Thursday morning

I'm taking the day off of work because I still have 3 vacation days left (not counting the 5 that I am allowed to "carry over") and stand to lose them otherwise. That means I have started a 4-day weekend as we have tomorrow off because New Year's day falls on the weekend.

In the end this part of CT received about 8-10 inches of snow here, although more (and in some cases less) in some other parts of CT. NYC - 30 inches. Places in NJ - 32. It shut down airports across the NE. Echoes of England and Moscow. The BBC reported the other night that stranded passengers in Moscow airports protested. Good for them.

On Tuesday, as I was shutting down my computer and getting ready to leave early because of the appointment at 4 pm with Dr. M, his office called. At 1:15 pm. Yes, to again postpone the appointment. The 4th appointment date/time and 3rd postponement. Originally scheduled 11/30. Postponement 1 to 12/20. Postponement 2 to 12/28. Now postponed to 2/22. His office wanted to reschedule for 1/6, but I see Dr. R on 1/18, and the original follow-up plan - as I (at least) understand it - was to see one or the other of them every 6 weeks, not both of them 10 days apart. So I suggested postponing seeing Dr. M until late February. Of course his office had to check with him. That took a day. But he agreed. I told the girl from his office I would bet her a coffee that the 4th appointment date/time gets postponed yet again. Presumably he must believe I am doing okay; if I trust him - and I do (or think I still do at this point) - then I have to believe he would find a way to see me sooner if he felt he needed to see me sooner. I don't think Dr. R will postpone. She'll just be late. That's her M.O.

When you are actually a "cancer patient" (meaning - going through treatment), none of this stuff gets to you. You feel so vulnerable, and so much at mercy of the medical team that is providing your treatment, and at the same time, you also feel so grateful for receiving the treatment, that you take whatever is dished out without complaint (I remember the lovely woman, L, I met in the group chemo room one day who had to wait more than 6 hours to receive a blood transfusion! She and her husband and I had a long talk. I hope and pray she is hanging in there; she was dealing with a recurrence of lymphoma, I think. I ask anyone reading this to join me in sending thoughts and prayers her way). At the same time, when you are an actual "patient," at least it seemed to me as if less were dished out and more care was taken to keep appointments, to be on time, etc. Therefore, perhaps the lesson to take from facing the frustrations of going back to being treated in the "normal" way is to see it as a sign of progress and even "health." I'll have to (try to) keep that in mind when Dr. R is late and Dr. M's office calls to postpone another appointment.

Hoping to take Ella to the dog park today, although I'm not sure what it will be like since it's likely to be covered in snow. I guess the dogs will enjoy that.

Peace.

Sunday morning

Under a "winter storm warning" and waiting for 10-20 inches of snow, supposedly to start falling around 1:00 p.m. We'll see. These weather people tend to exaggerate.

Yesterday Ella and I went to the park. It was quiet. No creatures stirring, barely even squirrels. The pond is thoroughly iced up, the north side with interesting patterns in the ice, like darker veins.

It's hard when the entire Western World is commercializing Christmas to not be aware of the particularity of the day and then to recall what was going on in my life a year ago. It's hard to look back and recall those days and be realistic about how I was feeling then. I recall my children's visit here last December and my son remarking how healthy I seemed. That's what steroids will do for you during chemo, I guess. At any rate, now I do feel healthy, but creepingly older ... as in joints hurting, old injuries - broken bones in one foot, twisted knee and torn ligament in an ankle - all complaining, especially as the air pressure lowers and a storm approaches

I see Dr. M on Tuesday - assuming he doesn't postpone for the 3rd time. I'm looking forward to the visit, actually.

Then a new year. One that takes my daughter to Haiti, that brings a Republican majority to Congress, that sees millions of people in this country still without jobs - and even in that position being better off than so many millions upon millions of others across this globe.

Can't we take small steps toward peace, justice, equality and good will in 2011?

Peace.

Thursday afternoon

Feeling better. Had a good visit with J and V in NYC yesterday - long bus rides, but even that time was relaxing in that I read and listened to podcasts. And got out of work early today. Here it is 4 pm and I'm home. Taking Ella to the vet for a booster shot in about an hour. After that... it's a 3 day weekend.

Peace on earth. Now if possible.

Tuesday night

This is Ella. I've been feeling how she seems to look in this photo (although actually this is just one of Ella's quirks: she lays her big head with long goofy ears down on anything she can; here, the arm of the couch.)


It's been a rough week or so, mostly because of work. Without going into details, I think there is a growing possibility that I will be laid off in the foreseeable future. I'm trying not to be overly dramatic or paranoid and at the same time face up to what seem to be a growing pile of little factoids. 18 months ago my worry would have been strictly financial - could I find another job that paid enough to live on. Now I have to worry if I can find another job at all, and if I could do so, whether it would offer medical insurance, and if it did, whether my being a cancer survivor would cause the insurance company to refuse to cover a "pre existing condition." I think I am the most "at risk" because I am the only non-lawyer in the group. The people making these decisions (all lawyers themselves, naturally) "naturally" believe that a lawyer is always more "efficient," more "cost effective," bringing more "value" than a non-lawyer. (What do you call 22 lawyers at the bottom of the ocean? A good start. What's the difference between a lady lawyer and a pig? Lipstick. Why do you always need to bury a lawyer at least 15 feet down? Because deep down a lawyer is a decent person. ... etc. etc.) I spent last weekend freaking out, actually having nightmares about work. Then this week fear turned to depression.

I think the fact that my daughter is in Atlanta with the rest of my family (except my aunt and my cousins) - my son, daughter in law, grandson, brother, my kids' aunt and cousins, their dad and his girlfriend - and I can't join them makes me blue. Especially as my daughter heads down to Florida to make a Jan 3 flight to Haiti where she will be for at least several months. And maybe the holidays just bring with them a blanket of blue.

But mostly, it's horrible at work, maneuvering, manipulation, politics, all likely preliminary to outright backstabbing and worse. And then, you manage to take just a step or two back and get a little objectivity and you realize how self-absorbed you are being. If you do get laid off, at least you HAD a job, a job that paid well; at least you HAD insurance when it mattered most - when you had cancer. At least you eat every night, you have clean running water, a roof over your head and heat. And that's just the start of how lucky you are. You have loving family and friends who themselves have the foregoing. And of late, you also have a very very goofy new dog.

So on to happier subjects: tomorrow I'm going to NYC to visit with J and V from California. A real treat, first to be away from work, second to pass through NYC at holiday time with a no shopping agenda, and most of all, to see J and meet V!

Meanwhile, another photo of Ella in her Yoda The Wise pose. Ella - you will only be dragging me around the block for a few more weeks. Basic dog obedience classes begin on January 9th!






Peace. Peace. Peace.

Saturday morning

Ella and I went to the park this morning. Cold. The pond was covered with ice which was covered with a very, very thin layer of snow. Only a trace of snow on the ground. No ducks. Where do they go? It seems to me that this time last year - of course, I was just getting into the chemo routine - but it seems to me that the ducks were around longer. Perhaps they have just ... moved ... temporarily. I guess I'll find out.

I went to a wake this week, M - a woman I knew through work, a wonderful person. She was the account rep for one of the suppliers we deal with and I negotiate contracts with. She became a kind of role model for me; someone who was always professional, courteous, but not formal or cold. Warm and personable. Always calm. Always listening. She became a friend. Less than a year ago she retired, after 30 years on the job. I knew we'd miss her, but I was happy that she would have more time with her family, kids, grandkids. Then about 4 months ago, I learned through people at her former company that she had been diagnosed with Corticobasal degeneration, a degenerative brain disease that is very rare and quite horrible. It seems to combine the physical degeneration of Parkinson's type conditions with the mental degeneration of Alzheimer's and then speeds up both degenerations to destroy - physically and mentally - its victim over a very short period of time. At any rate, M died this week- age 66 - after a last year more terrible than can even be imagined. May she rest in peace. May M's memory be a blessing for her family and for each of us who were graced with having known her.

My daughter prepares to go to Haiti to work early in January. Meanwhile the Haitian people are in the streets, raising fists and voices. And Cholera slinks through the camps to strike more and more. There is a Yiddish word - shanda - it means shame. But in a sense that we don't seem to have a real word for in English or in the Western sensibility. At any rate, Haiti is a shanda on the West, the industrialized countries of the world, and the U.S. in particular. To permit Haiti to suffer as it does ... a shanda. I again urge each of you to buy a calendar from S.O.I.L., whose work is only a small step forward, but important.

On a lighter note, I installed my roller-feeder bird feeder. So far, no birds have found it, or perhaps they are puzzled but its odd shape or perhaps I didn't fill it correctly. I intend to check later today. However, the good news is that the evil little rodent monster squirrels have found it and been foiled! I didn't see this, but this is David's report: a squirrel scrambled up the pole that holds the feeder, just as it had done successfully with the old feeder. It reached out its grasping little claws to grab the new rollerfeeder, and when it did, the rollerfeeder turned and the squirrel had to make a quick decision -let go of the pole and hang from the roller feeder? Or let go of the roller feeder? It chose the latter and then found itself trying to hold onto the pole with its little claws. Instead it slid down the pole.... rrrrrrrrr.... plop. Ha! Foiled! Since it's dark when I go to work and dark when I get home, I haven't had the pleasure of seeing the squirrels being foiled yet. I'm hoping to enjoy that experience this weekend. Thanks again to my friend H for the tip on roller feeders!

