Today's infusion went pretty well. I guess I uncapped my bottle last night and drained the eyeballs of tears and fists of angry punches at the pillow. I had the appointment moved to 9:15. Just enough time to flee from Julia's school drop off to Vic's for a rice milk hazelnut latte and zoom over the the hospital. Infusions just go much better when latted. I liked the quiet room of a Monday morning. Either patients were already sleeping or they were waiting for a doctor visit. I was able to pull out my O magazine and start reading. Also, my bartender prepared the cocktail prepared quite quickly. Just a minute after my Benedryl stooper, Ed popped into the chair across from me for his third dose of four in his three week cycle. At 11:30 on the dot, my pump beeps, we drip those last $20 worth of drops from my $1500 bag of Herceptin, and I am out of there. I took a little jaunt down to the hospital art walk to view my quilts on display. A bit of an ego boost because I rock. I really need to get to making art again soon. Then a nap after a bite of lunch. I have to say thank you for Kim for taking Jack home from extension and my dad for going to walk Julia home from her neighborhood school as I had just awoke at 3:10 in a bit of a fog. The night progressed with an early dinner with my parents and grandparents. I was very pleased even Scott was able to join us. We went for a nice walk and took pictures of four generations of women too.
I am asked often what it feels like. I get really nervous about the insertion of the access needle into my port. I have had several nurses miss it and that pretty much feels like what I think a stabbing knife might feel like. So the nurses tend to poke around pulling my skin taunt and move the port a bit as it is small and sits at an angle. I have to flare out my clavicle, take a deep breath, and boom, it stings. Then there is a metallic order as they flush the line. Then we are off. The Benedryl is intense. I feel really hyper and then boom, crash. I nod but don't sleep. That is me. I don't sleep in cars or airplanes either. It is only twenty minutes so by the time my eyes are drooping, they are asking me to identify my bag of Herceptin, I always try to say the real scientific name Trastuzumab. This exchange has no odor or feeling. By this time, I am up for some reading, but if you try to engage me in conversation, it may not make clear sense. Shelley was making fun of Ed and me today as she was accessing him at this point in my infusion. I was totally following our conversation, but apparently, to an outsider, it was pretty funny sounding. I suppose we sound a bit like a couple of drunks. The final flush smells like a skunk. I asked Ann if she could smell it. She can't. I pondered if anyone else would think my pee smells as awful as I do for two days after the infusion. Maybe it is like the flush, only I can smell it. But, I am not going to ask any of my dear friends to smell my pee!
So getting home is fine as I don't live far. I eat a bit, drink a bunch of water, gain five pounds, and then go off to sleep in no time at all. Three hours seems to be the desired amount for my body. Maybe this is because that is usually when everyone is home wanting dinner. I wake groggy with a pounding headache. I am thirsty and a bit nauseated. It is a bit like a hang over...not that I have a lot of experience with those, of course. Tylenol and an antacid help. I am also a bit flushed for a couple of days. The headache is low grade and remains for several days, but the nausea mostly goes with a nice dinner and antacid. The five pounds, well I prey it all is peed out over the next couple of days until I feel like pounding out the pavement again. I had wanted to loose seven pounds every three weeks, but seem to have settled into just going back down to the 135. It is horribly frustrating and feels impossible. I really want to be at 130 by September 28. That would be the one year from my last chemotherapy round and the day I go to Denver to see Dr. Borges. Here is to still hoping.
Tomorrow, I will feel alright. I have a hard time getting back to sleep the night of though I am horribly exhausted. I will feel a bit flushed again, especially if it is hot, so if you see me with red cheeks and chest, that is why. I may have headaches and nausea on and off for a couple of days, but usually I can ignore them. My bones will ache a bit for a week (aka: I can't comfortably run this week.) But, for tonight, I need to take a happy little yellow pill and turn off this head. I promise not to have a break down for another three weeks...well...I hope.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Sunday, August 29, 2010
Little Yellow Happy Pill
I just posted a blog that was very angry. I deleted it. Not knowing how that shows up and if you saw it before I deleted it, I will say I am sorry. Yes, it is three weeks. Yes, I have infusion tomorrow. Yes, I am pissed about it. I haven't been feeling physically good lately nor have I had enough "me time" to sort through my thoughts and finish projects (or maybe it is just that I haven't had my therapeutic massage in six weeks.) Oh, and I miss my TV terribly. I just don't sit down to be mindless or complete tasks like organizing digital photos and folding laundry anymore and it is stressing me out. So needless to say, I am completely stressed out with a million things running through my head to do and get done, like, yesterday. So I am sorry if I get really angry and pissed off every three weeks. I did finally remember my little yellow happy pills and all will be well in the world in ten minutes. Maybe I will need two.
Oh, and PS, I had a great time this weekend with my daughter. She had a ballet audition for the Nutcracker, and then we went out to dinner at the new rooftop pizza place. She felt very special. Today, we all went to the Boulder Creek Trail to ride bikes. The kids wore their swim suits and played in the water. I better mind my little yellow happy pill now. Goodnight.
Oh, and PS, I had a great time this weekend with my daughter. She had a ballet audition for the Nutcracker, and then we went out to dinner at the new rooftop pizza place. She felt very special. Today, we all went to the Boulder Creek Trail to ride bikes. The kids wore their swim suits and played in the water. I better mind my little yellow happy pill now. Goodnight.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Inner June Cleaver
Originally, I thought, wouldn't it be fun to blog every night about cleaning and scrubbing like a good little housewife? My blog would be a bit like Julie and Julia where she cooked a recipe everyday out of Julia Child's cookbook. Well, alas, reality speaks in quit a different manner. You know that quest to clean on Sunday and do such a thorough job that the clean smell would last ten days. Pipe dreams.
I did finish in approximately five hours over three days. After such time, I decided to leave the toilets wearing a pretty little red ring in the bowl and finger prints on the windows for later in the week. Do keep in mind I spent most of my time cleaning the basement thoroughly. And the digs are clean enough.
In my quest to find a balance in my roles, health, spirituality, and, well, sanity, I found enough is the key word. Good enough. Strong enough. Long enough. It is okay to let go of perfection even though it pains me. Oh yes, there are those who judge and think I am totally obsessive. Oh yes, it is true. Do know that this role as housewife was easy for me. Yes, I am bragging. Cleaning a house was an accomplishment to be proud of. It only took a bit of time, and I orchestrated it into my daily activities to entertain, educate and feed toddlers. So, in the end, my quest really is finding that inner June Cleaver again. No, I don't want her to show off and be the top awarded mom of the year. I just want her back so my mind will be lifted from the effort of housework. I want to be free to create and dream because yes, vacuuming the floor and washing the sheets once a week really is just that effortless. In time. Or maybe it is saying that it is good enough for now. I embrace my clean laundry piled on the couch all week unfolded because the floor is vacuumed and mopped. I will do my weekly laundry tomorrow. I will add to the pile on the couch. And, alas, it will get folded and put away simply because I have no underwear. Good enough.
Midnight Housewife Tip: To clean a futon after work men sawed a whole in the ceiling beams above it, pull the mattress on the floor and vacuum. Don't forget to vacuum both sides and dust the frame before replacing the mattress on the side that was facing down so it is now facing up.
I did finish in approximately five hours over three days. After such time, I decided to leave the toilets wearing a pretty little red ring in the bowl and finger prints on the windows for later in the week. Do keep in mind I spent most of my time cleaning the basement thoroughly. And the digs are clean enough.
