I've noticed for several weeks (it's been since July that I experienced a breakup), that I feel increasingly functional. Not that I ever lost function except perhaps the very first week, post breakup, where I still had to go to work, cried constantly, putting one foot in front of the other, and struggled to find anything with which to smile.
Now I move through my days and rarely consider my former bf, where at first, I could hardly catch my breath I was so stunned. These new feelings and the awareness of them are like trying on new clothing and damn, I look good! *snap snap* After the initial blow in July, I knew that some day, I'd recover, notice, and be grateful for life, my family, friends and good days. I never lost gratitude. I gained more gratitude.
I'm reading The Wisdom of a Broken Heart by Susan Piver and enjoying it. Post breakup, I read a ton of books hoping that they'd provide answers though just like anything else, the answers and healing had to come with time. I had to give up an investment in the mental story I had written, my planned future. I saw an end to that story that I never imagined. It was fantasy. My feelings of sadness had to be cured, like ham. I finally feel the sadness going away and it's a glorious feeling, -- light at the end of a tunnel.
My sister (and I love her) reads my blog. She says that you commenters leave only nice comments, cheerful snippets. I told her it's one of those if-you-have-nothing-nice-to-say, then-don't-say-it kind of deals. We're like cheerleaders for one another though many days I am not as cheery when commenting.
I told her to shut the hell up! Then I put some itching powder in her thong.
Feel free to write some nasty comment so she will know we are all human.
Hannah is holding her authentic Made in China plastic glow-in-the-dark heart that I bought her. It has different lights, glows, and one day this heart will break too.
I have been really busy so I have not been able to write. I'm taking a friend's idea of a quick, (boring) post.
Got electricity back late last Thursday which was a blessed event though I could still hear the distant hum of generators running throughout the mountains. I more often hear the chainsaw as the songbird of the mountains.
All weekend was spent cleaning up around the house. I could hear chainsaws off in the distance. Everything was a mess. I had thrown out all the spoiled food on Thursday night for Friday's garbage day. And reluctantly replenished some foods on Sunday morning.
Today and most of this week, bring still more rain. There was a landslide on the closest road into town though I didn't see it myself. I heard about the slide on the news. You never know when the roads will close. Sometimes it's you who are the first to discover that a road is closed when you come upon a downed tree, completely covering the road or wires laying across. It's not big deal. You can always back up and go another way or go back home or wait until a better plan hits you. There always seems to be some random issue during a big storm. Trees fall, branches fall, rocks slide, phone and electrical poles fall, cats hide under beds, electricity goes out - sometimes for days or longer. Inconvenience.
This is going to sound cheesy though living in these mountains, riding out big storms is no different than every day life. When we were kids, we'd go to the beach, and without much thought even for the hotdogs or tuna sandwiches that we were told would cause us to drown almost immediately, we'd happily rush into the water, anxiously awaiting the waves. That's exactly what the storm experience is like. It's hanging out in the ocean knowing the waves will come, just not knowing how big or hard they will hit. Still, it's not Haiti.
After going home quickly after my work day, I drove back to work because they have electricity here. I will spend the night at my sister's house (also here). When I arrived home, my house was okay. No huge trees fell on it. My nutty cat is okay though she's a bit insane with terror. I gave her a few treats and brushed her fur. Oh, and cleaned her litter because I felt guilty for leaving her in the dark with shitty crappy litter.
On the way home from work, when I first turned my car onto my road, one of my neighbors who I have known for 15 years (at least) wouldn't let me continue the drive up the road because the road near the "resort" (a fancy name for trailer-park) is blocked due to the storm.
My neighbor is getting old (he's in his mid, maybe late 80s) and didn't recognize me. I could see him driving toward me in his silver van, maxing out his speed at about 3 mph with a trail of other cars behind him. He stopped his van and started to warn me. I explained to him who I was. "Oh, Yes!" he exclaimed in recognition. Through the van window, he yelled at me, "WHAT DID YOU DO TO YOUR HAIR?" I hollered back, "I had cancer. I went bald and this is what my hair looks like now!" He said, "Well, you look great!" I said, "Well, thank God for cancer!" He's a Republican Baptist so he was all over my "thanking God for cancer" comment - in total agreement. Only then I was allowed to continue the drive home as he lead, at molasses-speed, a caravan of suicidal neighbors further down the road.