Dr. M, my primary oncologist, called last week to again postpone my next check up. Now scheduled for December 28th. This time the postponement didn't take me aback. I called and made an appointment in January with my opthomologist. I was on the point of having cataract surgery before Cancer came knocking. I think I need to think about it next year, but in the meantime, I'm pretty sure I need a new prescription.

Enough. A wish for peace to each and all, near and far.

Friday morning

Gosh, more than a week since I last wrote here and that only to say Happy Thanksgiving! I'm writing on Friday morning because I took 1/2 day vacation today; I'll go in to the office in an hour or so.

Today was a milestone. I got my haircut for the first time in more than a year. A year ago the day after Thanksgiving, my friend H took me to her stylist who shaved my head. Today I went back to L, the stylist, and she trimmed my chemo-curls. Kind of short, but this way I should only have to go back every 8 weeks or so.

We adopted Ella and are continuing to enjoy getting to know her. She has a canine sense of humor. She will lay on the floor on her side or back and toss one of her "toys" in the air and try to catch it when it comes down. She has very large paws and, in general, is a BIG girl. The Rescue Group's "ad" on line about her said she weighed about 50 pounds, but I took her to the vet last night - just for a check-in/check-up, and she weighed 69 pounds - a 19 pound difference - and she's not through filling out. She was very thin when she came to us and the vet thinks she should weigh around 72 or 73 pounds! She's very long - from the tip of her brown (not black! I'm used to black noses) nose to the end of her soft curly tan tail. She has what I call a "girly dog" bark - I am used to a deeper bark from Jessie, and Ella kind of squeak-barks. She likes to stand with her paws on the radiator cover and look out the window, hunting squirrels and generally checking things out.

We have been to the park a few times, most recently last weekend. There was ice forming on the pond, not thick or deep, just a silvery skim. Then we had warm days, and now cold again. This weekend my guess is there will be more ice.

Thanks again to my friend H I ordered a new bird feeder to hang in front of our living room windows. The one I hung there earlier this year was discovered by the evil cabal of squirrel thieves that apparently call the trees in our yard home. The dastardly little rodents are able to claw their way up the 1/2 inch square metal pole - how I don't know - and then leap to the edge of the feeder, causing it to rock wildly, hang on and grab seeds. They've eaten most of the last 2 refills. I've given up filling the feeder until the new one comes. It is called a "rollerfeeder" (check it out: rollerfeeder.com) and H says since she installed it, the squirrel thieves in her neck of the neighborhood are completely foiled. She said they got on it a couple times - and when they do, the feeder "spins" so they hang on the bottom or something and anyway, can't reach the seed. After a couple of tries, they gave up She says they sit on the deck below where the feeder hangs (where they could reach it) and stare at it. I assume the gears of their little rodent minds are turning as fast as they're capable of, seeking a solution. Hopefully they won't find it - or evolve higher intelligence - at least in my lifetime. The new feeder hasn't arrived yet - maybe today! I can't wait to ruin the nasty little rodents' day.

Wow - some hostility towards squirrels, right? I bought a "bird feeder," not a "squirrel feeder". Those squirrels seem to have no trouble feeding themselves.

At any rate, that's an update on the personal side.

Wiki Leaks in the news. Long term unemployment at rates never seen, and Congress in its spineless capitalist-loving wisdom, did not renew unemployment benefits. A year since the earthquake in Haiti, almost, and in one month recently 30,000 new cholera cases. I read that they brought in porta-potties (Western style like for Rock Festivals!) which have to be emptied, but there's no technology to do that, so then they have to pay a company much $$ to haul the filled porta-pots away, dump them in a rubbish dump (which just lets the sewage seep back into the ground) and bring them back. Great solution - recycling the waste literally "through" the human community - by collecting it, paying someone to move it and dump it on the ground, so it gets in the water where people drink it, and then get diarrhea (or worse - cholera).

Where have all the flowers gone?

Thursday evening

Happy Thanksgiving!

Wednesday morning

Ella and I went to the park this morning. A chilly and fierce wind was blowing; kind of eerie.

My daughter called the other day; she has been offered a job in Haiti with S.O.I.L. She intends to accept and go to Haiti in January. She's informed them about her application to UC Santa Cruz (although she recognizes that if UCSC does accept her for the 6-month program that starts in April, she still has to find a way to get the money to attend). At any rate, it sounds like S.O.I.L. would let her go attend the program and, I guess, come back afterwards. She just posted this link on Facebook which I - taking a clue from the article title - read and decided to share here:

http://dyinginhaiti.blogspot.com/2010/11/if-you-dont-read-anything-else-about.html?spref=fb

As I prepare to roast a free-range turkey for David, his brother and myself, along with sweet potatoes, acorn squash, stuffing, apple cobbler, David's delicious cranberry walnut bread - my thoughts are with those in Haiti, waiting for foreign and local bureaucrats to address their life-and-death struggle with cholera, to provide simple IV fluids that would save 80% of those affected. I know for what I am thankful - I have had a good year, with a good job and health insurance, a great team of oncologists, loving family, supportive friends, and together beat back the beast, Cancer. My children are healthy. My son working, my daughter-in-law providing the center that holds, my grandson growing, thriving. My daughter finding her own path and commitment to repairing the world. My brother well, my cousin C recovered from an almost fatal accident, my aunt feisty as ever, my cousin D hanging in there, her brother D, supporting his lovely big family. All their children well. For what should those dying of an all-too-curable disease in Haiti be thankful for this year?

Ah... peace and justice... The sun shines down on all, but suffering still lays a dark shadow on those who least can bear it. Why? For how long? I can only ask, what can I do?

Saturday morning

I went back to the park today, first time since I went back alone after Jessie died. Today I had our foster dog, Ella, with me. It was good to be back. It was strange to be there with a dog other than Jessie, but still good to greet the creatures. Today the creatures that appeared were limited to ducks - many of them - squirrels - more of them - and at some point, a big gaggle of Canada geese. Literally dozens of them, pushing the Mallards out of their preferred spot close to the shore of the north (big) side of the pond to hog it for themselves (if a goose can be said to 'hog' something). Ella seemed to enjoy being at the park, especially the squirrels.

Ella is a very different dog than Jessie, not just physically - she is a mix of perhaps German Shepherd dog and definitely Greyhound - but personality wise. She is sweet, and more expressively affectionate than Jessie (a grand sign of emotion from Jessie was to push her nose into your arm and possibly, if you were VERY lucky, to lick your hand one time). Ella is capable of sprawling out on the bed or floor, or curling on the couch and vegging out (if a dog can "veg out'), but she is lively when we go outside. She's learning to walk on a leash, but still tends to dance on it a bit. She's mad for squirrels. I can tell Ella has "sight hound" in her (versus "scent hound"). Of course she sniffs around a little as we walk, but not as much as Jessie or other dogs I've known. Instead she is incredibly focused in watching everything around her. She will stare upwards, at the sky, when a flock of crows go overhead. The other night she stared at the moon, which was nearly full, gleaming in the night sky.

News on other fronts - today is the start of a week's vacation for me. Thanksgiving and the day after are holidays at my job, so I took Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday off as well. No real plans - except to relax, get to know Ella better, perhaps straighten up the house a little. My oncologist, Dr. M's office called and postponed my November 30 appointment to December 20th. That felt weird - gave rise to a feeling of slight insecurity, as if to stay healthy I needed to see him sooner rather than later. But of course, if he is comfortable that I can wait 3 weeks, I can wait three weeks. So I'll see him 12/20 and then Dr. R in late January at which time I'll make the appointment for the next CT scan, likely in April (which will be 1 year since finishing the chemo/radiation/chemo treatments). I still wonder how cancer survivors measure their survivorship - from their diagnosis (in which case I am One Year out) or from the end of their treatment, which would be April for me. From diagnosis seems to make sense because, in fact, I HAVE survived for one year since my diagnosis. In some ways, it seems much longer; in other ways, the year has flown by. As Thanksgiving approaches, I recall last year's holiday, when I had just started chemo, and I think it was the Friday after Thanksgiving that I went and had my hair shaved off. Now my head is full of curls - chemo curls. When people compliment my hair, I tell them they too can have such curls, all it takes is a few months of chemotherapy! Actually I like my curly hair - I am just trying not to become invested or attached to it, since I understand the effects of chemo on hair often are not permanent.

In the world, madness. Cholera in Haiti. Cholera! Unbelievable. My daughter is planning to go back to Haiti next year, again to volunteer with S.O.I.L. (http://www.oursoil.org/). Perhaps some day I'll be able to go with her. She designed their new 2011 calendar for them - available at the foregoing website. It's a great organization and I encourage all to support it (of course, I'm buying a bunch of the calendars and so some of you may get one from me as a holiday present!)

Then there are the mid-term election results. A pox on all their houses. If government's acts (and omissions) didn't cause and increase real world suffering, I would say the next 2 years might be "fun," in the sense of watching a deadly poisonous snake eat itself tail first.

Being in the park today reminded me that life persists, even when the world seems to turn dark, when tree limbs are bare, and grass and leaves brown and decay, and the air is chill, life hunkers down and reserves itself, and waits patiently for its time to come again, to push out and strive. This is the way of nature, and are we not creatures of nature? Can we learn to be patient, to hunker down when we must but still to have hope, reserve our strength and find our own time, and then stir, rise and strive?

