Cancaversary VII

There's a lot of guilt around my celebration of my cancaversary this year.  So much so, I spent a couple of weeks ignoring its appearance on the calendar.

I keep telling myself there are no answers to the Why?s, but the questions keep popping up anyways.

Seven years ago, I started treatment.
A year after that, I was healed (minus a few body parts) except for the after-effects of that damn shot.
Two years later, I was back to 95% of normal; as good as I'm going to get as long as I continue on Tamoxifen.  But given the trade-offs, I'll take it.
I'm sure my cancer will come back one day, but near as I can tell, that day has not yet arrived.

When Libby found her cancer, in the fall of 2017, she called me.  She was impatient with this interruption to her life; wanted to know how long she was going to be inconvenienced by the treatment.  She, of course, knew my story and the timeline of my illness; I still remember her saying, "A year, then?  I can cope with a year of this."

Yeah, Lib.  Sadly you were right. You did a great job of coping, and just over a year later, you no longer needed to worry about gritting your teeth to make it through the latest round of treatments.
*she types through her tears*

Why her and not me?
If she had to get cancer, why couldn't it have been the kind I got - the kind they're really good at making go away for a decade or two?
Why am I still here, and she gone?

Her birthday was at the beginning of February; she would have been 52.  Her life was just five years longer than Mom's; her daughters close to the age I was when Mom died.  The parallels cut too close to home - the tears keep coming; the edges of my grief are sharp.

I bring out my hard-earned coping skills.
I let the tears fall for a bit, then remind myself of my vow to not let the thought of the days she wasn't given ruin the days I have.  We talked about this - she made me promise.

Cancer doesn't win because she died; none of us are guaranteed tomorrow.
I've survived seven years past my diagnosis - something to celebrate!

There is beauty in every today.
Today, I find beauty in my tears, anyways, because they're a reflection of the depth of my love for my youngest sister.  They are a reminder of the precious hours of my own life - because I am still here to cry, it means I haven't yet reached the end of my own road.

Here's to finding out what's around the next bend.
Happy Cancaversary to me!

Ah, February

Ah, February

You are managing to pack a more than your fair share of cold and snow and sleet and ice and rain into your days this year.

We've been hit with one storm after another this month.  Now, if I still lived in Minnesota, I'd expect this weather.  If I still lived in Minnesota, I wouldn't have any illusions about being able to make it around in the winter with a Mustang as my only means of transportation.  I don't still live in Minnesota, so I'm having a bit of trouble getting around this month.

I've been driving my convertible for thirteen years now.  In a more usual Kansas City winter, there are about 3-5 days where the streets are too icy to safely take the car out.  (I've been fine with that because if the streets are too icy for the car, they're too slick to be safe.  I'm past the stage where I think I need to risk life and limb to get to work when the streets are in rough shape.  Especially since technology allows me to work from home!)  This month, we've been hit with a new storm every week.

About the time I dig out, another wave hits.  Two weeks ago, it was snow.  Last week, it was a good inch of ice, this week's weather brought a beautiful powdery snow.  There's more ice moving in tonight, another round of something forecast for Tuesday.

And so, for the first time in years, I find myself questioning my choice in transportation.  How many days can I stay home because of ice before I get in trouble at work?  Perhaps it would be wise to join the herd and get an all-wheel drive something that sits up a bit higher and is able to get around in the muck without trouble.

In this case, if I just put off making any sort of decision for just a few weeks, procrastination will be on my side.  It's already the middle of the month, and February can't last forever.  Already, the days are a bit longer.  When it's not cloudy, the sky is starting to lighten up by seven in the morning.  It's not yet dark by six in the evening. 

And, the snow is beautiful.  Down deep, in my heart of hearts, this is what winter is supposed to look like.  White, clean, almost too bright to look at in the sunlight.  Don't tell my neighbors, but I don't even mind the shoveling - there's something about being outside in the quiet cold, working hard enough that I leave layers of garments trailing in my wake, that feeds my spirit.  (as long as the power is on.  turn off the promise of warmth when the job is finished, and all bets are off!)

March will usher in spring, and once spring comes I'll be able to put the top down on my way to and from work.  When those days come, I'll know this once again:  I have exactly the right car for me.

This, too, shall pass.

Still Winter

It took me until Wednesday before I stopped seeing red about what happened at work last week.

I was working from home because when I went outside at dark-thirty to get in the car, half the drive was dry, half was a sheet of ice, and the forecast wasn't promising. I decided driving downtown wasn't worth the risk of sliding on the ice, and went back inside to plug in and get to work.

I took advantage of a quiet part of my day to call my friends who had been so rudely let go. They were already starting to move on; looking at open positions, contacting recruiters. It helped to hear their voices, to know they were OK, to get to say the goodbyes I hadn't been able to say last week. We traded emails; they promised to keep me posted. And I was finally able to begin to let go of what happened.

