Autumn Walks

While Sylvester has enjoyed having me home most of the time these past weeks, I could tell he was missing the routine of our daily walks. Sure enough, last Monday afternoon, when the neighbor lad showed up to walk him, Sylvester went about a block, then sat down and declared, 'enough is enough'.

Even given the lure of treats, he wouldn't go any further. When Wyatt tried to tug him along, Sylvester just laid down in the grass. As soon as they turned for home, however, he jumped up and willingly followed along. 

I get it, my puppy, I get it. I started walking with my dog walkers. Problem solved.

I continue to heal, am a month out from surgery. Sylvester doesn't pull on the leash, so I was able to start walking him myself a few days ago - turns out he wasn't the only one missing our daily outings. (It just wasn't the same with someone else holding the leash.)

Today dawned clear and cold. I grumbled a bit to myself as I pulled on a jacket, hat and gloves, not wanting to leave the warmth of my cozy house. But the longer I walked, the less I minded the cold. 

Beauty won.

Last night's cold snap brought down a carpet of leaves; I hope I never get too old to scuff my way through them as I walk. There's something about the feel of their light touch on the tops of my shoes, the dry rustle of the sound they make as they scatter before me, that ignites a spark of happiness to lighten my mood.

So precious, these short days of beauty. For most of my adult life, my enjoyment of these days was limited to a quick appreciative glance through the windshield as I picked up and dropped off on my way to do all the things.

These days, I am grateful to have the time to be able to pause for a moment and take a long walk !IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DAY!, where I take mental snapshots of the vibrant colors to hold as a buffer against the day when all the leaves will be down, their hues quickly dimming to a tired brown.

I'm working to stay in the moment, to see what is before me. I want to savor the taste of the air, the chill on my skin, the feast before my eyes. I don't want to waste it by mourning its impending passage. Yes, all things pass, but...  today.

Today. Today, I am here. Today, there is beauty.

Today is the only day I have.

Still Healing

Three weeks in, I am healing well, but am also restless and grumpy. Good thing I live alone.

After I got the last drainage tube out, my doctor said I could walk as much as I wanted, as long as I didn't sweat, but to check with a physical therapist for specifics. So, I went back to Katie, who has been helping me counter the effects of radiation. 

She said, "that's right, you can walk as much as you want - as long as you stay in the house. Walk all you want from the kitchen to the living room, from the living room to the bathroom, from the bathroom to the bedroom... Outside, limit it to 2 miles a day, max."

She also made sure I knew to minimize all overhead reaching motions before giving me a limited set of allowed exercises.

*sigh*

Exercise has been my antidepressant of choice for a long time now, and don't-break-a-sweat walks, even when done daily, don't come close to giving me the balance I've gotten from my usual exercise routine these past few years. It's better than nothing, but.

Without structure, my days have been blending one into the next. Rather than tackle the things I want to get done, I've found myself spending too much time dozing and/or mindlessly scrolling on my devices. The more I sit, the less I want to move. The less I move, the more my body aches when I lie down for the night.

Back to my toolbox of coping mechanisms. Good thing I've kept it handy.

Future Janice has been helping a lot. When I find myself avoiding getting started on whatever-it-is because I'm caught in inertia, I try to remember to check in with her. "When bedtime arrives, how will future-me feel if I've stayed stuck vs jump-starting myself into doing the thing?" Not surprisingly, the contrasting mental pictures have been enough to get me started. And once I've started, it's not so hard to keep going.

The bright sunshine of the last three days, contrasted with the cool gray drizzly mist of the preceding couple of weeks, has also helped. I wasn't disliking those gray days, but they did have a way of convincing me to stay put on the couch. (Which, from a healing perspective, was perfect timing - I NEEDED to not move for a while.)

Those misty days jumpstarted the colors of fall. Instead of just going from green to brown, the trees have paused to dig out their mantles of red and orange and luminous yellow. The beauty calls to me; makes it easy to get outside for walks. The cool air makes it easy not to sweat. 

Three more weeks. Three. I can do this.

Starting to Heal

My surgery was successful - turns out the belly fat I've been carting around all these years is good for something after all.