Peace and kindness.

Thursday evening

Another mammogram out of the way. Results fine. Bone scan apparently indicates I have whatever the preliminary to osteoporosis is, so I guess I do need to try to take calcium and vitamin D. At any rate, these are issues that are much easier to deal with than those I faced at this time last year. I realized the other day that I had reached a one year anniversary of the first chemo. I remember how petrified I was. Recalling those feelings in turn recalls all the love, support, compassion and kindness of so many friends and family members that supported me - without each of you I would not have made it through those first dark difficult days, and all the others that followed. I am a lucky human being.

On another front, a strange development. David and I have been missing Jessie so much, herself specifically, and as a representative of all loyal, loving dog friends who make themselves so "present" in the lives they are called on to share. And without any real intention of taking any action, I began a few days ago looking on line at dogs available for adoption in CT. (That's how I first found Jessie - on line under the heading "Urgent!".) And one little dog face struck me some how. A day or so later I sent an email to the contact for this dog, just asking how old the dog was with no intention of anything further. Turns out this dog - who is now called Ella - has a deep story. She is about a year old, some sort of shepherd-mix, tan, a big girl but not huge. She was rescued by an organization called Connecticut Underhound Railroad (I kid you not) from a shelter in Missouri where she was to be killed within a day or so, or even hours. Someone there contacted this organization in CT (as well as dozens of other rescue organizations around the country). Even though the organization here had never rescued any dog from the midwest (they work with "high kill" shelters in the South), something about this particular dog struck the woman who received the email. And one thing led to another. The woman here committed to the volunteer in Missouri to figuring out how to get the dog from Missouri to Maine (where the woman lives). The woman in Missouri arranged to board the dog somewhere in Missouri in the meantime. It took a month or more for the woman here to arrange transportation to bring the dog to Maine (where the woman lives) and a little longer to find a place in Maine to "foster" the dog - a "doggie day care center." Then the organization posted Ella's picture on line as available for adoption, a few weeks ago, I think. And this week, I saw it.

Now David and I may meet Ella this weekend - if arrangements to bring her from Maine can be worked out - and "foster" her for a week or so to see if she likes us and we like her and even might want to adopt her long term. In a way it seems too soon after losing Jessie. In another way, it feels like something that just is supposed to be happening. Even if we decide this is not the dog for us long term, perhaps we will keep her as a "foster" dog for a while. I have to think, that Jessie would approve of us helping another dog in any way, short or long term.

So very many dogs, treated like disposable toys, discarded for any or no reason than convenience. Of course in a world in which human beings treat other human beings - even children - as disposable, how can I be surprised that some would treat "mere" creatures the same and worse. Perhaps one day dogs will evolve (while we humans are still yelling at each other on MSNBC and Fox News) and learn to speak for themselves and rise up, seek justice. They can only improve this world, and I for one will be happy to hand it over to them, to the loyalty, commitment and love they embody every day. Perhaps if I learn to evolve some more myself, one of them will consider me to be "adoptable."

Peace. Kindness and compassion to all creatures, including little Ella.

Saturday morning

A picture from my trip:



I'm home after a full week away. I flew to Nashville, TN on Thursday, Oct. 28th and stayed the night, visiting with Aunt M, Cousin C -- who has fully recovered from her terrible car accident back in July - and a visit from Cousin D and Crazy Larry. Then Friday drove to Atlanta. (I was very nervous about driving to and back from Atlanta, but it worked out okay.) I spent Friday evening through Tuesday evening with my son, daughter-in-law and grandson, who turned four while I was there. My brother John joined us some of the time, too. For my grandson's birthday, my son and I drove with him down to Cordele, GA to "Day Out with Thomas" (Thomas the Train, for the uninitiated). It was about a 2-hour drive each way, but my grandson was SO excited and had such a good time. My son's father (my ex), H, met us there, driving up from the GA coast where he now lives, and my grandson loved having Grandpa there, too. And it was lovely to have the 2-hour ride each way to talk with my son (who kindly did the driving!). Then I drove back to Nashville on Wed and flew home on Thursday. Wed night, we cousins plus Crazy Larry had a rip-roaring game of Triple Yahtzee (used to be my mom's favorite). It reminded me of how good it is to "do" things together, rather than TV-watch. By the end, I was ready to come home. Sleeping on couches and strange beds, living out of a suitcase, being a "guest" - it gets harder as one gets older, I think. But all in all, a lovely week (and very nice to be off of work for 7 work days - I took off the Friday after the day I got home, too).

Now I'm home and the apartment is quiet and empty feeling - no Jessie. Poor David was here by himself for the whole week and I know he really felt Jessie's absence. (Another benefit of going out of town for a week was changing my surroundings which helped - or at least postponed - dealing with losing Jessie.) Yesterday after I got back I went to the vet's office and picked up Jessie's "remains". It made me sad just to drive up to the vet's office and go inside. At some point fairly soon I will scatter her ashes in the park. It's not so much that that was Jessie's "favorite" place. I'm not sure she had a favorite place. She loved being out anywhere, really. But we spent so much time there together over the past year, and I expect to keep spending time there, so going there will be a way to continue to be with Jessie. I'm not quite ready to do the scattering yet. But I don't want to wait too long either.

While I was away, the mid-term elections took place. I saw television again for the first time in 2 months - haven't been missing much, from what I could tell, especially as leading up to election day, the TV was full of nasty election ads. It will be interesting to see what happens over the next 2 years. My grandmother - may she rest in peace - who grows wiser every year that I grow older, used to say "Be careful what you ask for - you might get it!" I would offer the Tea Party and Republicans that same advice. Of course, my main feeling is a pox on all their houses.

Monday I have a mammogram and bone density scan. Then I see Dr. M on November 30th. I think December may be a doctor-free 31 days.

Peace and well-being to each conscious being - 2-legged, 4-legged and no-legged (whales! dolphins!) - on earth.

Tuesday night

I saw Dr. R today and the CT scan results were fine. She referred to me as "healthy". I see her again in late January and as I understand it, we'll schedule another CT scan then to take place 3 months later. That would be April, a year after the end of the chemo. Wow. Time goes by. Better pay attention.

Next up: mammogram in early November and Dr. M at the end of November. Perhaps December will be a medical-appointment free month.

Thanks to all who sent kind words of support as I waited for CT scan results. Dr. R said next time, to call her the day following the scan, and she'll have results. No need to wait almost a week until I see her.

I am sitting here with a lovely image of Jessie dancing before my eyes. She is up there some where - or out there some where, as the case may be in a perfect universe - in doggie heaven. At last she is finally "socialized" appropriately and can now finally play with other dogs, one doggie pleasure she never had in this world. And there my other dear, dear dog friends, Emma and Sabrina, are waiting and greet her, saying, "Hey Jessie. Welcome to the next world. We have a chipmunk waiting with your name on it. Can you beat us to it?" And off they all bound, together, telling doggie tales out of school about life with Laurence Anne.

Peace.

Sunday morning

I went to the park this morning, for the first time in ... I'm not sure ... years ... without Jessie. It was difficult, but good and I thought it was important as a sort of tribute to Jessie. It brought back deep and visceral memories of Jessie. The date is almost exactly one year after my cancer diagnosis and a little more since Jessie and I had begun walking in the park together on a very regular basis. Because the daylight savings time hasn't changed yet (or changed back, I always forget), it was dark when I arrived, despite being 6:30. I walked our regular path, eastern loop, then western loop. That one Canada goose that appears to have been left behind was on the large side of the pond. On my way back, the little duck family that inhabits the small side of the pond was there. Many birds calling out. But still dark, quiet, still. No one else there. I felt sad but also I felt Jessie's presence somehow.

H so kindly asked me if she and M could make a donation in Jessie's memory. We adopted Jessie from the Meriden Humane Society, in Meriden, CT. I tried to look them up on line, but they are a small place and don't seem to have a website. Their street address and phone number are: Meriden Humane Society, 311 Murdock Ave, Meriden, CT 06450-8310
(203) 238-3650 ‎

Another shelter I regularly donate to is the Atlanta Humane Society where I adopted Emma. Their website is: http://www.atlantahumane.org/donate/donate-to-animals.php

Of course, a donation to any organization that helps find homes for unwanted dogs or generally looks out for the non-human members of creation would be a wonderful memorial for Jessie.

Now to learn to live without that cold nose pushing under my arm, saying "Scratch my ears! Take me out! Feed me! Let's go for a ride in the car! Hurry I want to chase the squirrel I just saw outside!" Little by little, I guess.

Tuesday I see Dr. R for CT scan results. Thursday I fly to Nashville and start 11 days (including weekends) of vacation.

As if there were not enough suffering in the world, cholera in Haiti. A link to a Partners In Health website: http://www.pih.org/blog/entry/cholera-outbreak-on-the-ground-in-st-marc

Peace

Saturday morning

She's gone. Jessie is gone. I will write more about the circumstances another time. May Jessie's memory be a blessing for each of us who knew her. She was a good creature who lived life according to her own path. She was a good loyal friend. I just realized that I have spent more hours with Jessie over the past years than with any other living being. In particular, over the past year, she was my constant companion and support. One year ago this past Thursday was my surgery and initial cancer diagnosis. I truly believe I wouldn't have made it through the year without Jessie. May she rest in peace and may I be blessed with the thought that she may run through the woods of another place, sniff the air of another world, chase squirrel-like critters and maybe even catch one. Jessie, Jessie, peace be upon you now and always.

