Thought of the day:
Archives for September 2011
Beating Cancer With Love
September 27, 2011 by ·
September is Ovarian Cancer Awareness month. This disease barely registered with me until my mom showed up on my doorstep the day after I got home from my honeymoon and told me she had a tumour the size of a grapefruit. She’s here today to tell her cancer story.
***
How do you survive a cancer that has a 30% survival rate? It’s been 7 years since my surgery and I have long since been declared free of ovarian cancer, but I’m still not sure of the secret. Truly I think my time had not come. However, in addition to good care I firmly believe positive thinking and a huge dose of support are key.
Just before our oldest daughter’s wedding – first wedding, oldest of four – we were putting the the last details of The Plan in place. The couple wanted a relaxed get together with out of town guests so we planned a buffet at our house after the rehearsal.
I was feeling not so good. Unusually for me I decided to go to the doctor; I didn’t want to be sick for the wedding. If not for that wedding I doubt I’d have made it.
“How long have you had this growth?” my doctor asked.
“What growth?” was my response.
I’d read about the signs of ovarian cancer but there was no family history so I didn’t think it could happen to me. As it turned out I did have several of the signs.
By the Tuesday before the wedding I’d had blood tests. My CA125 score was really high, six times what it should be. An ultrasound was scheduled. The technician, looking serious, promised to have the result to my doctor by Friday. I told her to wait until after the wedding but it was there that afternoon, which seemed like a bad sign.
An MRI was scheduled for Thursday. My husband and I sneaked away saying we were picking up supplies for Friday’s dinner. By then I knew it was serious but (fortunately) didn’t have time to think. And of course we couldn’t tell anyone. How could we tell the other kids if I didn’t tell the bride? And how could they keep a secret like that? On the other hand for me not talking about it may have carried me through!
The wedding was wonderful, a huge success. I don’t remember much but do have one flash of memory, quoting an Ogden Nash poem during the speech I made on behalf of my husband and me: “To keep your marriage brimming, With love in the loving cup, Whenever you’re wrong admit it, Whenever you’re right, shut up.”
When it was done my marvellous gynaecologist oncologist suggested I do a course of chemotherapy “in case of rogue cells”. She was pretty sure she’d got it all and she would like to declare me cured before she retired. My family said I wasn’t through with life yet. (Remember that positive thinking component?)After that it was reality time. I was at the top of the surgery list and in at the first cancellation. The Universe decided it was to be right after the honeymooners got home.
My city has a terrific treatment facility due to a generous donation. The chemo room is surrounded by windows and trees. And I am truly blessed in my family. One of the kids came each time I went to my day-long chemo treatment. My husband (who had to skip the IV insertion part because of needle phobia) brought lunch. There was never nothing to do or nothing to say.
I had a few days of miserable neuralgia each time but limited nausea because of the timely invention of a good anti-nausea drug. I was bald and puffy from steroids and my energy was low but I never doubted I could make it. I even worked part of the time. What I remember now is the sea of love. That was the most important therapy.
My out of town daughter sent me a lovely journal suggesting I keep a sunshine journal, putting in only things that made me smile. (I am on the 4th one now and still smiling.) She invited me to come on a soul journey after chemo was over, to drive to the mountains for an injection of peace, hope and serenity.
A friend sent me to a wonderful alternative treatment program during the chemotherapy time.
My oldest daughter came with me and also gave me a treasured silver bell charm from her wedding to wear.
My son, who was both working and commuting to Vancouver for classes, came to one chemo treatment, supposedly for an hour and stayed 4 hours, causing him to miss his ferry and his class.
My healer daughter supported me in listening to my body rather than well meant advice and found me a wonderful cancer patient yoga CD which I still use.
People made marvellous soups and dropped them off. People sent plants and flowers. My son-in-law gave me mind-bending crossword puzzles. My husband did the cooking. My cherished colleague said, “go away and heal” and looked after my business. Another friend sent me some wonderful meditation CDs. How could I not get better?