Recovery, as advertised, has not been a cakewalk. The first 24 hours after surgery, they woke me up every hour to check on my new boobs. The whoosh, whoosh of healthy blood flow soon became a reassuring sound. All is well, all is well. 

The next day, it was every two hours. Needless to say, I was happy to get released to home the third day, where I could begin to think about getting some decent sleep (in between doses of pain meds). 

The drains were a bit less painful than I remembered from 13 years ago - medicine has figured out better ways to anchor the tails in place, and if they don't move, they don't hurt as much. Still, I was thankful for the assistance of modern pharmaceuticals the ten days they were in place. 

The last one came out last Thursday - which meant I was free to go back to sleeping on my side, where I normally sleep. I came home, and immediately fell onto my bed and into the sweetest 90 minute restorative nap I can remember. I woke up thinking I might make it through this after all. 

Julia, my sister, stayed with me the past two weeks; her presence made everything easier. She took care of dog walking and dishes, floor cleaning and laundry. All I had to do was to work on figuring out how to heal. 

She's gone home now, but the neighbors have taken over dog-walking duty, and I'm able to do dishes and laundry on my own again. The floors are just going to have to be dirty. 

The Meal Train has been oh-so-reliable, and oh-so-helpful. It'll be another month before I can lift more than 10 lbs, and having dinner show up every other night saves me from trying to figure out what I can safely cook. (On the off nights, leftovers rule!)

The surgery left me hurting in odd places. I expected the pain in my lower stomach, the fat donor site, and my chest, where whatever portion of it was grafted into place. What I wasn't expecting was the tightness across my mid-section. Everything from my ribs down is drum-tight. There are odd points of pain as my body attempts to sort out just what happened; my nerve endings don't know how to interpret the sensations. Today is two weeks out, and I am just now *almost* able to stand up straight. 

I am off the prescription pain meds, just need the occasional dose of Tylenol or Advil to quiet my poor jangled nerves when I've coughed too hard or moved wrong (still figuring out what that means!). My energy is limited, but that is to be expected.

I miss moving, I miss yoga. But I can walk, as long as I don't sweat - so am grateful I didn't have the surgery in July - and walking is better than nothing.

I'm not yet quite past "what the h-e-double-toothpicks was I thinking" phase of the healing process, but I'm getting there. Already breathing is easier; my chest can move more freely without the implants stretching my pec muscles 24x7. That, in itself, is huge. 

If I squint, I can almost see the "this was a GREAT idea" phase on the horizon. Assuming I can keep from messing up the surgeon's good work for the next month, I'll be left with warm, living breasts - belly boobs someone called them. I like that. 

One step at a time. I'll get there.

Goodbye, Dennis

Back in the day, I struggled to find a good hairdresser. Even after I started shelling out real money for my haircuts, the results were... variable (is the kindest word I can muster up).

Nancy, at work, always had nice looking hair, so I asked her for a reference, and she led me to Dennis.

I made an appointment, sat down in his chair, and he set to work. This was sometime back in the late eighties, and until last month when he retired, I can count on one hand the times my hair was cut by someone other than him between then and now.

It helped that I just wanted my hair to look presentable; I left the exact cut and styling to him, which worked because he had definite opinions. Together, we worked our way through poodle cuts and a sleek 90's bob. When I hit menopause and my hair decided it was time to be curly, he switched my cut to the mop I've worn for the past two decades.

That's a lot of one-on-one time in a chair in front of a mirror, and over the years, we became friends. We shared decorating ideas and paint swatches. We talked about politics and family. He watched my kids grow up - has been cutting Joe's hair for years. 

I understood when, a couple of months ago, he told me he was retiring. He had gone to Colorado for a month's vacation, and came back looking a decade older. His feet hurt. But I worried for him - without the anchor of conversation and care from his clients, I was concerned he'd lose his bearings. 

I talked to him, but he would hear none of it. He started packing up his life. He organized his things, put his house on the market, and then set up an estate sale for virtually everything he owned, to be held as soon as the house sold. Two weeks ago he climbed into his van and headed back west.

Yesterday, the news came - he'd ended his life's journey on his own terms. He had seen the ravages of age heading his direction, and decided he wanted none of it. I know the voice of depression - am sorry to know it spoke so loudly to him that he could no longer hear the voices of those who loved him.