Peace.

Wednesday night

CT scan done. To confess how screwed up we (okay, I should say... "I") get, when the CT scan was done and the technician was putting a band aid on my vein where the contrast dye had been inserted, she was "nice" to me resulting in me thinking, "Oh, she feels sorry for me because she saw something horrible on the scan." Of course, that's unlikely for many reasons. I don't know that the scan "results" were immediately available. I don't know that if they were available, they were available to her, I don't know if they were available to her, that she actually took time to look at them. The whole thing was very fast. But the point is, when she was nice to me, my immediate thought was, "Uh oh ..."

Last couple of days with Jessie up and down, trending down overall. Today she hasn't eaten, at least since this morning. Not good. Maybe tomorrow I will have to go to the vet and get a prescription of steroids and try those. My understanding is that is sort of a last resort, so I want to be sure this isn't another temporary downturn.

I'm glad the CT scan is behind me. Now waiting until 10/26 for the results. Difficult.

Peace, peace to far and near.

Monday morning

Things change, don't they?

Jessie took a turn for the worse on Friday and I feared the worst. She was very weak, had thrown up. I called and talked to her vet. We decided to take her in. Her vet was booked, but we could wait for the first available. She seemed a little better afterwards and I almost changed my mind about going in. In the end, we went in and waited and eventually saw Dr. R, a very nice young Hispanic vet. She took Jessie to the back, did blood tests, an x-ray, felt her abdomen looking for fluid. The bad news was that the "mass" appears a little bigger and possibly affecting her liver. The good news was no fluid (which I gather would be a bad sign). Also the vet said Jessie "fought" them when having the blood drawn, x-ray made, etc., which the vet said surprised her and was good sign. Jessie got a couple of shots to help with her vomiting and diarrhea and we were told to not feed that that night, then starting the next day, small meals 3-4 times a day of a bland diet - chicken and rice - and to give her Pepcid. So that;s what we've been doing all weekend.

She's definitely feeling worse than a week ago. All day Saturday and Sunday, she would not get up on the couch or bed, generally her favorite resting places. She had to be coaxed to go outside, and sometimes to eat. When she did go out, she didn't want to go far. At 1:30 a.m. last night she went out with David, but just in the yard, ate and he got her to get up on the couch. This morning I just fed her - and she ate with energy - and we walked around the entire block. I think it's a vicious cycle: she feels week so she doesn't want to give the effort to jump up on the couch. Then she gets stiff and sore from being on the floor, which reinforces not wanting to give the effort.... Anyway, when we got back from walking she jumped on the bed, where she is now resting (and David is snoozing - he was up from midnight until 6:00 a.m.)

Poor Jessie. It's hard to know what to do. The vet said on Friday that for what it was worth, she did not believe Jessie was in pain. Discomfort, yes, at times, but not pain. The vet also said that this is all "normal" with this type of sarcoma - bad days and better days and worse days. You would think I would understand this from my own experience, but it's different. I was going through "treatment" that did have cycles to it - ups and downs - but most important, an overall goal and end which was - thank God - not death. This is more like hospice care.

I remember sitting in the hospital with my mother about a month before she passed away, in the evening. I said I would stay with her and sent others home. I sat by her bed and held her hand. She shifted in uneasy sleep. She groaned. She was so thin, a skeleton wrapped in long stringy sinews covered by papery skin. I told her it was okay to let go, to rest. I thought as much as I didn't want her to die, I didn't want her to suffer and she so seemed to be suffering. And I remember thinking, "Let it be now." It would be a good time and a good way to die - in the quiet of the night, with someone who loved you holding you, talking to you, not alone, not with a stranger, not while medical personnel "worked on" you. But she did not die that night but a few weeks later after my brother and I, my kids had all gone home.

Anyway, I'm not suggesting Jessie is a human being, but she is a living creature and a loved soul. And I feel I have responsibility for ensuring she not suffer. And that's hard.

Peace.

Friday morning

it's the first day of my 4-day weekend. Nothing planned. David and I were going to go to Rhode Island, camp and kayak, but then his employer changed its mind about giving him today off. Then Jessie became ill and going away, even for a night over the weekend, didn't seem a good idea.

Jessie is ... hanging in there. I feel like late yesterday and this morning she was more subdued, perhaps more uncomfortable if not in pain. But she continues to eat her $2.50/can "Grannie's Pot Pie" dog food AND the boneless chicken thighs that I buy at Whole Foods, cook for her and give her pieces of as "treats". Sometimes she doesn't seem to feel like eating; but then a little later, she will eat. As long as she eats...

I met yesterday with my friend R, who is undergoing 12 weeks of chemo for breast cancer, to give her a supply of caps, hats, and scarves from my own chemo-baldness collection. She seems to be doing very well. It is hard to believe how scared she was when we met after her diagnosis and before she started treatment. She is now 7 weeks down, 5 to go. Then some sort of radiation. I had told her, back when she first told me about her diagnosis, that once she started treatment, she would actually feel better, that I thought the hardest thing to bear is the unknown. We make the things we worry about bigger than they can possibly be. Once we know what we actually face, facing it becomes not easy, but easier. R says that helped her. I'm glad. To be truthful, talking with her helps me, makes me find within me the kind of tendrils of strength that empathy, friendship and compassion water and bring forth. It gives me joy to see her facing the future with courage. To the extent that I helped her at all, in any way, I am the one enriched.

Now, less than a week until my CT scan. Following, thankfully, only 48 hours later by a plane ride to Nashville to see Aunt M and Cousin C, and hopefully Cousin D and Crazy L, and maybe even the other Cousin D. And then a drive - which I think I am actually looking forward to, as long as the weather is okay (don't like to drive in heavy rain over Mont Eagle between Tennessee and Georgia; not fun with the 18-wheelers zipping by) - and some lovely days with my growing grandson who will be 4 on October 31, and of course, with his mom and dad and with his uncle, my brother John. Knowing that trip is out there, waiting, gives me a focus past the CT scan. I have no idea why I am anxious, and actually, am not quite sure how anxious I am. I think, if I think about it, I get anxious. So I don't much think about it. It's not like there is anything I can DO about it; what happens, happens. It's out of my control. Why spend the hours I have between this moment right now and the moment I learn the results of the scan, worrying about the results. Worry won't change the results, which actually are likely to be - intellectually at least I recognize this - fine. On the other hand, worry could - would - screw up the time between now and then. So I choose to (try to) not worry.

It is hard sometimes to know when choosing not to worry about something is just avoiding something that needs to be faced. Like when all this started, and I put off going to the doctor longer than I should have. That was not a good "choice," that was avoidance. I guess the crux is the quesiton: is there sonething within your control that you can DO about the thing you are worried about? If I chose not to have the CT scan in the name of "not worrying" about the results, that would be stupid. I hope I'm past that type of choice.

But who knows? We face new challenges all the time, throughout life, don't we? Who can say what causes courage to rise up and support us, not just once, but over and over? I think courage may not so much be a permanent character trait as a renewable one. Each time a new test comes up and confronts us, we are tested again. Maybe having courage is like unfolding a solar panel in our soul. Whenever a challenge blazes down on us, the panel may light up, so long as in the meantime clouds haven't closed in, throwing down their shadows and making it hard for courage to shine through. Maybe finding courage is about keeping that place in our soul open and available, trying to grow it. But there's no guarantees. We just do the best we can, don't we?

Hurrah for the Chilean miners! Hurrah for Chile and its commitment to rescue them. I hope the world media cannibalizes itself except to the extent their interest permits these miners and their families to earn something that supports them and enables them never to have to go down to the bowels of the earth in the service of corporate profits again. I have to wonder if the US would have done the same for trapped miners here. In fact, I have to wonder whether mines in the US are so unsafe that trapped miners would not have been able to survive long enough to be rescued. Bah! A pox on all capitalist greed!

Peace. May all people everywhere know peace and rest today with the same sense of joy and homecoming as 33 Chilean miners are doing.

Monday evening

Jessie and I went to the park yesterday morning. I borrowed David's car - I thought it might be hard for Jessie to get in/out of my truck's "backseat" - and we only walked the south (shorter) loop, but we went to the park. The Mallards are there. While we were on the loop, I heard Canada geese honking their arrival. Sure enough, when we came back to the pond, there were 5 Canada geese couples standing in a row at the pond's edge. Jessie seemed to enjoy herself, and it was really wonderful to be back there with her. Jessie had a good day today, too.

* * *

Man, something horrible just happened to this Blog as I was writing it. I lost about 3 paragraphs. I'm too tired to try to re-compose it. I'll write more later, or tomorrow.

Peace.

Friday night

We're still here - Jessie and me. Jessie is doing well, I think. She definitely likes the canned dog food that the guy at the pet food store said was the "tastiest" brand they sell, something called Grannie's Pot Pie. Looks pretty good. She's still going for walks - if anything, seems a little less stiff. She sleeps a lot, but maybe I'm just hyperaware of how much "reclining" she always has done. I stopped giving her the pills for Lyme disease and she stopped throwing up. Hmmm. Cause and effect? Given the sarcoma growing on her spleen, treating her for Lyme with pills that make her sick to her stomach doesn't seem really to the point.

