DMV Moment

Once I got back from California earlier this week, one of my most urgent tasks was to get my new car properly licensed before the temp tags expired yesterday.

So, once I'd finished exercising on Wednesday morning (priorities!), I gathered my paperwork and something to read, and headed on down to the DMV.

There, I found myself with a 90 minute wait, which really isn't too bad given how close I was to the end of the month. (Procrastinators of the city, unite!)

I whiled away the time covertly watching the interesting characters gathered about the room, playing assorted games on my phone, reading articles I'd saved, and texting with a few of my friends. 

I tried to send this text to one group: "The DMV is certainly an interesting place to people-watch. Today's wait will be about 90 minutes. This close to the end of the month, I'm not complaining."

To be honest, I didn't even notice when my friends didn't reply - they do have lives after all.

Eventually my turn came, and I was a bit surprised when the gal behind the counter was genuinely smiling as I walked up. She said, "I agree - people watching is one of the bonuses of this job." I was a bit puzzled, but agreed. She then told me they'd seen my text, and had all laughed, trying to figure out who in the crowded room had sent the message. She'd bet on me.

They'd seen my text??? I wasn't sure how that could have happened, but went along with the banter, handed her my stack of papers, and was on my way within 10 minutes. 

Still confused after I'd gotten out the door, I checked my phone when I got to my car. To my dismay, I realized my text had not gone to my intended recipients (no wonder they didn't reply); instead I'd sent it to the (I thought) automated information number, the one which had texted me the link to check my place in line.

Oops! OK. I gotta admit it. I had no idea you COULD text those numbers back and have someone see the message. IF I had thought about it, I'd have figured any message sent there would go into a black hole.

Rereading the message, I can see why they thought I was intentionally sending the message to the office. I am most grateful, since I clearly wasn't paying close enough attention to whom at which I was typing, I was at least kind. 

Note to self...

Cancaversary #13

 

I must admit - back when my cancer diagnosis knocked me off the road and out of my camper van, I really didn't think I'd be alive thirteen years later, still trying to make sense of it all. 

But, here I am. wow!

So far, my cancer has stayed gone, at least so far as I know. The oncology team kicked me out several years ago; I never did have any follow up scans to make sure the surgery had caught everything. But, I have no reason to think it's actively lurking about; I have none of the symptoms which would signal it has resurrected itself.

This year, the knowledge is a bit bittersweet, given what Kate's still going through. Despite knowing the futility of the question, the thought still crosses my mind, "why her and not me???" I'd trade places with her, really I would...

But such is not within my control, so every time the question floats up, I let it go, let it float away again.

This year, knowing she is still here, knowing her cancer is undetectable (for now), I am SO grateful to be here in California to celebrate the anniversary with her. 

I think, somewhere in my head, she was still in the place she was when I'd last seen her in late October - complexion, tinged gray, breathing, a struggle. 

But between then and now, she's been busy doing all the things she can do to help herself heal - physical therapy, massage, acupuncture, yoga, rest - and she's made great strides in her recovery. She looks and feels worlds better than she did when I last saw her. *whew* 

She learned some valuable lessons about the price you pay when you attempt to push through it during her first bout with the disease; is actively working to not repeat those mistakes. When she returned to work two weeks ago, she returned on a part-time basis.

I am so proud of her.

We are here!!!!

Goodbye, Stealthmobile

Last time I brought the Stealthmobile, my beloved 2006 Mustang convertible, in for service, I asked my mechanic, as I always do, if he thought she would still be road-worthy for a while.

"Janice," he patiently replied, "Your car is in decent mechanical shape. But. If this was 1970, that would be a 1950 car. It's running well, but it WILL break eventually. After a car is 20 years old, parts get harder to find. I'm still happy to fix it, but you could be waiting a week or so while I dig up parts, and this is your only transportation. Think about it."

It's been a few months, and yes, I've been thinking. Because as much as I hate to admit it, he was absolutely right.

It's time to move on.

I've gone through most of the phases of grief. (I skipped anger - there's no bad guy in this scenario.)

I jumped straight into denial. 

Nah. It's a great car. What does he know? I've had very little trouble with it. It'll be just fine. (Janice, what happens if it breaks down on the road, and parts aren't available??)

Bargaining.  