Out of meditation came a couple of lullabies that appeared in my head for (then nonexistent) grandchildren. That was when I knew it was going to be okay for sure. I don’t know how to write music down. I had to be here to sing them myself.
Grandma and Connor when he was a couple of hours old
***
I will be forever grateful that my mom’s cancer was caught in time for her to be treated and fully recover. Please make sure you know the symptoms. Your grandchildren will be grateful.
PS The colour of my blog – similar to ovarian cancer teal – is a total coincidence, and one I only caught today. I think it was meant to be.
Construction-Zone Craziness
September 26, 2011 by ·
When we initially started talking about buying our first house, my husband thought it sounded dreamy to buy a fixer-upper we could work on ourselves.
I told him he was crazy.
This was almost 10 years ago, mind you. Before dog, before kid, before we were married, even. I think it’s safe to say life was simpler at the time, and yet I couldn’t imagine diving into a reno and trying to live in the house at the same time. Thanks but no thanks. No way, Jose. Not a chance.
In the end, somewhat ironically, we bought a house in a new development. We picked the colours, the countertops, the cabinets. We watched the walls go up and the windows go in. When it was done, we moved in knowing we didn’t have to do anything. We didn’t even have to change a lightbulb.
Fast forward 9 1/2 years and we’re living in what feels like a construction zone. We’re sprucing things up and fixing things that need to be fixed after inhabiting this space for this many years, more recently with a precocious child who likes to make holes in things and draw on walls. (Magic Erasers are my new best friend.) It’s not a massive undertaking, but it’s starting to feel like it.
We started some of this work in June and then promptly abandoned it (long story), so we’ve been living with spackle-filled holes above our shower and a few other things as part of the scenery ever since. But about three weeks ago we started again in earnest. More holes have been patched, sanded and painted. A wonky skylight no longer looks as though it might share the next heavy rainfall with us. Furniture has been pulled into the middle of the room so we can tackle walls and baseboards.
It’s no large-scale kitchen reno, but it still feels like a construction zone with paint brushes in the kitchen sink and a layer of dust on everything thanks to post-spackle sanding.
Today my husband boldly climbed up to the skylight in our ensuite and fixed the seal around it. Which, understandably, involved the creation of a really big mess. He cleaned it up fairly well, but it will have to be sanded and painted tomorrow so there’s no point getting picky about things tonight. Still, I had to do some sleuthing before bed to figure out where my toothbrush went.
As I brushed I noticed the debris around the sink – pieces of wall and putty and dust and goodness knows what else. Then getting into bed I saw that our duvet was covered in grit. Well, shake it off. Literally. I picked it up, gave it a shake and dumped the grit on the floor.
The mess is temporary, but it’s driving me batty.
I realize this is all a big whine about something insignificant. Something I should be (and am) grateful we’re able to do. In fact, I’m especially grateful for all the work my husband is doing right now – that he’s able to do it all himself and working hard to get it done quickly is not something I take for granted. So yes, this is what you might call a first world problem.
But here’s the thing: I don’t do well in this environment. I get squirrelly enough with clutter – I create my fair share of it, but it makes me crazy. So this is all a bit much.
Every night around 7:00 my husband and I start to get snippy. The cranky cues are subtle – a short fuse when it comes to noisy toys, less patience for repeated requests for a TV show we both hate, and the undercurrent of Oh-God-we’re-never-going-to-get-this-done-and-I-can’t-take-it-anymore in our conversations.
I know – am aware with every fibre of my being – that I could very quickly become a nightmare to live with right now. But I’m determined not to go back there. I am trusting this process to get us where we want to go and in doing so I’m focused on finding a way to live with it – a not insignificant effort that will involve more mood control than I’m usually able to muster.
This is important though and, yes, temporary. So until we’re done I will find a way to overcome the craziness and just be.
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Welcome to My World
September 25, 2011 by ·
Funny things sometimes happen when you create a life list. Not just things like dyeing one’s hair blue, but things like having weird conversations with oneself trying to determine if something counts as having fulfilled something on one’s life list.