In my quest to find a balance in my roles, health, spirituality, and, well, sanity, I found enough is the key word. Good enough. Strong enough. Long enough. It is okay to let go of perfection even though it pains me. Oh yes, there are those who judge and think I am totally obsessive. Oh yes, it is true. Do know that this role as housewife was easy for me. Yes, I am bragging. Cleaning a house was an accomplishment to be proud of. It only took a bit of time, and I orchestrated it into my daily activities to entertain, educate and feed toddlers. So, in the end, my quest really is finding that inner June Cleaver again. No, I don't want her to show off and be the top awarded mom of the year. I just want her back so my mind will be lifted from the effort of housework. I want to be free to create and dream because yes, vacuuming the floor and washing the sheets once a week really is just that effortless. In time. Or maybe it is saying that it is good enough for now. I embrace my clean laundry piled on the couch all week unfolded because the floor is vacuumed and mopped. I will do my weekly laundry tomorrow. I will add to the pile on the couch. And, alas, it will get folded and put away simply because I have no underwear. Good enough.
Midnight Housewife Tip: To clean a futon after work men sawed a whole in the ceiling beams above it, pull the mattress on the floor and vacuum. Don't forget to vacuum both sides and dust the frame before replacing the mattress on the side that was facing down so it is now facing up.
Thursday, August 26, 2010
New Labels
This evening I went to support group. My question was...what do I "label" myself now? (I was told I no longer label myself as stage IV breast cancer.) I don't know what to tell every new face I meet that ask. So here is my one liner: I was treated for metastatic stage IV breast cancer in 2009. I am in remission and continue treatments to keep it that way. Okay that is two lines. Point is, I HAD cancer, past tense. (Okay, so yes, there are still rouge cells needing a lashing...but we will just be positive, and say they will never go to the Dark Side)
Quick Sigh
Just a quick sigh as it is well past midnight. I must admit the late hour is due to a wonderful evening at book club with the ladies. We read Those Who Save Us, great book about a German woman during WWII. Shall we say we women feel very spoiled for the lives we have the freedom to live today.
Today I spent with women. I went to a survivors luncheon thrown by the Susan G. Kormen Foundation. We had a nice light lunch, a talk by a nutritionist, a pep talk by Dr. Drew at Channel Nine News and then a fashion show. As one young lady, 29, strutted down the aisle, I felt uplifted as she is a one year survivor with a little baby. She was diagnosed while pregnant, went through chemo and is in remission with a healthy baby girl today. She is beautiful. Then there were several women over 70, one of which is a 30 year survivor. That is so positive to see the long future that may be in store for me. But, then there was Laura. She was diagnosed a year and a half ago with stage four, and she has a six and four year old and teaches visual arts in Douglas County (see any parallels?) Her cancer was chemo-non-responsive and spread to multiple organs. She is still bald and is on a hormone therapy. I felt mixed emotions because...WOW! She is so brave and strong. She still works in the school. Honestly, I thought, gee, I am sure glad I don't have it that bad. Then I thought, I am such a wimp.
Well, okay, every one's journey is different. No journey is worse or better then the next. Do you remember the day I met Mr. Black Cloud? He sat next to me, and, after listening to him for five hours during infusion, I actually felt bad about my cancer. I felt like maybe I should be more sick. He made me feel awful as I listened to his list of aches, pains, and multiple tumors on his liver and lungs. I think he died last month, but I am afraid to ask.
I guess I am getting ahead of myself. It is profound to say you have cancer. It changes how you watch a TV show or movie (Claista Flockhart, your wigs suck and Samantha would probably not continue flaunting her breasts after surgery.) There is a weird fantasy about having cancer. You wonder if you will look cool bald. Maybe you will get more attention or freebies. Didn't Farrah Faucet's show about her dying from cancer make it sound a bit glamorous? And doesn't those Cyber Knife commercials make it sound like a day at the spa in your white pajamas? Weird things travel through one's head if you are an outsider watching cancer...what is it like? But, once you join the cancer club, everything changes. It is a surreal experience that you can never shed. It makes you say why not because I just might not get to do that next year.
Just a little sigh.
Today I spent with women. I went to a survivors luncheon thrown by the Susan G. Kormen Foundation. We had a nice light lunch, a talk by a nutritionist, a pep talk by Dr. Drew at Channel Nine News and then a fashion show. As one young lady, 29, strutted down the aisle, I felt uplifted as she is a one year survivor with a little baby. She was diagnosed while pregnant, went through chemo and is in remission with a healthy baby girl today. She is beautiful. Then there were several women over 70, one of which is a 30 year survivor. That is so positive to see the long future that may be in store for me. But, then there was Laura. She was diagnosed a year and a half ago with stage four, and she has a six and four year old and teaches visual arts in Douglas County (see any parallels?) Her cancer was chemo-non-responsive and spread to multiple organs. She is still bald and is on a hormone therapy. I felt mixed emotions because...WOW! She is so brave and strong. She still works in the school. Honestly, I thought, gee, I am sure glad I don't have it that bad. Then I thought, I am such a wimp.
Well, okay, every one's journey is different. No journey is worse or better then the next. Do you remember the day I met Mr. Black Cloud? He sat next to me, and, after listening to him for five hours during infusion, I actually felt bad about my cancer. I felt like maybe I should be more sick. He made me feel awful as I listened to his list of aches, pains, and multiple tumors on his liver and lungs. I think he died last month, but I am afraid to ask.
I guess I am getting ahead of myself. It is profound to say you have cancer. It changes how you watch a TV show or movie (Claista Flockhart, your wigs suck and Samantha would probably not continue flaunting her breasts after surgery.) There is a weird fantasy about having cancer. You wonder if you will look cool bald. Maybe you will get more attention or freebies. Didn't Farrah Faucet's show about her dying from cancer make it sound a bit glamorous? And doesn't those Cyber Knife commercials make it sound like a day at the spa in your white pajamas? Weird things travel through one's head if you are an outsider watching cancer...what is it like? But, once you join the cancer club, everything changes. It is a surreal experience that you can never shed. It makes you say why not because I just might not get to do that next year.
Just a little sigh.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Sugar and Spice
Sugar and spice and everything nice...or is it Windex and Clorox? This is what a midnight housewife is made of. Finally, after two full weeks, dirt under my bare toes, toothpaste on the bathroom mirror, and you know what around the toilet (don't you just love it when your son comes out of the bathroom and says, "Mom, I accidentally got some on the wall because I was trying to whistle and got distracted...ten minutes AFTER you cleaned the bathroom including the wall?)
Today, I am off on the task of cleaning the entire house including the basement. My mother-in-law is coming for Labor Day weekend and the den of chill, the basement, is covered in saw dust from the AC/furnace installation and vent rework that had to be done. I will have to admit I am cheating in getting a head start last night. I pulled down the sheets that function as walls to wash and vacuumed half of the area. So let us say...and hour tops on the basement. Then, of course, I will have to attend to the children's needs for food and probably a puff from my asthma inhaler. So why am I writing this...got to go!
Today, I am off on the task of cleaning the entire house including the basement. My mother-in-law is coming for Labor Day weekend and the den of chill, the basement, is covered in saw dust from the AC/furnace installation and vent rework that had to be done. I will have to admit I am cheating in getting a head start last night. I pulled down the sheets that function as walls to wash and vacuumed half of the area. So let us say...and hour tops on the basement. Then, of course, I will have to attend to the children's needs for food and probably a puff from my asthma inhaler. So why am I writing this...got to go!
Thursday, August 19, 2010
Everything I Learned, I Learned From First Grade
When I taught Elementary art, I didn't really enjoy the first graders. Sure, they were new and cute to a 22 year old gal such as myself. But, they whined, they cried, and they didn't know anything. I had to teach them to glue, cut...no, actually, I didn't get the scissors out for a couple of months...and even the joys of tearring a piece of paper for collages. The lessons were simple to provide success. And, in time, we learned to laugh and create. Yet, I did sigh and feel glad that my next class coming in was second grade because they didn't wipe their noses on my skirt.
Sending my daughter off to the first day of first grade was definitely bitter sweet. I saw her as so grown up and tall. I felt amazed at her radiance and floored by her confidence. I thought about those first graders I taught 11 years ago. I must have been a naive young teacher to not see how grown up these guys really are.
