The Birthday that Was

Turning 60 was and wasn’t a big deal. I’ve spoken of that already….but have just a mite more to say.

Itza milestone, yet not in the same way it was a decade ago. 60 is now considered middle aged…having been 50…I don’t mind 60 is middle aged…I rather like imagining myself with 20 or so more years of actively living life in me. (though, I do clearly remember a not so long ago where that was not true.).

My mother is 81, and while admittedly more frail than a year ago, still going strong. Women on my mom’s side have always lived into their 80’s and beyond. Realistically, I can expect pretty much the same barring the universe having other ideas. (which would, clearly, not mirror my own.)

What struck me more about this birthday was the tenor of the cards I received from my grown children. The same smart aleckiness on the outside with more unexpectedly introspective thought inside than is their usual greeting card fare:

“Six-OH!! I can only hope that when I turn 60 that I can say that I have as much fun & adventure as you have had and are still having. You haven’t lost that sense of wonder & whimsy – I don’t think you ever will.” From my normally reticent 30 year old son. Thank you son. I think neither will you.

“Happy Birthday to my “hippie” mom. I thought of those patched up jeans you used to love to wear when I was a kid. They seemed to symbolize that bit of conventional rebellion you posses. Always something to add a “twist” to any outfit. Maybe a splash of color with your purple socks. You taught me to look at the world open and positively. All things are possible. The world wouldn’t be so colorful without you!!” From my 38 year old daughter. Ahem…’scuse me a sec…sniff, sniff…sumfin inna my eye.

Parents often wonder the impact they’ve had on their children. Mine could not have given me better gifts than their view of what the world looks like to them through my eyes.

In the years that have passed since Jim died in 2002, I have been challenged to consider how my actions have colored their own world. That they can still see some of that old me in the new one gives me hope that I have not done so badly in showing them that life is still life even through the life altering loss of their father in all our lives.

What ever happens next, my children have given me a beautiful gift in their words and I take some comfort in knowing I may have actually done good after all.

To life and love and laughter.

The Walrus & the Carpenter

“The time has come,” the Walrus said,
“To talk of many things:
Of shoes—and ships—and sealing wax—
Of cabbages—and kings—
And why the sea is boiling hot—
And whether pigs have wings.” Alice in Wonderland

This particular verse from Alice has always spoken to me in times of reflection or change…it seemed appropriate to where I’ve been these last 2 weeks as I’ve been mentally walkabout sifting through thoughts, holding memories, wading back in time and touching places dear to my heart.

The time from Thanksgiving through pretty much past Christmas Day has power over me in that it brings back the year we met, shared 6 day apart birthdays, fell in love and began to make our plans for the day our lives would be lived as a couple. Thanksgiving 1969…I opened the front door to the next page of my life, which changed the instant I looked into those electric blue eyes and I never looked back until the day he died in May 2002.

I suppose my turning 60 yesterday and his being forever 51 had some small measure of responsibility for bringing on the thoughts more deeply than usual. Not so much that the number of my age is the cause…it’s a number and I have a wonderful role model in my 81 year old mother for why age and how you feel about it is often a matter of the mind…a number that represents the passage of time on this planet. It had more to do, I think with the fact that he will not see any of these years nor those to come.

Speaking to a dear friend, I told her that he was, at 51, in that place in his life where he was so content and comfortable in himself and in his own skin that he made others feel that way in theirs as well. I envy that a bit as I still, sometimes, feel alien in my own shell. Could he speak to me today, I think he would tell me, that all is as it is supposed to be and that his time had come to move on to what ever was next in this universe for him. He would tell me that life is out there and that I should reach out and grab it with both hands. That there is still magic and wonder to be experienced if I will let it be so. At least, it’s what I choose to believe.

8 ½ years now, I have been widowed…it once colored every aspect of my life…still does many. My children have flown the nest, making lives, mistakes and successes just as they should. And, though my grand still needs me for another year or so, it is time to figure out the next pages of this book and where the adventure goes from here. Time to make plans and dream dreams. That I get to do this with another heart once wounded as mine, feeling loved and being cherish, is a gift I never expected to share again. Once in this lifetime was something…but…twice…is…well…something spectacularly else.