OK. I'll get a new car, but there's no reason I can't keep the old one! (Janice, you only drive 6000 miles a year. That's not enough to keep two cars happily running. It's just not. And, if you kept the Stealthmobile, that new car would never get driven. It will not be as fun to drive. You know this. You would own a very expensive paperweight.)

Depression.

How can it have been 20 years already? Stupid passage of time! I DON'T WANNA have a car payment! I want what I already have (only still new enough to drive for a long time). I'm going to be so sad when spring comes and it's the perfect day, and...  the top on the new car will stay right where it is. (All true.)

Acceptance.

It's been a great run. I mean, how many people get to drive their mid-life crisis cars for 19 years? Very few. It's time to let someone else have the fun of driving the car. And, you know, when you drive to Minnesota these days, long about hour six, your butt starts speaking to you very unkindly. You WOULD be more comfortable in a vehicle that doesn't sit quite so close to the ground. Perhaps having a bit of cargo space wouldn't be so awful...

Fine!

I've known for a long time I'd probably be happy with a small SUV, and the new hybrids get decent mileage. I asked the few car guys I know if they had recommendations, and got a unanimous answer. (how often does that happen??) Honda or Toyota.

I went out a couple of weeks ago, test drove the CR-V and RAV4, and picked the CR-V because the seat fit my keister a bit better. (I liked both cars - had to find some sort of tipping point.) Once I'd chosen, I decided to go ahead with the purchase - best to rip the bandaid off quickly - and picked up my new car last week. (Yes, new. The used car market still has very little selection and the cars are almost as expensive as the new versions.)

Which left just one question - what to do with the Mustang?

The dealer, not surprisingly, was unwilling to give me much on trade. I offered it to Joe, who has loved my car as much as I do ever since I bought it right after he left for college, but he doesn't have a garage, and doesn't need another car, and all the practical reasons, so he turned me down. I then asked a couple of car guy friends if they could help sell it, and had it tentatively sold within two days.

But before the deal was signed, Joe came back around. Practical, schmatical. Was it too late to buy the car? I knew Lloyd would be deeply disappointed, but man. I don't care how old he is, Joe is still my kid. So, I backed out of the deal. (I had lunch with Lloyd last week; we're good - he's promised to forgive me. Soon. Once he lets go of the idea of owning the car.)

I had resigned myself to letting go, but have to admit I had tears in my eyes watching the tail lights disappear up the street after Joe came to pick the car up last night. Knowing it was Joe driving did make it easier. He has the skills to keep the car happily purring for a good long time. (a much more affordable pursuit when one doesn't have to pay for the mechanic's labor. ) 

Goodbye, Stealthmobile! You were the best impractical purchase I've ever made. Thank you for almost twenty years of driving fun; of putting the top down and letting my concerns fly out with the wind.

May you have a long life yet - and may Joe have as much fun driving you as I did. 

Godspeed.

Test Results

As scary and hard as cancer treatment is, researchers have made some helpful gains in the decade since Kate first had cancer - one of those gains is the availability of a personalized blood test which will show if DNA from her cancer is circulating in her bloodstream. When it was offered, Kate jumped at the chance to have it - one of the hardest parts of cancer is not knowing if it's really, really gone. 

They used the tissue from the tumor they extracted during her surgery in October to develop the test, and took a blood sample at the end of the month for the first run. It took time for the test to be ready, and the results from that first draw came back in early January. 

They showed a small level of tumor still circulating in her blood.

When she shared the news with me, my heart plummeted. It was SO NOT what I'd wanted to hear. I cried inside, and mentally braced myself against the possibility her treatments might not work to get it gone.

But then logic stepped in to assert itself. The test was done after surgery, yes, but it was before she went through her five weeks of radiation. Perhaps, just perhaps, that particular trip through the valley of misery wasn't just-in-case. Perhaps the rays had caught the remaining errant cells.

I waited with bated breath for the next few weeks. Hoping anyways, but afraid, so afraid, the cancer had established itself elsewhere in her body, out of reach of the radiation treatment.

I thought we'd have to wait another month or two for them to run the test again (it's an expensive little bugger), but they ran it at the end of January.

This time it came back negative!!!!! She is currently NED - No Evidence of Disease. The beast has gone back under cover! (I don't quite dare to hope it's vanquished forever.)

