Everything is okay.
I just skyped with my son and grandson! Two lovely young men. My daughter appears to be thriving in Haiti, finding work to do that matters.
The new pooch, Ella, continues to shine at Dog Obedience School and was able to find canine friends to play with in the snow at the local school yard both yesterday morning (on a walk with me) and this afternoon (on a walk with David).
David and I went to a very lousy concert on Friday night. Well meaning, but overwhelmingly awful.
Work is stressful. We're supposed to get more snow on Tuesday and Wednesday. I'm supposed to go to NYC on Thursday to attend a one-day seminar.
People are rising up in Egypt, following Tunisia, and touching off things in Jordan, and Yemen, and Lebanon. An older Israeli woman interviewed on TV said "we're afraid, we're all afraid." A young Israeli woman said "why shouldn't the poor in Egypt have jobs and enough food and their rights."
A cyclone heads for Queensland, already flooded, in Australia.
The world turns. Things change. Uprisings. Fists. Men wave flags on tanks. Soldiers mix into the crowd, shout slogans. Women in veils march in the streets. Fierce.
Hope lays out there in the world like the ground holding the memory of grass lays frozen beneath the thick snow cover, so deep you think it could last forever. It can't. Spring will out.
Peace. Peace. peace.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Saturday morning
Finally - a few birds landed on the new squirrel-proof Roller-feeder. David figured out how to increase the height of the pole it hangs from; that probably helped. And 30 inches of snow over the past couple weeks probably created the hunger. I think the problem may be the type of seed I used, based on something I read on line today. I might try changing the seed. Also we've had the delight of watching a couple more squirrels try to beat the "squirrel-proof" functionality. Foiled! (Of course, squirrels are creatures deserving of compassion, too. But they need to get their compassion somewhere other than my bird feeder!)
I've been thinking about how we develop our attitudes, well, really our neuroses, and specifically, our fears about doctors and medical care. Of course, disease and injury are scary, so if we associate doctors with disease and injury ...
[WARNING to the particularly squeamish - some of the following could be a little gross!]
At any rate, I am recalling an incident that happened when I was in my early teens, perhaps 14, maybe 15, that shows my attitude/neurosis/fear of doctors was already established. I was in New York, visiting my father, out on Long Island. Several weeks, maybe even a couple of months earlier, I had stepped on a piece of glass - not while in NY but in the backyard of my mother's house in Florida before coming to NY for my visit. I remember doing it. I thought I had gotten the glass out of my foot - from one heel specifically - and forgot about it. Now here I am weeks or even a couple of months later up in NY. My heel on one foot began hurting and I remembered having stepped on the glass those weeks/months earlier in Florida. I didn't mention it to anyone. The discomfort gradually got worse and became really painful if I put any weight on that foot. But still, I didn't tell anyone about it; I remember not wanting to go to a doctor or hospital but not exactly why not.
Finally one evening the whole family - my dad, stepmother, little brother and sister, older brother, and whoever else was there (the house always had visitors/guests) - was going out somewhere and I managed to convince them that I didn't feel up to going, not mentioning my foot. I think I probably claimed to be getting a cold, or having bad period cramps, or something. And they all left.
I went to my dad's bathroom and found a straight-edge razor blade. I got alcohol from my step-mom's bathroom. I washed the bottom of my foot with soap and water. Then I soaked the bottom of my foot in alcohol. Meanwhile I soaked the razor blade in alcohol as well. I then proceeded to slice off the skin and callous that over the weeks/months since stepping on the glas had grown over the injury. Eventually I remember there was just a final thin layer of new pinkish skin. And I sliced through that, too, and out spewed icky green-yellow pus and a tiny piece of glass! I washed out the place with water and then, gritting my teeth, soaked the foot in alcohol. That hurt! Then I bandaged it up, put on a sock, cleaned up the sink in the bathroom where I had done the deed, put back the alcohol and threw the used razor into the garbage. I curled up with a book and waited for my family to return.
They came home. "Feeling better?" someone asked. "Oh, yes," I said. Of course, I was worried about the wound becoming infected but thought since it had obviously already BEEN infected, what the hell. I kept it clean, changing the bandage often till new skin grew over it in just a few days. And never had a problem with it again. And never told anyone about it.
What kind of trauma or other experience had I had as a kid that would lead me at age 14 to "operate" on my own foot rather than tell my parents that I was in pain so they could seek medical help? I don't know; I don't recall. I remember being very afraid of getting shots from my childhood pediatrician. That's the only specific childhood "bad" memory related to medical care I have. Perhaps I suppressed something worse?