Anyway, to all who continue to send kind messages, wishes, and prayers out to Jessie (and me), thank you. Jessie thanks you, too, and... what? What? Oh, Jessie says to tell you "Thanks for the prayers, but could you please pray for more chicken."

As of tomorrow, it is I think 5 weeks since David and I cut off cable TV. Since my TV is a small, decrepit and quite pitiful analog model, no cable means no TV whatsoever. Of course, I suppose I could get some sort of digital converter box, but we haven't and don't intend to. At some point in the future I would like to get a very small flat screen digital TV so that we could watch broadcast TV, especially PBS. But not yet. We're still in the detox phase. I did sign up for Netflix, the cheapest offering - 1 movie at a time. This results in about 1.5 movies a week, which is about right for us. A friend at work lent me some time ago a "book on CD" of a Harry Potter novel. It has some unbelievable number of CDs - like 17? I began listening to it on the drive up to Maine when I went to Wooden Boat School for my lofting class, and again on the drive home. That got me through about 6 or 7 CDs. So David and I have been listening to it on some evenings. It's wonderful. It makes me think I will look into getting other books to listen to.

At any rate, no TV is a really good thing. It makes the evenings seem much longer. Occasionally there is a kind of "twitchy" feeling, a kind of withdrawal - more emotional than physical but still real - where I find myself thinking "there is something I should be doing" kind of thoughts - and ironically the "thing I should be doing" is wasting time with the TV on, and thinking "what a waste, there's nothing on TV."

Perhaps Jessie will feel well enough one day this weekend for us to go to the park together. I haven't been since the Sunday she became ill, which will be 2 weeks day after tomorrow. I can't bear to go alone. I accept that at some point I will have to do so because I need the park. Well, that's my wish, my prayer - that Jessie will feel well enough that I think it is okay to ask her to clamber into the car and go to the park at least one more time.

Autumn arrives. The trees are turning loose their leaves, some yellow, orange, red. Many brown. Nights are cool, hinting at bringing a chill. My favorite time of year. One year ago next week, I was going in for the first surgical procedure that didn't happen because of "bleeding,' that led my gynecologist to recommend the hysterectomy that led to the diagnosis of cancer. One year ago next Wednesday,

The seasons turn.

Peace.

Monday night

So far, so good. Jessie seems to be doing well. We made it through the weekend - which I admit, worried me, in part because if there were a problem our vet's office would be closed except Saturday morning, and we'd have been forced to go to an "emergency" vet office. Instead, Jessie's doing okay. She eating. She jumped up on the bed and couch on her own, again, 2 of her favorite "reclining" places. She's gone for walks, including some around the block. She seems somewhat subdued, but not in pain, not suffering, and generally okay. She tracked a cat which hid under a car in our parking log, and went to it and thrust her nose threateningly towards it. David said today she growled at the postman when he delivered the mail, her usual MO. Thanks to all who've sent kind messages, called, etc. Keep Jessie please in your thoughts and even prayers.

Meanwhile, I realized that I haven't had a chance to begin freaking out over the fact that 2 weeks plus a day or two is my next CT scan, followed in a few days by a visit to Dr. R for results. I admit, I am nervous. No particular reason except that I am. I guess that will continue - God willing - for the coming many months/several years. I wonder if you ever really put all anxiety about a recurrence behind you. Probably not, but perhaps the fear and anxiety are dampened with time. At any rate, I am going to assume I'm going to be okay (or try to) and focus on Jessie.

David and I went out to do some browsing at Barnes and Noble yesterday and I ran into Nurse E, my oncology nurse. It was good to see her in that context. We talked Jewish holiday experiences.

Peace. Peace. Near and far.

Saturday morning

No surgery. The vet who did the ultrasound, and Jessie's vet, both felt the results were ... bad. A bad mass. Aggressive, fast growing. Jessie's vet said she didn't feel good about the surgery. I guess if I had insisted, she would have done it. She felt it was unlikely to lengthen Jessie's life much if at all, could pose other complications. On the other hand, if she had the surgery and it went well, it could make her temporarily more comfortable. A very very hard decision, but because both Jessie's vet and the vet performing the ultrasound, felt Jessie's prognosis is very dire, it didn't seem right to put her through the surgery with no change of changing the ultimate outcome and only a slight chance of extending her life. So we brought her home.

I understand she could live just a few days or a few weeks, a month or so. At some point the sarcoma - Jessie just like me has an aggressive sarcoma, but mine thank God was treatable; if only Jessie's were! - will tear and bleed. The vet says she will become suddenly weak and we should bring her immediately to the vet. We have some pain pills for her. Not sure exactly what will tell us it is time to give her those.

Meanwhile, hospice care. I was worried that she wouldn't eat. We were told to "entice" her with anything we could. I went to the Pet Supplies store and asked for the "tastiest" - not the healthiest, who cares, we're past that - tastiest food they had. I brought home 3 cans. We began with a flavor called 'Grannie's Pot Pie." Today we're on "Thanksgiving Dinner." She's eating. She got up on the bed on her own. This morning she slept there while David was sleeping. She's been out for several walks, including one around the block, and seems stronger. Interesting in sniffing things.

I don't think she's up to going to the park. I'll see. Maybe tomorrow if we don't go too far. I can't believe we've been to our park together for the last time. Does not seem possible. And now I look back and think how precious all the past months have been, all the times Jessie and I went to the park together. It was good for her. It was life-changing for me. I am very grateful.

And so it goes.

Peace.

Friday morning

I visited Jessie this morning. She looked so much better; wagging her tail, moving around, hating the "cone" around her neck that keeps her from getting to the IV in one of her front legs. The result of 18 hours of receiving fluids. I met with the vet. They are going to do an ultrasound which should clarify whether the "mass" involves her liver or other organs. If it does, then likely no surgery. This way we don't put Jessie through the surgery if it really won't help her. The vet will call after the ultrasound.

I was just so happy to see Jessie feeling better. We were in one of the examining rooms. She was antsy, and didn't really want to settle down and just "visit", so I decided to let them take her back to the back. When we left the room, she pulled straight for the door to the outside - she wanted to go HOME. I felt sad to make her go back, but happy that in the short run, she obviously is feeling so much better.

I'm trying not to think about the possible bad outcomes, not yet. I am stubbornly clinging to hope. Jessie is better, stronger, and if she has a chance, I think she will fight to get well. The "what if" she doesn't is for later. Now is for "what if" she pulls through and gets spleenlessly well. Sounds good to me.

Peace.

Thursday evening

It's not Lyme disease. At least, Jessie may also have Lyme disease, but that's not the only or main thing wrong. When David got her to take her medicine today, and she threw up a couple hours later, still not eating much of anything at all, I called and got an appointment. I had to stay at work - today was end of quarter and one of our biggest days (I worked 12 hours yesterday and again today) . David took Jessie in. He called me later to say he'd left her there for them to give her fluids. They found "a mass" in her abdomen. Anyway, later the vet called me. They can't tell if it is malignant or benign without operating to remove her spleen and then a biopsy. The vet said there is more than a remote chance that it could be benign, and if it is, Jessie should be fine without her spleen. They are going to do a couple more tests in the morning - including more chest x-rays - to see if more tumors/masses are visible in other places in her body. If they are, then the surgery is probably not warranted because likely it is cancer and has already spread. If they don't find anything else, then Jessie will likely have the surgery in the morning. I have no idea how long it takes to find out results, except my guess is that even if they don't have formal "biopsy" results back right away, the surgeon will have some idea whether it "looks" good or bad.

I feel so bad for Jessie. I'm going to go visit her in the morning - because if she does have the surgery, the vet said there are risks and sometimes things happen, and I want to be sure to have been with her.

It feels ... extravagant to spend money for surgery on ... a dog ... and if the vet said or says tomorrow that the chances are overwhelming that it is cancer and her future is bleak, then I would say why make her go through more trauma of surgery. But if she has a chance- just a decent, fighting chance - to be well, healthy, I feel she deserves that chance. The first 3 years of her life were hard. She's just begun to really thrive. It's not enough. I want to give her that shot. Unless there is really no shot and it would just be harder on her.

Pray for sweet Jessie. Pray for all creatures who suffer- 2 legged, 4 legged, finned, winged - whether in hunger, in thirst, in pain, in disease, in old age, in loneliness, in poverty, in war, in fear.

Peace. Peace. Peace be upon us all, now and always.

Wednesday night

Jessie is only a smidgeon better; she had a little more energy today. With David's help, she got on the bed and rested there through the afternoon (she had been too weak/sore to even get on the bed or couch, 2 of her favorites reclining spots). She isn't eating, though. She did eat the "treat" with her medicine in it this morning, and one other "cookie". Tonight she ate another "treat" with pills in it, and a few scrambled eggs. Within an hour, she threw up - the eggs and I think the treat/pills, too. This isn't good news. However, she did walk around the block with David earlier today, and again tonight with me. Not much, but better than last night when all she would do was go out into the front yard. I guess we have to give it another day, but if she won't eat ...

Please keep Jessie in your thoughts.

Peace.

