Check It Out

frosted window

I interrupt my waiting to bring you an important message:

It's not a new message; it's one I heeded, it's one Kate heeded.  You can probably guess where I'm headed.

Women:  know your breasts.  Know their lumps their bumps their sags.  And then, once you know them, check back in with them every so often - in bed, in the shower.  (Probably not in the supermarket checkout line, even if you are bored.  That sort of behavior is frowned upon.)  You're checking for something new.  A lump that doesn't feel like the other lumps.

I always wondered how you'd know.  Not to be too graphic or anything, but there were lumps and bumps all over in the tissue.  How was I supposed to tell this lump was different?  Well, now I know.  I still can't tell you exactly what was different about the cancerous lump - but I can tell you it WAS different.

And should you find that different lump, get it checked out.  Go to your doctor - they won't laugh at you for your suspicions, or yell at you for wasting their time if it turns out to be nothing.  (That's actually the preferred answer in these cases...)

Kate was too young to get mammograms; her tissue too dense for the machine to tell good from bad.  I was just due for mine; it would have shown had I made it to the appointment date.

Finding the lump, getting it checked before it has a chance to grow too big; spread too far - it's the difference between surgery and detours and...  I still don't like to think of the consequences of not having found it in time.

So, check it out.  It could save your life; it did mine.

back to our regularly scheduled waiting...

All the test results are in.  Hotel and operating rooms reserved.  Child care set up.  Car serviced and ready to make the trip.  I'm pretending to focus on work this week; in short spurts, it even works.  But the refrain of please-make-it-not-be-true runs futilely through my brain and even though I know it will be OK, I also know it's true-even-though-I-REALLY-don't-want-it-to-be.  And it sucks.

Keep us in your prayers, please.

And Waiting...

We have a date now for surgery - Feb 10th.
We have a place - the Mayo Clinic.
She fees more comfortable with the doctors at Mayo - when she talked to them, they listened and took her concerns seriously.  They proposed a treatment plan that takes her concerns into account and eased her fears. (Here's a cheer for the Mayo oncology team!)
So that's all set.
and still we wait.

I was restless last weekend, (have I mentioned I'm not good at waiting?) but managed to channel a lot of my restless energy into tile work.  I'm almost finished; another couple of hours of work will see it done!

I'd be done with all the grout if my fingertips hadn't given out on me.  I KNOW you're not supposed to smooth the grout with your fingers.  And definitely not the sanded caulk they have these days - that stuff is wicked rough on the skin - but I don't know how else to get it nice and smooth.  So, as I caulked and grouted, I cut little slits in my fingertips, one by one.  After the first one, I was able to just switch to the other hand, but after the second, I had to rethink.

So, I got out the band aids and the handy-dandy white waterproof tape Joe had tucked away.  I covered the cuts with band aids, then covered the bandages with tape.  Thus, I was able to keep going for quite some time - by the time I called it quits, I had seven of them under wraps. (If I were a true genius, I'd have covered my fingertips with the tape before cutting the bejezus out of them, but we all get these great ideas after it's too late, don't we?)

As I was lying in bed, fingers throbbing beneath their new clean coverings, I have to admit - it felt good to have made progress on something concrete.  I may not have finished, I may not have tackled it in the smartest manner, but at least I finished the day ahead of where I started.

Some days, I'll take what I can get.

(Four days later, the cuts are healing nicely - I'll be able to get back in there and finish up this weekend, I hope...)

Waiting...

So now, we wait.

We wait to see what they say at Mayo Clinic when she goes in for a second opinion next week.
We wait for the results of the genetic testing.
We wait for surgery to be scheduled based on the results of the above tests.

I'm not very good at waiting, but at the same time, I rarely wish for time to be fast-forwarded.  These next few months are an exception.

I know she will be fine at the end of the process, but I want to blur past the next month of waiting, the day when I will watch my daughter who feels perfectly fine show up for surgery that will scar her mind and body, the weeks of recovery, the weeks of radiation that will make her feel worse just when she begins to feel better.  I want to skip the part in the middle and jump to mid-May when she will be ready to get back to her previously scheduled life.

I don't know any parents who deal well with their children's suffering, no matter how old those children are when illness strikes.  I don't want to watch her hurt.  I don't want cancer to make her cry.  I don't, I don't, I DON'T!

I feel so helpless.  I can't fix it, I can't help to make it better.  All I can do is try to be there when she needs me; to give her space when she doesn't - and to tell the difference between the two.  (thus far, that's been a bit tricky...)

Can we please just make it be June now?
pretty please????

Happy New Year! - Part II

Kate's elf appeared again on New Year's Eve, and left the following notes, one typed on a small piece of paper:

Legends say that hummingbirds float free of time, carrying our hopes for love, joy and celebration.  The hummingbird's delicate grace reminds us that life is rich, beauty is everywhere, every personal connection has meaning and that laughter is life's sweetest creation.

The other, handwritten on an homemade card:

Dear Kate (& Alexandra)

There are small things in life that make me stop, breathe and realize how beautiful life and the world are!  I cannot tell you how grateful I am that everything was caught and that there is time for healing.  A Scare stops you and makes you realize a multitude of happy things & times in life.

