The other day I was driving the car with just Betty on board. Just mama and her girlie. We have so much fun in the car. We play this game where we try to crack each other up by making silly faces at each other via my rearview mirror. We were also singing along to Christmas songs and holding hands during stoplights. I love that crazy nutball.
As we crossed Front Street, she said, “Mom? You know how in ‘Winnie the Pooh’, at the end, he says, ‘If you live to be 100, I hope to live to be 100 minus one day, so I never have to live without you’?”*
And I said, “Yes?”
She said, “That’s what I want to happen with me and you.”
I am getting used to my kids saying things that, considering my situation, hurl a dagger through my guts. Lately, though, it’s getting a little easier to hear some of that stuff because I have once again decided I am definitely going to live for MANY YEARS. I have to admit, I waffled back and forth on the feasibility of this ideal outcome for a few months after my recurrence. But now I am back to feeling like I am going to conquer this thing. Assuming I have any say in the matter. And, you know, I really think I do.
Thursday, December 15, 2011
Tuesday, December 6, 2011
Holiday Casserole
Hey there, friends! Long time no blog. You may be wondering how we're doing since I've been so uncharacteristically e-silent (surely it's a word) these last few weeks.
I don't know what's come over me, but I've just felt so damned PEACEFUL lately. Sort of mildly anesthetized with happiness. I feel all this goodwill towards others-- why? I frequently find myself striking up unnecessary conversations with strangers in stores (I feel like I've actually found some unexpected friends this way-- I can still recount all the conversations). I feel extra generous. I've been rounding up when I tip. Even tipping people who don't necessarily need to get tipped, like mumbling take-out clerks who won't make eye contact with me. Smiling maybe a bit too earnestly at strangers I pass on grimy Rainier Avenue South, even if they seem scowl-y. (Ok, especially if they seem scowl-y, because, CHEER UP, PEOPLE.) Asking folks with less groceries to go in front of me. And I've been "slowing it down" more than I used to. I've stopped my car off the winding, 2-lane highways to show my kids the clouds lingering thickly over the mountains, or the way frost is now settling over the field. (Please don't groan. I really did. And it was really cool for all three of us.) We personify the goats and horses as we pass their paddocks on our way to town. We've got them all named and have developed their personalities and voices. I've felt extra patient, wide-eyed and curious, quietly calm and content. The Eagles would call it a "Peaceful Easy Feeling". I'm not sure what Menudo would call it.
We've been filling our days with all the characteristic happenings of November and December: turkey-eating, Xmas tree cutting/decorating, shopping, Nutcracker-ing. Dressing the kids up in holiday jammies. It's all seemed like a joy to me this year. Not a big production, just an easy, happy time. I'm serious. I don't quite understand it.
I'm not trying to paint some hunky-dory (I had to use that term, I've always hated its clunky, hyphenated weirdness) portrait of my life, I'm just reporting it as feels. Today it occurred to me, you know, Shelly, this is really such a tremendous GIFT you've got going on here. OKAY, OKAY, I KNOW, I've also some serious lumps of coal in my life's "stocking" (wince. the writing!) these days, but let's forget that for now. And we're not ignoring it, but it's just not as INTERESTING or valuable as the recognition that true happiness is a gift. That phrase I just used, "true happiness is a gift", sounds so played-out, almost trite, in its simplicity. But really, consider it. I know I am dealing with cancer. That's NOT a gift. That's a slab of shit casserole served cold and raw on my plate. But the ability to feel truly happy IS a gift. I am SO LUCKY to have cultivated it. I've got so many friends dealing with various unhappinesses now (health crises, relationship struggles, career dissatisfaction, family issues, loneliness, low self-esteem, regret, fear, etc.), and I really feel for them, just as they probably feel for me dealing with all this crappy chemo and cancer. I wish I had their health--I hope they appreciate THAT. But I'm so deeply appreciative for my peaceful state-of-mind and my overall "happiness". It's got to be helping me in this stupid "fight". Imagine me using my fingers to punctuate all those quotation marks I just heaped on you.
I guess we all have our shit casseroles AND our gifts. What a holiday table that makes. The trick is to appreciate the good things you have going for you, of recognizing a gift when it arrives, however it's wrapped. If you can do that, THAT'S a gift.
It's even better than a Chia Head.
