Waiting Some More

I hit my uncertainty limit last week. Not knowing when the next chance would be to know something had me spinning my wheels. Other than checking my phone every fifteen minutes, making sure I hadn't missed an important notification, I got NOTHING done. I wasn't able to get off square zero until I heard they've found a thoracic surgeon and have an appointment set for this coming Friday to discuss what surgery and the next steps will look like.

While I was busy wringing my hands, I had someone upstairs working on my long-delayed shower repair. This is the first time I've ever hired someone to do a job, and then just sat back and let them do the work. Weird!

They finished up last Friday, there were several problems with the finished project. I texted them - they are back today, not arguing, just fixing the issues. I guess this is why I went with the expensive crew. They stand behind their work.

And, on Saturday, the problems gave me something to be mad at. I needed something to be mad at. I stewed. I fussed. I obsessed. I took pictures. I rehearsed arguments inside my head. And then, finally, I let it go.

I wasn't really mad at them anyways. (I was pretty sure they'd come back and set things right.) I'm mad at cancer for messing up Kate's life once again and it's so hard to be mad at cancer. It's such an amorphous target - no known cause, no guarantees it can be banished to the ether where it belongs. Its appearance is so unjust unfair unkind unreal unwanted. 

And despite everything, I still want life to be fair. I don't want to acknowledge my inability to control anything but my reaction to what happens in the world around me. 

I'm grateful for my yoga classes. I arrive scattered and spinning, then somewhere in the breath and movement, I get a glimpse of balance. By the end of class, I'm remembering to breathe; have been reminded my center exists, even if I can't always find it.

Be Here Now.

I'm working on it.

More Hard News

For Kate, these last three weeks have been an exercise in patience and scheduling as she both tried to maintain some semblance of presence at work, and show up for the many diagnostic tests needed to determine what it will take to stop the spread of her cancer.

Last week, with all but one test result in, they still thought this would be a relatively simple surgery, outpatient even. Remove the implant, cut out the lumps, close up the cut.

I heaved a sigh of relief. Too soon.

The results of that last scan show the second spot is a spiky blob growing behind her implant, where it had eluded detection by other means. It's between her chest wall and her lung, has wrapped itself around one of her ribs.

Yikes!

Surgery is on temporary hold while they find a thoracic surgeon to add to the surgery team.

Until surgery is done, we won't know any more about the makeup of the blob - the medical team isn't able to sneak their biopsy needles past the implant.

I am so afraid.

I didn't sleep much the night after she called, but then my hard-learned lessons from this past decade bubbled to the surface.

I'm now in 

"Eeewww! Get it OUT!", 
Good Is, 
Remember to Trust, 
Take one more step anyways, 
Be Here Now 

mode.

It still sucks, but I refuse to let fear and despair steal my days.

I've found myself grateful for the small lump of cancer; the one she found that started this whole train rolling. If not for that piece, the larger mass would have grown and spread and... I don't let myself go there. 

I'm starting to put my ducks in order so I can go on out to help her recover from surgery, whenever it's going to be. (I am so grateful my schedule is flexible.) Working on doing the breathing thing.

One step at a time.

Hot Water Appreciation Week

 

I mean, I didn't plan for Hot Water Appreciation Week to overlap Teen Week, but sometimes, stuff happens.

The water heater started going out while I was in California earlier this month. It randomly quit heating water a couple of times for the friend who was house sitting and dog watching. (Fortunately for me, she is willing to go with the flow. pun intended.) Both times, I called my brother Ted, who came over, glared at the unit, flipped the switch a couple of times, and, *poof*, it came back on.

They were replacing the gas lines on my street that week, so I thought perhaps a glitch in delivery caused the outages, especially when it worked just fine the first week I was home.

Then, the week before my granddaughter and niece came in to spend some time with each other and with me, it quit working again. This time, all the glaring and incantations and switch flipping we could muster didn't do the job. *sigh*

After several hours on hold, waiting to talk to the people at Rheem - they'd started using a new system the day the heater broke, and it took FOREVER to get through - a new part was on the way. Except, because the system wasn't working, the part came by truck instead of air, which means it arrived here the same day the girls did.

No big deal, Ted came back on over to install the control valve. It took him about an hour, aaannndddd... we got the same error code we'd gotten with the first part.

Back on the phone, back on hold - you'll have to return the unit to the place of purchase and buy another one to have it covered under warranty. No big deal, except it's a special order kind of unit. This was a week ago, the replacement is slated to arrive in a couple of days, just in time for Lexi to head on home. (Katy was already picked up last Friday.)

Oh, well. I tried.

It's been quite an adventure. 