Before coming back to work, I cleaned out my fridge to find 127 assorted containers of 60 calorie chocolate pudding, 5 opened and half-full bags of frozen pineapple tidbits, a soon-to-be-stinky chicken carcass that I didn't have time to cook yet, and a half package of partially frozen bacon from when my husband was alive.
Did you ever notice how being without electricity can be insanely motivating? It's usually about the time when I want to use the elliptical or get on a treadmill or dry my hair with the hair dryer while using some power tools. Having no electricity usually translates into time to climb in the hot-tub with a bag of freshly microwaved popcorn though first remember to turn on the crock-pot while watching TV and listening to the radio at the same time you're vacuuming. I am 100% sure that electricity was invented during a power outage. Power outages are that motivating.
I brought a few things back with me (pudding!) to put in the fridge here and I parked the chicken carcass on the front porch as a warning to the others.
Today's storm is supposed to be much worse than Tuesday's. I hope the newly assigned chicken doorman is up to the task.
If you happen to be in the mountains or maybe simply living on the west coast with all the rain, -- this week *could* prove to be a real test. You will survive as long as a redwood tree doesn't keel over on your house, an oak branch doesn't crash through your car window while you're on your way to work or you happen to live on an ancient landslide (like the one I live on). This is the kind of weather where we will get one storm blast after another accompanied (or should I say unaccompanied by electricity) by electrical outages. YOU people really take electricity for granted -- being without electricity can be a real bitch especially around the third day when you have not been able to shower (water is pumped to the house from the well), your freezer is dripping and moldy with thawed veggie burgers, pineapple spears, Weight Watchers ice cream, and the cat litter box looks like porcupine meatball stew (after all, why should the cat get any perks in the dark?) Sometimes the storms bring drenching, pouring rain for days on end, and if the roads are open, I'll drive into town for respite where I discover the sun is bright and shining, the ground is bone dry and people are in their bikinis - even the women.
Because we are expecting such a deluge this week, I went to the "Dumpo" and stocked up on some batteries, bought myself another lantern plus a stylish headlamp for when I'm outside at night getting more firewood. After installing the batteries on the headlamp, and immediately checking out the light the lamp gave off, I nearly blinded myself. All I was able to see for about twenty minutes were spots and dark circles. I sat all alone at the kitchen table wondering if it were time to install that "help I'm fallen and I can't get up" medical alert system?
Not yet - my eyes are back to normal which means I can still see far away with spots and darkened circles.
Today is a regular work day for me. Not that I would be off work commemorating MLK's birthday with a day of service unless that service was to clean my own house. Hannah came over to my house on Saturday afternoon, and informed me that [I] "have a junk house." Which in 4 year old talk means [my] "house is messy," (I stupidly asked for clarification).
Any day of service from now on will include Hannah working, in service for me. Hannah's comment was pretty funny though. As I told a friend years ago when she said something similar about my housekeeping, I have different priorities. My priorities don't include the whirring of a consistent running vacuum (mostly because I burned the end of the vacuum while trying to clean out the chimney on the wood-stove), swinging the broom (at someone's head) or swiping a dust cloth just so the dust that's waiting in the air will have a spot to land or even (GAH-forbid) picking up my own clothes off the floor of the "great" (yeah, right!) room. I'm busy doing other more important things such as keeping up with Hannah when she comes over to visit, or going to the movie earlier that day to see "A Single Man" (because there aren't enough of them) (which btw was a good movie though I'm not sure it would have been my first choice given all the ultra-fascinating options for films out currently.) I was also busy taking photographs and that's super important. Earlier in the day I met my sister for coffee. See? My schedule is majorly swamped.
Listen -- before you say I live in a junk house - try walking a mile in my shoes. I double-dare you to fit in them first of all, let alone walk a full mile in them without getting blisters. At the end of the mile, you will do as I do, and put your feet up on the nearest foot-stool, ottoman, hassock, memory foam cube, urban lounge storage, padded bench, tuffet, pouffe, cushion or cardboard-box whichever item happens to be closest to you, an unencumbered spot to put your feet without having to remove the clothing, assorted used coffee cups, old newspapers and magazines, along with last week's used kleenex.
