Happy 14th Cancaversary to Me!

Last year, my cancer came back. I wasn't shocked; even though it's been over a decade. At some level I'd been afraid of this all along. The part of the recurrence I hadn't expected was that I would ever again be NED - that there would be No Evidence of Disease. It was not an easy journey, yet, here I am. NED. So grateful to have more todays.

This year, Kate and I celebrated our anniversary together at a yoga healing retreat in Chelem, Mexico, along with my niece, Juliann. I wasn't sure what to expect when I set up the adventure with Carol, my fascia release therapist, who has a second home there, and that's probably a good thing. It was lovely to be able to let go and take each day as it came.

We started each morning at 7:30 with yoga on the terrace, followed by a leisurely breakfast, then a session of bodywork for each of us. The closest I can come to describing fascia release work is a targeted deep tissue massage. She finds the spots where I'm out of alignment or achy or stuck, and works on the connective tissue there to persuade it it's safe to let go and move again. Usually, when I see her, I just pop in to get my problem hip realigned. To have five treatments in a row, to be able to work on parts of my body in sequence, was a treat. She couldn't fix all the things in a week, but she did manage to get my hip and shoulders speaking more kindly to each other and to me - no small gift.

That breakfast I just breezed past deserves a closer look. Carol had hired Connie, who runs a restaurant in Michigan during the summer, to provide our meals. I did expect we'd get good food, but hadn't dreamed of the curated, plated, delicious works of art placed before me three times a day, each day we were there. No having to decide what to eat. No cooking, no cleanup. I felt coddled in a way I haven't since my teens, when Mom got sick and I was designated the new family cook. Delightful.

We spent our afternoons leisurely; reading and catching up on each other's lives. It's been too long since we'd been in one place and I treasured the chance to have deep conversations. 

Dinner was followed closely by bedtime. Turns out part of healing is a need to sleep; to give my body a chance to reknit its raveled core. I slept deeply, awakening each morning to the dawn bird chorus. "Wake up! Another day has come!"

We took a day in the middle of the week for a field trip to the Mayan ruins at Uxmal, with a stop at a cenote on the way home.

The ruins were awe-inspiring. I tried to catch a sense of the people who built the structures without benefit of modern heavy equipment, but there were a few too many tourists milling about, so I contented myself with walking about and marveling at the weight of history. Nothing in the US is so ancient.

I'd not heard of cenotes before this trip - they are natural groundwater-filled sinkholes in the limestone. The Mayans considered them to be holy places, and after getting to swim in one, I am in full agreement. We parked in the dusty heat, got out of the car, and walked over to an undistinguished hole in the ground; the only notable feature, a sturdy staircase heading down into the depths. The descent was a bit intimidating, but we didn't let that stop us from gingerly making our way down to the water. 

It took me a bit to ease my way in (brrr!!!), but once I got there, it was magical. The sun streamed down through the hole in the roof of the cave, its light turning to a milky green as it penetrated to the bottom of the clear pool of water. Along two edges of the cave roof, nature had created wavy pleats in the rock, framing the picture. In the central portion of the cave, a number of long stalactites reached to touch the water. (I could have reached up to touch a couple of them, but it seemed wrong to disturb their growth.) Such beauty.

The trip was a time away from time, time away from my daily cares and worries. It was a chance to step back and look back along the difficult road I walked last year. A chance to pat myself on the back because I managed to keep taking one more step, and together, those steps have carried me through and beyond the worst parts of treatment (for now. no guarantees.) and onto a road where I have begun to heal.

Stop. Breathe. Relax.

Yes.

We Are Here!

Kate, Juliann and I have been planning a trip to Mexico for a yoga healing retreat for several months. We could all use a break from our real lives.

Even as our travel date, last Saturday, approached, I was having a hard time believing we’d really get to pull it off. When the trip hadn’t been canceled by Friday, I went ahead and packed. When no winter storm arrived to bollux things up, I got up at god-thirty and to the airport in good time Saturday morning.

My trip to Dallas was uneventful, as was Juliann’s, but Kate’s plane had a couple of maintenance issues, and was delayed for two hours. Which happened to be the exact time allotted for her layover. 