I don't know what's come over me, but I've just felt so damned PEACEFUL lately. Sort of mildly anesthetized with happiness. I feel all this goodwill towards others-- why? I frequently find myself striking up unnecessary conversations with strangers in stores (I feel like I've actually found some unexpected friends this way-- I can still recount all the conversations). I feel extra generous. I've been rounding up when I tip. Even tipping people who don't necessarily need to get tipped, like mumbling take-out clerks who won't make eye contact with me. Smiling maybe a bit too earnestly at strangers I pass on grimy Rainier Avenue South, even if they seem scowl-y. (Ok, especially if they seem scowl-y, because, CHEER UP, PEOPLE.) Asking folks with less groceries to go in front of me. And I've been "slowing it down" more than I used to. I've stopped my car off the winding, 2-lane highways to show my kids the clouds lingering thickly over the mountains, or the way frost is now settling over the field. (Please don't groan. I really did. And it was really cool for all three of us.) We personify the goats and horses as we pass their paddocks on our way to town. We've got them all named and have developed their personalities and voices. I've felt extra patient, wide-eyed and curious, quietly calm and content. The Eagles would call it a "Peaceful Easy Feeling". I'm not sure what Menudo would call it.
We've been filling our days with all the characteristic happenings of November and December: turkey-eating, Xmas tree cutting/decorating, shopping, Nutcracker-ing. Dressing the kids up in holiday jammies. It's all seemed like a joy to me this year. Not a big production, just an easy, happy time. I'm serious. I don't quite understand it.
I'm not trying to paint some hunky-dory (I had to use that term, I've always hated its clunky, hyphenated weirdness) portrait of my life, I'm just reporting it as feels. Today it occurred to me, you know, Shelly, this is really such a tremendous GIFT you've got going on here. OKAY, OKAY, I KNOW, I've also some serious lumps of coal in my life's "stocking" (wince. the writing!) these days, but let's forget that for now. And we're not ignoring it, but it's just not as INTERESTING or valuable as the recognition that true happiness is a gift. That phrase I just used, "true happiness is a gift", sounds so played-out, almost trite, in its simplicity. But really, consider it. I know I am dealing with cancer. That's NOT a gift. That's a slab of shit casserole served cold and raw on my plate. But the ability to feel truly happy IS a gift. I am SO LUCKY to have cultivated it. I've got so many friends dealing with various unhappinesses now (health crises, relationship struggles, career dissatisfaction, family issues, loneliness, low self-esteem, regret, fear, etc.), and I really feel for them, just as they probably feel for me dealing with all this crappy chemo and cancer. I wish I had their health--I hope they appreciate THAT. But I'm so deeply appreciative for my peaceful state-of-mind and my overall "happiness". It's got to be helping me in this stupid "fight". Imagine me using my fingers to punctuate all those quotation marks I just heaped on you.
I guess we all have our shit casseroles AND our gifts. What a holiday table that makes. The trick is to appreciate the good things you have going for you, of recognizing a gift when it arrives, however it's wrapped. If you can do that, THAT'S a gift.
It's even better than a Chia Head.
Tuesday, November 8, 2011
Happy
All I have to say is that I feel very happy about life lately.
I don't quite know why I'm in such a good mood-- the last round of chemo absolutely sucked, and I've got this whole cancer thing hanging over my head... yet for some reason, I just can't shake this quiet, glad feeling.
I love and admire my friends, I adore my family (from good ol' Grandpa to brand-new AJ), and it's just so damned pretty outside. I may have cancer, but I still feel vibrantly alive and connected, and I'm eager to see what tomorrow brings.
Life is so sweet. I hope you are able to draw the same conclusion as you navigate through your days because I believe there is happiness to be found all around us. You just have to be looking.
I don't quite know why I'm in such a good mood-- the last round of chemo absolutely sucked, and I've got this whole cancer thing hanging over my head... yet for some reason, I just can't shake this quiet, glad feeling.
I love and admire my friends, I adore my family (from good ol' Grandpa to brand-new AJ), and it's just so damned pretty outside. I may have cancer, but I still feel vibrantly alive and connected, and I'm eager to see what tomorrow brings.
Life is so sweet. I hope you are able to draw the same conclusion as you navigate through your days because I believe there is happiness to be found all around us. You just have to be looking.
Saturday, November 5, 2011
Devotion
Love is when your husband lies alongside you on the bathroom floor in solidarity, and he stays with you so long he finally falls asleep right at your side.
Wednesday, November 2, 2011
Country Livin' and Sandbox Lessons
I write you tonight from our new, temporary home in Issaquah. We are staying with good friends who happen to have a very roomy house with three bedrooms and a huge bathroom to spare-- essentially, the 2nd floor all to ourselves. We're only 30 minutes from downtown Seattle but it feels like a world away. The mountains rise up behind us, the huge trees surround us on all sides, the homes are spaced far apart with lots of room for the kids to run and bike and play. It's quiet and peaceful. The last few nights there's even been a black bear visiting homes on this street, toppling trash, etc. Lock up your kids! All this gushing-- I don't mean to sound like I've never been out here near the mountains before (heck, we lived in Snoqualmie for a few years when I first landed in Seattle--before they built the plateau-- talk about hardcore), but it's just interesting to me how cozy and pleasant it feels to be here. A big 180 from Rainier Ave South, for those of you in the 2-0-6 who get my meaning.