After the movie, Hannah's visit, and whatever other nonsense excuses valid reasons I have for living in a "junk house," I was exhausted and therefore unable to clean to Hannah's expectations. In between storms on Sunday, I pruned the Santa Rosa plum for the first time in my life. I took the pole saw, walked up the driveway and started lopping off branches. I had always relied on someone else to do this in the past. For several years it was my former boyfriend who was helpful with those kinds of chores. Before him, Greg would prune though he didn't show much interest once he went into hospice. LAZY! I had listed this particular chore on a "to do" for my son if he ever comes over again.
After pruning, I chopped the branches, putting them in the green-cycle container. I suppose instead of pruning the tree, and cleaning up my outside mess, along with clearing the gutters, I could have been dusting windowsills for Little Miss Perfect's white-glove inspection. Pruning that tree gave me a huge sense of accomplishment - something about a first time, doing the chore in the rain, mud on a hillside. At my age I should be in a home! A clean home!
Spending time with Hannah gives me a sense of accomplishment too because when my kids were her age, I didn't spend enough time with them. I know that now. And as long as I don't slide down the ancient landslide during this week's storms, I still know I won't be on the planet forever so being remembered as the aunt who lived in the junk house - well, at least I will be remembered which is more than I can say for a lot of people.
(Wait! Before you start reading, go to the video at the bottom and click on it so you can hear the music during your reading to maximize your reading pleasure.)
“It isn’t the things that happen to us in our lives that cause us to suffer, it’s how we relate to the things that happen to us that cause us to suffer.” – Pema Chodron
The doctor phoned last night during dinner. Several of us were in town having dinner with mom (who's leaving for Mexico tomorrow) having thai food, Hannah included (yay!).
The doctor told me he *thinks* this thing on the x-ray is nothing. They compared the current x-ray to the x-ray taken in June -- the x-ray looks the same or it's a the same skull and crossbones figure tattooed on my lung that has been there all along.
As I write, I know I'm at risk of getting other opinions though I'm *thinking* I should check with another doctor. Or make an appointment with the same doctor, take the x-rays in to his office, and have him show me that they are the same. I'm so used to taking a doctor's word for everything. You know you pay that money and assume they are doing everything they can for you? Plus they're doctors. Who questions those guys?
But that word *think* is just so uncertain.
I did okay through this episode. I cried a couple of times though they were short cries, not my typical prolonged, dragged-out, woe-is-me crying that I have done in the past. I cried with my sister who tends to cry about cancer, death, grief, and when she can't find a pair of jeans that fit. And cried again when my phone would not get a signal (dammit!) and I was expecting the doctor to phone. But what I mean by saying "I did okay" is I was trying to ride this particular incident of uncertainty like a wave, not a tsunami. Or like that little man in the book store said to me that one day, "a magic carpet ride" instead of feeling as if the rug had been pulled out from underneath once again.
I thought of the worst case scenario and how I might react? Surgery, chemo, bald, thin. Lord knows I've been on worse diets! I remember my reaction the first time I was diagnosed with cancer. I was hysterical, phoning everyone I knew, and then I started at the beginning of the phone book with people I didn't know. It was all about me! I panicked. I cried. I planned my funeral and thought of songs I wanted them to play. You know that song from the movie Platoon - Adagio for Strings, opus 11? Gah..that's such a moving song, perfect for my rainy afternoon funeral in March, a few days after my birthday where I turned 51 years old and so cute still!! The songs I chose would make me cry and then I'd get depressed. I was gnashing my teeth (what few I have left), back of my hand to my forehead. I picked out a lovely coffin, even wrote my guest list on a post-it note. Had chemo, went bald and survived (so far).
Now I sometimes feel guilty that people who grieved with me initially are annoyed that I dragged them into an emotional frenzy yet I didn't die. I mean, all that drama for nothing (or for, what now feels like, nothing in the scheme).