I am so grateful:

• It's summer, not winter, so cold showers are MUCH more bearable.
• I have friends willing to let us use their showers on the days Lexi needs to wash her long hair.
• I have Ted, willing and able to install the new unit as soon as it arrives.
• It wasn't the air conditioner which broke. It's been mighty warm outside.

The girls and I didn't let the lack of hot water interfere with our time together. We went swimming, made cupcakes, and went to the store every day to replace the magically evaporating fruit. The girls spent several days giggling together on the sun porch over teenage things, just hanging out. (I did offer to take them to see the local sights, but they were ready to just chill for a while. I get it.) I've loved having them around for a bit - they bring good energy with them.

And, I have a renewed appreciation for the wonder of hot water coming from the faucet on demand. It'll be a while before I step under the flow of a warm shower without taking a moment to thank the clever minds who designed and built heaters to effortlessly dispense hot water, and Ted, who both knows how to install the things, and is willing to lend me a hand.

Things could be a LOT worse.

Not As Planned

I'm learning, still and again, to go with the flow.

This past Friday, as Ted and I were getting in the car to head to Waterloo, Iowa, for a family reunion, my phone rang. It was my brother Tony, who we were supposed to stay with for the next two nights, calling to let me know he has Covid. Yowza.

Ted and I looked at each other and shrugged. The car was packed, the dog was loaded. I was looking forward to catching up with cousins I hadn't seen in the better part of a decade. We got into the car and took off anyway, figuring we had five hours to figure things out. (Fortunately, Covid is not as scary as it was, but it's also still not fun. I would not want to have houseguests while nursing a bout of the bug.)

An hour later, plans had been changed - since we clearly were not going to spend Saturday evening catching up with Tony and Susan, I called my niece in Iowa City to see if they were free for dinner after the reunion. They were! I easily found a couple of pet-friendly hotels with available rooms, and we were back in business.

We had about twenty people, with food for forty, show up for our potluck lunch on Saturday. (Yum!) I have a big family, and have come to treasure these smallish gatherings; they give me a chance to have deeper conversations about the paths life is leading us down. I saw a meme last week - "I knew I'd get old, I just never expected it would happen so quickly!" - which neatly summarized many of the discussions my suddenly silver-haired cousins were having around the table.

After lunch wound down around three, we stopped by Tony and Susan's place to see how they were faring. While they were both yet not out of the woods, neither were they flattened by the virus, so we were able to spend thirty properly masked and distanced minutes on their back patio catching up just a bit before a rain squall brought our meeting to an abrupt end. (Just as well - they were starting to look a bit tired. Covid is a bear.)

Off to Iowa City we then went for a delightful dinner with my niece and her family. We also snagged a tour of their Victorian work-in-progress. (You KNOW how much I love a tour of a good house renovation in the making!) 

Sunday morning we grabbed her daughter Katy (we'd originally planned to meet up in Des Moines to do a kid swap), and headed for the Kansas City airport, where we arrived just in time to pick up my granddaughter, Lexi. I get to host the two of them this week! (Which, I think, mostly involves making sure the fridge stays full and playing chauffeur.)

I am so grateful for all the things, but I'll only make you read the top four. 

For the mindset which led me to calmly accept the detour, then just change my plans rather then cancel them when things went south. 

For cell phones and widespread wireless coverage, which made it possible, even easy, to change our plans on the fly. 

For the chance to touch base with my past - I always learn something new about the reasons underpinning my reactions to life when I show up for reunions. The lessons I learned from my family of origin matter. 

For the energy of the young people who will share my space this week. 

A full weekend, it was wonderful despite and because of the detours. Good Is.

Waiting, Hoping Anyways

It made logistical sense for me to stick to my original schedule and come home last week as planned, but you won't be surprised to hear I left a good portion of my heart in California, despite knowing Kate has good people there. She was able to schedule in all the recommended tests over last week and this, and is now waiting for the results to trickle in. 

Not much further planning can be done until she knows more about her cancer recurrence - all the things depend on how far it managed to spread before she found the lump. All that is known is that her path for the next year (and longer??) will not be an easy trek.

It seems somehow wrong for my life at home here to be so normal as I wait to hear the test results. I'm back to exercising, trying to get the weeds in the yard back under control. All my projects are right where I dropped them when I left town. I've been diligently picking up the threads and working to make progress on them.

There's a part of me that just wants to curl up and cry. Or shout and throw things. Or both. 

I am angry - she was doing so well!!! Cancer is SO UNFAIR!!!! 

I am sad - I don't want her to have to walk the cancer road again. 

I didn't want her to have to do it once, and it seems grossly unfair that she has to walk it again, especially since my cancer hasn't (as far as we know) resurfaced. I mean, aren't I supposed to go first, since I went first last time??? *sigh*

Back to the basics.