I have to admit I was grateful for the ice storm that swept in Wednesday night. The depth of the ice was highly variable across the region, but my neighborhood got hit pretty hard. After the temp had dropped below freezing, it managed to rain enough to form a nice 1/2 layer of ice, which gave the following sleet a nice base to stick to. We ended up with over an inch of ice on the ground. Only one guy even tried to get into the office on Thursday morning.  Three days later, I've finally gotten the driveway clear enough to be able to leave. Just in time for more snow to come by tonight.  (We seem to be at the edge of a persistent weather pattern. It shifts north a tad, temps go up into the 40's.  South, and we're in the 20's with freezing rain. *sigh*)

I enjoyed the chance to work from home Thursday and Friday. I especially enjoyed the part where the ice didn't bring down the power in my neighborhood at all - for reasons best known to itself, it didn't stick to the trees much at all. (I was a little worried, given my experience in mid-January.) So there I was - warm, lots of hot tea, and no distractions as my mind finally let go of enough outrage for me to focus on business and the project of the week. Good, bad or ugly, I needed to start to move on.

All of this angst has not helped with my annual battle with the February blues. The days are longer, but not much. The trees are still deeply asleep, spring seems far away.

Remember to breathe, I tell myself. This, too, shall pass. I've been looking for the beauty in each day, and sure as sunrise, I find it. A child giggling in front of me in line at Costco. The oranges and pinks of the morning sky. The taste and smell of my morning latte. Hot showers on cold mornings.

I remember a conversation I had several times with Libby: Today is the only day we have; try to live it well.

I'm doing my best.  anyways.

Layoffs

I've been at my current job for roughly eighteen months.  I came on as a contractor, then was brought on as a regular employee six months later.  For a long time after starting, I maintained my contractor persona.  I was professional, but kept to mostly to myself, spending my working hours quietly chipping away at the project they'd hired me to complete.

Over time, though, my coworkers slipped under my skin.  Mark, who sat across the aisle from me began to tease me about my party-hard habits (this on the days I spoke the least).  He made me laugh.  I started to reach out a bit more, and learned about Mark's kids and Kulani's husband.  Greg came on, and started to come down with me for my daily lunchtime workout.  I talked to Skip about his wife's illness, and laughed with Larry about the number of times I stole his second desk chair - he started to threaten to charge me rent.  I learned to care about their lives and their families.  I found myself settling into the rhythm of the office, looking forward to walking out in the evening with my coworkers become friends.

Then came last Thursday.

We'd heard rumors about layoffs around the corner, but nothing had been officially communicated, and you know how an office rumor mill can be, so I thought the old game of telephone had blown things out of proportion.  I couldn't have been more mistaken.  When it came down, it came down hard.

The day started normally enough.  I came in, sat down, and started working.  Around 9, the bloodletting started without warning.  Without any notice at all, the managers started coming around to cubes, tapping  the occupant on the shoulder.  They brought the person into a private office, only to come out about five minutes later.  After closely watching the hapless now-former employee shutdown their computer, and confiscating all corporate devices, the managers left them to pack up their stuff and get out the door.

I missed the first part of this - I was on the other side of the floor, and came back to find the first desk empty, its personality gone along with its owner.  I hadn't been gone for more than five minutes, but didn't even get a chance to say goodbye.

Another guy from down the aisle came by to sadly say his farewells as he walked out the door.  After he left, I thunked down in my chair, my legs deciding they'd had enough.  The next hour was just awful.  Watching the parade in and out of the office, wondering, waiting to see who would be tapped next, almost hoping it would be me, just to get it over with.  I quickly gave up all pretense of work; I just sat and stared at the aisle in disbelief.

After the dust settled and the endless hour finally drew to a close, they gathered those of us who remained into a conference room - too many empty chairs, too many missing faces - and told us business was down, cuts were happening across the company.  The managers who'd had to deliver the news looked almost as shocked as the worker bees who sat staring numbly at one another, taking mental inventory, assessing who was still there, which faces were absent.

At the next meeting, the leader tried to make some joke about how we were all arrayed at the back of the room; the guy next to me muttered, "Well, yeah.  That's how it looks after a bomb goes off - there's a clear space in the middle, with all the rubble gathered around the edges."  He nailed it.

When the shock started to wear off, I was furious.  I've ducked my way past a lot of layoffs in my career; I've never seen one handled so poorly.  I get it, sometimes layoffs happen, but they don't have to happen as they did last week.  No warning, no communication, no chance to prepare, no chance to say goodbye.  Just a regular Thursday, turned nightmare.

I'm still struck by the rank incompetence of it all.  Was no one looking at the numbers?  (It's a privately held company, so numbers are not published.)  They gave raises (to some, not me) in September.  In December, they said the company was doing well enough to start funding a 401K match after the first of the year.  But at the end of January, we need to cut staff by 30%???  Really???

I've been looking for an hour to find a positive note to end this blog entry on, but it's just not there.  Good Is, but Evil Is, too, and I saw it raise its ugly head last week.