited as many of my favorite crafty peeps as I could and said “take a cup, we’re toasting to ME, and my upward trajectory.” And finally, I could hug without being in pain and I could kiss without being immuno-suppressed and fearing germ exchanges. I had my perfect moment. My bottle ran out way too soon and before I knew it I was laying on the couch of my comfortable, familiar, friendly house feeling like this day had been a turning point. Truly, the beginning of my upward trajectory. Without constant medical appointments, I can finally establish a new routine, join the living instead of the dying. That is my choice, to live every day instead of dying every day. Today I could go into work and start cleaning up or I could leave that until tomorrow and bundle up and spend the day in my yard cutting back plants and enjoying the fresh air and my sweet, sweet neighborhood. So that’s what I will do. I will slow down and smell the proverbial roses and start my new life, or at least the newest chapter in my old life, which most mercifully, is a LIFE.
I don’t know if I’m ready to give up the blog completely, as it’s become such a presence in my life and so many people have asked me not too {which is so powerfully meaningful to me}. The downside of the blog is that so many people know me a hell of a lot better than I know them and you see, I want to know you too. I want to live a real life and not a virtual one. It would be easy to keep hiding in my cancer-cave, worrying and having people want to help me... but most essentially, that doesn’t suit me. The blog kept me connected to the world when I couldn’t leave my house, when I couldn’t partake of it myself, but it suddenly occurs to me that now is the time to make oh so many changes. I think I was waiting for that “cork-popping” moment and it has now presented itself. Life is short and you only get one, I most certainly know that, if nothing else. I want to be present in my actual life instead of always thinking about what I’m going to post. I’ve begun to continually write blog posts in my head and I think it would be better to be spinning other tales, be more present in the immediate instead of recapping the past.
I’ll post to the blog every now and again to let you know how I’m doing, so you don’t worry, but I’m going to place living over writing. It’s time to give my blog the big hug it deserves, it kept me going, kept me sane and connected through a dark and difficult time, so I’ll honor it by not letting it be a crutch, not let it keep me from living. I know I have a lot of work to do, I can barely walk a couple of blocks, I have to reorganize my life in a way that takes care of myself and not just other people, but I'm feeling confident that it will get done.
I’ll keep writing, I’ve discovered how much I love to write, but I’ll be posting, much {much} less frequently. Thank you so, so, so much for reading and for keeping me going. I will never forget or cease to appreciate all the folks who kept me company by reading the blog, or all the folks that fed us {literally} and who’s love and attention kept my precious little family going. Your attention and kindness has affected my boys {and me} in the most beautiful way, you have changed lives. Thank you, thank you, and let’s see each other in the real world, not just the virtual one. x o k t c
I got my shop opened and it looks beautiful! Each and every one of my consignee's is a lovely and talented person, many of whom I’ve come to count as friends and the new one’s have been dreamboats to work with. I had a grand re-opening party which was fun and then I was getting ready for Craftopia which is a large event I host {with two lovely partners} twice a year. It’s stressful and always crazy busy as the event gets closer.
I had a bottle of champagne sitting in my studio mini-fridge, kindly given by an unlikely source at my re-opening party, but I didn’t open it. It was a really good night, but I wasn’t feeling celebratory enough, there just wasn’t the right moment.
Craftopia was yesterday, I’m so tired I can barely walk, but while exhausted, I’m content. It was the best event we’ve put on yet. We got a crazy amount of media attention, we were on the morning news, featured in the Providence Journal and in every local paper, we have built something from nothing and to me, that is a beautiful thing and incredibly rewarding. I remember how hard it was, the first few shows to even get a simple listing and now we are routinely featured and reporters actually call me. We were on the morning t.v. news, how nutty is that? We were jam-packed from the minute we opened the door to when they closed. Set-up was a breeze because we have the best vendors and I love when customer’s tell me how cohesive the event feels. High quality, with a distinct feel, YES, that’s the plan, it is a carefully curated event and I love that people notice that!
My beleaguered, neglected business is off to a good start. My posse of teenaged boys got themselves up at 7a.m. and came to help and their good nature and dependability touches me deeply. These boys I’ve watched grow almost into men. My son, of the larger variety, and his friend-who-is-a-girl and our tenant, turned housemate, turned member of the family worked the front entry table all day and they did a great job and had a blast. I always wanted a big family. I could tell my son was really proud of me, lot’s of high fives and even a great big hug as he departed which is a rare and special thing.
As vendors started the long process of packing up, I had my cork-worthy moment. This was the first week in such a long time where I felt better every day instead of worse. While I have a calendar full of follow-up appointments, there are no procedures scheduled, no ghastly new treatments to begin and it had been a great, great, successful day. So I popped my cork, grabbed a bunch of cups and visited as many of my favorite crafty peeps as I could and said “take a cup, we’re toasting to ME, and my upward trajectory.” And finally, I could hug without being in pain and I could kiss without being immuno-suppressed and fearing germ exchanges. I had my perfect moment. My bottle ran out way too soon and before I knew it I was laying on the couch of my comfortable, familiar, friendly house feeling like this day had been a turning point. Truly, the beginning of my upward trajectory. Without constant medical appointments, I can finally establish a new routine, join the living instead of the dying. That is my choice, to live every day instead of dying every day. Today I could go into work and start cleaning up or I could leave that until tomorrow and bundle up and spend the day in my yard cutting back plants and enjoying the fresh air and my sweet, sweet neighborhood. So that’s what I will do. I will slow down and smell the proverbial roses and start my new life, or at least the newest chapter in my old life, which most mercifully, is a LIFE.
I don’t know if I’m ready to give up the blog completely, as it’s become such a presence in my life and so many people have asked me not too {which is so powerfully meaningful to me}. The downside of the blog is that so many people know me a hell of a lot better than I know them and you see, I want to know you too. I want to live a real life and not a virtual one. It would be easy to keep hiding in my cancer-cave, worrying and having people want to help me... but most essentially, that doesn’t suit me. The blog kept me connected to the world when I couldn’t leave my house, when I couldn’t partake of it myself, but it suddenly occurs to me that now is the time to make oh so many changes. I think I was waiting for that “cork-popping” moment and it has now presented itself. Life is short and you only get one, I most certainly know that, if nothing else. I want to be present in my actual life instead of always thinking about what I’m going to post. I’ve begun to continually write blog posts in my head and I think it would be better to be spinning other tales, be more present in the immediate instead of recapping the past.
I’ll post to the blog every now and again to let you know how I’m doing, so you don’t worry, but I’m going to place living over writing. It’s time to give my blog the big hug it deserves, it kept me going, kept me sane and connected through a dark and difficult time, so I’ll honor it by not letting it be a crutch, not let it keep me from living. I know I have a lot of work to do, I can barely walk a couple of blocks, I have to reorganize my life in a way that takes care of myself and not just other people, but I'm feeling confident that it will get done.
I’ll keep writing, I’ve discovered how much I love to write, but I’ll be posting, much {much} less frequently. Thank you so, so, so much for reading and for keeping me going. I will never forget or cease to appreciate all the folks who kept me company by reading the blog, or all the folks that fed us {literally} and who’s love and attention kept my precious little family going. Your attention and kindness has affected my boys {and me} in the most beautiful way, you have changed lives. Thank you, thank you, and let’s see each other in the real world, not just the virtual one. x o k t c
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