I wasn't going to cry, I was too proud of her for growing up. I didn't cry. She lined up at the door and walked in the room waving goodbye with the largest, most beautiful grin I ever saw. Some of the moms and dads were looking in the door and taking pictures so I squeezed in the door frame for my turn. She was putting her pink glitter pencil box into her desk. I snapped a picture, and she looked up. She smiled and ran out the door to give me a hug.
And, that is when I cried. It was like my eyes sprung a leak. She is amazing, and I made her. She is my daughter.
Today, the second afternoon, she came out of her classroom looking around worried. I waved her over, and she ran at me. She melted into my arms. She was little.
As she cried because she fell off her bike and I carried her the rest of the way home, she sniffled out how hard it was for her at school. She had to go here and there. Lunch was only ten minutes long and way too loud, and her friend apparently has other friends so she didn't know what to do at recess. Yes, my big girl was little. I could see that little girl in each of the first graders I taught a decade ago. They weren't snivelling little helpless brats who couldn't glue or cut paper. They were just new and tired. Their world just rocked, they needed to wipe their noses on my skirt. They needed to do that so they could feel like home.
She will grow and get tall again. Yes, there will be a lot of tissue used and band aides for the skinned knees. But, we, all of us, will change with this great big world before us. Welcome to first grade. "Mom, why don't I get to take a nap?"
"Mom, when I was born, I was so excited. I was so excited to be here with you and live. I just didn't know it would end up being so hard. Living life is just so hard. I want to go back to the day I was born." ~Julia E. Brown
Sending my daughter off to the first day of first grade was definitely bitter sweet. I saw her as so grown up and tall. I felt amazed at her radiance and floored by her confidence. I thought about those first graders I taught 11 years ago. I must have been a naive young teacher to not see how grown up these guys really are.
I wasn't going to cry, I was too proud of her for growing up. I didn't cry. She lined up at the door and walked in the room waving goodbye with the largest, most beautiful grin I ever saw. Some of the moms and dads were looking in the door and taking pictures so I squeezed in the door frame for my turn. She was putting her pink glitter pencil box into her desk. I snapped a picture, and she looked up. She smiled and ran out the door to give me a hug.
And, that is when I cried. It was like my eyes sprung a leak. She is amazing, and I made her. She is my daughter.
Today, the second afternoon, she came out of her classroom looking around worried. I waved her over, and she ran at me. She melted into my arms. She was little.
As she cried because she fell off her bike and I carried her the rest of the way home, she sniffled out how hard it was for her at school. She had to go here and there. Lunch was only ten minutes long and way too loud, and her friend apparently has other friends so she didn't know what to do at recess. Yes, my big girl was little. I could see that little girl in each of the first graders I taught a decade ago. They weren't snivelling little helpless brats who couldn't glue or cut paper. They were just new and tired. Their world just rocked, they needed to wipe their noses on my skirt. They needed to do that so they could feel like home.
She will grow and get tall again. Yes, there will be a lot of tissue used and band aides for the skinned knees. But, we, all of us, will change with this great big world before us. Welcome to first grade. "Mom, why don't I get to take a nap?"
"Mom, when I was born, I was so excited. I was so excited to be here with you and live. I just didn't know it would end up being so hard. Living life is just so hard. I want to go back to the day I was born." ~Julia E. Brown
Monday, August 16, 2010
Time Markers
The most obvious marker of our time on this planet is our birthday. Each year, we mark another life lived. Maybe we reflect on the year past. Or, maybe we wish for the future as we blow out the candles on our cakes. Once we get past 30, the number of years in our actual age becomes blurred with imagines social norms of clinging to our youth. At any rate, we are still one year older no matter what we offer to a stranger as out true age.
Birthdays, anniversaries, grade level in school, driver's license, graduation and the ability to consume alcohol in public all are markers of time. For me, I have my toe nails. I was taking the polish off my toes and noticed a line right through the middle. The lower half is pink and smooth. The upper half is yellowed with brittle ridges. Chemo did this. One of the side effects is brittle nails. One friend's nails were so brittle that they would rip off with just a soft blow to the tip. I had wonderful beautiful nails. Strong, pink, smooth, with white tips that I kept short to parallel to the tips of my fleshy finger tips by weekly manicures while watching Desperate Housewives on Sunday. My toe nails I kept lacquered a cheery lavender ever since the night before my mastectomy. If I was going to be naked, I should at least have pretty toes, right?
The pink, hard nail pushes forward as I trim off the brittle yellow each week. It marks the time. One year and nine and a half weeks since I started my chemo in 2009. This evening last year, I was preparing to endure my fourth round of chemocation. This year, I enjoyed a weekend up at Rocky Mountain National Park with my family, the third summer trip that I missed out on last summer. The first was in June, Father's Day, this is when I had the infection in my left implant and the surgery to remove it. This year, we went up to Dowdy Lake to camp. The second was the trip to Lake Powell with the Brown's; I was recovering from my second round then. And, the third was this trip to RMNP. My sister and her family went in my absence, and I am very glad for that. This summer, I giggled with the family as we shared riddles in the trail to Alberta Falls. If you are in a room with no windows and no doors, how do you get out?
Yes, I have many new markers of time in my life. I have anniversaries beyond the one of my wedding which I celebrate a year's passing in my own way, for myself. I am still here. I thought I might die. But, I didn't. It takes a year for a toenail to grow out half way and a year to have hair enough to look like you meant to style it in a short...well, whatever you call this cut...mess. In another year, by next summer, I hope to have a cute chin length bob. And, yes, maybe I will forgo the polish and simply buff my nails to display their beautiful, strong, pink natural state.
Birthdays, anniversaries, grade level in school, driver's license, graduation and the ability to consume alcohol in public all are markers of time. For me, I have my toe nails. I was taking the polish off my toes and noticed a line right through the middle. The lower half is pink and smooth. The upper half is yellowed with brittle ridges. Chemo did this. One of the side effects is brittle nails. One friend's nails were so brittle that they would rip off with just a soft blow to the tip. I had wonderful beautiful nails. Strong, pink, smooth, with white tips that I kept short to parallel to the tips of my fleshy finger tips by weekly manicures while watching Desperate Housewives on Sunday. My toe nails I kept lacquered a cheery lavender ever since the night before my mastectomy. If I was going to be naked, I should at least have pretty toes, right?
The pink, hard nail pushes forward as I trim off the brittle yellow each week. It marks the time. One year and nine and a half weeks since I started my chemo in 2009. This evening last year, I was preparing to endure my fourth round of chemocation. This year, I enjoyed a weekend up at Rocky Mountain National Park with my family, the third summer trip that I missed out on last summer. The first was in June, Father's Day, this is when I had the infection in my left implant and the surgery to remove it. This year, we went up to Dowdy Lake to camp. The second was the trip to Lake Powell with the Brown's; I was recovering from my second round then. And, the third was this trip to RMNP. My sister and her family went in my absence, and I am very glad for that. This summer, I giggled with the family as we shared riddles in the trail to Alberta Falls. If you are in a room with no windows and no doors, how do you get out?
Yes, I have many new markers of time in my life. I have anniversaries beyond the one of my wedding which I celebrate a year's passing in my own way, for myself. I am still here. I thought I might die. But, I didn't. It takes a year for a toenail to grow out half way and a year to have hair enough to look like you meant to style it in a short...well, whatever you call this cut...mess. In another year, by next summer, I hope to have a cute chin length bob. And, yes, maybe I will forgo the polish and simply buff my nails to display their beautiful, strong, pink natural state.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
I Saw
Today, Sunday, after unpacking from the camping trip, I set out to saw my counter. Scott came over to help with the first cut. I then brought it up to try it out. I needed to cut it the other way too. But, being a Midnight Housewife and a Daylong Supermomma, I made lunch, sorted laundry, started a load, washed the camping dishes, swept the floor, took the kids on a bike ride, and...well, I am sure there were a few other activities in there too...oh, tried to take a nap, before I set out to make the second cut. I did this one by myself. I suppose the "DUDE" at Home Deport would be on the floor with laughter if he saw that I was using shoe racks and filing boxes for my saw horses and supports. I did have two of those orange squisher things to hold the guide wood...oh, yes, I mean C-clamps. Thanks, Scott, for helping me out today; it meant a lot.
