Getting Real

Kate texted me this afternoon. She said her upcoming surgery is getting more and more real by the minute.

Yup. I'm there. "Not Yet"is quickly becoming "This Is Real".

My vacation in Minnesota was lovely. Lots of driving (*ugh*), lots of good family time and some quiet time to myself (*happy sigh*). There was a lovely wedding (*awwww, my heart!*) and I bought some new red boots (*bonus!*).

I'm back home and looking at my calendar and what was AN ENTIRE MONTH away is now the end of next week.

The idea of the upcoming surgery is frightening, but also oddly reassuring. She'll finally be able to GET IT OUT!!!! EEEWWW!!!! and know what she's dealing with. She'll be past the interminable waiting of the last few months, and moving on to whatever it is that comes next.

She will be in good hands. She has a team of three surgeons scheduled and ready to go a week from Friday. The plastic surgeon will remove the implant. The oncology doc will take care of lump #1, and then work with the thoracic surgeon to go in to see what that other scariness in her chest wall is up to. 

Nothing can change the fact these upcoming months will be hard for Kate and everyone who loves her, but I have a lovely group of friends at my back, ready to support me as I do my best to support her. They know there's nothing they can do to help, but they offer anyway. I know they'll be there when I need them. 

One friend has set us up for a pre-surgery pedicure later this week. (Pretty toes make things just a little better, it's true!) Another stopped me before my exercise class this morning to give me a box of my favorite butter cookies (the secret is in the touch of salt!) she'd picked up just for me.

One of my most enduring lessons from my cancer journey 12 years ago is that I am loved. 

I don't have words to describe how much it means to me to know this is still true; to know I don't walk life's paths alone.

Good Is. 

A Moment to Breathe

 

It seems the Universe is not vested in my martyr complex after all, and so I’ve been able to go on my long-scheduled trip back home to Minnesota this week. (Part of my heart still thinks of Minnesota as home, and I find that funny - it’s been 40 ??!!! years since I last lived here.)

It’s a chance to leave my to-do lists behind and pause in the Not Yet before Kate’s surgery at the start of next month.

Stop.
Breathe.
Relax.

Yes.

Welcoming Myself

In yoga the other day, the instructor invited us to settle onto our mats. Then, she asked us to envision a time when we felt welcome. Once we captured one such time, could we break it down just a bit, probe the feelings underlying the moment? Perhaps acceptance, perhaps joy because someone felt joy in our presence?

Then came the kicker - could we welcome ourselves to that room at that moment? 

I gave it a shot - and, I could! I envisioned myself opening my arms to me, pulling me into the space. I felt a frisson of the joy I feel when I am welcomed, and was able to carry that bit of self-acceptance into my movement practice.

That night, as I settled into bed, reflecting on my day, the moment came back to me. It made me realize how I take my presence in my life for granted.

I'm a good show-er up-per. I keep a list of things to get done each week, and usually make a good dent in the pile of tasks. I realize I can be a bit hard on myself, chastising me when I don't make sufficient progress in checking things off the list (using whatever arbitrary scale I'm using to define sufficient this week).

What I don't habitually do is welcome myself to my day.

Even the concept has a ... I dunno ... braggadocious flavor. (my word of the day!)

*sigh*

The message I once received to not think too much of myself is clearly deeply ingrained in my psyche. Be humble, put others needs first, don't be needy (God forbid!), work to blend in with the crowd, don't toot your own horn.

Hmmmm....

Perhaps, just perhaps, welcoming myself to my morning isn't showing off. I mean, it's not like I can avoid my presence anyways. What would it hurt if I greeted me with a pleasant 'Good morning. Welcome!' ? 

Perhaps this is a facet of the message I received while on the Camino last year - that my life would be easier if I relied on my strengths.

Perhaps.

The Grass Is Greener

Ah, September!

Many of my life's changes in direction have had their launch in late August and early September, and they've left their mark on my psyche.

My soul remembers all those first day of school moments, fresh supplies and at least one new outfit at the ready. Mom died in early September. I launched into motherhood one late August, started my camper van journey that same time of year several decades later. Last September found me walking across Spain.

The sun gets up a little later, the quality of the light shifts towards the softness of fall, and I'm ready to go. I woke up this morning wanting to explore beautiful places, to head off into the wild blue yonder, to transplant myself to new surroundings in anyplace that's not here, to start afresh.

Ain't happenin'.
Not this year.

I mean, I do have an important task on the near horizon. (All Kate's scans are done, the doctors are in agreement about what needs to happen in the operating room, and we're back to waiting for them to find a date on their schedules when all three surgeons will be available.) And while there's no place I'd rather be when the time comes, I'm sure you understand I'd just as soon not have this particular trip on my calendar. 

Perhaps now is a good time to remind me that this, too, shall pass. God willin' and the crick don't rise, I will have other Septembers for fun adventures. In the meantime, I have today to enjoy the beauty present in my life here and now. 

The summer heat has broken for today; we're having a fall preview in these parts. It's cool enough this morning to have windows open, to feel the fresh breeze. The sun is shining, there are still some late season flowers blooming in my yard. 

Beauty Is.

Say Yes??

For all that has been, thanks.
For all that will be, yes.
-- Dag Hammarskjöld

For ALL that has been???  For ALL that will be??? Really????

I am working to say yes to ALL that life is bringing me.

I don't want to say it. My heart is still screaming, "NO!!!!"

As I crest a hill and see this new section of the path unfolding before me, I have been reminding myself I can choose my reaction, my reaction is the only thing I can choose. (Thank you, Viktor Frankl.)

Life is going to bring its gifts and burdens whether I say yes to them or not, and, most probably, the path will be easier if I am not dragging my feet as I walk along it, resisting every step of the way.

so, "yes"?

I'm not there yet, but I'm working on it.

Waiting...

Kate's visit to the thoracic surgeon last week left her impressed with both the good skills the doctor brings to the table, and the inefficiency of our medical system. One of the first things out of the surgeon's mouth was that she needed to see more scans (from a different angle), along with a pulmonary function test, to know how best to proceed with the surgery. From what Kate said it sounded like she'd decided how best to proceed before she ever walked into the room. My question is this: the scans couldn't have been done in the weeks Kate was waiting for the appointment because, ????

So now, we wait some more. The scans are scheduled for this coming Friday. (?? Happy Birthday, Kate ??) She meets with the doc a second time the following Friday.

The basics of the information haven't changed - they won't be able to begin to formulate a treatment plan until after they can get in there and see what is lighting up the scan.

In the meantime, I am encouraged by words I hear them using, still. 

Operable. Treatable.

These are good words. Words of hope. Words helping me to keep a sense of balance, of center.

Already, as this storm comes in to land, I am held in the arms of love. It's the same sense I felt in 2012, when I found my lump. In 2015, when Kate found her lump. In 2017, when Libby found her lump. (You women out there reading this, you ARE checking for lumps regularly, yes???)

This road is a tough one, no question. But I do not walk with her on my own, and that makes it oh-so-much easier. As I've spread the unwelcome news, I've heard SO many times, "I'm pretty sure there's nothing I can do to help, but if there is anything I can do, please ask." 

I've begun to plan my trip to be with Kate for the surgery, and I have heard 'yes' from every person I've asked for help. There is someone to walk the dog, to pick up the mail. The lawn will get mowed, the plants tended. And, there is someone to take over Fairy Wren duty while I am gone - a child's imagination is important ground to keep watered!

Take one more step...

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.