Pema Chodron refers to the art of adding drama as 'throwing kerosene on the fire." She says we are experts at escalation. During this "fire" I wanted try to be as conscious as I could be so that if the news was crappy, I would be sad though not hysterical. I didn't want to work myself into some sort of emotional tailspin. I knew I'd be upset though I wanted to try something different -- a pragmatic sort of upset-ness, hoping to take things in stride, one foot in front of the other, anything other than what I had done in the past. Let's see, consciousness - check, surgery - check, chemo - check, back to living - check.
When it comes to a cancer diagnosis, a broken heart or most things -- the only way out is through. I'm at the point in my life where taking the direct route through in order to consume the least amount of emotional energy, whether I have 25 years or 25 minutes left on the planet, makes the most sense. I'm not completely there yet though I'm going to point my big nose in the direction of pragmatism when it comes to uncertainty and disappointment. I'm done stoking this kind of fire.
I phoned my doctor just now and gave the office person my phone number (again). The receptionist said she "thinks the results came back today. They are on his desk," she added. I hope he calls this afternoon because I have people asking the outcome while I am busy pretending that waiting is no big deal and can actually be fun.
I took photos of Hannah and me while we talked via vidchat to the president of our company. Hannah and I are cool, calm and collected. I told myself (and my sister) that no matter the outcome from the doctor, I vow to do things differently than last time. And differently means more consciously. If there is nothing to report, then I can simply go back into unconsciousness. Can hardly wait!
Our company president,"Martha" and her assistant human.
I had to return to x-ray this morning to have a retake of the chest x-ray. I found out late Friday that there was something on the x-ray that the doctor said was "due to artifact." He explained that 99% of the time this means it's nothing. Then again, what the heck else are you going to say on a Friday night to a post-treatment cancer patient?
I won't find out any results until either late tomorrow or the next day. Cancer is a waiting game but so is death. Worrying about cancer returning is like wondering if you're going to be hit by a car later today. I'm trying by best to employ the ole 'wait and see' method of worry (or not worry). In fact, one of my goals for 2010 aside from not buying so much (and I get to decide *how* much is so) chocolate, is not to worry so much (and I get to decide how much is much). After all I am the boss of me. Guess what? Here we are barely into 2010 and I'm already meeting many of my goals. Actually I've met almost all of them so far, the easiest being to review the 20 goals daily so I keep focused. Some other goals on the list were to plant more seeds, be more thankful and to be more grateful. Hey -- those goals could be really hard to achieve, so shut up!
I'm mostly fine though -- not panicking as I've promised myself over the past two years. I'm not dead yet. Though when I had to tell my sister that I had to have the retake, she got upset and then I got upset, and then Mike said "If you guys keep crying, I'm going to leave." (Which would have been fine with me because he was making all sorts of snide remarks about everyone in the restaurant.)
Then we went to visit Hannah. Hannah was going to try on flower girl dresses later that day and I was going to miss out on the dress event (waaaah) due to previous plans. Hannah's mom is getting married in May. You know how people do things bassackwards nowadays? But I'm am very grateful to have Hannah to go visit when people are feeling sad.
My stomach has been bothering me ever since last week's CT scan. This bother isn't just that sexy droop that my belly has a tendency toward. I had to drink that kack stuff for the scan and my stomach grumbled right into the evening.
I would describe the action down there as noises that the Titanic made right before it sank. When I say 'noise' I am not referring to external noise. This noise is all taking place internally. Huge wooden planks smashing into the hull, thunderous in their heaving, twisting motion. Metal scraping upon metal, making horrible, screeching sounds, while people run in panic towards the lifeboats. Fat ladies raiding the dessert cart one final time before their lives flash in front of their eyes. I'm just sitting here, listening to all the commotion.
I went to a support group meeting for people who counsel, help, and or listen to other people who are newly diagnosed. There were four of us at this meeting and a facilitator whom I really enjoy. This was the first time I'd gone to one of these meetings. I had a great time. These women were all inspirational. It's still one of those "what goes on here, stays here" meetings though I have to whisper a few things because they were too funny to keep to myself. Sorry!
One woman has had numerous cancers, not just her body, but her head too -- as if the head is not part of the body already. She's been through the jungle and lived to tell the tale. About twenty years older than I, into yoga, and multiple activities keeping her busy throughout her usual week. On top of surviving, she helps others with cancer. She was even talking about getting hospice training. I was in awe.