I believe Jim would be happy Handyman and I managed to find each other in this oh, so crazy and jumbled universe by way of widowhood and WN. I know he believed that people can brought together though it seems they never should have met. He saw my graduation picture so many years ago…before he ever met me and 3,000 miles across the country from where I was…and told a friend “that’s the girl I’m going to marry.” I have to believe so too…I dreamed of him all through my childhood and teen aged years… a nebulous sort of shadowed being that filled my dreams at night…and never had the dream again the day I opened that front door…almost as if I’d dreamed him into life.

My Handyman was met on a whim of a trip to a meeting of also widowed in January, 2004. He touched a chord that drew us into a long distance friendship that changed to something else entirely the next time we met some months later. He took my hand to help me from the car, the electricity thrummed my skin and…oh, shit…I wuz 55 and gone again just as if I was 18. 6 years later, we are loving the life we are creating together and look forward to as many years as we are gifted to be together.

This year’s light melancholy has served well in reminding me of the joy of my past life and that of this current life. I am blessed to have both. All in all not such a bad ending to a 60^th birthday rumination.

OOOPS

Huh.

It wuz a bug...a glitch...a hic-cup...a burp...

In other words, FB screwed up...

Again.

Go figure.

And, just like the IRS and errant philandering BF's, no apology either.

Just...woot...and it wuz back again.

All in all, I admit I'm glad....I sorta missed it even so it was only for a day.

(I'm still not exactly kosher on the name, but....)

So...Hello, again FB...wanna wonder how long till the next glitch.

And, the universe moves on.

Pa rum pa pa pum.

One Year

"One year. 365 days. 8760 hours. 525600 seconds. Time, my friend, sweet sweet time." from my TN friend. Thank you.

 As today passes I was looking for a way to celebrate the one year mark of my cancer surgery wondering is it the date or is it the day? WTH…it’s my life…so I’ll just celebrate period. Thank you all for having been there from A to Z.

As it turns out, the universe has given me a gift of sorts of its own.

I have been a naughty girl, I knowingly did not abide by FB’s naming rules, got caught and find myself sent to “banned camp” as of this morning. Since I’m not willing to jump through their little hoop of sending them a digital copy of a government issued ID, I will not be begging to be unbanned.

Some will say why did I join in the first place when I knew the rules and purposely tried to circumvent them. Good question with no good answer beyond that I wanted some small measure of anonymity in such a global setting, it initially allowed me to do so and so I did. They caught up with it and that’s that. I will miss it, but not enough to give blood, pee inna cup or send them my driver’s license. After all the hoo-haa about information gathering issues FB has been having do I believe that there’s no way it would get loose out there? Huh…notta chance.

This is as good an excuse as any to make the time to do work at my blog, which has been more or less cast aside like yesterday rubbish out of pure laziness more than lack of material. Thus, like the mythical Phoenix, Camera Obscura will rise from its neglected ashes and find writing life again.

Bowing to the FB gods, I say…fare ye well FB…it’s been fun  and I’ll see ya somewhere in the slipstream. (My TN friend says her coolness factore just went up cuz she knows a REAL person banned by FB....this is why she's my friend...luv u gurl.)

Not bad work for a chilly, grey, rainy toos-day morning in mid-November.

"Live like you were dyin"....Tim McGraw

Happy Anniversary

"And this journey that we're on,

How far we've come,

I celebrate every moment.

And when you say you love me

That's all you have to say."

Josh Groban - "When You Say You Love Me."

Today marks 6 years with a man who has been a special gift on this journey to wholeness.

Thank you for your love, your care, your humor and your steadfastness in this in this life we share heart to heart.

I love you. 

"The Heart Remembers

The fires of youth may die away and sink to crimson embers. . . . The high romantic dreams may vanish --- But the heart remembers.

The heart remembers everything; the buried past is there. The rapture of loves first delight; the joy and the despair. The faces and the friendships and the names of long ago --- Lie beneath a drift of years like leaves beneath the snow.

The sorrows and the happiness --- Gay June and grey Decembers. The music fades, the roses perish. . . . But the heart remembers.

~ Patience Strong 1945 "

 

8 years.