Today is the only day any of us have. Tomorrow is guaranteed to no one, and the margarita truck has been known to strike without warning. Cancer is not punishment, everyone dies at some time of some thing.

Evil wins when I let fear stop me from living today.

So, I take the next step, and the next one. I am afraid to hope she caught her cancer early, but I hope anyways, because I can. I remember to look for Beauty, because every time I remember to look for it, I find it in my day.

And I remember the overarching lesson I learned from my own cancer journey - I am loved. 

And so is she. She has to walk this road, but she doesn't have to walk this road alone. She has a team, walking along the edge of the route and supporting her along the way. I, as part of the team, am supported and carried along by my own (overlapping) network of people. 

Love Is.

Soon, But Not Yet

A few weeks back I wrote about the Not Yet space - the space between life as I know it today, and life as it will look once it changes directions because a something happens.

I've been back in that space this week, and I am NOT happy to be here.

Kate found a lump; her biopsy was a week ago. Last Friday, she was told the test results came back as positive. After nine years, her cancer is back. 

It's an eerie feeling, like watching a thunderstorm gather on the horizon. The storm is headed this way, you can feel the change in the air, but it's not here yet. And, to my surprise, instead of immediately getting mired in the weeds-of-doom, I've managed to hold on to my hard-learned lessons about living the days I have. Don't let tomorrow, with its unpleasant tests and sure-to-be unwelcome news, ruin today. It will come soon enough.

We didn't ignore the diagnosis this weekend, but neither did we dwell on it. We got the laundry done, went to yoga, ate yummy food. Yesterday, as is our tradition when I visit, Lexi and I kicked Kate and Edwin out of the house for the afternoon to fend for themselves, so we could indulge in a movie and some popcorn.

These ordinary moments were made precious by my heightened awareness of the coming storm.

Not Yet.

This Is Why I Have Gray Hairs

My granddaughter's birthday is today, and as we celebrated yesterday, my mind went back thirteen years (How did that happen???) to the day she was born.

I was at the tail end of my at&t career that hot July day. I'd already sold the house, and was staying with a friend while I tidied up the loose ends of my life before taking off in the camper van. I was working from home that ordinary day...

The phone rang, it was Kate. She was alllmmooosst at her due date, so I jumped on the call. Sure enough, she was calling to let me know she thought she was in labor! It didn't take but a few words for me to know it was the real deal, so I told her to call her doctor, and to keep me posted, please.

I pretended to go back to work, but you know I got nothing done as I waited for the phone to ring again.

When she called back, it was to let me know that she was already at the hospital, and the process was rapidly moving along. As I was talking to her, I saw Joe calling in, so asked her if she could hold on for just a moment, and switched the call over.

"Mom?? I just had an accident. I hit a cop car. It had its lights and sirens on."

What??? "Hold on - I'm talking to your sister, I'll be right back.

"Kate? Can I call you back? Your brother is having a bit of trouble."

"No, no, I don't think you can. I'm headed for the delivery room in a few minutes."

"Oh?? Oh!! OK! Call me when you can."

I closed that connection and switched back to the call with Joe.

"What happened???"

"I had the green, and didn't hear the sirens over the noise of the air conditioner, traffic noise and radio."

"Where are you?? Do you want me to come to you?"

"Yes, please."

He told me where he was; just a few minutes away. I hopped in the car to join him. 

Despite the damaged front end, he'd somehow managed to move the car from the center of the busy intersection, and one of the cops stayed to wait until we could get it off the street, so we didn't have to worry about it getting hit again. 

As we waited, he filled me in on the details. It turned out, because he had the green, the cop car should have yielded the right of way, so they didn't give him a ticket. *whew* (Though they did bill our insurance for the damage to their car - I didn't dare protest at that point.)

We fortunately were able to find a spot of shade, because we got to wait there on the street for almost two hours before the tow truck arrived. The car was repairable, Joe was unhurt. My heartbeat returned to normal-ish levels, my concern-o-meter steadied over the delivery room four hundred and fifty miles away. Clearly, it was not in the cards for me to get there in time to welcome this new life into the world, so I let that hope go.

The tow truck eventually came, and from there time started moving again. We dropped the car at the repair shop and headed back to Sharon's for a well-earned shower and a glass of wine for me. 

Just a few hours later, Kate called back. Miss Alexandra had arrived in a hurry, and was happily beginning to learn to nurse.

What a day - highs and lows and hopes and fears and happy endings all around! From such afternoons, gray hairs come forth, I am sure.

Hot Already

Summer officially just arrived last week, but this year, the heat beat the solstice to town - we've been baking in temps more typical to late July and August than mid-June for the last couple of weeks already.