Dennis - I hope, where you are, your energy has returned. I hope you are presiding over as beautiful a reunion feast as I can imagine, once again happily fussing over details of decorating and table linens, seating arrangements and centerpieces. 

I hope you are at Peace.

Such Love

I've been terrified of coming down with a something anything all week, but surgery is tomorrow, and I'm still healthy. (Don't jinx it! Don't jinx it!)

I've been diligently checking things off my to-do list all week. I've managed to get the 'musts' done and even a few of the 'it would be nice ifs'. Bonus.

It's a weird feeling, knowing I feel just fine today, but tomorrow around this time, I'll be waking up in quite some pain with a number of rearranged body parts. So grateful for modern painkillers - they'll make it much easier to get down this part of the road.

Aside: What kind of world do we live in that I can schedule when pain will begin? Amazing, when you think about it. As soon as I can also schedule when it will end, I'll be totally impressed.

As promised, radiation tightened up the scar pockets around my implants -  the closest I can come to describing it is that it feels like a tight bra I can't take off. While not looking forward to the recovery process, I AM looking forward to the part where the tightness in my chest will ease.

The biggest feeling I'm carrying into this complex and scary surgery tomorrow? I am loved.

One of my longtime friends came from out of town to be here for surgery. My sister is on her way; she will stay for the first two weeks, to get me back on my feet. If things calm down at her place, my college roommate will be in the following week.

I set up a Meal Train - food will be coming throughout the six week recovery period.

I won't have to worry about walking Sylvester - my neighbors are on it!

My people, near and far, are reaching out to me - you are in our thoughts and in our prayers and please let us know how we can help.

I don't have to do this alone. Not at all. Not for one minute.

I can let go of my delusions of control, release all the pieces to fall where they may, and still breathe easily. My people have my back.

*she sighs contentedly*

Good Is.

Running in Circles

When in trouble, 
When in doubt,
Run in circles, 
Scream and shout!

This old refrain has often been popping to mind this past week.

You see, while on one level I've been busy nesting, another part of me was in denial about the whole surgery thing - I was afraid it wasn't going to happen because I couldn't get healthy.

To summarize, the radiation gave me extensive burns. As those cleared up, I developed a case of cellulitis. Antibiotics cleared up that issue, but left me susceptible to fungal infections, and I developed a persistent ringworm infection, all over my keister. (Who ever heard of athlete's butt???) As advised, I tried to fix it with over-the-counter lotions for a good month, but I was playing whack-a-mole. It would clear in one spot and pop up in another. I finally got on oral medication two weeks ago. 

The meds seemed to be working, things were about clear, then a whole bunch more red spots showed up. Arrgh! In a panic, I called my dermatologist, and they were able to fit me in later that afternoon with the Nurse Practitioner. She listened carefully to my tale of woe, took a close look at the spots, then, puzzled, said, "there's no fungal infection here. This is eczema."

I had been doing the belt and suspenders things, still using the lotions while taking the meds. Turns out, once the fungus load dropped below whatever level, the lotions started to irritate rather than cure. Sometimes, I am my own worst enemy.

I was SO relieved. They won't do surgery if you have a fungal infection, but they don't care about eczema.

It's been an emotion-filled week. 

Another of my good friends has packed up her life here and headed back to her hometown. I heard one of my younger cousins is in hospice care. Another close friend's mother died unexpectedly. So many goodbyes. Goodbyes are HARD!

And. 

A friend's husband came over yesterday and spent much of the day building a rock ring around my tree, so I can put mulch down. People have been calling - "surgery is coming soon. How can I help?" I followed the dermatologist's instructions, and the eczema is almost cleared up. I was finally able to get in to see my massage therapist, and she took my locked up shoulder personally - an hour of hard work later, it now moves much more normally.

The wrenching and the heartwarming, interwoven with the ordinary moments of my week.

I've been working to hold to both truths. Life is hard and life is beautiful, all at the same time.

"But I know, somehow, that only when it is dark enough can you see the stars"

- Martin Luther King, Jr. 

And Home Again

I'm pretty sure all cruises come standard with a complimentary take-home virus.

Unfortunately, mine turned out to be Covid.