Tuesday afternoon

Lyme disease. At least that's what the vet thinks it likely is. Jessie tested positive for it (apparently a large number of dogs test positive for Lyme disease but are asymptomatic, at least for a long time.) The vet said that Lyme explained all of Jessie's symptoms. We came home with a vial of pills; the vet gave Jessie her first dose of 2 pills while we were there. Now it is 2 pills twice a day until they are used up. The vet thinks if it is Lyme disease (and only that) causing Jessie's symptoms, Jessie should feel better in just a day or two. And the pills will "cure" the Lyme (although she could get it again and we probably should have her vaccinated against Lyme, but only after she is completely well - about 2 months).

A big relief. I hope that it is Lyme and only Lyme. Not that I want Jessie to have Lyme disease, but it beats the alternatives - which could include all kinds of horrible things like ... cancer etc. But first things first - we need to get her past the Lyme and see if she gets back to her old pesky self.

Jessie perked up a little at the vet. Even ate a few treats given by the vet. But now, back home, she clearly still doesn't feel well. Nothing sadder than a sick dog... except - God forbid - a sick child.

Peace.

Tuesday morning

Jessie is sick. I don't know what it is. She's been a little finicky about her food for a couple of weeks. We thought it was the by-product of us spoiling her a little, giving her a "treat" from our dinner now and then. She had developed a habit of not eating her food if we were having a meal, and then after we finished, going and eating. But she was eating albeit less enthusiastically (in the past, she's been a wolfer). We went hiking on Sunday, a fairly rigorous hike. It pushed me (of course I'm out of shape) and it seemed to push Jessie, too. When we got home, she flopped down and stayed there. I expected that and so wasn't worried. She did eat her dinner and went for her normal nightly walk. Then in the middle of the night, she woke me with the sound of ... throwing up (sorry to be graphic). That was early yesterday morning. Since then she is lethargic, hasn't eaten. She has drunk water. She has gone outside to go to the bathroom, but is obviously not herself. I had called the vet for her annual check up which is next week, but I don't want to wait. I will call them when they open this morning and see if they can see her. Poor Jessie. Seeing her like this brings up so many feelings in me, which I try to push aside. This isn't about me. This is about Jessie.

I'm going to try to post a recent photo of her.



Pray for Jessie.

Peace.

Sunday morning

Good walk in the park with Jessie this morning. With the shortening days, arriving at 6:00 a.m. meant we were able to see the sun rise. Again it seemed a quiet morning, creature-wise. The most unusual creature spotting of the day was at the end of our walk, when to prolong it some, I took us back around the pond on the opposite side. There are two interesting trees - some kind of curly leaf willow - that must have once stood very close to the edge of the pond, both of which have fallen over or been toppled by wind. And there they lie, and seem to be thriving horizontally. Odd. Anyway, we passed them, keeping an eye on the pond in case the heron appeared. I heard voices and thought perhaps other walkers were approaching us from the other side of the pond. Instead we came upon a young couple laying down on colorful beach towels. A little further long, we came across another young couple on another brightly colored beach towel. At 6:45 a.m.? I wondered if they had spent the night in the park. At any rate, other than the Mallards, squirrels and one lone Canada goose (who seems to have been left behind) - these 2 couples were the only wildlife we encountered this morning.

Yesterday I attended the "Celebrating Survivorship" program at the hospital, celebrating survivors of gynecological cancers. There were perhaps 75 or 85 people there, mostly women, but obviously some spouses and other family members. Dr. R gave a brief introductory talk. Dr. M didn't talk, but was mentioned by numerous women who "shared" their stories at various points during the program. It evoked a wide range of mixed feelings in me. First arriving and getting a hug from Dr. R caused me to tear up. At the same time, it did seem that the majority of women there have put cancer further behind them than I have at this point. (This was the 7th year of this program.) It was inspiring to see so many women doing well, but also reminded me that I am still very close to the experiences of diagnosis, surgery, chemo and radiation. I ran into Dr. M at the end of the program and again, I have to say, that seeing him is a very positive experience for me. He exudes a belief in my being "cured" - not to say that he doesn't want to see me regularly, etc., but he seems so confident.

That's important because I realized something recently, which I expressed to my girlfriends V, S and M, when we had dinner last week. I realized that during the first 2-3 months after my treatment ended, I felt ... great. It was such a relief to complete treatment. It was an even greater relief to find myself feeling better and better every day - instead of worse and worse as had been the case during the accumulated side effects of the various treatments. Then at some point - not exactly sure when, but more or less some time during August - it seemed as if as my life really began to be "normal" again, I found anxiety lifting its ugly face within me.

What was I anxious about ? I asked myself, when I became aware I was. I guess that's obvious - that cancer could reoccur. And not only come back, but come back worse. It was as if during the first several months after treatment, I had no expectations beyond day-to-day living. Just being alive was wonderful. I was just grateful to put treatment behind me and live. All too soon I found myself becoming invested in making "plans," in thinking about "the future." "Today" was not enough, I wanted more. And so the fear of "what if" was born: What if cancer comes back? What if I only have a year to live? 5 years to live? What if? (And, you know, the first time you go through cancer, what you're afraid of is more-or-less the unknown. Because you've never had cancer or gone through chemo. But now, this "what if" is a grown up "what if" that has a better idea of what's involved. In some ways, an informed "what if" is less scary than fear of the unknown; but in other ways, it carries the weight of the concrete, the dread of reality.)

I need to remember what I wrote in"What I've Learned (So Far) From Cancer" - which I remind myself WAS addressed to me. I don't know if cancer will come back. But am I really going to spend every day in the meantime being anxious about that unknown? Even a perfect morning like today's, when the sunrise spread like a blush across the sky overhead? When Jessie sat patiently, likely hoping for a careless chipmunk's passing, as I moved slowly through my T'ai Chi form's pattern? When I heard birds calling nearby, and noticed how the flowers in the beds of the perennial garden all leaned as one, together, tilting to the east? Should I spend these precious moments being afraid?

This is all I have. This moment. I will not be afraid. At least I will try. I will live and I will be stubbornly hopeful.

Peace.

Sunday evening

To the park with Jessie this morning. I woke up early, so early in fact that we had to wait a bit before we went so that we would not arrive in the dark (the park is supposedly open dawn to dusk). We saw the sun rise. Silver mist still lay shining on the meadow. Creatures were not stirring. I did my T'ai Chi form.

I made it through the Yom Kippur fast, aided I think by sleeping yesterday morning unbelievably late (for me): 11:30 a.m. Well, I did get up for a while - from 7:00 until around 8:00, reading. Then lay down on the couch and woke up at 11:30. I made it to synagogue at 12:00 noon. Services went until 3:00 p.m. and started again at 5:00 p.m. I came home and took another nap and went back at 6:00 p.m. Services concluded about 7:45 p.m. It is amazing what 26 hours without food or water does to those of us who are used to having both food and water at hand at any hour and all hours. Sobering liturgy, to paraphrase: On Rosh Ha Shannah it is written and on Yom Kippur it is sealed: who will live and who will die, who will die at his appointed time and who before his appointed time, who will grow wealthy, who will grow poor, who will die by fire, who by water, who will become lowered and who will be raised up. A year ago I went into Yom Kippur aware I had a medical "issue" - within weeks, I was in surgery, received the cancer diagnosis, etc. Now, here I am, NED - no evidence of disease. I think what Yom Kippur does for me is remind me not to take anything for granted.

I am wondering how cancer "survivors" count their "survival" - from their diagnosis? or from the end of their treatment? If from diagnosis, I am coming up soon on one year.

Next Saturday there is a morning program at the hospital where I had my surgery and cancer treatment for gynecological cancer survivors and their family. I have signed up. I heard Dr. R will be there. David likely won't go with me as he'll just be coming home from work, but that's okay. I have ambivalent feelings about it but think I will likely attend.

Meanwhile, on the home front - I am making plans for a trip to Atlanta, hopefully for my grandson's 4th birthday (Halloween). And as of yesterday, we have not had a working television for a week. We cut off cable and because we don't have a digital-ready TV, no TV whatsoever. An interesting week. We have watched movies. It seems like we have a lot more time.

21,000 people in Connecticut have already or are on the point of running out of 99 weeks of unemployement. The "poverty" level for a family of 4 is $22,000. $10,500 for an individual. Where would that individual live? What would that family of 4 eat?

I don't understand human beings, not forgetting that I am one, too.

Peace.

Thursday night

Just taking a quick moment to say things have settled down at work. I got through it. Thanks for those who sent messages of support. It's scary how a couple of days like that at work can bring home to you how much of your time (life) you give over to your "job" and how deeply things that happen there can affect you, not just on the surface (as in financially), but emotionally. I try to keep things in perspective; it is a JOB, not my life. And as I get older - and post-cancer (if just newly so) - I realize that I am more and more ready to let things go, to see it as a "job." The troubling thing is knowing that with a history of cancer, I am one of those people with a "pre-condition" that might never get medical insurance again if I left my current job. That changes things. Still, I had a talk with this woman at work today about the whole issue of letting go of things you can't control (this was a discussion about things in her life, not mine, but the lesson remains).