Friday, August 13, 2010
Don't Laugh At Me
Recently, customer service has just not been up to expected quality. Today, I had two hours while the children were at summer camp to work on my studio. My goal was simple: complete all loud tasks that can not be accomplished after 8 pm in a sleeping house; never mind when I am too physically tired to think straight. I patched holes, touched up the paint, mounted the design wall, and then decided I just wanted to get this thing done so I best just do it myself. It meaning sizing down my counter top. The original studio was in a room that is 13 feet by 14 feet. The new room is ten feet by ten feet. So size must be scaled down. At any rate, the old cabinet was custom built in the basement of our first house by Scott. It fit the space and my needs 9 years ago. In the new, well now old, space in this house, it never functioned quite right as it was too tall for cutting so I used a step stool. Also, I was continually bumping into the stool desk space that was where the computer was with my sewing chair as I bopped up and down cutting, sewing, ironing, sewing, cutting, designing. My new space will have one table at 26 inches in height for proper posture while quilting (right now I am using the old drafting table) and a counter on the cabinets which I hope to create at two inches shorter then the original to be more obtainable for ironing and cutting. I may bring up an additional folding table for big projects, but I need to have a good corner for my easel and paints as well.
So back to the counter top. I slide the heavy eight foot by four foot melamine top down the stairs and out the front door to the porch. I was stoked! I can do this. I can get this done. I can remember how to saw wood from my Sculpture 102 at Colorado State University. I had it all ready on saw horses (actually old melamine shoe shelves which are, I believe, remains from those CSU days and are still quite useful.) I measured three times and nailed a guide board to the back strip. I started sawing. At about four inches into the cut, the saw was on fire. Um, not literally. But, there was definitely a burning smell and some heat. Note to self: don't forget about a little law of nature called friction.
So I ceased my operation and decided to phone for help. I called my near-by Home Depot. Why wouldn't I? The other day one guy in the lumber department offered to cut the piece for me if I brought it in. Of course, it was way too heavy to get it in the car, and I wasn't too sure it would fit anyway...that is why I was doing the operation via Supermomma strength. After pushing all the buttons through the prompt, a young man in the lumber department asked me how he could help me.
"I need to saw a melamine counter top down in size and had some questions about the saw." Before I could continue to ask why the saw was heating up, the guy says, "Excuse me, I have to take a minute to laugh as that is too funny." I hang up the phone, livid.
I pace around a minute trying to remember what I had actually said to deserve such a response. My face is hot and red. I think there was even steam coming from my ears. Now how in the heck am I going to get this thing cut if my question about a hot saw is so funny. Crap! It is time to go get the kids from camp.
While I bustle around getting my keys and changing my sweaty shirt, I press redial and "0" for customer service. "I need to speak with your store manager because I have a been recently insulted by one of your employees." Speaking with what I think is the assistant manager, he agrees this is clearly inappropriate behavior and promises he will discuss this further with the head manager when he returns from lunch. And, he practically begs me to continue shopping at the store. Of course I will as it is five minutes from my home and next door to Super Target. But, I repeat clearly, "I don't care how silly a question is, the customer is always to be respected. Besides, not everyone is fully skilled in using a saw or whatever." I hang up the phone slightly satisfied, thinking in the back of my mind that this guy is probably going to just blow off this phone complaint, and still not having my question answered.
In the end of the day, the sheet of melamine remains on my front porch, I learned I had the wrong saw blade from another store customer service guy in hardware (mine is for pine and plywood...but he couldn't tell me what blade it is I should be using,) and my husband did put out a different saw to use. Maybe I am a silly woman with a silly question. Maybe I am just inpatient and bull-headed enough to attempt this on my own. After all, my father-in-law recently questioned why the heck I was doing all these home improvement tasks by myself by saying, "Didn't you get married to have someone to do these things for you." Well, my audible response was not what I thought in my head...well, no, actually I got married for the sex. Besides, I grew up with a wonderfully strong mom and an awesome dad who always told me I could do it, just give it a try. Besides, as my male friend pointed out, a guy would not have called with a "stupid" question about a saw because he would have been expected to know why it was heating up even if he never touched a saw before in his life. Very true. A sign of weakness and demasculinity is not permitted in a hardware store. Fair I should stick to asking Macy's how to actually walk around in high heels that are killing my feet but look great. And, I shall refrain from asking questions so I don't cut off my toe or burn down the house. What is a woman doing with tools anyway? Oh sigh. I am just saying...I am the customer gosh darn it! I am right.
So back to the counter top. I slide the heavy eight foot by four foot melamine top down the stairs and out the front door to the porch. I was stoked! I can do this. I can get this done. I can remember how to saw wood from my Sculpture 102 at Colorado State University. I had it all ready on saw horses (actually old melamine shoe shelves which are, I believe, remains from those CSU days and are still quite useful.) I measured three times and nailed a guide board to the back strip. I started sawing. At about four inches into the cut, the saw was on fire. Um, not literally. But, there was definitely a burning smell and some heat. Note to self: don't forget about a little law of nature called friction.
So I ceased my operation and decided to phone for help. I called my near-by Home Depot. Why wouldn't I? The other day one guy in the lumber department offered to cut the piece for me if I brought it in. Of course, it was way too heavy to get it in the car, and I wasn't too sure it would fit anyway...that is why I was doing the operation via Supermomma strength. After pushing all the buttons through the prompt, a young man in the lumber department asked me how he could help me.
"I need to saw a melamine counter top down in size and had some questions about the saw." Before I could continue to ask why the saw was heating up, the guy says, "Excuse me, I have to take a minute to laugh as that is too funny." I hang up the phone, livid.
I pace around a minute trying to remember what I had actually said to deserve such a response. My face is hot and red. I think there was even steam coming from my ears. Now how in the heck am I going to get this thing cut if my question about a hot saw is so funny. Crap! It is time to go get the kids from camp.
While I bustle around getting my keys and changing my sweaty shirt, I press redial and "0" for customer service. "I need to speak with your store manager because I have a been recently insulted by one of your employees." Speaking with what I think is the assistant manager, he agrees this is clearly inappropriate behavior and promises he will discuss this further with the head manager when he returns from lunch. And, he practically begs me to continue shopping at the store. Of course I will as it is five minutes from my home and next door to Super Target. But, I repeat clearly, "I don't care how silly a question is, the customer is always to be respected. Besides, not everyone is fully skilled in using a saw or whatever." I hang up the phone slightly satisfied, thinking in the back of my mind that this guy is probably going to just blow off this phone complaint, and still not having my question answered.
In the end of the day, the sheet of melamine remains on my front porch, I learned I had the wrong saw blade from another store customer service guy in hardware (mine is for pine and plywood...but he couldn't tell me what blade it is I should be using,) and my husband did put out a different saw to use. Maybe I am a silly woman with a silly question. Maybe I am just inpatient and bull-headed enough to attempt this on my own. After all, my father-in-law recently questioned why the heck I was doing all these home improvement tasks by myself by saying, "Didn't you get married to have someone to do these things for you." Well, my audible response was not what I thought in my head...well, no, actually I got married for the sex. Besides, I grew up with a wonderfully strong mom and an awesome dad who always told me I could do it, just give it a try. Besides, as my male friend pointed out, a guy would not have called with a "stupid" question about a saw because he would have been expected to know why it was heating up even if he never touched a saw before in his life. Very true. A sign of weakness and demasculinity is not permitted in a hardware store. Fair I should stick to asking Macy's how to actually walk around in high heels that are killing my feet but look great. And, I shall refrain from asking questions so I don't cut off my toe or burn down the house. What is a woman doing with tools anyway? Oh sigh. I am just saying...I am the customer gosh darn it! I am right.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Pep Talk
This evening, one day after my last infusion of Herceptin, I went to yoga. I haven't been able to make it much lately as summer plans have prevented my timely departure to attend the evening sessions. My body needs yoga. It is an addict. I think I could be quite content in life simple doing yoga and painting all day long.
