There is a tear in the fabric of the universe. Up is down and down is up. The center does not hold. I was on the bus this morning at a little after 7 am when my cell phone rang. It was the rabbi's wife. For some strange reason it didn't occur to me immediately, as it should have, how odd it was - not that she called me, but that she did so at 7:15 am. She said she was at H's house - that strange fact didn't register either - and said she had some terribly sad news - H's husband M had died suddenly that morning. Today. Just today. At the beginning of this day M was alive. Now he is not. How do I make sense of this fact? I went on to work and told them I had to leave. I called and David came and picked me up and took me to H's house.
How can it be that this has happened? (Oh, I know the terrible facts - an aneurysm, probably aorta, the EMTs were there almost immediately but still too late.)
The jolt of shock gives way to bone deep weariness, to wrenching sadness. He was a gentle soul, a brilliant mind, unfailingly kind, committed to family, community, colleagues and math. How can it be I won't be out tomorrow - or ever again - in the early morning, walking Ella as M comes riding up the block toward me on his bike - bundled up in wool hat and gloves even on a spring's chill morning - to call out, "Good morning, Laurie." How can it be I won't call back, "Good morning, M!"
Every day from the day M learned that I battled cancer, M said a mishaberach - a blessing for health - for me in synagogue where he went every morning and every afternoon/evening for daily prayers. Every day, my name, a blessing, for health. How can it be there is no time for me to say a prayer for M's health, for his recovery, for his life. How can it be that M was snatched away - from H, from his children, from his work, from his shul, from his friends, snatched away at 64. Too soon, so much too soon. Too cruel. How can it be?
I don't know how to pray any more, I don't know to whom I pray when I find a shaky path there, but there I find myself tonight and so I pray - May M's memory be a blessing most rich and wonderful, lasting and affirming, enfolding H and his children through long nights ahead to lighter days, may M's memory bring his kindness and compassion to comfort each of us his memory touches. How grateful I am to be among them.
Peace, peace be upon M's soul, now and always.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
Monday, April 18, 2011
Monday evening's good news
Good news - CT scan was fine per Dr. R today. I told her I had been particularly anxious this time. She questioned me closely to make sure I wasn't having any "symptoms" that were giving rise to the anxiety. I told her other than arthritis and a cold - no. So - one year down, many more to go I hope and pray.
Thanks to V for the comment here and the call. Thanks to all who have kept me in your thoughts.
Now back to getting ready to have a little mini-seder with David tonight, on this first evening of Passover. May all who hurt, who fear, who struggle, who hunger, who hope, who dream find their path from war to peace, from darkness to light, from slavery io freedom.
Peace. Peace. To far and near.
Thanks to V for the comment here and the call. Thanks to all who have kept me in your thoughts.
Now back to getting ready to have a little mini-seder with David tonight, on this first evening of Passover. May all who hurt, who fear, who struggle, who hunger, who hope, who dream find their path from war to peace, from darkness to light, from slavery io freedom.
Peace. Peace. To far and near.
Saturday, April 16, 2011
Saturday morning
Another CT scan is history.
For some reason, I was really (I do mean really) nervous about this one. And, of course, I don't have the results yet, so the nervousness is still there in the background. I see Dr. R on Monday. I don't really have any concrete basis for the nervousness - or increased nervousness (since I guess I have been nervous every time, just much more this time than the last two times). I've now had 4 CT scans: #1 was before the surgery - Lord only knows what it showed! #2 was a year ago, April 2010, right after all the treatment. I was probably least nervous then, but still a little nervous. Still I figured if any scan was going to be clean, that would be it. #3 was October 2010. I was more nervous before that one. It turned out fine. And now #4 April 2011.
I think part of it is that I've become increasingly aware of odd and end aches and pains here and there in my body. Arthritis. Trigger finger problems. A cold that lingered. Continued tiredness. I think maybe, probably these things have been with me over the past 18 months since the cancer diagnosis but I wasn't noticing them as I had bigger issues on my mind. But there is that little ugly worry in my brain that there is something newly wrong. That my immune system is not only not snapping back, but not quite right.
When I impel myself to consider it all rationally, I think that what may be going on is that I have become invested in life again; I've put my stake back in its ground with a standard that reads: Life is good and I am not ready to give it up. A year ago, the first post-treatment CT scan, what did I know about post-treatment life. I was on its cusp, and just so grateful to be alive at all, to have made it through the treatment. Six months ago, I had begun to live, begun to experience taking life "for granted" but still remembered how close I'd come to the dark places it holds. Now, 18 months after diagnosis, one whole year after treatment ended, one entire year of "No Evidence of Disease," I have allowed myself to have a vested interest in more than today. I have allowed myself to live without remembering to be grateful for that fact once an hour. I guess I think that's both good and healthy and not so good. Good - because it means I have permitted myself to again live with hope - hope to be around and in my children'a lives, hope to watch my grandson grow and thrive and see my new grandson come into the world, hope to finish building my boat, to sail it, to take more classes at the Woodenboat School, hope to make a difference in the world... But in some ways, at least, not so good - because as the cancer diagnosis 18 months ago brought home, there are no guarantees and I do need to, WANT to remember that each day is all there really is, each day is the gift itself.