Another woman - ten years post-treatment talked about how on her 5th anniversary, she had climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro. I thought, you've got to be kidding me! I'm the kind of person who thought that climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro would *cause* cancer. Then I thought to myself, "Would I rather be dead from cancer than climb Mt. Kilimanjaro? I have to be honest.
Yes. I'd rather be dead.
Then the woman went on to say that for her tenth anniversary, she was going to trek Mont Blanc. With Mont Blanc - I was not so impressed. I mean how hard is it to walk around a pen?!
During our meeting we talked about whether we ever worried about our cancer returning. I explained my process whereby I don't worry. I figure if cancer ever shows up again, I'll worry then but not until that time. I don't fret until it's fretting time.
Another woman made a good point or good point in so far as I resonated with her point which is what made it good. Even though she was nearly ten years post-treatment, she sometimes worries that if she has an ache, that ache *could* be cancer-related. Then I brought up my gut issues. (I can relay this stuff because the content came out of my brain.) I told them I was having gut issues, and that over the holidays, I had eaten pounds of eggnog fudge after making three separate batches (under the guise of perfecting the recipe, mind you). Each time I'd make some fudge, I'd eat fudge (I was totally out of control at this point). I felt bloated and awful; my gut having that adorable little tendency to pooch. I'd rub my belly and think, "I hope this is not the cancer returning." Then I'd eat more fudge because I was "using" food to soothe the anxiety (and also to replace Chris which meant I had to eat a lot more fudge than I normally would eat - which would be none). So I had this vicious circle of eggnog-fudge-eating causing stomach uproar, which then caused stress and anxiety because I was (ever so slightly going against my normal no-worry policy) worrying about my self-induced eggnog fudge bulge possibly being an enormous tumor. Those women were in hysterics but yeah, it's real easy to laugh when it's not your eggnog tumor.
It's a waste of precious time worrying about cancer especially when you could be worrying about being forced to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro. There are so many things we *could* freak out about if we allow ourselves the opportunity but then is that how you want to spend your time? Especially if -- when you think about it, the majority of our worries (or eggnog fudge) are self-induced.
On that note, I gotta go call the doctor and find out the results of my scan.
Even though I have more than enough stuff to do (file my nails, make coffee, talk to my sister, email friends, gaze at a mirror), Sherry at nite swimming 365 asked if I wanted to do a photo blog so I'm doing it.
If you too have no life, you can see my photo 365 blog and become a follower (I need friends!) and then you can skip all the writing nonsense and go directly to photos. And like that one commenter from the UK that wrote to me and said, "Why do you always write about other people? Do you ask their permission first?"
To which I replied, "No."
Of course let me know what you think. It's suppose to be a new photo every day. I hope it doesn't end up being like exercising! Then I can look back over the year to see what the heck I was doing and if there's any hope for me yet.
Just think of all the excitement you'll feel when you see all my newish Hannah photos!
I had a great time at the New Year's Eve party. I talked to a lot of people and met some new folks. I didn't eat much because my stomach was/is still doing some funky stuff from drinking the kack for the CT scan.
I talked to a few folks about the breakup, and still others asked me "Where's Chris?" because they didn't know we had broken up. People expressed compassion, shock, dismay and disappointment though they all seem to like me well-enough.
Before I left for home, I received two invitations to go on today's annual New Year's Day tour plus an email this morning asking me to reconsider, and then a phone message but by that time I was hanging with Hannah.
Those people like me, they really, really like me.
But then who wouldn't in their *right* mind?
I was at my work office this morning where I picked up another voicemail message from someone (named Sean Ididn'tcatchhislastname) asking me in a very drunk voice, if I had "gotten divorced last week?" I think he was asking me out on a date!?! I dunno. Then he said a few other random things about people coming and going. And after a few more incoherent sentences and words of confusion, he hung up.
After listening to the message twice, I thought to myself "It's my future husband!!!" I can just feel it. What a great year this is starting out to be!?
I told her to shut the hell up! Then I put some itching powder in her thong.