Thanks to the miracle of modern WiFi, we were able to keep in touch through the delay. When we realized she was likely to miss the second flight by less than fifteen minutes, I just about cried. So close, yet so far away.

I went up to the gate agent, showed her the string of texts and the flight status to plead my case. “Please? Can the flight be held for just these few minutes?” “Sorry, no, we can’t hold the flight for one person. But I will hold the gate open for an extra five minutes, just in case she can get here.” The agent had done what she could.

With heavy hearts, Juliann and I boarded the plane. Kate’s flight was on the ground, but they wouldn’t let her deplane early. With the added delay to get off the plane, there was no way she’d be able to get through the terminal on time. I went to the flight attendants, to see if they could tell me when they thought Kate would be able to catch up with us. (American has just one flight to Merida each day, and Sunday’s flight was not available for booking; it was full.) They looked at me sympathetically, and said the airline would do what they could to get her on the flight; offer cash to someone willing to be bumped.

But she was so close!!!!!

I sadly returned to my seat, and tried to find the silver lining in all this. She’s been under a lot of stress and is quite tired. Perhaps a night in Dallas to rest wouldn’t be the end of the world. My logical brain was not wrong, but my heart was still on the floor. So close!!!

The gate agent was true to her world; it was just five minutes before we were scheduled to take off before the door closed. Experience tells me that once that door is closed, that’s it. You’re not going to be allowed to get on the airplane. *sigh*

I let Kate, who had almost reached the front of her plane, know. “The door is closed. It’s too late. Please let us know when you know what the airline will do to help you get the rest of the way to Mexico.” I leaned back, closed my eyes, and a few of those tears leaked out.

Then, then. The travel gods saw my tears, heard my prayer, and took pity on me.

On came an announcement from the flight deck. It seems five of Kate’s fellow passengers were also supposed to be on our flight, and they were going to reopen the door. 

???What??? !! ???? 

My heart jumped from the floor to somewhere near my throat. I texted Kate the news, told her to RUN! With my phone gripped as some sort of magic talisman between my folded hands, I stared at the entrance to the aircraft. I don’t know to Whom I directed my prayers, but pray I did, with all my might. I kept my gaze fixed on the doorway for a small eternity, willing her to arrive.

Then magic happened. The tip of her pink carry-on suitcase appeared in my view, and she followed it around the corner. It was her! It was really her! All the fear and frustration of this past year of cancer-dictated separation came bubbling up, spilled out my eyes, then rolled down my face and into the ether.

I jumped out of my seat with joy, and held her closely as the tears continued to fall. We stood there for a long minute, laughing through our tears, letting the moment become real.

She is here. I am here. We are here!

So Much Fear

I know I have a lot of company when I say I wish the news this past month was fake. But it's all too real.

I can get on the bandwagon of those who want to deport imported criminals, don't get me wrong.

But. Not this way. Not using these tactics. Not with this sort of intentional damage to the innocent.

Our people, with the blessings of our government, are carrying combat weapons and absconding with legal immigrants who have done nothing illegal.

Our people, with the blessings of our government, are carrying combat weapons and shooting our people.

I read comments that say, 'but they should have listened." When did execution become an acceptable reaction to "s/he didn't listen to me????"

I saw the photos of the adorable little Liam in his bunny hat. When did our government start to arrest children?  CHILDREN!!!! and use them as bait? It is NOT OK to harm the children!!!! We used to know this.

I cry, and I wonder, "Is this who we have become?" I am afraid, very afraid.

Then I follow the advice of Mr. Rogers' mother, and look for the helpers. I read the stories of the people of my home state, Minnesota, and their protests. And it helps, it helps just a little.

They are standing together, protecting their neighbors. By their actions, they are saying, "No. This is not who we have become."

I am so proud of them. 

Last week, I was wearing the same Minnesota sweatshirt I've worn for (literally) twenty years. This is the first time it was a political statement; one I was happy to make. 

I'm not sure where I direct my prayers these days, but I haven't let that stop me from praying with all my might. 

Please. Make the madness stop. ??Please??