We moved last weekend. By "we", I should say, mainly, "they". I helped, but really the bulk of the work was done by Neil, who woke every morning at 5 and hauled stuff all day long for many, many days. He's a strong OX! A tireless work horse. He's cattle! He's a donkey, he's a goat. We also got a lot of help from my mom, Steve, Casey, Erik, and Julie. And loads of child support from all sorts of friends. You all ROCK.
Just after my last round of chemo, when finally I started to perk up again, I attempted to help out. It's SO STRANGE with chemo; you WANT to help, you know you are strong/capable enough to help, and yet when you actually start hauling boxes up and down the stairs, your legs start to buckle and zing with exhaustion, as if you just ran 12 miles, and your heart feels like it's going to explode in your chest. Footsteps follow one another very, very slowly, as with mountaineers summiting Everest-- except, um, you're at sea level, on your stairs.
On Wednesday, I attempted to remove the sand from our kids' sandbox while Neil was at work, bucket by tiny-kid-bucket. You wouldn't think that the shoveling (with tiny kid shovels) and hauling sand 7 feet would even make you break a sweat, yet halfway through the project, I was soaked with sweat and panting so hard I had to call it quits. AND I DON'T CALL IT QUITS! That's not like me. So I put the kids in the tub (don't worry, they were safe), then laid on my own bed, staring at the ceiling, sand all over my pants (I didn't even take them off! On my own bed! Nasty!), my heart rate soaring from the activity, my breathing rapid, for about 20 minutes! I felt like someone who was utterly, completely out of shape. "Wow, you're really letting yourself go, Shelly", I thought. "Pathetic. Get up. GET UP!" I was frustrated. And at the same time I SUSPECTED the chemo had something to do with my sorry state.
Now, 13 days after my last chemo, I feel outstanding, and full of energy yet again. And I look back to the sandbox day and think, "WELL DUH, SHELLY. It was the damned chemo. Idiot. Gorgeous, charming idiot."
I'm learning things.
1-It just takes time to bounce back. After all, THEY ARE POISONING THE HELL OUT OF ME. I am infused with chemo drugs from Thurs thru Sat, but they affect me for many days afterward. Just when I start to really recover, they hit me with it again. Of course I should feel tired. DUH. Not helping matters, they now give me a shot IN THE STOMACH the day they unhook my medicine. It's to promote white blood cell re-growth. And it HURTS. And it makes you feel achy and sick (on top of the chemo sick) for a few days. (PS- Can I just add that when they told me they were going to start giving me a shot, IN THE STOMACH, and that it was GOING TO HURT, and that it was GOING TO MAKE ME ADDITIONALLY SICK for a few days, I just kind of shook my head and laughed and pulled up my shirt and said, "Go for it. Seriously. At this point, what the hell.")
2-It is SO HARD to accept your own vulnerability as a temporary state when you are in the thick of it. So hard to feel hopeful. Even for an optimist, like me. You really do not feel like you are ever going to be strong and un-sick and happy again, even though it always DOES happen, like clockwork, every cycle. As you get better, you start to believe again. And you want to write yourself a note, a la the film, "Memento", to remind your future self that you are REALLY GOING TO BE OK, JUST HANG IN THERE! You get to live out your soul's own deconstruction and re-building every two weeks. Talk about a mind-fuck. Pardon le francais. (The French should NOT be blamed for swearing, the Danes should!, but that's a different topic.)
This post reads like a rambling email. Alas. I just wanted to update you since I've been so out-of-touch recently with the move. I have lots more to say, but Lordie, this has been a long one. If you are still reading, give yourself a pat on the back. Maybe you were really just procrastinating at work, or avoiding folding the laundry as you read this. I don't care, it was nice talking AT ya, and I hope we get to speak live soon. But for now, I have to return tomorrow to the jungle for more of this crap. More of this crap that is saving me... my best worst friend ever.
We moved last weekend. By "we", I should say, mainly, "they". I helped, but really the bulk of the work was done by Neil, who woke every morning at 5 and hauled stuff all day long for many, many days. He's a strong OX! A tireless work horse. He's cattle! He's a donkey, he's a goat. We also got a lot of help from my mom, Steve, Casey, Erik, and Julie. And loads of child support from all sorts of friends. You all ROCK.