At any rate, my favorite instructor teaches Wednesdays. As her young tummy is subtly swelling with her first child, her siren voice sings for us to move into savasana, corpse pose, to restore our bodies from the hour of strength training and sweat. She sings out for us to remember our worse memory in our lives. I don't want to go there, but her voice is calm and sings like a siren, so I do. I think of the moment I woke from my bilateral mastectomy surgery. I believe it was 8 or 9 at night and I had been laying there for about an hour coming to after the surgery. I was alone. I couldn't hear or see as they put a Vaseline on my eyes. I scream, or I think I scream. I never felt more alone in my entire life. Maybe I am dead.
Lying there on my yoga mat, the tears roll into my ears. The salt mixes with the salt of my sweat. The siren calls for us to take that memory and forget it. Forget it; put it into the past. I choke back trying not to curse her for bringing up such a memory and to not heave into an ugly cry. I replace the imagine with the one of my son moments after his birth. I gazed into his clear, chocolate brown eyes. He seemed to say, Momma, I know you.
I needed that. I wonder how it is Miss Yogi knows what I need. Okay, like I am the only one out of the thirty some odd people in the room she is talking to when she changes the recovery of salambhasana to one supporting the chest up off the mat. See, I can not lay flat as I have bandages still covering my brand new, totally fake and odd nipples. One thing that is true is that when I am doing a yoga class, I do not feel alone.
Alone. This seems to be a feeling vibrating through the circle of women in my life. Each of you have challenges. Some are so profoundly massive that I honor your perseverance. Tonight, I pondered the loneliness that seems to vibrate through the feminine kind beyond my circle. We are busy and are moving in and out of our daily roles. But, there seems to be a ripple of unsettled emotional beings. Could this be a collective conscious event? Could Eckhart Tolle's predictions of a New Earth be emanating through the female gender?
Now, don't get me wrong. We, if I am permitted to speak for my dear friends, are quite satisfied with our roles as mothers, teachers, wives, chefs and taxi cab drivers. We wouldn't have it any other way. But, there seems to be a hint of change and unrest. May it be the biometric pressure changing as the leaves hint at turning for the fall. I can not tell. And yes, we talk and talk like hens in a chicken coop. Yes, we feel better and less alone. Yet, at the seed of it all, when we are silent within ourselves, we feel it. There is something going on. I only wish I could take a big band-aide and make it all better.
What I can do is tell you that I see you. You are beautiful. As spoken this evening by the young sage yoga instructor, whatever you are doing and where ever you are right at this moment is exactly what and where you are supposed to be. The unrest, the struggle, the big decision you need to make is presented to you for a reason. And, you will know it. You will know all about it. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe in a decade. But, you will. So move forward like Saint Joan of Arc. Let your instincts be your guide. And for heavens sake, read you kids The Three Questions by Jon J. Muth. Namasta.
At any rate, my favorite instructor teaches Wednesdays. As her young tummy is subtly swelling with her first child, her siren voice sings for us to move into savasana, corpse pose, to restore our bodies from the hour of strength training and sweat. She sings out for us to remember our worse memory in our lives. I don't want to go there, but her voice is calm and sings like a siren, so I do. I think of the moment I woke from my bilateral mastectomy surgery. I believe it was 8 or 9 at night and I had been laying there for about an hour coming to after the surgery. I was alone. I couldn't hear or see as they put a Vaseline on my eyes. I scream, or I think I scream. I never felt more alone in my entire life. Maybe I am dead.
Lying there on my yoga mat, the tears roll into my ears. The salt mixes with the salt of my sweat. The siren calls for us to take that memory and forget it. Forget it; put it into the past. I choke back trying not to curse her for bringing up such a memory and to not heave into an ugly cry. I replace the imagine with the one of my son moments after his birth. I gazed into his clear, chocolate brown eyes. He seemed to say, Momma, I know you.
I needed that. I wonder how it is Miss Yogi knows what I need. Okay, like I am the only one out of the thirty some odd people in the room she is talking to when she changes the recovery of salambhasana to one supporting the chest up off the mat. See, I can not lay flat as I have bandages still covering my brand new, totally fake and odd nipples. One thing that is true is that when I am doing a yoga class, I do not feel alone.
Alone. This seems to be a feeling vibrating through the circle of women in my life. Each of you have challenges. Some are so profoundly massive that I honor your perseverance. Tonight, I pondered the loneliness that seems to vibrate through the feminine kind beyond my circle. We are busy and are moving in and out of our daily roles. But, there seems to be a ripple of unsettled emotional beings. Could this be a collective conscious event? Could Eckhart Tolle's predictions of a New Earth be emanating through the female gender?
Now, don't get me wrong. We, if I am permitted to speak for my dear friends, are quite satisfied with our roles as mothers, teachers, wives, chefs and taxi cab drivers. We wouldn't have it any other way. But, there seems to be a hint of change and unrest. May it be the biometric pressure changing as the leaves hint at turning for the fall. I can not tell. And yes, we talk and talk like hens in a chicken coop. Yes, we feel better and less alone. Yet, at the seed of it all, when we are silent within ourselves, we feel it. There is something going on. I only wish I could take a big band-aide and make it all better.
What I can do is tell you that I see you. You are beautiful. As spoken this evening by the young sage yoga instructor, whatever you are doing and where ever you are right at this moment is exactly what and where you are supposed to be. The unrest, the struggle, the big decision you need to make is presented to you for a reason. And, you will know it. You will know all about it. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe in a decade. But, you will. So move forward like Saint Joan of Arc. Let your instincts be your guide. And for heavens sake, read you kids The Three Questions by Jon J. Muth. Namasta.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
Customer Service
It seems that I have run into several poor customer service incidences lately. I am not one to get too irritated with most like in a store and all. I realize that people, for the most part, are doing the best they know how. Know how. Now, that is the key here. My customer service today at the cancer center was not up to par. And, they do or at least SHOULD know how. I will not bore you with the details. But, this morning start of totally confusing me. In the end, I can fault the change in office staff. There was a drop in communication. They didn't understand me, nor that I didn't understand them. In the end, I was just embarrassed for nearly missing a doctor visit. It all worked out in the end fine.
In the past, the scheduler would run back while I was plugged into the machine and run over my appointments with me. I brought my calendar and am always prepared. She always made sure to work around my schedule especially with the children. She made sure things were worked out while they were in school and so on. Sometimes she even went way out of her way to work with my schedule. No one brought me a schedule today. No one asked me when the best times were. I had to go up to the desk on my way out to ask what was up. She gave me a doctor visit appointment at 3 pm in six weeks. When I asked when my infusions were, she just said she didn't know and this was all she could do. Okay, fine. But, in the past, the gal would go ask. If I had a question, she had a question. At any rate, I left feeling very confused and without any scheduled appointments. Certainly, they will call with my appointments. But, 20 bucks they call when I am cooking dinner and kids are loud. Another 20 bucks says they make all my appointments at 3:00 pm when I have no child care. And, why? Well, because they didn't take the time to ask and work with me.
Now, sure, this may sound silly to be annoyed. But, do keep in mind that being a cancer patient is extremely stressful. These appointment really inconvenience my life. They really need to take the time to work around us and reduce our stress level.