Anyway, the point is, that when I think of myself over the last year or so, when I was experiencing the symptoms that eventually did drive me to go to my gynecologist and ultimately led to the cancer diagnosis, surgery, chemo , radiation and more chemo - and I beat myself up for taking so long to get up the courage to go to the doctor, then I recall my 14 year old self, performing a kind of "surgery" on my own infected foot rather than seek help, and I know that whatever unconscious fears I have about doctors are deep-seated and won't be overcome overnight. I feel sad for the 14 year old girl who cut open her own foot and watched pus pour out, and then bathed the open wound in alcohol. Poor girl.
What complex beings each of us is! Who can stand in judgment of any other person, when even judging ourselves may break our heart?
Peace, peace, peace. Compassion for our memories, may they strengthen us for the future.
I've been thinking about how we develop our attitudes, well, really our neuroses, and specifically, our fears about doctors and medical care. Of course, disease and injury are scary, so if we associate doctors with disease and injury ...
[WARNING to the particularly squeamish - some of the following could be a little gross!]
At any rate, I am recalling an incident that happened when I was in my early teens, perhaps 14, maybe 15, that shows my attitude/neurosis/fear of doctors was already established. I was in New York, visiting my father, out on Long Island. Several weeks, maybe even a couple of months earlier, I had stepped on a piece of glass - not while in NY but in the backyard of my mother's house in Florida before coming to NY for my visit. I remember doing it. I thought I had gotten the glass out of my foot - from one heel specifically - and forgot about it. Now here I am weeks or even a couple of months later up in NY. My heel on one foot began hurting and I remembered having stepped on the glass those weeks/months earlier in Florida. I didn't mention it to anyone. The discomfort gradually got worse and became really painful if I put any weight on that foot. But still, I didn't tell anyone about it; I remember not wanting to go to a doctor or hospital but not exactly why not.
Finally one evening the whole family - my dad, stepmother, little brother and sister, older brother, and whoever else was there (the house always had visitors/guests) - was going out somewhere and I managed to convince them that I didn't feel up to going, not mentioning my foot. I think I probably claimed to be getting a cold, or having bad period cramps, or something. And they all left.
I went to my dad's bathroom and found a straight-edge razor blade. I got alcohol from my step-mom's bathroom. I washed the bottom of my foot with soap and water. Then I soaked the bottom of my foot in alcohol. Meanwhile I soaked the razor blade in alcohol as well. I then proceeded to slice off the skin and callous that over the weeks/months since stepping on the glas had grown over the injury. Eventually I remember there was just a final thin layer of new pinkish skin. And I sliced through that, too, and out spewed icky green-yellow pus and a tiny piece of glass! I washed out the place with water and then, gritting my teeth, soaked the foot in alcohol. That hurt! Then I bandaged it up, put on a sock, cleaned up the sink in the bathroom where I had done the deed, put back the alcohol and threw the used razor into the garbage. I curled up with a book and waited for my family to return.
They came home. "Feeling better?" someone asked. "Oh, yes," I said. Of course, I was worried about the wound becoming infected but thought since it had obviously already BEEN infected, what the hell. I kept it clean, changing the bandage often till new skin grew over it in just a few days. And never had a problem with it again. And never told anyone about it.
What kind of trauma or other experience had I had as a kid that would lead me at age 14 to "operate" on my own foot rather than tell my parents that I was in pain so they could seek medical help? I don't know; I don't recall. I remember being very afraid of getting shots from my childhood pediatrician. That's the only specific childhood "bad" memory related to medical care I have. Perhaps I suppressed something worse?
Anyway, the point is, that when I think of myself over the last year or so, when I was experiencing the symptoms that eventually did drive me to go to my gynecologist and ultimately led to the cancer diagnosis, surgery, chemo , radiation and more chemo - and I beat myself up for taking so long to get up the courage to go to the doctor, then I recall my 14 year old self, performing a kind of "surgery" on my own infected foot rather than seek help, and I know that whatever unconscious fears I have about doctors are deep-seated and won't be overcome overnight. I feel sad for the 14 year old girl who cut open her own foot and watched pus pour out, and then bathed the open wound in alcohol. Poor girl.
What complex beings each of us is! Who can stand in judgment of any other person, when even judging ourselves may break our heart?