Just after my last round of chemo, when finally I started to perk up again, I attempted to help out. It's SO STRANGE with chemo; you WANT to help, you know you are strong/capable enough to help, and yet when you actually start hauling boxes up and down the stairs, your legs start to buckle and zing with exhaustion, as if you just ran 12 miles, and your heart feels like it's going to explode in your chest. Footsteps follow one another very, very slowly, as with mountaineers summiting Everest-- except, um, you're at sea level, on your stairs.
On Wednesday, I attempted to remove the sand from our kids' sandbox while Neil was at work, bucket by tiny-kid-bucket. You wouldn't think that the shoveling (with tiny kid shovels) and hauling sand 7 feet would even make you break a sweat, yet halfway through the project, I was soaked with sweat and panting so hard I had to call it quits. AND I DON'T CALL IT QUITS! That's not like me. So I put the kids in the tub (don't worry, they were safe), then laid on my own bed, staring at the ceiling, sand all over my pants (I didn't even take them off! On my own bed! Nasty!), my heart rate soaring from the activity, my breathing rapid, for about 20 minutes! I felt like someone who was utterly, completely out of shape. "Wow, you're really letting yourself go, Shelly", I thought. "Pathetic. Get up. GET UP!" I was frustrated. And at the same time I SUSPECTED the chemo had something to do with my sorry state.
Now, 13 days after my last chemo, I feel outstanding, and full of energy yet again. And I look back to the sandbox day and think, "WELL DUH, SHELLY. It was the damned chemo. Idiot. Gorgeous, charming idiot."
I'm learning things.
1-It just takes time to bounce back. After all, THEY ARE POISONING THE HELL OUT OF ME. I am infused with chemo drugs from Thurs thru Sat, but they affect me for many days afterward. Just when I start to really recover, they hit me with it again. Of course I should feel tired. DUH. Not helping matters, they now give me a shot IN THE STOMACH the day they unhook my medicine. It's to promote white blood cell re-growth. And it HURTS. And it makes you feel achy and sick (on top of the chemo sick) for a few days. (PS- Can I just add that when they told me they were going to start giving me a shot, IN THE STOMACH, and that it was GOING TO HURT, and that it was GOING TO MAKE ME ADDITIONALLY SICK for a few days, I just kind of shook my head and laughed and pulled up my shirt and said, "Go for it. Seriously. At this point, what the hell.")
2-It is SO HARD to accept your own vulnerability as a temporary state when you are in the thick of it. So hard to feel hopeful. Even for an optimist, like me. You really do not feel like you are ever going to be strong and un-sick and happy again, even though it always DOES happen, like clockwork, every cycle. As you get better, you start to believe again. And you want to write yourself a note, a la the film, "Memento", to remind your future self that you are REALLY GOING TO BE OK, JUST HANG IN THERE! You get to live out your soul's own deconstruction and re-building every two weeks. Talk about a mind-fuck. Pardon le francais. (The French should NOT be blamed for swearing, the Danes should!, but that's a different topic.)
This post reads like a rambling email. Alas. I just wanted to update you since I've been so out-of-touch recently with the move. I have lots more to say, but Lordie, this has been a long one. If you are still reading, give yourself a pat on the back. Maybe you were really just procrastinating at work, or avoiding folding the laundry as you read this. I don't care, it was nice talking AT ya, and I hope we get to speak live soon. But for now, I have to return tomorrow to the jungle for more of this crap. More of this crap that is saving me... my best worst friend ever.
Thursday, October 20, 2011
My inbox runneth over
For two weeks I've been receiving, enjoying, and saving your "levity" photos. (Please see previous post entitled, "A Little Levity, Please" for the backstory). Thanks for sending them! Holy Toledo! (And I ought to know. Born and raised.)
I will compile them shortly, and I'll update this post as they come in.
ps- Bonus points for exotic locations, interesting photo narrative/visual storytelling. But all submissions welcome, of course. (And if you send in a really boring one, that's ok, I'll MAKE UP a story for it.)
I will compile them shortly, and I'll update this post as they come in.
ps- Bonus points for exotic locations, interesting photo narrative/visual storytelling. But all submissions welcome, of course. (And if you send in a really boring one, that's ok, I'll MAKE UP a story for it.)
"FABULOUS"
Got my scan results at today's chemo appointment. The tumors are all going down, some by 50%. He said the results are "fabulous". I've got a bunch more chemo to go, but we're once again headed in the right direction.
Looks like you're all stuck with me for a while longer.
Looks like you're all stuck with me for a while longer.
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