 

Today I remember the man and the legacy he left.

 

I am a better person for having know him.

Jim Ingle...I will remember and love you always.

Happy Birthday, Jim

December 3, 1950...you were born.

December 3, 1969...the first of what was to be 32 birthdays together...age 19 to age 51.

December 3, 2009...the 8th one without you.

Happy Birthday Sweetheart...you will be forever 51.

I wouldn't have missed it for the world.

December 3, 1950 ~ May 24, 2002

Update

Today is 14 days since surgery.

It's been an up and down number of days since the allergy to the percocet showed itself Tuesday a week ago. Going cold turkey with nothing but ibuprofen for pain relieve was a little daunting, but it and the heating pad got me through the worst of it. Ridding myself of the allergy effects was something else. It finally took mega doses of benadryl assisted by the ibuprofen for me to quit scratching like a mangy dog. Still a few itchies if I get too warm, but since I'm mostly cold these days that doesn't happen too often.

The surgical staples came out yesterday and the results of ALL of the pathology tests were negative. What a relief. I didn't realize until the Doc said the words how much I had been dreading the test results.

His only area of concern had to do with the fact the cancer was more than halfway through the uterine muscle. There is no evidence that it breached the muscle to go elsewhere, but he gave me the option to have preventative radiation in the pelvic area. He recommended that I do some online research and talk to people who have and have not had the additional radiation; both for possible side effects and reasons to or not to do so myself. I go back in 2 weeks for a follow-up pelvic exam and we will talk some more about my thoughts on preventative radiation.

All in all I am feeling much better, particularly since I'm not being pinched by the darn staples every time I move. Yay...freedom.

Now I can begin walking more than just around the house and work to rebuild my muscle strength. I'm starting slow, so nobunny worry that I'm gonna do too much. Besides I have 4 watch dogs right here in the house making sure I behave.

Come spring we'll be camping and kayaking again.

2 months after diagnosis I am officially a cancer survivor...I stand amazed and grateful.

Hello...My Name is....

Pain...

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

I met pain today.

Oh, I’ve met it before to be sure…much of it recently.

Today was PAIN.

Pure, primal, soul deep, dark, roiling, bone scraping, grab you by the collar, teeth rattling, if you think… move…breathe…I WILL kill you…unadulterated…PAIN.

And, all I could do was lay flat, still, jaw clamped unthinking through the vortex until it spat me out the other side tired, sore and wondering WTF.

Before THIS pain, I only thought I knew what pain meant. I am left humbled before that pain and respectful of those who endure it over a long haul.

The Chinese have a saying that pain is weakness leaving your body…must be one helluva lot of weakness living in there.

Tomorrow’s another day.

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

It dropped in for another round this morning…not as long, nor quite as hard, nor so deep…just a reminder I suppose that some weakness remains.

We'll try again tomorrow, 

More Thoughts from the Other Side of the Knife...

WARNING: TMI to follow…if yer not interested my current fascination with the workings…or in this case…NOT workings…of my body parts…stop reading now.
That having been said; one should not abuse a perfectly good and innocent cup of coffee in such a way, but I was in pain, so I did and it worked. And, I felt like my two year old “in-training” Grand Daughter, wondering “Hello…so I made in the potty… now, where’s my prize?”


OK…so, in a way, I got my prize; but you know what I mean.


Hey…I warned you.


I also have a not so pretty red rash, finally receding hives and the what remains of an irritating itch caused by an ALLERGIC REACTION TO THE EFFEN PERCOCET!!!


(No, Herr Doktor….Morphine doesn’t work and the patient is allergic to Percoset. What’s left?” OY)


Which is why yesterday, while not the worst day in the world, was also not the greatest day...going cold turkey off the stuff and all. Yowzers, Bat Man.

During the whole deal, the crazy thought would casually flit across my mind that maybe…just maybe…I could take one or ½ of one…just to get me through the rough patches, yanno, cuz they DID work as pain killers.


Somebunny, slap me….the stuff gives me hives and makes me itch…even my blinkin’ eyelids itched…am I nuckin’ futz?


Imagine, if you will, that I was really hooked on those things. (after 3 days, prolly, not, but my mind went there anyway.) What then? “Please, Handyman….just one?” You can use your imagination for the rest.