I have pretty much stuck to an approach I decided to take early on, which is to avoid negative "What if..." thoughts, as in, What if the scan was bad? What if cancer came back? What if... I have become pretty good at avoiding those What Ifs. That means my fears are generally unshaped, non-specific and generic. Fear. Anxiety. Nervousness. But at the top of the roiling worries is the rational thought that cancer could come back. I just don't linger there. I acknowledge it and, I guess I think that if that should happen, I'll deal with it then. Maybe it's magical thinking, it probably is. But I sometimes feel - feel more than think - that going to those negative What If thoughts could unleash something in my body, literally as in bio-chemically, and give rise to, or create physiological conditions for the very thing that is feared (stress cause cancer?). Better to do all I can to make my body's "soil" be filled with hope, even joy.
Anyway, there's where I'm at.
Ella, David and I completed "Intermediate Obedience" and we promptly signed her up to do it again. David and I need it anoither session as much as she does. Starts in May. Ella and I have made it back to the park, last weekend and today. Birds! Birds! Birds! We saw a pair of Canada geese fly in low, just a couple of yards above our heads, this morning and land on the pond. The Mallards appear to be all paired off, mostly not obvious but around. Red winged blackbirds. Black capped chickadees. I saw leaf buds dotting the mushroom brown bare branches of a brambly bush with bright green. Spring gives me hope.
Peace.
For some reason, I was really (I do mean really) nervous about this one. And, of course, I don't have the results yet, so the nervousness is still there in the background. I see Dr. R on Monday. I don't really have any concrete basis for the nervousness - or increased nervousness (since I guess I have been nervous every time, just much more this time than the last two times). I've now had 4 CT scans: #1 was before the surgery - Lord only knows what it showed! #2 was a year ago, April 2010, right after all the treatment. I was probably least nervous then, but still a little nervous. Still I figured if any scan was going to be clean, that would be it. #3 was October 2010. I was more nervous before that one. It turned out fine. And now #4 April 2011.
I think part of it is that I've become increasingly aware of odd and end aches and pains here and there in my body. Arthritis. Trigger finger problems. A cold that lingered. Continued tiredness. I think maybe, probably these things have been with me over the past 18 months since the cancer diagnosis but I wasn't noticing them as I had bigger issues on my mind. But there is that little ugly worry in my brain that there is something newly wrong. That my immune system is not only not snapping back, but not quite right.
When I impel myself to consider it all rationally, I think that what may be going on is that I have become invested in life again; I've put my stake back in its ground with a standard that reads: Life is good and I am not ready to give it up. A year ago, the first post-treatment CT scan, what did I know about post-treatment life. I was on its cusp, and just so grateful to be alive at all, to have made it through the treatment. Six months ago, I had begun to live, begun to experience taking life "for granted" but still remembered how close I'd come to the dark places it holds. Now, 18 months after diagnosis, one whole year after treatment ended, one entire year of "No Evidence of Disease," I have allowed myself to have a vested interest in more than today. I have allowed myself to live without remembering to be grateful for that fact once an hour. I guess I think that's both good and healthy and not so good. Good - because it means I have permitted myself to again live with hope - hope to be around and in my children'a lives, hope to watch my grandson grow and thrive and see my new grandson come into the world, hope to finish building my boat, to sail it, to take more classes at the Woodenboat School, hope to make a difference in the world... But in some ways, at least, not so good - because as the cancer diagnosis 18 months ago brought home, there are no guarantees and I do need to, WANT to remember that each day is all there really is, each day is the gift itself.
I have pretty much stuck to an approach I decided to take early on, which is to avoid negative "What if..." thoughts, as in, What if the scan was bad? What if cancer came back? What if... I have become pretty good at avoiding those What Ifs. That means my fears are generally unshaped, non-specific and generic. Fear. Anxiety. Nervousness. But at the top of the roiling worries is the rational thought that cancer could come back. I just don't linger there. I acknowledge it and, I guess I think that if that should happen, I'll deal with it then. Maybe it's magical thinking, it probably is. But I sometimes feel - feel more than think - that going to those negative What If thoughts could unleash something in my body, literally as in bio-chemically, and give rise to, or create physiological conditions for the very thing that is feared (stress cause cancer?). Better to do all I can to make my body's "soil" be filled with hope, even joy.
Anyway, there's where I'm at.
Ella, David and I completed "Intermediate Obedience" and we promptly signed her up to do it again. David and I need it anoither session as much as she does. Starts in May. Ella and I have made it back to the park, last weekend and today. Birds! Birds! Birds! We saw a pair of Canada geese fly in low, just a couple of yards above our heads, this morning and land on the pond. The Mallards appear to be all paired off, mostly not obvious but around. Red winged blackbirds. Black capped chickadees. I saw leaf buds dotting the mushroom brown bare branches of a brambly bush with bright green. Spring gives me hope.