Stepping off soap box. Everything is doing alright. I have rashes from the tape so have to be carefully there. I had my stitches removed yesterday and can finally shower but can not swim for another week. I can tell you the details of my last surgical procedure but maybe I will leave that for another day. For now, I need my long nap. I miss my TV. Did get my studio nearly picked up last night. I cant believe that I actually have extra space in my closet. Oh, and by the way, I live in the most beautiful state in the country.
In the past, the scheduler would run back while I was plugged into the machine and run over my appointments with me. I brought my calendar and am always prepared. She always made sure to work around my schedule especially with the children. She made sure things were worked out while they were in school and so on. Sometimes she even went way out of her way to work with my schedule. No one brought me a schedule today. No one asked me when the best times were. I had to go up to the desk on my way out to ask what was up. She gave me a doctor visit appointment at 3 pm in six weeks. When I asked when my infusions were, she just said she didn't know and this was all she could do. Okay, fine. But, in the past, the gal would go ask. If I had a question, she had a question. At any rate, I left feeling very confused and without any scheduled appointments. Certainly, they will call with my appointments. But, 20 bucks they call when I am cooking dinner and kids are loud. Another 20 bucks says they make all my appointments at 3:00 pm when I have no child care. And, why? Well, because they didn't take the time to ask and work with me.
Now, sure, this may sound silly to be annoyed. But, do keep in mind that being a cancer patient is extremely stressful. These appointment really inconvenience my life. They really need to take the time to work around us and reduce our stress level.
Stepping off soap box. Everything is doing alright. I have rashes from the tape so have to be carefully there. I had my stitches removed yesterday and can finally shower but can not swim for another week. I can tell you the details of my last surgical procedure but maybe I will leave that for another day. For now, I need my long nap. I miss my TV. Did get my studio nearly picked up last night. I cant believe that I actually have extra space in my closet. Oh, and by the way, I live in the most beautiful state in the country.
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Dining
I suppose there are two reasons for the lack of dining in my circle of friends. One, we are mothers. We scramble to pull on a clean shirt to meet each other by 7:30 pm after we have read our little ones two books and convinced them to stay in their beds for the night. Having ate left overs for dinner at 5:30, we aren't much in the mood for a meal. And that brings us exactly to the second reason, money. May it be the economy, may it be the need to buy little shoes and longer skirt lengths for our sprouts, or may it be our own induced budget of $100 for odds and ends each week (and our personal baggage of guilt that we might waste that $100 on our selves.) Either way, would we buy a meal and dine at 8:00 pm as the restaurant is being shut down for the evening?
My mother was honored as an artist at the Rocky Mountain Quilt Museum last evening. Desiring a companion to the event, she hired a sitter for me. We travelled the 50 minute drive down to Golden, Colorado through a deluge. As the sun popped out to warm the evening, we dined. I can not remember the last time I dined on scrumptious gnocchi with a pesto and shrimp sauce. It was worth taking each bite slowly. And, I could. There was no one I had to take to the bathroom nor to interrupt our conversation. Conversation. Now that is the marvel idea for dining. To talk about literature, religious archetypes, and a little bit about the President. Aw, to dine at a leisurely pace when the sun was still warming the cement outside.
Thank you, Mom. And, the opening at the gallery was quite lovely too. Congratulations.
My mother was honored as an artist at the Rocky Mountain Quilt Museum last evening. Desiring a companion to the event, she hired a sitter for me. We travelled the 50 minute drive down to Golden, Colorado through a deluge. As the sun popped out to warm the evening, we dined. I can not remember the last time I dined on scrumptious gnocchi with a pesto and shrimp sauce. It was worth taking each bite slowly. And, I could. There was no one I had to take to the bathroom nor to interrupt our conversation. Conversation. Now that is the marvel idea for dining. To talk about literature, religious archetypes, and a little bit about the President. Aw, to dine at a leisurely pace when the sun was still warming the cement outside.
Thank you, Mom. And, the opening at the gallery was quite lovely too. Congratulations.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
The Real Housewife
So a thought occurred yesterday as I was teaching my son to ride his bike with two wheels down at the end of the street where the cars don't drive. I thought, "Hey, we need a REAL Housewives of East Boulder County." This is what housewife life is about. It isn't pearls and stilettos. It is pearls of sweat and Chacos. It isn't nannies and carry-out dinners. It is praying for a good nap time and sandwiches for dinner. Here is the day in the life of a REAL Midnight Housewife of Boulder County.
7:05 am Son wakes up daughter (who crawled into mom's bed at 5:30 am) to tell her to brush her teeth. Daughter looks bewildered. Son gleams and announces, "I did it, mom. I woke up to my alarm clock, brushed my teeth, made my bed, changed my clothes and am now all practiced for school to start. Now, get up, Julia. You have to do it too. You need to practice."
7:21 am Cereal for breakfast, again. Poured wrong flavors, again. Settle tearful whining by explaining they can tell me tomorrow what they want, again.
7:44 am Wash up dishes (find out later I forgot to wipe off table) and sort kitchen area. Kids start playing some game where they have every single Hot Wheel out on the floor.
8:12 am "When are we going to do something? Can we go swimming?"
Work on picking up house...have no idea exactly what...and mediate two fights and questions about when we will go someplace.
8:45 am Chat on phone with friend and start working on fixing pantry door storage rack. Consider it was probably rude to start the drill while still talking on the phone.
9:14 am Finished pantry. Start second project involving a drill and a saw, clothes rod for air drying in the laundry room. Talk to mom on phone.
9:45 am Motivate kids to change in their suits to go swimming; slather sunblock (Find out later that I totally missed sections of my own back that I can no longer reach and now have lighting bolt shape burns.)
9:58 am Leave for pool.
10:16 am At pool, realize kids don't really need me to swim anymore. Start feeling sad that someday they won't even want me to stay with them at the pool so I will have no reason to go to the pool. Because if I go a lone I will look like some weird pervert...or I will have to just start doing laps. Bummer. I love the pool. Chat with friends from MOMS Club.
12:14 pm Leave pool for home.
Lunch.
Friends arrive for play dates. Julia is off on her bike and Jack is whining to ride his bike. His buddy wants to play inside with his Batman toys. I want to work on the laundry rod and maybe organizing something. I get a little work done.
3:12 pm Play date over, Jack's buddy heads home.
Jack and I head out to pick up Julia on bikes. We meet them half way and find she fell really hard on her bike. Make it home, fix knee with a lot of tears and a band-aide.
4:48 pm Other friend, the one from earlier, calls. We are to meet for dinner in the park.
Head out for park as Scott returns home from work.
Grab Wendy's because we are tired of PBJ sandwiches.
5:30 pm Cloudy when we arrive at park. Kids play. Rain comes in. We eat in shelter. Beautiful double rainbow. I marvel at Friend's ability to juggle four children age 6 and under. Way to go K!
6:38 pm Julia falls on bloody knee and is crying and tired. Time to leave.
7:08 pm Home for warm bath, two books, tucked in bed, so tired that there is little argument.
7:58 pm Head out for run. Realize sun is going down earlier these days and wished I remembered my cell phone in case of emergency. Stay on lighted streets in housing areas. Love the time in my own head listening to music.
8:01 pm Home for a bit of sun salutations and then a bath.
9:00 pm Sit down, look at clock and understand why my parents thought we were all crazy when we didn't leave the house to start our nights out with our friends until 9 pm when we were in high school. Now I understand why they were heading to bed as I was leaving for the night.
10:00 pm After picking up a few more things...why are these things always needing pick up... go to studio and think I will watch a movie and work on organizing. Check Facebook instead. See a hilarious video called Colorado Girls, share it. It is nearly 11 pm, goodnight. Jack will be up at 7 am with his alarm.