I was in a car accident in 2008 that should've take my life or left me with handicaps.  My brain, legs to walk and arms to pick things up, my eyes to see beauty and stop in awe, the family I have to hug me and the friends I have who keep me laughing.  I had a traumatic brain injury and I fought!  I fought to recover, live on my own, return to college and graduate!!

You, Kate, fight and love and laugh!
You and your family have far to go!
Here is to 2015!!!!
Always ---- Namaste  --  xoxo, XMas Elf & NYE Firework

---------------------------------------

Hope.  Goodness.

I cried...

 

Happy New Year!

Actually, as I get older, the new year seems a bit anti-climatic.  It marks a turning of the calendar, but for my heart the year turned a couple of weeks ago at the winter solstice.

I learned some things about myself in the camper van.  Among the things I learned was that it isn't the cold that troubles me this time of year as much as it is the darkness.  I was trying to run away from it all that winter, but it all followed me.  (It all has a way of doing that, I've noticed.)

I tried - went as far south as I could go and still remain in the U.S.  It was warm enough, but when the sun went down at five and I had several dark hours before bedtime, some of the evenings were cold despite the temperature.

Since then, I've tried to be more aware of the light.  It's light in the morning when I drive into work and I stop for a moment before getting out of the car to appreciate it.  Some mornings it's easier than others - we had a long stretch of cold gray days to start this winter; cloud cover heavy enough that the sun was barely visible as a brighter spot in the sky.

I've always loved the cool-washed tones of a winter sunset.  But it's already dark most days by the time I leave work.

So I take heart in the turning of the days.  The year is turned; the light will not continue to disappear.  It will not leave us alone in the cold dark.  Tomorrow the light will last a bit longer.  It returns.

I'm trying to hold this thought close to my heart as I contemplate the trials the next few months will bring as I do what I can to help my daughter through this bout with cancer.  (She's waiting on some test results to decide on a treatment plan; we should know more in a week or so.  The good news in the bad news is still that she found it early and it's treatable.)  I need to remember the cycle of life; that this, too, shall pass.  Trials come and trials go, but God always Is, and the beauty is always there if I but remember to look for it.  

Cancer and God Moments

This year, my daughter decided to get a live Christmas tree.  It wasn't until she got to the front of the line at the store that she realized she'd kill the tree if she kept it inside for the three weeks until Christmas.  But, it was a long line, and she liked her little tree, so she brought it home anyhow.  She and Alexandra decorated it, and then put it out on the small front porch of their apartment.  We talked about the risks - someone might come by and take it, but decided if that happened, it was OK - only someone who REALLY needs one would steal a Christmas tree.

 A couple of weeks ago, Kate had found a suspicious lump in her breast.  She made an appointment and went in to see her OB/Gyn.  She agreed it didn't look good, and sent Kate to get a sonogram / mammogram.  Still didn't look good, so they scheduled a biopsy.

Kate called me as she was walking home that day.  Her biopsy had been a little more involved than mine, and it hurt.  She was scared.  As we talked about the experience, she arrived home.  As she went up to the door, she looked at her little tree; her sign of hope.  No, it wasn't gone.

Someone had added an organic, fair-trade, sea salt and almond dark chocolate to the decorations.

Yesterday, she got the results of the biopsy.  It is cancer.  But if it must be cancer, at least it's a caught-early, very treatable kind.  (DCIS - ductal carcinoma in situ)  It's not time to despair.  There is much hope.  Still.  It sucks.

So, now she starts on the road I took three years ago; the road I would take again, for her, if I could; to keep her from having to travel it. Tests, surgeons, oncologists, more tests.  Lots of waiting and fear.

This morning, she got up, and looked at her little tree.  The angel (presumably the same one) had struck again, adding more treats.

Hope.  Kindness.  Stronger than darkness.  Stronger than fear.

Love Is.
God Is.

Tile

It's been a little over two weeks, and my knees are just now beginning to speak kindly to me again. They didn't like the before-Thanksgiving push to get the tile floors down in the bathroom and the kitchen.

I had motivation.  I was having a three year-old guest in, and didn't want her to have to trek down two floors to our beautiful rustic subterranean stonewalled bathing facility should she have to go pee in the middle of the night.  (It's a daunting enough trip at my age!)

Someone (not to mention point any fingers) just had to have one of those modern twists on the traditional 20's bathroom floor - the old-style tile, but with a border around the edge.  It looked really great in the tile shop showroom. So what if I had to dry-fit the entire floor before I could begin?   (I'll admit - it's a good thing I didn't have to pay the tile guy by the hour.  It would've blown what little remains of the budget out of the water.)  It's one of those projects that even as I was cussing me out while doing all the tile cuts I knew I'd love it once it was finished.  And I do.

My brother kindly came by to set the toilet and sink the day before she got here.  I'm not sure she appreciated the extra effort, but I do - that I no longer need to trek to the basement in the middle of the night myself is one of those beautiful side-benefits that we occasionally get in life.

