Living Now

I'm working with KU Med on this latest mortality awareness trip I'm taking, and, thus far, the people there have been wonderful. 

Even though I've been down this road before, I wouldn't know how to begin to coordinate the care I need, especially given the admittedly scattered state of my brain. I have been grateful to find out I don't need to know. From the time the biopsy results came back as positive and I was assigned Jessica as my nurse navigator, I've been caught in the net of the hospital referral system. They know who I need to talk to, and the right people have been calling to get appointments onto my calendar. (Or, in a couple of cases, where the appointments are harder to snag, they just put them on there unilaterally, letting me know I could cancel or move them if need be.) 

So far, I've seen a breast surgeon and a medical oncologist - the meetings were far more informative and productive than I could have imagined they'd be, given that we don't yet know the scope of what I'm facing. Next week is the radiation oncologist, then the scans which will tell me where the boundaries of my treatment will lie. (I should have a better view of the lay of the land early the following week.) Still waiting to hear from the plastic surgery team - I know they have a role in this somewhere.

So far, my insurance has not balked at any of the tests or appointments - and given the nightmare stories I've read, this is no small blessing.

Word of my returned illness has begun to spread without my help, for which I am grateful. I do want people to know - I need their help and support - but it's so hard to watch their faces when I share the news. No one wants this for me.

I've mostly stuck to my guns, and have not let the news-to-come ruin the days-I-have. 

I do have to laugh at some of my nesting choices. That quilt, whose parts have been in my closet for at least two years already? NOW it needs to be assembled?? !! 

That's OK. There are worse ways to spend my time - when my hands are busy embroidering the daisies I've chosen to hold the front to the batting and quilt back, my brain relaxes. When I focus on the task at hand, I let go of my concerns.  When I put it that way, perhaps I should give my gut a little more credit, eh?

One step at a time, this, too, shall pass.

Cancer Sucks. Still. Again.

Sometimes, it's hard for me to write the words I know I need to say. So, I'll just blurt it out.

My cancer is back.

I had three good weeks in there. When I visited Kate in February, I was heartened to see her responding well to her hormone regimen. She is still sleeping a lot but has color in her face, her energy is returning.

I returned home with a lighter step, and for a whole week began to look to the future; to think about things I want to do; start planning what comes next.

Then, I found my own lump. *sigh*

I went in for a biopsy the following week, and as I was pretty sure they would, the results came back as cancerous - a tumor analogous to the one I had removed 13 years ago. Now, I'm in the midst of tests and appointments - all the things that need to be done to determine what I'm facing. How far has the cancer spread, is it treatable? I won't have answers for these questions for a few more weeks. 

I am scared. No two ways about it.

But. 

I have a choice. The answers are going to be what they're going to be - I can't change them. I'm not in denial about the tough road ahead. But I can choose to not let the sword dangling over my head ruin the next three weeks. 

It is spring in these parts. The crocuses are popping up, the trees are blooming, the air is soft and welcoming (when the wind isn't trying to blow us off the map).

I can choose to be. here. now.

Like the birds, I am in nesting mode. Tidying up my space, finishing up a project or two, meeting up with friends. I have been tuning my ears to listen to the dawn bird song chorus as I take the dog around the block in the morning, enjoying the smell of spring on our long walks in the warm afternoons.

This approach works pretty well, until 4 AM. Then, I wake with my mind racing and my body tense and scared. It takes at least an hour most mornings to slow my breathing, relax my tense body, and purposefully turn my thoughts from a doom spiral that may well exist, but is not real here and now.

I choose to live today, the only day any of us ever have. 

So, there!

Fairy Wren Moves On

Fairy Wren continued to thrive in her house at the base of the tree outside of Louis' house all last summer, through the fall and into winter. She would leave him polished rocks and other small gifts. In return, he (with the help of his parents) would leave an occasional note asking about life in the magical world of fairies. At Christmas time, they left a card with their family photo on it, and a dog fridge magnet they'd made.

Each time I dropped off a toy, or a note replying to their questions, I smiled as I imagined a small boy's delight when he found the gift.

Then I had a dream one night about Puff the Magic Dragon. I've always loved the song; can't remember a time when I didn't know it. I woke singing the sad part of the song - "A dragon lives forever, but not so little boys", and I knew it was time for Fairy Wren to think about moving away.

Young Louis is five, soon to be six. Somewhere in there, logic begins to take hold as magic fades, and I wanted her to go while she was still real.

So, just after the turn of the year, I wrote one last note, telling Louis that Fairy Wren had gone to live with her friend Puff, in Honah Lee. She was going to play along Cherry Lane, where the two of them planned to enjoy sipping hot tea and reminiscing about the fun times they had playing with their human friends. 

I found a sun-catcher ornament showing a fairy contentedly walking in the woods, and gave it to them with my love.

I cried just a little as I dropped off the note and final gift. Fairy Wren didn't really want to go.

======

Were I in Louis' parent's shoes, I'd have been dying of curiosity, so last week, I sent them a note via the boring US Postal service, 'fessing up to my part in the story. I offered to meet them for coffee or tea, but haven't heard back. Perhaps they didn't get the note, perhaps they have been busy, perhaps they prefer to leave the magic as magic. It doesn't matter. 

I got to be part of the magic, and the memory will bring smiles to my heart for a long time to come.

Good Is.

Ashes to Water

Bob was set free from his gilded cage a year ago. 

You might recall, as I was doing my best to follow the requests he'd outlined in his will for how he wanted his death to be commemorated, I took some palm branches he'd once blessed and turned them to ash, so I could scatter them in the lake he lived next to, in the only home he'd ever owned, as he'd asked. (He wanted his real ashes scattered, but per the rules of the church, such was not one of my options, so this was the closest I could come.)

I took the ashes, tucked into the Salvadoran water jug he'd loved so well, to his funeral services, with all good intention of getting up to Lake Viking shortly thereafter to place them in the water. But, once all the dust had settled, I somehow never found the three hours I'd need to complete my task.

The jug has found a lovely home in the corner of my dining room, and I have taken comfort this past year in walking past and placing my hand on it for a few minutes, connecting to his symbolic presence.

As winter has turned to spring, I started to feel a tug. It was time to finish my task.

So, this past Sunday, a lovely spring day, I retrieved the ashes from their temporary home, and Bob's friend John and I climbed into my car to drive on up to the lake. We pulled up in the drive of Cory and Elaine's house (his good friends, across the street, who had let him keep his boat in a slip on their dock the entire time he lived there), stepped out into the cool quiet of the morning, and made our way down onto the corner of their dock.

We sat down. John said a prayer of letting go. I sang a final song of goodbye as I opened the pouch, took out the small bag of ashes, and carefully freed them just underneath the surface of the water.

We sat in silence for a long moment. I listened to the call of the geese standing on a dock a few doors down, watched them slip into the water, one elegant, the other awkwardly splashing off the platform. I felt the sun warm on my shoulders, saw its light glistening on the wavelets. I let the cold lake water dry on my fingertips without trying to wipe it off.

Time stopped for a bit as I watched a stream of ashes make their way from the corner of the dock out into the center of the channel, as if seeking the freedom of the open water just down the way.

Promise kept, I wept. 

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...