Fortunately, it stayed in my right sinus. No cough, no fever, no sore throat, no loss of taste/smell. (The only reason I did the test was because I knew I'd been exposed on the trip, and had an appointment with the radiation team right after we got back. I wanted to make sure I wasn't sharing anything nasty with the people waiting in that room - they have enough on their plates.) 

This is the first time I have gotten Covid. I am so grateful I've had all the shots. I'm sure they are a large part of the reason I got off so lightly.

While the virus took just a few days to clear my system, I still isolated myself for the week. I wasn't feeling too bad, and so got a lot of things done around the house, albeit at a slower pace than I usually work.

I installed a new outlet and water descaler in the basement ceiling. I sure hope that thing lives up to its billing - I've had to replace the guts on one of my faucets twice in a decade because of scale buildup. 

I raked the lawn, put down (with Joe doing most of the work) some new dirt in a low patch, and reseeded.

And I got most of the windows washed.

Three weeks until my next surgery, which is going to have me down for the following six weeks. Which means ALL THE FALL THINGS need to be done before mid-October.

My inner nesting mama bird is quite happy with last week's restless isolation.

As I started radiation, I knew there was a good chance it was going to ruin my current implants. As advertised, it did. Last spring, as I was getting ready to start treatments, I met with a plastic surgeon about getting replacements - they need to replaced every 15-20 years anyhow. 

To my surprise, as we were talking about options, he very professionally leaned forward and palpated my belly fat, evaluating something. It was the oddest sensation. He leaned back with a satisfied grin, and told me I shouldn't get new implants; rather, I was a good candidate for DIEP flap surgery - the same surgery Kate had last spring (and is very happy with).

I am told the recovery process is two weeks of "what the h-e-double-toothpicks have I done???", followed by a long period of "that was a GREAT idea!"

It's a complicated surgery, will take 4-6 hours. It involves cutting out a section of fat, skin and blood vessels from my abdomen and migrating it northward to my chest. They somehow attach the lump, find blood vessels to feed it, and shape the tissue to become new breasts. (I dunno how they do it. Staplers, straws, and tape? Jello molds perhaps??)

While apprehensive about the six weeks I'll need to sit still and not lift more than 10 lbs, I am looking forward to the day I no longer have cold hard lumps where I once had breasts. I didn't admit to myself how much I disliked the tightness of the implants until not having them was an option. 

The new ones still won't have much sensation, but they will grow and shrink and move with me. No more Barbie boobs! I plan, once the surgery is healed, to get some sort of viney tattoo to cover all the scars. I am looking forward to the day when I can take off my shirt, look in the mirror, and not wince.

No small blessing, that.

Alaskan Beauty

My cruise adventure was not as trouble free as I would have hoped. 

The hard part was living with a clogged sewer vent in the bathroom of my stateroom. I reported it as soon as I arrived, but the ship was full, and I couldn't switch rooms. For obvious reasons, leaving the ship altogether was also not a feasible option. So, I sucked it up. 

The first two nights, my entire room had an odor of cleaning fluid covering eau de stench. *sigh* The next day, after they sent a plumber down to check on it, and he wasn't able to fix the issue, I requested and was given a fan to use. This made the situation bearable - moving air does wonders for bad smells. The fourth day, I wrote a letter to the guest services manager; they found and fixed the problem on day five. So, I had two good days, better than none. 

As unpleasant as the odor in my room was, I was DETERMINED not to let that one piece ruin my entire experience, and I didn't.

The food on the ship was plentiful and the quality ranged from good-enough to delicious. I ate more than my fair share of the fresh-cut melon which was served with almost every meal, but it turns out that not everyone feels the way I do about fresh fruit, so there was plenty for all. 

Someone on the ship was in good with the weather gods, because while it was supposed to be chilly and rainy each day we were in port, we instead had blue skies with temps in the lower sixties each afternoon. Perfect weather for being out and about, learning about Alaska.

I saw glaciers and waterfalls and four-month old bald eagles. I saw baby orcas and a raft of otters. I got out of the van on a mountaintop while we were on a photography adventure, and just stood there breathing the air for a timeless moment. It was brand new, smelled of pine trees and glacier water and fresh beginnings.