And, because I thought I could fit it in, I also got the kitchen floor laid, not without a bit of drama.  You see, the black tile came in boxes of 21; the white in boxes of 15.  The Tile Shop computers thought both colors came in boxes of 21, so when we got about 80% done with the floor the Saturday before Thanksgiving we ran out of white tiles.  (I'd had the tile delivered; that'll teach me to actually unwrap a skid to check its contents on delivery.) So, we spent four hours on Sunday running around to the different locations in town picking up what they had in stock so I could finish the floor that afternoon, so the grouting could happen on Monday and be partially cured for company on Thursday.

With all that running around, I was pretty tired by the time I got around to grouting the tile after work on Monday.  So, when one of the tiles in the middle of the floor popped up, instead of doing the sensible thing and mixing up a bit of mastic to re-lay it, I just got out my trusty caulk gun and used it to glue the baby down.  Subsequent research on the web tells me that may not have been the smartest thing I've ever done - caulk doesn't hold up under traffic load.  But, what's done is done and the tile is firmly attached for now.  I've decided to think of it as a science experiment - how long will a tile stay attached to the floor if you use caulk to glue it down?  We shall see!

Alyson

Joe and I went for a slow amble around the park this last Saturday, just before the weather turned cold again.  I was recovering from a bout with a stomach virus, and since it was a beautiful day, decided a walk just might help my joints recover a bit.  (It did.)

As we were walking, Joe bent over to pick up a small piece of red paper lying near the sidewalk.  He unfolded it, and we read:

I just want to get along with my brother.  I don't want to stop loving him.  I truly love him but sometimes when we fight I am feeling I am loving him less.  God / Jesus I just want to have a normal childhood life with him.                                Sincerely, Alyson

I am sharing the note with you all so you can add your prayers to mine.

From the handwriting, I'm guessing Alyson is just entering her teens.  Lots of growing; lots of change, inside and out.  I'm sending a prayer her way - that she and her brother find a way to common ground so she can get back to her normal childhood life.

There are times I have had trouble loving my family.  I'm sure there have been times my family has found it hard to love me.  And I know I shared her yearning for a normal childhood life. (whatever that may look like...)

Alyson, May the newborn God's Peace find its way to your home this Christmas season.

Here's to family, with all its warmth and warts and wrinkles....

It's November???

Loose Park, Kansas City

It's November already?

OK.  Who took October, and where did they put it?

Calm down, Janice.  You know perfectly well where October went.  You spent it working at work and working on the house and the days whizzed by while you were thinking you really ought to stop and enjoy the good weather while it was still here.  And then the good weather was gone.  Almost.

Today was gorgeous.  I stopped myself from working long enough to take a walk around the park.  Most of the trees are bare, but there were a few, like the one pictured, still showing glorious color.

I spent most of the weekend putting down the tile subfloor in the addition.  Many years ago, when we did the kitchen floor, we just plunked down the rockboard on top of the plywood and called it good. This time, when I looked the process up on the internet, most people recommended using thinset mortar under the rockboard.

I really didn't want to spend the time and deal with the mess, so I looked at several more websites. The consensus was still to glue the stuff down.  Really?  So I called the tile store.  Sure enough the National Association of Tile Manufacturers HIGHLY recommends gluing the stuff down.

So, I grudgingly glued it down.  And then put in the gazillion screws they want in addition to the glue.  Those stupid boards better not shift and crack my tile - that's all I have to say.  I was most grateful for the good cordless drill I had to help me with the screws.  I can't imagine putting them all in by hand.  My knees are sore enough as it is.  (I don't think I'm meant to kneel on the floor for over an hour any more.  Not that I ever thought I was.)

The goal is to have an operational toilet and sink upstairs by Thanksgiving, when we are having visitors.  Not that I'm getting sick of my rustic stone-walled subterranean bathing facility or anything.

One step at a time...

The Universe Within

Galactic nebula, credit:  NASA

For years I've been intrigued by the images from a website put together by researchers in Florida.  The purported purpose of the website is to illustrate the power of powers of 10.  It shows a series of images scaling in from a picture of the universe, to the earth, to a tree in Florida and into the cellular structure of the tree.

Very factual descriptions of the pictures.  Dry even.

As at teen, I read Madeleine L'Engle's, A Wind in the Door.  It was my first introduction to the world of mitochondria.  She wrote of a struggle between good and evil; the battle scene set within the body of a young boy.

I go back to the site every now and then, intrigued by the scale of the universe.  The stars outside are mirrored by the stars within.  And though I can't quite make the connection, I wonder if L'Engle was on to something.

I look at the pictures, but I can't grasp the scale of the stars without.
I look at the pictures, but I can't grasp the scale of the stars within.

And I wonder.

Could it be that it's all linked on some cosmic scale?  When I take care of myself, do I bring good not only to the part of me I'm aware of, but to some distant star within?  Is that that star within linked to the stars without?  When we do violence to one another here on earth, do the stars cry in reflected pain?  When we reach out to help another, do the stars rejoice?

Does the strength within that I draw on when my own strength fails come from the stars?
It's an intriguing thought.

If you'd like to see the images, they can be found at:
http://micro.magnet.fsu.edu/primer/java/scienceopticsu/powersof10/