I've lived here for 40 (???!!!??? how did THAT happen ???) years now. You'd think somewhere in there I'd have adjusted to the climate, but every year, these first few weeks of heat and humidity have me wilting like the flowers outside when I forget to give them their daily drink of water.

The sun comes early, it comes hot. 

I have to admit - beneath my main coping strategy, which is whining to the dog about the heat, I am fearful. I read the news about the warming planet, the changing weather patterns, the intense storms. Pictures of flooded towns and stories of people dying in the heat are commonplace in my daily news feed.

I've been hearing warnings about the coming upheaval my entire adult life, now it is here. I want to throw up my hands in despair. We didn't listen and now it is too late.

Fortunately for my sanity this past week, I've been able to talk myself into getting up with the sun. I've come to rely on my time outdoors with the dog each morning to anchor my day, and if I get up and at 'em, it's still cool enough to take him for a real walk. 

I step outside into the quiet, where the loudest sounds are the morning song of the birds and the hiss of the neighbors' sprinkler systems. I breathe.

I'm not ready to give up just yet. (Not yet.) Alongside the stories of gloom, I read stories of hope. People can and do change their ways. I have today to live; today is the only day I have. I can choose to not let fear rule the day.

Trust, anyways. I'm working on it.

Extra Credit

I sure hope that Someone, Somewhere is keeping a ledger of my extra credit points.

I mean, I try to be a good person, to live a good life. And. I often don't live up to my own ideals, let alone the expectations of the greater world.

Having despaired of making great changes in the world, I work to change small things. I pick up trash as I walk, I toss the neighbor's papers from the sidewalk up closer to their houses, to save them from having to walk the flight of stairs down to the street. I pull the tangleweed within three feet of the walk from all the beds along my walks. (Hmmm... Does it still count as a good deed if I take inordinate pleasure in the task? I harbor an irrational dislike for the choking vine, which can and does grow over 6" a day, and I love interfering in its progress.) These things come easily to me.

But to convince myself to go above and beyond (still on my small-w world scale), I need extra motivation. 

"None of the other people out walking think they have to stop to pick up the bits of broken glass from the sidewalk in the park!" "Do I really have to pick up this pile of SOMEONE ELSE'S doggie doo from the middle of the sidewalk??" "Who throws their bag of dog poop in the sewer grate? Do they think the fish somewhere downstream would like a toxic plastic snack? No, I don't want to pick it up!!!"

I grumble, I whine, I pout. But, I usually do the deed anyways, telling myself I get extra credit points for completing the task.

I'm not sure why this works to motivate me. I'm not a believer in the Santa Claus version of God - the bearded dude up high keeping track of when I am naughty and when I am nice. I don't think my doing good but distasteful deeds will get me into the harp-playing section of heaven.

But I do believe in Good, and in Evil. My world spins ever faster; it feels as if the center is a bit wobbly and out of control. I seek balance in my life. I seek, on my small scale, to contribute to the presence of Good in the world. 

And if a few cosmic extra credit points are what it takes to get me to contribute to Good, so be it. There are worse motivators.

James Taylor Concert

I have to admit, in recent decades my concert-going has been limited to assorted classical venues. I'm no longer comfortable with huge crowds and overly loud noises, but when a friend asked if I'd like to go to the James Taylor concert last week, it sounded like a wonderful way to forget about my cares for an evening.

It was a lovely evening for the sold-out show at Starlight, Kansas City's outdoor theater. The sky was blue, the breeze refreshing, the temperature perfect. Our seats were well-placed - about halfway back, and directly in front of the stage.

I've been listening to James Taylor songs since I was a teenager, and clearly, so had many of the other concert attendees. But a few gray hairs didn't lessen our enjoyment of the music one bit. And, probably in deference to the age of the crowd, the sound levels were not at all overbearing; the remains of my hearing were not in danger. Bonus!

The show started with a video montage of a young James Taylor singing one of his classic hits. We got to watch him age before our eyes, to listen to his voice change across the years, until the song ended with a live shot of the man himself, singing before us on the stage.

He is in his seventies now, his voice has lost some of its range and power (duh!), but since I was listening with my heart as much as I was with my ears, that didn't matter. Music can effortlessly transport me to a place in-between, and it worked its magic that night. For a few hours, I was young again; growing through my teens, listening to his songs on the car radio.

I walked again my own path through the years. The current version of me walked beside my young self, carrying with me the life lessons I've gathered along the way. I smiled at the high points, winced, still, as I watched me stumble on the road. 

The evening highlighted how long and winding my road has been. I have come far. I have learned much. 

I've seen fire, and I've seen rain....