Peace, peace, peace. Compassion for our memories, may they strengthen us for the future.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Thursday morning
I saw Dr. R yesterday morning. Good visit. She said that I looked "glowingly healthy". Not sure about that; the glow might just have been from slogging through the latest dump of snow, sleet, icy rain and slush on the hike up from the street where the bus leaves me to the Cancer Center. It was cold out. At any rate, I'll take it! I asked her how long I needed to "worry" - really just a generic request for a longer term hand holding. She said for 5 years we need to be watched closely and even after that there is always a chance of recurrence. Of course, I already knew that. What was good about having her say it is that it reminds me not to take anything for granted. Of course, none of us should, ever. And if we have faced something like cancer or any serious disease or other health condition, we have it brought home to us. But I have been amazed, less than 1 year post treatment, how easily one slips back into daily routines, into frustrations with the minor hassles and glitches of daily living, with putting things off and getting back in the "I'll deal with that, I'll think about that, there will be time for that -- later." We - I - don't know how much "later" there is, so I had better be doing with my life exactly what I want to be doing with it right now.
Of course, practically speaking, that's difficult. As you reach your 60's, the world seems to be telling you to get ready to deal with retirement; will you have enough to live on for the next 15, 20, 30 years? You think, well, if there were really a chance I might only live 5 more years, I would do things differently. But you don't know; you can't know.
Anyway, a good visit with Dr. R. We set my CT scan - tax day, April 15 (well, used to be tax day; this year I hear we have until April 18 to pay taxes for some odd reason having to do with some sort of federal holiday falling on 4/15). I guess while I'll be nervous about that scan, once it is over, assuming it is clear, it will be a good milestone - one full year post-treatment, NED (no evidence of disease). One year down, four to go to make the 5 year marker year.
Lovely gangly Ella started Dog Obedience School. She was a good girl and a big hit. There were about 6 dogs. Ella outweighed the next largest by about 50%. We worked on "sit," "down" and "look" (look being getting the dog to look at you and pay attention). The instructors pulled Ella out a couple of times, along with another dog or 2, to use to show the class what they wanted. Ella knows "sit" and "down" pretty well, and they had us not feed the dogs breakfast that morning and bring really yummy special treats (we brought freeze dried chicken and beef liver treats... yum!) Although excited when we got there to see the other dogs, Ella soon focused intently on the treats. She was goofy. At one point when the teacher asked her to "Down"," she first lay down like an expert, and then flopped over on her side and then to her back, waving her legs and kind of grinning at the teacher. The whole class laughed. She is a goof ball. In another week or so we start "Heel" and "stay". Those will definitely be more challenging for Ella.
I spoke to my grandson on the phone the other night. He is so articulate. HE told me his school class - pre-school, he is 4 - is making "dinosaur prints". I miss him.
My daughter is finding her feet in Haiti. Big happenings this past week. She met Paul Farmer, founder of Partners in Health. She was there when Clinton made the speech about the year anniversary of the Haiti earthquake. And now Baby Doc Duvalier has showed up - not a good sign for Haiti, in my personal view. At any rate, she is well.
The new Congress is in session. Reminds me of dog fights.
More snow forecast for tomorrow and really cold temperatures for the weekend.
Peace. Peace. Peace.
Of course, practically speaking, that's difficult. As you reach your 60's, the world seems to be telling you to get ready to deal with retirement; will you have enough to live on for the next 15, 20, 30 years? You think, well, if there were really a chance I might only live 5 more years, I would do things differently. But you don't know; you can't know.
Anyway, a good visit with Dr. R. We set my CT scan - tax day, April 15 (well, used to be tax day; this year I hear we have until April 18 to pay taxes for some odd reason having to do with some sort of federal holiday falling on 4/15). I guess while I'll be nervous about that scan, once it is over, assuming it is clear, it will be a good milestone - one full year post-treatment, NED (no evidence of disease). One year down, four to go to make the 5 year marker year.
Lovely gangly Ella started Dog Obedience School. She was a good girl and a big hit. There were about 6 dogs. Ella outweighed the next largest by about 50%. We worked on "sit," "down" and "look" (look being getting the dog to look at you and pay attention). The instructors pulled Ella out a couple of times, along with another dog or 2, to use to show the class what they wanted. Ella knows "sit" and "down" pretty well, and they had us not feed the dogs breakfast that morning and bring really yummy special treats (we brought freeze dried chicken and beef liver treats... yum!) Although excited when we got there to see the other dogs, Ella soon focused intently on the treats. She was goofy. At one point when the teacher asked her to "Down"," she first lay down like an expert, and then flopped over on her side and then to her back, waving her legs and kind of grinning at the teacher. The whole class laughed. She is a goof ball. In another week or so we start "Heel" and "stay". Those will definitely be more challenging for Ella.
I spoke to my grandson on the phone the other night. He is so articulate. HE told me his school class - pre-school, he is 4 - is making "dinosaur prints". I miss him.