This time I did cry. It's been a week. Tears of relief still spring to my eyes and something eases in my chest so I can breathe a little easier whenever I think of it.

She didn't go through all that for nothing. She really, really, really (three reallys!) has a chance to get better a second time. I have no words for how comforting I find this knowledge.

I do know that knowing it's gone (for now - my brain insists on adding the qualifier) is making the Lupron (aka that damned shot)-induced process of instant menopause easier for her. Estrogen withdrawal is not fun, she is grumpy, exhausted, and hormonal, but it's also not the misery of chemo or radiation. It's her best shot of keeping the beast at bay, and she will follow the regimen as long as she can. 

Speaking from experience, side effects can become overwhelming over time - but I know she will take it one day, one step, at a time. 

We have today.

Thank you, thank you, thank you!

Tough Week

I was determined to ignore the news this past week, but it didn't work so well. I've pretty much avoided reading all political stories since the day after the election, and I stuck with that, but. To properly ignore a story, I have to know what's in it, and so I read the headlines. The headlines are bad enough.

I will say this for the man - he showed us who he was.

So much upheaval and disruption. None of it is helping to lower the price of eggs, no surprise.

I am grieving the country I thought I lived in. My emotional regulation center doesn't seem to distinguish between sources of grief, and so I've found myself also missing Bob, who is not here to tell me it will all be OK, and missing Libby, who will NOT be turning 59 when her birthday rolls around next week. 

*heavy sigh*

I'd want to DO SOMETHING, but I'm already doing the things I can do.  I never stopped the protest donations I started the first time he took power - I knew they were still needed. (If you're curious, the donations go to the ACLU, Planned Parenthood, Gabby Gifford's anti-gun organization, and Harvesters, my local food pantry.)

While I know I am not alone in my frustration and fear, I find these to be isolating emotions, and I haven't reached out for the support I know is out there. Soon enough.

In the meantime, Sylvester still needs his morning walk. 

We step out each morning into the crisp, cold, clean air, right around the time the sun begins to light the eastern sky.

We stop every few yards, especially for the first part of the walk. He needs to sniff the important messages left on the grass and the bases of the trees, and thus I have some time to look around and notice the world around me.

The streets are quiet.

Each morning, the gray begins to lift a bit earlier than it did the day before. 

The last couple of mornings, I've heard snatches of bird song! 

Tactile reminders: This, too, shall pass (but that doesn't mean it doesn't suck to be in the midst of it).

I just need to take one more step. I can do this.

Thoughts on Fear

If you've followed this blog for a while, you know one of my mantras is "Cancer isn't the enemy, Fear is the enemy." Given the givens of my world, I've had lots of opportunity to deal with feelings of fear popping up over the past few weeks, and so I've been mulling this over. Quite often, as a matter of fact.

Because I think I've been wrong. Or, if I want to be a bit more charitable towards myself, I think I've oversimplified my mantra.

Because Fear isn't my enemy. Fear is an emotion. It belongs in the uncomfortable feelings bucket, along with anger and jealousy, but it's not an enemy. Rather, like all the emotions which float across my internal sky, it is information. 

It's been trying to tell me something. And, it's been spot on. I DO find cancer scary. I DO find uncontrolled fires scary. (especially when they are threatening my personal people!) I DO find the current political scene scary. The danger is NOT all in my head; it is real, and Fear is doing its level best to try to protect me. 

So, I've been working to change my approach towards Fear.

Because, no, Fear isn't the enemy. But when I ignore it, or try to shove it under the rug, or stuff it in a pot, it does become a problem. It shouts ever louder and jumps up and down to try to get my attention, it makes a bump for me to trip over in the rug, it spills out over the edges of the pot and makes a mess on the counter. It grows. It traps me in a corner and stops me in my tracks.

But, when I invite it in for tea, and sit with it at the table and listen to its warnings, it shrinks. It just wants to be heard. After we have finished our tea, I've been thanking it for alerting me, for trying to keep me safe.

And then, I've been moving on.

Because the real enemy is the part of me allowing Fear to stop me from living today, the only day I have. I have discovered the way around that part - whatever that part is called - is to take one next step. Then another. Enough steps, and this, too, shall be behind me.