Peace.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Saturday morning
I'm back from my visit to Atlanta. Tiring, but good, and now I have a cold.
As soon as I arrived, I started suffering from allergies - at least that's what I thought. I bought over the counter meds which seemed to work about half the day (although advertised as 24 hour relief). Then when I got home, I developed what seems to be a full fledged cold, so I'm not sure if it was allergies, allergies plus cold, or just cold when I was in Atlanta. The 12-hour travel arrangement - Hartford-Ft. Lauderdale FL-Atlanta and reverse - didn't help, especially as the final flight from FL to CT was delayed 2 hours so I arrived at 12:00 a.m.
Anyway, I ended up taking yesterday off of work (well, mostly - I worked a little bit from home). I thought I needed the rest and the weather was chilly and dreary. We had about an inch of snow Thursday night into Friday morning.
My grandson is big and bossy (when playing HIS games) but smart and generally sweet with better manners than a lot of adults I know. It makes me very proud of his parents who I think are doing a very good job. It was good to see my daughter. She has returned to Haiti and as far as I know, accepted an offer that she commit to stay and work for SOIL for another entire year. She'll get to come back to the US about once every 3 months or so. She was busy with various SOIL-related tasks and errands, and we spent some time together as I drove her around in the rented car. I stayed with my brother at the new place he's renting. It's a lovely house and he seems happier, more relaxed than the last time I was there. We got to spend some time together, too. My daughter-in-law is very pregnant and we're all looking forward to the new baby to be born in early May.
Now Spring is struggling to push winter out of the way, to the back of climate's closet where it belongs, with mixed success. I hope we've turned the corner. I feel like a week of sunshine would help me kick this cold.
I have a CT scan on Friday, April 15 and see Dr. R the following Monday. That will be my 1 year milestone (1 year since treatment ended; hopefully 1 year NED - no evidence of disease). I guess I am nervous about it. From talking with D at work - who had leukemia 18 years ago! - the nervousness won't be going away any time soon, not when it's time for another scan or blood work, etc. On the other hand, what can I do about it? It is what it is. I feel good - other than having a crappy cold (although it's true that, in the corners of my mind, the places where mental dust and emotional detrius collects - there is the thought that this cold, which is my second in a month, or a continuation of the same one, shows that my immune system is somehow compromised. Oh well, got to just get over it.)
To tell spring to stiffen her backbone and make winter get lost, I'm going to post a photo from my trip of my lovely daughter and my handsome grandson, who love each other very much - as is obvious from the pic - as well as the fact that they are having a good time.
Peace, peace upon us all.
As soon as I arrived, I started suffering from allergies - at least that's what I thought. I bought over the counter meds which seemed to work about half the day (although advertised as 24 hour relief). Then when I got home, I developed what seems to be a full fledged cold, so I'm not sure if it was allergies, allergies plus cold, or just cold when I was in Atlanta. The 12-hour travel arrangement - Hartford-Ft. Lauderdale FL-Atlanta and reverse - didn't help, especially as the final flight from FL to CT was delayed 2 hours so I arrived at 12:00 a.m.
Anyway, I ended up taking yesterday off of work (well, mostly - I worked a little bit from home). I thought I needed the rest and the weather was chilly and dreary. We had about an inch of snow Thursday night into Friday morning.
My grandson is big and bossy (when playing HIS games) but smart and generally sweet with better manners than a lot of adults I know. It makes me very proud of his parents who I think are doing a very good job. It was good to see my daughter. She has returned to Haiti and as far as I know, accepted an offer that she commit to stay and work for SOIL for another entire year. She'll get to come back to the US about once every 3 months or so. She was busy with various SOIL-related tasks and errands, and we spent some time together as I drove her around in the rented car. I stayed with my brother at the new place he's renting. It's a lovely house and he seems happier, more relaxed than the last time I was there. We got to spend some time together, too. My daughter-in-law is very pregnant and we're all looking forward to the new baby to be born in early May.
Now Spring is struggling to push winter out of the way, to the back of climate's closet where it belongs, with mixed success. I hope we've turned the corner. I feel like a week of sunshine would help me kick this cold.
I have a CT scan on Friday, April 15 and see Dr. R the following Monday. That will be my 1 year milestone (1 year since treatment ended; hopefully 1 year NED - no evidence of disease). I guess I am nervous about it. From talking with D at work - who had leukemia 18 years ago! - the nervousness won't be going away any time soon, not when it's time for another scan or blood work, etc. On the other hand, what can I do about it? It is what it is. I feel good - other than having a crappy cold (although it's true that, in the corners of my mind, the places where mental dust and emotional detrius collects - there is the thought that this cold, which is my second in a month, or a continuation of the same one, shows that my immune system is somehow compromised. Oh well, got to just get over it.)
To tell spring to stiffen her backbone and make winter get lost, I'm going to post a photo from my trip of my lovely daughter and my handsome grandson, who love each other very much - as is obvious from the pic - as well as the fact that they are having a good time.
Peace, peace upon us all.
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