7:05 am Son wakes up daughter (who crawled into mom's bed at 5:30 am) to tell her to brush her teeth. Daughter looks bewildered. Son gleams and announces, "I did it, mom. I woke up to my alarm clock, brushed my teeth, made my bed, changed my clothes and am now all practiced for school to start. Now, get up, Julia. You have to do it too. You need to practice."
7:21 am Cereal for breakfast, again. Poured wrong flavors, again. Settle tearful whining by explaining they can tell me tomorrow what they want, again.
7:44 am Wash up dishes (find out later I forgot to wipe off table) and sort kitchen area. Kids start playing some game where they have every single Hot Wheel out on the floor.
8:12 am "When are we going to do something? Can we go swimming?"
Work on picking up house...have no idea exactly what...and mediate two fights and questions about when we will go someplace.
8:45 am Chat on phone with friend and start working on fixing pantry door storage rack. Consider it was probably rude to start the drill while still talking on the phone.
9:14 am Finished pantry. Start second project involving a drill and a saw, clothes rod for air drying in the laundry room. Talk to mom on phone.
9:45 am Motivate kids to change in their suits to go swimming; slather sunblock (Find out later that I totally missed sections of my own back that I can no longer reach and now have lighting bolt shape burns.)
9:58 am Leave for pool.
10:16 am At pool, realize kids don't really need me to swim anymore. Start feeling sad that someday they won't even want me to stay with them at the pool so I will have no reason to go to the pool. Because if I go a lone I will look like some weird pervert...or I will have to just start doing laps. Bummer. I love the pool. Chat with friends from MOMS Club.
12:14 pm Leave pool for home.
Lunch.
Friends arrive for play dates. Julia is off on her bike and Jack is whining to ride his bike. His buddy wants to play inside with his Batman toys. I want to work on the laundry rod and maybe organizing something. I get a little work done.
3:12 pm Play date over, Jack's buddy heads home.
Jack and I head out to pick up Julia on bikes. We meet them half way and find she fell really hard on her bike. Make it home, fix knee with a lot of tears and a band-aide.
4:48 pm Other friend, the one from earlier, calls. We are to meet for dinner in the park.
Head out for park as Scott returns home from work.
Grab Wendy's because we are tired of PBJ sandwiches.
5:30 pm Cloudy when we arrive at park. Kids play. Rain comes in. We eat in shelter. Beautiful double rainbow. I marvel at Friend's ability to juggle four children age 6 and under. Way to go K!
6:38 pm Julia falls on bloody knee and is crying and tired. Time to leave.
7:08 pm Home for warm bath, two books, tucked in bed, so tired that there is little argument.
7:58 pm Head out for run. Realize sun is going down earlier these days and wished I remembered my cell phone in case of emergency. Stay on lighted streets in housing areas. Love the time in my own head listening to music.
8:01 pm Home for a bit of sun salutations and then a bath.
9:00 pm Sit down, look at clock and understand why my parents thought we were all crazy when we didn't leave the house to start our nights out with our friends until 9 pm when we were in high school. Now I understand why they were heading to bed as I was leaving for the night.
10:00 pm After picking up a few more things...why are these things always needing pick up... go to studio and think I will watch a movie and work on organizing. Check Facebook instead. See a hilarious video called Colorado Girls, share it. It is nearly 11 pm, goodnight. Jack will be up at 7 am with his alarm.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Monday, August 2, 2010
How Do You Do It?
This evening, after an hour Power Vinyasa, a run to Bed Bath and Beyond for a return and finding another magenta stool for Julia's "grown up" room redo, returning a Red Box video, and heading into King Soopers for some lettuce, bananas, cereal, and tea, I phoned a friend. This friend (sorry I called so late) is really having a rough time. We chatted for a bit. I listened. Then, me being me, I turned cheerleader. "Wow, thanks you, Sara. How do you come up with these things?" she replied.
How do I do it? Those words got me thinking because in my own reality of life this is just how things are. I forget that other people don't think the way I do. Faced with adversity, I am a bull. I look it right in the eye and plow forward looking for the silver lining of the situation. Now, mind you, I am very good at avoiding things all together that I find unpleasant. And, I will say no if I really don't want to do something. But, in the end, I am willing to give it a try, even if it isn't the most enjoyable thing that came my way.
Also, don't get me wrong in that I am a perfect little angel gliding about plowing through difficult tasks without breaking a sweat. No, I will have to admit that sometime last week I had an all out tantrum over moving my studio. I had moved all the loose items out into the hall and master bedroom. So I was left with the heavy items and figuring out when I would get Jack's stuff out of his room without messing up his sleeping patterns. Like an ocean wave, panic consumed me. I couldn't do it. I had to just put everything back where it was and forget about it. I started pounding my fists on the floor and bawling. The kids ran upstairs and stared at me with wide eyes. Jack went to get me a tissue and Julia slid up in my lap, sucking her thumb. She looked just like she did the day she was born.
I gave up the task for the day and went down stairs to play board games. I cried off and on. My head swam with the impossible task I had set forth for myself. I honestly can't tell you how I moved from the forum of panic to one of a bull headed organizing goddess. I suppose it was the fact that Scott took the kids back packing, and I had the house to myself for a full 24 hours. A full 24 hours that I didn't have to stop what I was doing, eat, sleep, or...well not exactly. But, I had the world to myself. I could think clearly in the silence.
So I was talking to my friend about going through chemo. When I felt really bad, I just imagined I was pregnant...sort of. During both my pregnancies, I was nauseated and had leg cramps all the time. With Jack, I had syatic nerve issues and had trouble walking and sitting comfortably. In all reality, chemo was a bit like that, or so I told myself. Each time I started feeling bad on the third day, I was faced with a choice. I could either wallow in self pity and fear of death (which I did for a good day or so) or I could look this shitty circumstance straight in the eye and bull right on through. The choice is easy once you start thinking about which will get you the best end result, life.
I don't know how I do it. Doesn't everyone think this way? I guess I would just advise you to take a few minutes, days, a week to wallow in utter self-pity. Stomp on the floor, break some dishes (not by throwing them at someone else), get angry, get sad, feel complete and utter panic, and take some Valium and sleep. Wake up, wash your face and look yourself in the eye. You can do this. You have a choice. You can die or you can live a very long time and die fighting. Find your silver lining even if it is a half truth and bull on forward. Oh, and don't forget to ask for help, take the help that is offered, say thank you, and be full in the knowledge that you are loved. Namasta.
PS Laughter really is the best medicine. So if you can't make yourself laugh then rent some ridiculous movie or watch the Late Show.
How do I do it? Those words got me thinking because in my own reality of life this is just how things are. I forget that other people don't think the way I do. Faced with adversity, I am a bull. I look it right in the eye and plow forward looking for the silver lining of the situation. Now, mind you, I am very good at avoiding things all together that I find unpleasant. And, I will say no if I really don't want to do something. But, in the end, I am willing to give it a try, even if it isn't the most enjoyable thing that came my way.
Also, don't get me wrong in that I am a perfect little angel gliding about plowing through difficult tasks without breaking a sweat. No, I will have to admit that sometime last week I had an all out tantrum over moving my studio. I had moved all the loose items out into the hall and master bedroom. So I was left with the heavy items and figuring out when I would get Jack's stuff out of his room without messing up his sleeping patterns. Like an ocean wave, panic consumed me. I couldn't do it. I had to just put everything back where it was and forget about it. I started pounding my fists on the floor and bawling. The kids ran upstairs and stared at me with wide eyes. Jack went to get me a tissue and Julia slid up in my lap, sucking her thumb. She looked just like she did the day she was born.