My favorite internet thought for today:

  

This, too, shall pass - but that doesn't mean it doesn't suck to be in the midst of it.

Amen!

Fire!

The photos of fire streaming in from California seem a far cry from the fire of my Advent candles, but they've been a visceral reminder of the power of nature. Here, fire is a symbol of hope of light in the darkness. There, it's a cry of danger from our planet; a harbinger of fallout in the days to come from our failure to heed the warning signs.

 I have, of course, seen photos of fire and devastation before. But like the difference between hearing other people's cancer stories and hearing someone you love has received a positive test result, the fear strikes closer to home when it's affecting your personal people.

This time, the fire maps show roads I've driven on, beaches where I've found solace listening to the waves. In my mind's eye, I see what was, and try to reconcile it with the ash-filled frames of the photos in the paper. I cry.

This time, it's my daughter and cousin who have evacuated from their homes and are bunking with friends until the fires can be put out. This time, it's my friend Kelly who is reeling from the news that while her condo building is still there, the surrounding neighborhood, the homes of her Covid coven people, have all been turned to ash.

Once again, my heart cries with fear and grief. "How can this be????"

Once again, I am reminded, this time forcefully, today is the only day I have. Tomorrow is not guaranteed. Nothing is guaranteed, except death. Cold comfort, that.

To escape the spiral down, I pivot to what I know is good. My people have evacuated, but they are alive and well. They have friends; are not alone as they cope with this mess. As Mr. Rogers said, "look for the helpers." The firefighters are working around the clock to contain the blaze. Our friends from Mexico and Canada have sent equipment to help in the fight. 

Sometimes, bad stuff happens. No avoiding it. 

But every time, every time, I remember to look for it, I find Good, and the presence of Good makes it easier to stop and breathe for a moment. To figure out one next step, then to take that step.

Sometimes, one step is all I can do. 

Sometimes, that's enough. Because when I take one step, then one more, experience tells me I will eventually come out of the dark times. This, too, shall pass. 

Snow Days!

The forecasts were ominous last weekend, and I will admit I was a bit nervous as I awaited the storm's arrival. A coat of ice, lots of snow, high winds, followed by plummeting temperatures - it sounded like a recipe made for extended power outages. "Please no!" I pleaded with the powers that be. Much to my surprise, so far, they have listened. The power has stayed on. *whew!*

The ice arrived right on schedule around noon on Saturday, but the weather gods heard my prayers, because it was just a light coating - enough to make walking outside treacherous, but not enough to bring down power lines. 

The snow began a few hours later, and flurries continued through the night. I woke up Sunday morning, peered out the window, and thought, "Huh. The storm must have detoured around us." Famous last words.

To the contrary, it was just sleeping in. By noon, I had a nice 5-6" coat of snow, with A LOT more to come in the forecast. 

Hmmm. I know I can easily shovel 6" of snow, but 14"? I was guessing somewhere in there my back would decline to participate in the exercise. But, the driveway wasn't going to shovel itself. 

Hmmm. There's no rule I know of that says one MUST wait until the snowfall has finished to clear the sidewalks. So I bundled up and went out for a nice little 2 1/2 hour core workout. Fortunately for me, the snow was on the lighter, fluffier end of the spectrum, so I finished up the job in good shape. Of course, by the time I finished the round, the first section I'd shoveled had another 2" of snow down, but I ignored that fact and went inside to admire my handiwork from a warm vantage point, steaming cup of hot chocolate in hand. 

I spent the afternoon cuddled up with a book, watching the snow fall. (One of my favorite ways to spend an afternoon. Oh, yeah!)

About an hour before sunset, I figured I'd best get out there again, even though the snow was still coming down strong. This time the snow was even fluffier, which is a good thing, because I was a bit tired from the first round. 

As I headed outside, I thought I was going to be miserable in the cold and dark, but was pleasantly surprised to find myself chugging along without a problem. I had the right clothes on, and was moving quickly enough that I wasn't cold. We haven't had a good snowfall in quite some time, so I was enjoying the beauty of the falling flakes, the evening's hush, interrupted only by the sound of the wind gusts. I stopped now and again to admire the diamond glints covering the ground and sparkling in the light of the street lamps.