Tomorrow night is erev Yom Kippur - the eve of Yom Kippur. The Day of Atonement. The day that God is said to "seal" the fate of every living thing for the year to come - in the Book of Life OR ... not. On Rosh Ha Shannah (New Year, last Thursday-Friday) it was "written," and on Yom Kippur, it is "sealed." Not sure where I am intellectually on this, but after more than 25 years of observance, the rituals and traditions of this holiday season are part of my emotional makeup now. The fast begins at sundown tomorrow and ends at sundown Saturday. Not just no food, but no water. It is almost always difficult for me, physically. I don't think I'll ever be able to say - and probably shouldn't - that I "look forward" to it. But perhaps I have come to dread it a little less each year. Not sure. I guess I've come to believe that I will do the best I can. And I will try to let go of the rest.

Can't we all just do the best we can? Could we believe that others also are - usually if not always - just trying to do the best they can? Could we cut a little slack for someone we're usually hard on? I'm going to try. Could it hurt that much to do that? For anyone I've offended in the past year, I ask your forgiveness. And for anyone who offended me, I forgive you.

How wonderful would it be for the world to start anew with a clean slate?

Peace. Peace. Peace.

Tuesday night

You know how some days are just ... off ... like slightly off kilter, off balanced? Just a bad day. That was today. Not cancer-wise. Just generally. Waking up late. Rain threatening. Work bad. Stabbed in the back and disrespected. Not a good feeling after 10 years. Ended up getting an innocent person drawn into a mess. Ick. I'm glad I'm old. I don't want to work 30 more years. I wish I could walk away today. Become a bookseller at Barnes & Noble. But there, cancer does rear its head. Now I have a "pre existing condition," and likely I'll never get insurance again. The Republicans will capture the House and Senate, overturn Obama's pitiful healthcare law, and I'll be living under a freeway overpass somewhere. Do I sound sorry enough for myself? Yes, a self-pitying wretch am I.

Keeping things in perspective, the 14 year old nephew of a colleague at work is battling cancer again. Back in his bones. He's been battling since he was 8 or 9. Back to Sloan Kettering this week. I am full of self-pity because of a bad day. And this young man? The ways of the world are hard and mysterious. I reel.

Okay, I am clinging to this shred of a more hopeful outlook: I received beautiful pictures of my grandson yesterday from my son. I'm going to post one here and go have a short glass of Jack Daniels.




Peace. Peace to my wrinkled angry heart. Peace across the whole wild world. Peace. Justice. Joy. Health. To one and all. Strong bones. Strong hearts. Peace.

Thursday morning

La Shannah Tova - Happy New Year. Today is Rosh Ha Shannah, the Jewish New Year. A day a of renewal, new beginnings. It is said to be the birthday of the world. I am taking the morning off of work to go to services at synagogue, but will not go until a little later. So Jessie and I went to the park.

It was a particularly beautiful morning in the park. Heavy dew on the grass, the hint of autumn coolness in the air. A lovely sunrise. There were many joggers. More than usual, even on a weekday, but we were a little late in arriving; it was 6:15 before we got there this morning. Possibly because of the joggers, the wildlife seemed subdued, hidden. There was a single Canada goose near the pond. Sitting in the morning sun by itself, stretching out its neck from time to time. I wondered if it were a juvenile, left behind. Or an older goose, not able to keep up? The ways of the world.

I am reading a book of essays by E.B. White that I bought at the Wooden Boat School's store. Who knew the author of Stuart Little lived in Maine. He had lived in NYC and written Talk of the Town for the New Yorker, when he and his wife (also a writer or editor for the New Yorker) and small son moved to Maine very near where the Wooden Boat School is. Eventually the son, Joel White, became a very well known boat designer and builder, running the Brooklin Boat Yard. Joel White was also on the board of directors of Mystic Seaport at some point. He (Joel) passed away from cancer about 6 or 7 years ago. Anyway, E.B. White's book of essays are drawn from columns he wrote for Harpers after he moved to Maine. They are wonderful, in so many ways. Acerbic. Funny. Delightfully spare prose. I'm trying to read slowly, to savor his words.

There is a pastor in Gainesville, FL who has advertised his plans to burn the Qaran on Saturday, which is September 11th. He has some crackpot idea that doing so is some sort of protest of terrorism. Of course, crackpot or not, he has obtained more free publicity for his 50 member cult-like church than he could have hoped for in his wildest dreams. Just about the entire world has told him, asked him, suggested to him, threatened him or begged him not to do this. Army generals tell him doing this will endanger US troops. Bloomburg in NY - needing to be consistent (Hobbes: consistency is the hob-gobblin of small minds), feels the need to say that this pastor "has the right" to burn the Qaran, but shouldn't, a neat 180 degree position from Bloomburg's views on building a mosque/community center in the vicinity of the World Trade Center location. The Gainesville Fire Department says there are local ordinances against burning ANY book, at pains to try to explain that this is because the INK in books is somehow toxic when burned. They assure the public they are "making preparations" to prevent any violation of this law. Obama called the guy a nut and said what he is doing is anti-American. (Anti-American? Since when is decency an "American" concept?) The pastor has received death threats, including some that sound very serious.

What is it about we human beings? Do we really have to have multi-billionaires on the one hand and impoverished millions on the other hand? Do some men really have to believe that women should walk around covered from head to toe in black? Does one pastor in Florida really believe burning a book he admits he has never read does anything positive whatsoever? If he does it, will some other man really feel the need to kill him? Or blow up other men (and likely women and children) in protest?

Where is Rodney King when we need his eloquence? Can't we all just get along?

They reported on the news last night that 2 asteroids passed between the Earth and the moon yesterday. That is a distance of 250,000 miles. They said it was the equivalent of threading a needle. One asteroid was big enough to have caused incredible destruction should it have missed the eye of that "needle." The scariest part was that scientists didn't know about these asteroids' proposed path until Sunday! Is that what we human beings need? A poke in the "eye"?

Let's wake up. Let's be kind. Let's wage peace.

Monday afternoon (Labor Day)

Just a quick note - Jessie and I went to the park this morning. A beautiful morning. Two feet or more of fog lay - gray, misty and mysterious - across the surface of the pond and the meadow between the pond and the rose garden. We walked both loops and as we came back toward the larger part of the pond, there was the heron standing in the water next to the larger island in the center of the pond. (I couldn't stop myself from thinking of the ick-factor as far as the "water" she stood in, but she's a heron so I guess it doesn't bother her.) Anyway, a lovely morning.

Later David and I took Jessie to Barkhamstead to walk where we could let her off leash. She led the way. We went up quite a hill, and scrambled over and then down rocks. A good hike. It was good to see Jessie being a dog-like dog.

I've been watching videos on line of Christopher Hitchens talking about his escophogal cancer.

Peace.

Saturday morning

Birds in the air.

Jessie and I went to the park this morning; downgraded "hurricane" Earl had passed by Connecticut in the night and at 6:00 a.m. the dew point was busy dropping. The sunrise was beautiful, the sky clear. Probably in my mind, but it seemed as if the park itself, its garments of grasses, trees, shrubs and flowers, and its creatures all sighed with relief. We walked the eastern (shorter) loop. A couple was sitting on bench in the perennial garden near the rock garden where we often stop and I sometimes practice T'ai Chi. I thought, do I want to do my T'ai Chi where they can see me? Then reality dawned: this couple did not have an interest in a 60 year old woman and aging dog unless perhaps I stripped naked and paraded in front of them. So we went to the rock garden. Jessie lolled. And I did T'ai Chi.

Something I think doing T'ai Chi on my own has taught me is that whenever we do an activity under the authority, guidance and watchful eye of a "teacher," we don't really make it our own until we do just that. Do the activity on our own. I personally think it would benefit us in our T'ai Chi class if our instructor would have each of us do the form individually (e.g., in front of the rest of the class), not necessarily for critique but so that each of us experienced the form individually. I think if she had us do that, the others in the class would be sooner to go off on their own, apart from the class, and try it. As far as I know, only J (and possibly D) have done so besides me.

Back to birds in the air. After we walked both the shorter eastern and longer western loops, it was so lovely out, I decided to walk around the pond itself. I didn't expect to see any of the wildlife that has been in hiding lately - the foxes, the muskrat, the heron - but still thought it would be a nice walk for Jessie. As we walked along the northern edge of the pond, suddenly movement over the pond caught my eye - about 20 feet away from us, the great blue heron had leaped into the air. I could see the feathery fringes along her head. She was so close. Her neck in an S shape, legs out behind her. Yellowish beak. Two birds overhead in two days. Wow!

A good morning and good beginning to a 3-day weekend.

Peace.

Friday evening

Jessie and I got to the park this morning. I had planned to take the day off to have a long(er) holiday weekend, but ended up needing to go in 1/2 day. So I went in late - at least for me, 9:00 a.m. - planning to leave early -- at least for me - 2:30 p.m. So we got to go to the park. Not much going on there, creature wise. The Canada geese seem to have disappeared. I'm sure they're visible somewhere, but not in our park. Wonder if the heat has driven them northerly. The Mallards were out. Jess and I were crossing the little bridge that divides the larger northern part of the pond from the smaller southern part when a female Mallard flew right over us. I mean right over us as in 4-6 feet over us. She was just taking a short cut from the small side to the larger side of the pond (rather than paddling over all the way under the bridge). Even though we arrived fairly early - a little before 6:00 a.m. - there were already other people there. Must be the weekday routine, which seems very different. I guess I am among the strange human beings who think getting up at 5:30 on a weekend is a good and pleasant thing.

Anyway, that was my morning.