I gave up the task for the day and went down stairs to play board games. I cried off and on. My head swam with the impossible task I had set forth for myself. I honestly can't tell you how I moved from the forum of panic to one of a bull headed organizing goddess. I suppose it was the fact that Scott took the kids back packing, and I had the house to myself for a full 24 hours. A full 24 hours that I didn't have to stop what I was doing, eat, sleep, or...well not exactly. But, I had the world to myself. I could think clearly in the silence.
So I was talking to my friend about going through chemo. When I felt really bad, I just imagined I was pregnant...sort of. During both my pregnancies, I was nauseated and had leg cramps all the time. With Jack, I had syatic nerve issues and had trouble walking and sitting comfortably. In all reality, chemo was a bit like that, or so I told myself. Each time I started feeling bad on the third day, I was faced with a choice. I could either wallow in self pity and fear of death (which I did for a good day or so) or I could look this shitty circumstance straight in the eye and bull right on through. The choice is easy once you start thinking about which will get you the best end result, life.
I don't know how I do it. Doesn't everyone think this way? I guess I would just advise you to take a few minutes, days, a week to wallow in utter self-pity. Stomp on the floor, break some dishes (not by throwing them at someone else), get angry, get sad, feel complete and utter panic, and take some Valium and sleep. Wake up, wash your face and look yourself in the eye. You can do this. You have a choice. You can die or you can live a very long time and die fighting. Find your silver lining even if it is a half truth and bull on forward. Oh, and don't forget to ask for help, take the help that is offered, say thank you, and be full in the knowledge that you are loved. Namasta.
PS Laughter really is the best medicine. So if you can't make yourself laugh then rent some ridiculous movie or watch the Late Show.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Chemo-tired 2
After spending a day in my body, I can now clearly define chemo-tired. Let us travel back in time, to a time when I had super-momma strength. When I placed an idea in my head, it would be done. I bulled through all my tasks with endurance and ingenuity. If I was too short or weak to lift something, I solved the problem with physics (which, by the way, was my favorite science course in school.) I am sure I amused and frustrated my parents when I locked myself in my room all day creating something. Emerging from my Monet inspired room for dinner, I would dawn my new ballet-wrap top origamied out of a stretched out cardigan and hundreds of tiny gold safety pins. I much rather figure it out myself then ask my mom to teach me to sew. And in the end, if I struggled with a daunting task like moving furniture by my self and felt a little sore, I would not complain. What is a little pain in comparison to a job well done?
It seems my life has changed. That is an understatement. See, even though my chemo treatments are over, I still receive treatment of Herceptin trice-weekly. Apparently, it renders my body to function half par. Recovery from a daunting task is not a fun event, and popping a little Tylenol doesn't cut it. Now, I am not complaining as I can deal with the burning pain in my surgery sights because it has been worse. I am just saying that chemo-tired means that I feel about like I did on my tenth day of chemo. That was the day I began to come out of the fog. That was the day I could walk a mile, yet still needed to sit down the rest of the day. You would think I would have figured this out after it took three weeks to heal my ankle that I apparently twisted during running. Or the week of stiff neck after stretching it too far during power vinyasa yoga. Oh, no, I had to push my body way too hard lifting heavy things (I did use my legs, not my back like a good girl.) Now, I can't tell you when my Taurus, bull-headed self will start to listen to my muscles that are teaming with little Herceptin soldiers and way too busy to mind the mending of over exertion. No, I don't know when I will listen. Maybe that is part of the fight. So, somewhere in this battle, I will have to call in a mediator.
Chemo-tired: (ke-mo-ti-rd) adjective: feeling run down, lethargic, sore muscles and bones, heavy eyes and occasional nerapathy, a general feeling of wanting to lay around and do absolutely nothing, ones body feels similar to recovering from a round of chemo therapy in that the body feels heavy and slow.
Chemo-tired
So I have a new definition. Last summer, I invented the word chemocation. During ten days (actually the first two days of the round weren't too bad) I was so incredibly tired and sore I don't remember things. I checked out. I don't even remember my niece coming to visit us during that period. No memory. No visual memory at all in my brain. I also forgot vocabulary and had a hard time even reading a children's book out load to my children.
This morning, I am inventing chemo-tired. This is when your body is so incredibly sore and tired that you really aren't too sure you will be getting out of bed in the morning. Yesterday, I moved two rooms of furniture all by my self. Save the printer which has a picture of two people caring it on the side so I had my Dad help move it down stairs, I shoved, slid, rocked, and waddled a desk, dresser, double bed, two kitchen cabinets, three counter tops (the 10X4 is still up stairs as I will not attempt that alone), a oak easel, carpet, and piles and piles of stuff between the two rooms and down to the basement or garage.
Maybe I am a little bit crazy or just a little bit Taurus. My bull-headed self saw a vision and made it so. I am not completed with my new studio, of course, as I will need to sort and discard many items. But, I completed Jack's new room which included a painting delay. I touched up the blue wall which had huge holes from my design board. As it dried, I realized it was totally the wrong tint of blue. So I ended up painting the lower half of the wall and topping it with waves. This will add nicely to his surfer theme. I will also need to hang pictures, but it is super clean and ready for sleeping. I can't wait to see his face when he gets home today.
I also picked up Julia's room so she felt a little special too. And, I completed installing the network systems on the computer. This morning, I will work on moving the office supplies to the computer area or elsewhere (but they are out of my studio!!!). Then, my mom will help with the organizing of the studio for a couple of hours. It really will be a bit tight in there so I am going to need another organizer to help me how to properly stuff every corner. Do remember, I may be clean and organized but I am an artist. And, artists are pack rats by nature. My junk just packed into clear storage boxes and labelled.
Well, I am off to a hardy breakfast with my mom to fuel this sore, chemo-tired body. I will post pictures when I am done. I wavered a bit yesterday as I looked out the great view of what is now Jack's room. But then, I realized that when I am working, I don't look out the window. This new space is physically separate from the other rooms and will hopefully feel more like a sanctuary. I am now super excited to get a canvas back up on the easel and get started working; well, maybe after I get some lighting and music us installed. Tootles.
This morning, I am inventing chemo-tired. This is when your body is so incredibly sore and tired that you really aren't too sure you will be getting out of bed in the morning. Yesterday, I moved two rooms of furniture all by my self. Save the printer which has a picture of two people caring it on the side so I had my Dad help move it down stairs, I shoved, slid, rocked, and waddled a desk, dresser, double bed, two kitchen cabinets, three counter tops (the 10X4 is still up stairs as I will not attempt that alone), a oak easel, carpet, and piles and piles of stuff between the two rooms and down to the basement or garage.
Maybe I am a little bit crazy or just a little bit Taurus. My bull-headed self saw a vision and made it so. I am not completed with my new studio, of course, as I will need to sort and discard many items. But, I completed Jack's new room which included a painting delay. I touched up the blue wall which had huge holes from my design board. As it dried, I realized it was totally the wrong tint of blue. So I ended up painting the lower half of the wall and topping it with waves. This will add nicely to his surfer theme. I will also need to hang pictures, but it is super clean and ready for sleeping. I can't wait to see his face when he gets home today.
I also picked up Julia's room so she felt a little special too. And, I completed installing the network systems on the computer. This morning, I will work on moving the office supplies to the computer area or elsewhere (but they are out of my studio!!!). Then, my mom will help with the organizing of the studio for a couple of hours. It really will be a bit tight in there so I am going to need another organizer to help me how to properly stuff every corner. Do remember, I may be clean and organized but I am an artist. And, artists are pack rats by nature. My junk just packed into clear storage boxes and labelled.
Well, I am off to a hardy breakfast with my mom to fuel this sore, chemo-tired body. I will post pictures when I am done. I wavered a bit yesterday as I looked out the great view of what is now Jack's room. But then, I realized that when I am working, I don't look out the window. This new space is physically separate from the other rooms and will hopefully feel more like a sanctuary. I am now super excited to get a canvas back up on the easel and get started working; well, maybe after I get some lighting and music us installed. Tootles.
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