In this case, the debate centres around #56 on my list: Write a book and have it published.
I haven’t done that (yet) but I did do something related that I’m big-smile, dancing-for-joy excited about. I wrote a piece about motherhood that was accepted for a book, and on Friday that book was officially released on Amazon!
Seriously, can I just revel in that for a minute? We were just about to have dinner on Friday when I saw the note from the editor, so I clicked on over and, oh mah lord, there’s my name in the contributor list. On Amazon!
Okay, I’m done revelling. For now.
In non-squeeing seriousness, this is really exciting for me. It’s exciting because I wrote something honest about an aspect of motherhood that was – is – hard for me. And it’s been published in a book along with stories (some funny, some serious, some both) from other writers sharing their perspectives on stay-at-home moms vs. working moms. Neither role is easy, and any mother will relate to the experiences shared in this collection.
I think sharing these experiences is important. There are those who dismiss “mommy bloggers” as…what? Fluffy? Inconsequential? I don’t even really get what the eye rolling is about because, in my experience, mommy bloggers are not a homogenous group and there are plenty making quite a difference in this world, thank you very much. (I could, and probably will, write a whole post about this…)
Anyway, I don’t even consider myself a mommy blogger, and that’s not actually what this book is about. This is a book about the choices we make as mothers – or the choices we’re forced to make, in some cases – and how those choices affect who we are. This topic digs deep into the core of women’s identities.
So yes, I’m proud to have my voice represented alongside the others who contributed to this book.
Welcome to My World is an ebook, and it won’t cost you much more than a fancy cup of coffee. I’d love it if you bought it and tell me what you think. You can get it on Amazon (for Kindle) or on Barnes & Noble for Nook.
If you don’t have an ereader you can download one free:
Kindle for PC
Kindle for Mac
Nook (various devices)
So there you have it. If I had “get published” on my life list I’d be checking it off. (Maybe I’ll add it just so I can do that…)
Huge thanks to the book’s editor, Sarah Bryden-Brown for including my piece, and to the book’s sponsor, Giggle (even though their stuff gives me serious baby fever).
(Whee, I’m published!)
The Dummy Hung from the Water Tower
September 23, 2011 by ·
Ask and ye shall receive… In yesterday’s post I referenced one of my dad’s practical jokes that brought out emergency personnel and was remembered in a story in the newspaper years later. Some of you wanted to hear that story, so today I’m welcoming a special guest poster to tell it.
Here’s the story in my dad’s own words.*
***
I lived about one block from a water tower that had stood behind my junior high school for many years.
When I was about 16 I stuffed newspaper inside an old pair of blue jeans and my old hockey team jacket to make a life-sized dummy. Halloween came and went and I didn’t use the dummy so it continued hanging in our basement in the laundry room. When my mother objected to having to dodge around it, I was instructed to dispose of it.
That night I took my dummy down the street and climbed up inside one of the girders on the water tower until I reached the catwalk. I had brought a rope that I tied around the dummy’s neck. I tied the other end around a cross brace before sliding it out so it hung out of reach between two of the girders.
We had a neighbor across the back lane who was a night clerk at a local hotel, and I think he used to drink at work. The next morning I saw our neighbor staggering around in his back yard with a pair of field glasses up to his eyes looking toward the water tower.
I went out our front door to see what he was looking at and suddenly remembered what I had done the night before. The schoolyard was filled with fire engines, a couple of police cars, at least one ambulance and a crowd of spectators. A fireman climbed up a very long ladder toward my dummy. He cut it down and as it fell to the ground people screamed and turned away.
I quickly got dressed, jumped on my bike and rode to school (a high school far away from the scene of the crime) hoping that nobody would notice it was my hockey jacket on the dummy.
The “hanging” made the front page of the evening newspaper and was referred to as a Guy Fawkes prank (I’d never heard of him). The event was remembered 25 years later on the front page of the newspaper in their “On this Date 25 Years Ago” section.
***
*Name omitted because, you know, they might still be looking for him.
Thanks for sharing, Dad! xo