As I worked, I was afraid I was pushing my limits, and I was right. By the time I was finishing up, another 2 1/2 hours in, my right hip was using only unpleasant words when it spoke to me, and my lower back had given me a final warning - do much more, and you WILL BE SORRY.

I listened.

I stopped working, went inside, grabbed a quick bite, and settled into a well-earned, long, hot bath. 

Despite the soak, it took quite a while for my muscles to settle down once I crawled into bed, but I'd worked long and hard enough to fall asleep despite the assorted twinges and aches. 

Monday morning's unaccustomed brightness (it snowed!) woke me, and I cautiously rolled over and took inventory. No back twang! Hips, unhappy but moving. Shoulders, tight but ditto. *whew!* I guess I just got paid for all those hours I've spent at the gym these past few years. 

This being Kansas City, it'll still be a few days before the streets will be clear enough for my car to get around, but my driveway is ready to go! (Fortunately, I have friends with practical cars willing to help get me where I need to be; Uber makes a nice backup.)

Happy New Year!

On to the New Year

and, as always happens this time of year, I've blinked and Christmas has come and gone. I didn't have the oomph to get to Minnesota this year, which has been a longstanding tradition, but I celebrated with friends, old and new. It was a good Christmas.

Winter's Solstice has passed, and we are in those weeks where the days are technically getting longer, but only by a few seconds each day. It's almost as if the world pauses for a moment to catch its breath before continuing the cycle of life.

The sun rises late, and sets early; hereabouts the skies are often clouded. I find it hard to get myself moving many mornings. (Leave my warm and cozy bed for the cold darkness, why??) This morning I slept in a bit, figuring it would be another snuggle day - I can't ignore the gray, but I can find the silver linings. I am grateful for good books and my soft fuzzy white blanket. For candlelight and hot tea. For a cozy home and reliable furnace.  

I think Someone thought I needed a reminder that this, too, shall pass. When I finally got out of bed and lifted the shade, I was greeted with a glorious sunrise. The color lasted just a few minutes before fading to familiar gray, but the promise has stuck with me. Beauty Is.

One of the things I've found vexing about retirement is how the days all blur together. Even with exercise to bring structure to my days, I still find myself wondering how I spent my time last week as it flew by.

As I was browsing the news the other day, I found an article from someone with the same issue. As a way to combat it, she pauses for just a minute each night to write down one thing that happened that day. Hmm. I used to journal a lot more than I do now - perhaps this is a key. Perhaps if I can start a discipline of sitting for just a few minutes before I turn out the lights and writing down a few words, it will help.

I'm not usually one for New Year's resolutions, but I'm going to give this one a try. Even if (when) I don't do it every night, if I do it more nights than I don't, perhaps it will give me an anchor. It's worth a shot.

Happy New Year!

Advent IV: Love

Unlike my search last week for vestiges of Joy, I felt Love in the room last night, even before I lit the last candle on my Advent wreath. 

This year, Love has been both the cause of my heartache, and its ease.

The cause, because it is only because I love, because I care deeply, that my heart hurts. If I hadn't loved, I wouldn't hurt. Simple as that. But, had I more closely guarded my heart, I would also have missed out on the best parts of life. The pain is part and parcel of the love. I don't have to like it, I just have to accept it.

The ease, because like the time I found my own cancer, Love has rallied. It has been present as I did my best to help Kate through her cancer's recurrence.

My friends have been there, walking with me as I walk with her. Helping me to figure out the next right step to take.

I am not alone. I don't have words for how deeply the knowledge comforts me.

She is not alone. Her partner, her daughter, her friends, have all stepped up to take care of life's to-do lists, so she can concentrate on healing. 

There is light in the darkness, beauty along the hard paths.

Love Is.

Kate Update: In typical Kate fashion, her body did not react well to the insult of radiation, and her skin became reactive to touch; itchy red lines would appear any and every time something rubbed against her body. Then, for reasons unknown, she developed a bad case of vertigo in reaction to the antihistamines she was taking to control the itching. She spent a week in bed moving as little as possible. But this, too, has passed. She had her last treatment a week ago, and is slowly regaining her feet. Sleeping a lot (no surprise). The dizziness has much improved, and the itches are easing. *whew*

Next: she'll start the series of shots and pills designed to shut down estrogen production in her body. i.e. instant menopause. *sigh* One step at a time.

Treatable. Yes.