Sheez, lew-eeze.


So…it’s strictly ibuprofen for the duration.


Sneezing.


Welll…I hope not do to THAT again for a number of weeks. Nor coughing unexpectedly, neither, thank you very much. OUCH!!!!


Laughing.


OK...it hurts some…but, it also feels good. Does that make me masochistic???


What ever.


Laughing’s good.


Walking straight up and down is good.


Sitting more or less upright is good.


Sleeping on my side is very good.


Food is getting better. Fruit is wonderful. And, the chocolate someone from TN sent me is MAH-VEL-US!!!! (said in a high pitched sing-song voice)


So, all in all, and given the alternative…Life’s not so terribly terrible.


And, it could always definitely be worse.

Notes from the Other Side of the Knife...

1. Staples are stoopid sutures...they hurt and Doctors shouldn't do them. (That or they should HAVE them and then they wouldn't DO them.)

2. Morphine doesn't always work. (Atavan, howsumever, keeps you from stroking out when the morphine doesn't work, your blood pressure shoots up and you get all twisted out of your sheets about it.) Just ask me.

3. Percocet does...but it makes me itch.

4. Hospital food isn't...food, that is. I don't know what is IS. But, food...it's not.

5. The staff was wonderful...all the way to the lady who came in and cheerfully...really...mopped my floor every morning.

6. I don't want to be a recovery room nurse. If I said out loud what was going through my head when she asked me a) Mrs. xxxx? What is your name. (George Washington, of course) b) Mrs. xxx? What is your birthday? (Yesterday) c) Mrs. xxx? Do you know why you are here? (Don't YOU?)  d) Mrs. xxx...you need to breathe (No...I think I can probably not.) See what I mean? I don't know that I DID say what was in my head, but, I'd take money that there are people who do.

7. It is apparently unusual to pee 2 litres worth of liquid in the magic hat in the toilet bowl over night. I'f I had known that I'm sure I could have arranged to put some of it on the floor where I thought it was going any way. I mean, really, I walked in there under my own steam and without rining the bell. You'd think I could pee as much as I wanted.

8. Passing gas at will is not one of my gifts. Right now I wish it was. Ugh.

9. The Doc and his Resident (female) were cool...I actually like them...my purple hair didn't bug them and they thought my "fight like a girl" tee shirt and sock monkey jammy pants were alright.

10. I'm grateful for my life...my family...my friends...my Handyman...especially my Handyman...Thank You....I did not do this alone.

Today's Program...

is brought to you by the letter "S".

"S" is for surgeon whose hands will remove that fat, festering toad squatting in my southern hemisphere.

All prep is done...liquids drunk, Fleet's fleeted, hairs tipped in power points of brilliant Eggplant purple and all that jazz.

Here's to you Doctor, sir, to the return of health to this aging frame, to the man who shares my heart, to the friends and family who love me...

to...

Life.

Uterus Cakes....

Really....my son sent me this link this morning. Couldn't decide at first if it was an "ewwwwww" moment or an I wish I'd thought of that when I was having my "Farewell to Josie's Uterus" ta-kill-ya shots.

Uterus Cakes (click link)

OK...so actually eating it might be a mite..uhm..weird...

But...

Then again...

Very weirdly apropos, neh?

Eat the cancer that eats you?

OK...Maybe not.

Pain Killers, Heating Pads and Stock in Kimberly-Clark

My friends, the first two and wishing I had the last.

If I thought I had to deal with this much longer, I'm not sure I would.

That's not meant to be arrogant or funny or dark humor...I have a much clearer picture of why some folks opt out and a sincere respect for those women (and men) who deal with cancer and it's attendant issues over the long haul.

Immawuss and freely admit so...waiting for the pain meds to kick in as I was wrapped around the heating pad was interminable...I found myself thinking I would vote for legalization of marijuana for medical use inna heartbeat. Maybe California isn't completely whacked after all.

Who'da ever thunk a person would welcome going under the knife to have body parts purposely ripped out?

Only 5 more sleeps.

Sorry this is not one of my "stand and deliver" posts...how arrogant wuz that anywayz? Last night sucked.