I spoke to my friend today who was recently diagnosed with breast cancer. She had her first chemo treatment and sounded good and strong. 11 weeks of once a week, followed by more weeks (I forget now how many) of treatment every 3 weeks.

I feel good, stronger all the time ... and guilty. So many other people are still going (or just starting down that dark path) through chemo, radiation, surgery, all three, and often with much more critical diagnoses. On a TV commercial I heard that some horrible number (of course any number is horrible) of children - 40? I can't remember - are diagnosed with cancer every HOUR. Can that be possible? That's horrible. Even one child with cancer is unacceptable.

What a world we live in.

Peace. Peace. Kindness. Health.

Tuesday evening

I'm home and back into the routine of work-life. I saw Dr. M today and he pronounced me "doing fine." My next appointment with him is November 30th! He seems to have very strong belief that I am (truly) "well" and, seeing that belief etched in his expression and tone of voice, gives me confidence. September should be a doctor-free month. Then in October (the 1 year anniversary of my surgery and cancer diagnosis), Dr. R and ... de dum ... first "real" CT scan (real in the sense of not immediately following 4 months of chemo/radiation/chemo).

My vacation was good. The Lofting class was a challenge but good. The instructor was really excellent. I learned a lot. I was able to go sailing one afternoon in a very small little boat - a lot of fun. Camping was good. The weather was warmer than either of the past 2 summers, and had been dry, which kept the swarms of mosquitoes to a minimum. I saw a toad, a bat. I heard about porpoises in the cove where the sailing class sailed daily, and seals, but did not see them with my own eyes. It was particularly good to disconnect from almost all "connections" - no TV, no radio (except NPR for literally 3 min four times a day when I drove from the camp site to the place where breakfast and dinner was served), no internet. I brought my work mobile phone and talked to David very briefly every day; that was the totality of my "contact" with the non-Wooden Boat School, non-Maine world. One cool morning with silvery dew still thick on the long grass of the meadows around the camp site, I wandered down near the water of the cove and did T'ai Chi in the wet cool long grass. It was a good vacation (and I stopped at LL Bean and found a pair of blue jeans that fit! Another important accomplishment as any middle aged woman who has tried to find jeans that fit will attest.)

I will try to post a few photos. One of the "shop" where my class took place (we were in the "loft" upstairs). A couple of the actual "lofting" - the 4-1/2 foot by 16 foot whitewashed plywood board on which we drew the full-size lines of the 3 dimensions of the boat we "lofted" - a Whitehall pulling (rowing) boat. And one of me sailing that someone in my class took. Let's see if I can get the pictures here




The shop. The "loft" is up the stairs seen in the foreground.







Now, evidence of actual "lofting" (I drew some of these lines!): the "profile" view of the Whitehall (e.g., looking from the side), showing a detail of the "stem" (part of boat running down the bow/front at the center):


One more of actual "lofting" (these are pencil lines on white background; not sure if they will show up here at all):












Finally, me sailing the Nutshell Pram on a sunny warm Maine afternoon just before sunset. Mmmm. Good.





Vacation is good. Everyone should have vacation. I suppose first everyone should have a job. A job that pays a living wage. And then - everyone should have vacation.

Peace. Peace. To far and near.

Saturday afternoon

I'm on vacation. Well, it's Saturday and "vacation" doesn't start until Monday, but no more work for 9 days! Hurrah!


First things first. Today I actually saw the heron and got a couple of photos of her. Don't know how they'll show up on this blog but won't know until we try. So here goes:


As soon as I had taken these photos, my camera crashed - well, just that awful message that says WARNING YOUR BATTERY IS KAPUT. Or whatever. Anyway, the heron exists!

I'm getting ready to leave early tomorrow morning to drive to Maine to Wooden Boat School to attend a boat building class, "Lofting." I'm nervous. Naturally. Part of my nervousness is just anticipation, actually pleasurable. This will be my third year at WBS. First year, a sailing class. Last year, the "build your own daysailer" class. Now Lofting. Partly I'm anxious because Lofting is esoteric and notoriously difficult. But I'm not taking the class to "do" anything with it, so I can't really fail at it. Still I remember last year, as the only woman in the class (which likely will be true again this year) that I felt intimidated by the background knowledge that all the men had - how to use this tool and that tool, maybe not for the specific purpose of that class, but in general - where I hadn't even seen many of the tools before, let alone used them. This year the tools are less intimdating - pencil compass, dividers, straight edge, measuring tape, combination square, framing square, hammer, pencils, colored pencils, notebook.

As the days have passed and the time to drive up to Maine has neared I found some level of anxiety increasing that doesn't seem to have to do with the foregoing. And I think it is tied to the fact that last year, when I went to WBS for the class, I was experiencing the "problem" that ultimately led to the discovery of my cancer, surgery, chemo, radiation, etc. Oddly I had had the problem occasionally before I went to Maine last year, and during the entire week I was up there - nothing - I was fine. And then when I came back, the condition worsened, almost suddenly, and that's what sent me to the doctor for the first tests, and other procedures that led to ... well .. we all know what. And so somehow I think there is some association in my thinking, emotions, memories - of going to Maine and coming back and getting cancer.

Of course I know, intellectually, there is no association except temporally and circumstantially. But the brain is in charge of the emotions like a cowboy rides a bucking bronco - occasionally, for short times and with difficulty. So maybe it helps to identify what might be the source of this low-level background anxiety I've been feeling about the trip this year. Because on top of it is great pleasurable anticipation. I love it at WBS. I loved camping last year. I like meeting the people, being challenged in the class.

Another thing that perhaps lies below the surface is the fact that 2 days after I get back I have another "check up," this time with Dr. M. Should be not a big deal. But I have not reached - do we ever truly reach - the point where I can be nonchalant about "surviving" cancer.

I don't know if I'll be able to post from Maine. I don't plan to take my computer, but I think there is a computer available to check email and so on. I will take photos and write notes and post when I get back.

In the meantime, may all the world know the joy and peace of "vacation" - in health and in peace.

Peace. Now. Please.

Saturday morning

Okay, that's the way it goes. For the last several weeks I've been taking my little digital camera to the park on the weekends and snapping a few photos, always hoping, waiting, hoping to see the heron and get a picture (in fact, it was Crazy L down in N'ville who suggested I try to get a photo of her). So this morning, when the weather up here finally breaks through the hazy heat and cools to the point of having a soupcon of autumn's crispness, I think to myself "Why drag out that little camera again? I haven't seen the heron and then I spend my walk thinking about having the camera ready in case I do see her, or one of the foxes. No, this morning I will just walk."

So first thing, we arrive, get out of the car and walk over to the pond. And there she is, on our near side of the pond, on the shore, our heron standing tall and green/grey/blue among the squatty ducklings. And there we are. No camera. And that's the way it goes.

No foxes this morning. Last weekend one fox ran across the road that circles the park, about 15 yards in front of us. Later a jogger called out as she ran past us, "Be careful! There are 3 foxes out there!" Three? I've only seen two Be careful? Does she think they will attack us? Perhaps she thought that Jessie might go after them, and she is very interested in them and if she were off leash, indeed, she might give chase. But in a fight between my Labrador Recliner and a wild-but-suburban fox, I would actually give the fox the edge. Ergo, she's right - be careful.

A couple of months ago, I think I pooh-poohed Dr. R's statement that I would "notice a difference" in "about 4 months." It has been 4 months since my last chemo treatment and I do really now notice a difference. My fatigue seems almost back to normal, meaning as usual for a 60 year old not in great shape woman. But basically I feel good. I get so many compliments on my "haircut" - ha, no "cut" this - from so many quarters. And I do like having my hair so short. Still haven't used a comb or brush - not since November of last year! (To think a year ago I was considering getting my hair cut "short" (which ended up being about 3 times as long as it is now) and was all anxious about it. At any rate, now the only question for me is finding someone to cut it periodically to keep it short). The main lingering and annoying side effect of the chemo is the neuropathy in my feet - still feel like the balls and pads of toes on both feet are wearing cotton padding, half-numb, semi-swollen feeling, weird. Worse in the heat. For a while it seemed to be improving (affected more of each foot after the final chemo and gradually improved until only affecting the balls and toes--but it's stayed that way for a while).

Last week I finally was able to get together with a friend with whom I've wanted to have lunch for many many months. Now only to learn she has been recently diagnosed with breast cancer herself, has had surgery and now faces chemo and radiation, We talked and I hope sharing my experiences was helpful, but afterwards I realized even from 4 months out, I look at my journey through cancer diagnosis, surgery, chemo, radiation and more chemo - from hindsight already. After we had lunch I gave her the address for this blog. Later I read some of the early posts here again for the first time. I was struck by what now seemed like a bright red cord of fear/anxiety woven through the overall fabric of my emotions - humor, bravery (or a good imitation), compassion, and always that undercurrent But I made it through, in large part I know (and knew then, too, I hope) because of family and friends who were just outstanding. Anyway, don't they say that bravery isn't not being afraid, it's going on when you are afraid. Somehow I managed. I think my friend R will manage, too. She is strong. There are people who care about her, I among them.

You know, it's a lesson from cancer for life, I guess, we don't have to figure it all out now, face every fear, deal with every problem today. Today, just today. One step. If it's too much, slow down even more. Share with someone. If there's no one, write it down, get it out. Find a park. A pond. A heron.

Peace.