The sight of the shrinking glaciers was heartbreaking, but the new life springing up on the bare ground left by their retreat spoke to me of hope. We, people, haven't managed to completely ruin the earth just yet. 

I spent hours each day just watching the beauty - mile after mile of stunning wilderness unfolding as we steamed by on the ship. It doesn't seem possible that there are that many pristine forested hillsides in the world. After a while, it made me feel small, in a good way.

The trees haven't read the news, don't appear to care about political divisions. They just are. 

They spoke to me. All is well, all is well, and all manners of things shall be well. 

Stop. Breathe. Relax.

North to Alaska!

Back in March, the week before I found my latest lump, I had just put down a $100 deposit on a cruise to the Alaska Inside Passage with my sister and her husband. As I went through the initial rounds of tests and evaluations, I told one and all that I NEEDED to take this cruise. After all, I didn’t want to lose my deposit! Or something like that.

Lo and behold, as treatment progressed, it looked like the trip might be able to go forward despite all the things. Once I recovered from my initial surgery at the end of April, we worked with the travel agent to solidify our plans. I still held my breath just a little (and made sure I had good travel insurance), but was thrilled to find, as the launch date drew near, that I’d be able to go!

I was uncharacteristically nervous last week as I procrastinated yet another day on packing, but Saturday came and I had run no obstacles which would stop me from going, so I decided the Universe was probably going to let me make the trip, got out my suitcase and threw in some clothes.

The last few days have been beautiful. We flew into Seattle and met up with friends there to share food and see just a few of the sights. Yesterday, we took the train up to Vancouver - it follows the coastline, and we enjoyed watching the beauty unfold outside the windows. Safely in Canada, we got to the hotel to find our travel agent had done an amazing job. Our hotel here is both luxuriously lovely and right across the street from the dock.

We board in another hour or so; I’m beginning to think this trip might actually work. (I mean, I hate to jump to conclusions, but the signs are good…)

I am so grateful to be here. To be well enough to travel. To get to spend time with Julia and Ed. To, for the first time in too long, be able see new beautiful places. 

To Stop. Breathe. Relax.

Garumph!!

They don't list grumpiness as a side effect of radiation treatment, but if my mood this past week is any indication, they should.

As the last of my burns began to heal up last week, the part of my skin which was last to be treated quit getting better, and turned red, warm, mushy, angry. I didn't expect much from the radiation team when I reported the change, but to my surprise, they had me come in the next day.

Turned out to be cellulitis. A bacterial infection.

I have (!!had!!) managed to make it over sixty years without needing antibiotics. I am sad and angry that radiation has broken my streak. I'm not going to get a second chance to equal it. The math doesn't work. *sigh*

The good news part is that if one has not taken antibiotics before they tend to be very effective, and this has proven to be the case with me. Within 48 hours the redness was fading, five days later, the skin was better, the swelling almost gone. 

I feel as if there are two of me running around in my body. 

One of me is glad to be healing; grateful for the intervention of modern medicine. These things which have hurt me are short term. When I get past this hump, they will have given me my best chance to have more good days. No small blessing.

The other me is grumpy and tired. Fatigue - whether it's from radiation or the aromatase inhibitor - is once again my frequent companion. I LIKED not being tired all the time, not having to push through a wall of fatigue to get things done, occasionally waking up feeling rested. 

Like last time I was here, the sad part is that naps don't necessarily help. Sometimes they do, but sometimes I just lie down and stare blankly at the wall, and sometimes I fall so deeply asleep I mess up my sleep at night. I haven't yet figured out where the balance lies, but I'm working on it. 

That said, gratitude is winning the tug-of-war. 

I'm tired, but I'm also not trying to fit in a full day's work. No small thing. 

My one daily commitment to myself is exercise. Because I know I will be less tired when I leave my daily session than when I arrive, it's not too hard to talk me into ignoring the fatigue long enough to get to the gym and get started. 

Beyond that, I peer closely into my energy bucket at the start of the day, and see how much is there. Fortunately, so far, there's always been enough to work on the things I really wanted/needed to get done. One step at a time.

When I was walking Sylvester around the park Sunday morning, I looked up and was surprised to see a rainbow arcing through the sky. A sign of hope.

Grumpy or not, Beauty Is.