Today's another day...I'll find my Qi and punch the lights out of that fat toady bastard festering in my lower parts.

And...the Winner Is...

May I have the envelope, please?


Literally.


It came in an envelope.


"We are pleased"...blah, blah..."assist you with"...more blah, blah..."please call us for the particulars".


What ever hue grateful is....color me that.

Meeting Liz…

The Universe delights itself in reminding me what a schmuck I can be…it must…I give it ample opportunity.

Having a momentary “feel sorry for me” moment after filling out yet another huge pile of “please pick me” paper work and lamenting on how hard it is to ask for help, the diminutive, bubbly sprite before me says “I know…I’ve been where you are.”

Looking at this petite imp with a personality as buoyant as a brightly colored helium balloon, I give what I know must be a “sure…what do you know” look.

Then she tells me what she knows…and I am truly humbled.

At 40 she is an 8 ½ year widow. Not quite 32 when she was left with 2 boys to raise…2 and 6 when their dad died…with no skill beyond being a full time mom and wife as they had married just out of high school.

Liz…petite, perky, beautiful little Liz…has gone back to school, gotten a degree, continued to raise her sons and…as if that is not enough for the Universe…has survived Uterine Cancer while she was at it.

(I am woman…hear me roar)

We speak then as comrades in arms…sharing secrets only those who are widowed know…secrets survivors know.

Survivors…survivors, by god.

We talk some more.

In the end she thanks ME for the opportunity to talk, what a pleasure it is to meet me and how much she hopes they can find a sponsor because I need to survive, too. For my kids, my grand, my mom…for my Handyman.

(Dammit woman…don’t make me cry.)

Cheez lew-eeze.

Here’s to Liz…to her spirit…her spunk…and the lesson she taught me yesterday.

To Liz...

Long may her Qi shine.

Farewell My Lovely

Scheduling today...surgery is tentatively set for Nov. 12...radical hysterectomy...it all comes out.

The biopsy showed Grade 2 cells...middle of the road, but my uterus is a bit bigger than a baseball. Further review will tell whether the new surgeon thinks robotic surgery is feasible. The current oncologist admits he doesn't have enough experience to feel comfortable trying to remove one that big with the DiVinci robot at the cancer center. I appreciate his candor.

I have an elevated level in the blood test, but he's not sure that it's not caused by the fibroids. It does tell him he needs to check the pelvic lymph nodes closely upon surgery. Since staging will not be done until then, I just have to wait and see what turns up.

Still...my mental image is that the surgery will remove everything and all will be well.

Pride Goeth Before the Paperwork

Think not?

Bare your financial soul and odd-ball family dynamics to a non-profit seeking assistance with mega-medical expenses when health-care insurance is beyond your reach and you can’t afford all of the out-of-pocket charges on your own despite the fact that you show up at work every dang day.

Please don’t get me wrong.

IF they choose me (pick me…pick me) I will be grateful beyond words…beyond pride quite bluntly.

Yet…it has taken an emotional toll to gather it all up and put it all out there for non-profit scrutiny.

Is it 5 o’clock yet?

I needa margarita…or…some JD onna rox…or a massage…or…

A hug.

Here's one to Pride...

Another to paperwork...

And, last, but damned not least...

A huge one to Life.

The Dark Path

They sneak in, yanno.

The dark things you stuff behind the sofa when you're awake and keeping yourself busy.

The OMG's...the "what if I waited too long's"...the "I don't wanna do this" thoughts that tickle the mind at night.

Gotta keep a lid onnit...hold it in...stuff it down.

Can't let them be afraid...the family...they worry enough already.

(Crap...didn't I do this once already when Jim died????)

sonofabitch.

It's OK...it'll be OK.

Oncology doc and my research say it's treatable...curable...rip the bastard out and all will be well.

That's my story and I'm stickin' to it.

To life.

A Womb with a View

Ultra-sound tomorrow.

Oncologist needs to see how big the garage door needs to be and whether it will be robots or fingertips deposing the toad king from the throne.

They're also gonna poke me and take a few million blood samples.

Wheeeee...I get to be a pin cushion.

Ain't life a kick inna pants.