My daughter is finding her feet in Haiti. Big happenings this past week. She met Paul Farmer, founder of Partners in Health. She was there when Clinton made the speech about the year anniversary of the Haiti earthquake. And now Baby Doc Duvalier has showed up - not a good sign for Haiti, in my personal view. At any rate, she is well.
The new Congress is in session. Reminds me of dog fights.
More snow forecast for tomorrow and really cold temperatures for the weekend.
Peace. Peace. Peace.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Wednesday night, no Thursday morning
19 inches of snow here since midnight last night. An unusual day, hours of shoveling, cooperation among neighbors. Our new dog, Ella, bouncing through the snow like a horizontal kangaroo.
My daughter is in Haiti, working for S.O.I.L. as its new "Program Manager," based in Port au Prince. She's writing regularly. Today's note mentioned that she had the opportunity to meet Paul Farmer, founder of Partners in Health, an organization long active in Haiti helping to address health care issues in a (unfortunately) unique way (unfortunate because it would be wonderful if more organizations, governments, etc. modeled it) - by not isolating "health" from economic and social issues. At any rate, I'm going to "cut and paste" an email from Corinne with a list of good articles marking the one year anniversary of the earthquake in Haiti. It seems such a personal anniversary to me: I was in such a vulnerable position myself when it occurred, a serious cancer diagnosis, surgery, chemo, and about to start 5 weeks of radiation followed by more chemo. Unsure of my own future. Now here I am - I spent about 4 hours shoveling snow today. I am - thanks to having a job, health insurance, good medical care, great doctors, the support of family and dear friends - NED (no evidence of disease) and actually HEALTHY. One year later. That's me. And in Haiti? Less than 10% of the rubble of destroyed buildings is cleared. Hundreds of thousands living tents - that's a generous description (sticks with tarps stuck on them. Forget "good medical care, great doctors" - how about toilets and potable water!!! How can this situation be permitted to exist? How can the United States, its government, its great philanthropists, its people - including me - not do something, do MORE - to address this? I don't understand.f
At any rate, here's C's email with links to suggested articles.
I write to you from Port-au-Prince on the anniversary of last year's
devastating earthquake in Haiti with a request. I have found there is
an incredible lack of understanding of, and thus, quite often, a lack
of concern for, Haiti.
My request is simply to read one or more of the articles I've linked below.
http://www.iacenter.org/haiti/embargoes.htm
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/bill-quigley/why-the-us-owes-haiti-bil_b_426260.html
http://dyinginhaiti.blogspot.com/2010/11/if-you-dont-read-anything-else-about.html
and, this one I've sent to most of you already.
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/bill-quigley/million-plus-remain-homel_b_807251.html
With love and for justice,
C
Peace.
My daughter is in Haiti, working for S.O.I.L. as its new "Program Manager," based in Port au Prince. She's writing regularly. Today's note mentioned that she had the opportunity to meet Paul Farmer, founder of Partners in Health, an organization long active in Haiti helping to address health care issues in a (unfortunately) unique way (unfortunate because it would be wonderful if more organizations, governments, etc. modeled it) - by not isolating "health" from economic and social issues. At any rate, I'm going to "cut and paste" an email from Corinne with a list of good articles marking the one year anniversary of the earthquake in Haiti. It seems such a personal anniversary to me: I was in such a vulnerable position myself when it occurred, a serious cancer diagnosis, surgery, chemo, and about to start 5 weeks of radiation followed by more chemo. Unsure of my own future. Now here I am - I spent about 4 hours shoveling snow today. I am - thanks to having a job, health insurance, good medical care, great doctors, the support of family and dear friends - NED (no evidence of disease) and actually HEALTHY. One year later. That's me. And in Haiti? Less than 10% of the rubble of destroyed buildings is cleared. Hundreds of thousands living tents - that's a generous description (sticks with tarps stuck on them. Forget "good medical care, great doctors" - how about toilets and potable water!!! How can this situation be permitted to exist? How can the United States, its government, its great philanthropists, its people - including me - not do something, do MORE - to address this? I don't understand.f
At any rate, here's C's email with links to suggested articles.
I write to you from Port-au-Prince on the anniversary of last year's
devastating earthquake in Haiti with a request. I have found there is
an incredible lack of understanding of, and thus, quite often, a lack
of concern for, Haiti.
My request is simply to read one or more of the articles I've linked below.
http://www.iacenter.org/haiti/embargoes.htm
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/bill-quigley/why-the-us-owes-haiti-bil_b_426260.html
http://dyinginhaiti.blogspot.com/2010/11/if-you-dont-read-anything-else-about.html
and, this one I've sent to most of you already.
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/bill-quigley/million-plus-remain-homel_b_807251.html
With love and for justice,
C
Peace.
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