A Sigh of Relief

“A guy is walking along the edge of the Grand Canyon and he falls off. He's hurtling down hundreds of feet to certain death and he looks up and grabs this twig, and it breaks his fall. He heaves a sigh of relief, and then, all of a sudden, he sees the roots coming loose. He looks up to the sky and says, "God, why me? I'm a good person. I've taken care of my family. I've paid all my taxes, I've worked all my life. Why me?" And this thunderous voice says, "Son, there's just something about you that I don't like."” - Bill Clinton

It is Monday afternoon as I write this blog. I've been home from Princess Margaret Hospital for less than an hour. I've been cycling through profound relief, peace and a level of joy almost bordering on giddiness. A week ago last Friday, I did the routine testing that is required of me as a breast cancer survivor. As usual, my oncology appointment was scheduled for two weeks after the tests. By the time a couple of days, post test, have passed, and I've heard nothing from the hospital, I feel fairly assured that my routine tests will result in an equally routine oncology appointment. Last Tuesday I came home from work after 6:00 P.M.to a message from PMH. I needed to go back for further testing. Tuesday was a long night. I called the hospital Wednesday morning and was told I had been scheduled for follow-up tests today at 1:30. It wasn't clear what the tests would be or what the concern was. I didn't even know which breast.

Like many other cancer survivors, I often find myself faced with the challenge of "canceritis". That is the disease that sends me to the dark place with each new ache and pain. When I herniated my disc while on vacation in the Dominican Republic in 2006, I spent a week in a hotel room, flat on my back watching the only English TV station available - CNN. It happened to be the same week that the U.S. politician, John Edward's wife found out that her own breast cancer had metastasized to her bones. She made that discovery when investigating some pain in her ribs. I didn't know why my back hurt so much but my canceritis clicked into high gear. It was a very scary week.

This past week has been equally scary. I told my husband what was happening, my sister Nancy and a couple of friends. I didn't tell Cathy or Jacob or most of the other people in my life. I tried hard not to scare them or cause them angst. On Saturday I spent the day at Willow at the annual strategic planning meeting of the board. I sat through the day listening to strategies on how we were going to support people through the whole cycle of breast cancer, from hereditary pre-disposition to metastatic cancers resulting in death. My colleagues at the table had no idea what I was dealing with on a personal level. At times that day I found myself struggling to breathe.

I made my way to PMH at about 1:00 this afternoon. I know the drill. I undressed, washed the deodorant off from under my arms, gowned and waited. They didn't make me wait long. The mammogram was painful followed by a lengthy, and thorough ultra-sound. The technician was kind and gentle. The radiologist took great pains to be thorough, respectful and informative. They gave me lots of information, tried to quell my fears and apologized that I was going into the process with a lack of information. The clerk who called me was supposed to advise me of their preliminary findings and exactly what was scheduled for today. They were trying to be cautious. They thought they were probably seeing a benign lymph node. They've seen it before but it looks more pronounced this time. They expect it was probably the same but their technology is better. They needed to look at it again, do more mammography and confirm it with an ultra-sound. And so the mammography was done. The ultra-sound was completed. And then they knew for sure. A benign node that's always been there is still there, still unchanged and of no consequence at all. And Friday's oncology appointment is destined like the others that preceded it since the traumatic ones in 2005, to be routine and uneventful. Thank God.

Potpourri

"If you only do what you know you can do, you never do very much." - Tom Krause

My days of solitude last week flew by quickly. My week was filled with work and I didn't get a chance to do all that I had planned to do in the days I was alone. Closet cleaning can wait a little longer. When not working, I enjoyed a couple of nights planning and creating new pieces from the lampwork beads I ordered from B.C. a few weeks ago. I absolutely love them and I had a lot of fun handling them and arranging them in various configurations.

The low point of my week came as for the rest of the world, with the news of the devastating earthquake in Haiti. Like everyone, I feel helpless. I've watched very little of the news and read only a little bit in the newspapers. The horror is so great, I simply can't process it. One of the RNAs at my mom's nursing home has ten brothers and sisters living in Port au Prince. All are safe and have been accounted for with the exception of one sister whose whereabouts are still unknown. One of her nieces died in the earthquake. I can't even imagine. The worst thing is that she can't do anything to help them in these early days. There is no way to get anything to them, no way to help them directly. So many people are generously digging into their wallets to provide financial help. For now, I'm holding off. I think I'll wait until we know what is happening with Ellianne's family. I can live without a tax receipt. I'd rather put the money into her hands so she can help them with their needs.

Last night we celebrated Nancy's sixty-third birthday at a dinner party hosted by Marg and Bob. The dinner they made was magnificent and I ate far too much. Nancy seemed excited about the gift we gave her (a joint effort with Cath and Stan)of a new laptop. Unfortunately we could only provide her with the mouse and a picture of the laptop last night because the real thing isn't being delivered until tomorrow. Buying the laptop was Cath's idea as Nancy is still using my hand-me-down from 2002. Her new one is light weight, fast and really cute. Jacob chose the model and I chose the colour, a great shade of purple. Jacob also ordered a router which he will install the next time he is home from school. The router will allow Nancy to use the laptop wirelessly from any room in her apartment. And though she probably won't take the laptop out much, Jacob insisted that she needed a proper laptop bag so the purple bag she received last night was his gift to her.

Today's visit to my Mom had its challenges. Mom's unit is locked down due to an enteric outbreak at the nursing home. The rules limited us to one visitor at a time and confined Mom to her unit. Cath, however, managed to talk her way into taking Mom into the lounge outside the unit where we normally meet on Sundays and we were all able to join her there. Mom was quiet today but she is recovering from the respiratory infection she has been dealing with these past two weeks.

I expect the coming week to be busy with work and board activities. On Wednesday, my friend Gail and I are hoping to take a tea and tootsies break (pedicures followed by high tea at the Windsor Arms Hotel) before heading off to our Clinic board meeting. Saturday will be consumed with an all day strategic planning meeting for the Willow board which I'll take the lead on as head of the board's strategic planning committee. I need to spend at least two days this week on consulting activities in the office at Willow. And I have a considerable amount of prep work to do to get ready for Saturday. I'm also hoping Jacob will find a couple of hours in his calendar to allow for lunch or dinner, if not this week then perhaps on the weekend when Merv can also join us.

Wishing you a great week.

Solitude

“Life is a train of moods like a string of beads; and as we pass through them they prove to be many colored lenses, which paint the world their own hue, and each shows us only what lies in its own focus.” - Ralph Waldo Emerson

Merv left for San Diego in the early morning hours yesterday. By the time Jacob and I hit the highway for Jacob's return trip to school, Merv was emailing to report that he was sitting in his shirtsleeves having a drink by the bay.

The drive to Guelph started a little later than I had planned. Jacob was reluctant to head back having enjoyed the comforts of home these past three weeks. He pushed our departure time back several times until I finally implored him to allow me to do at least one leg of the drive in the daylight. By the time we got to the university, got his dorm room key, made a couple of trips to unload the car and said our goodbyes, it was going on 5:00 P.M. Jacob was quite happy, having been greeted by one of the other guys in his dorm pod and about six pretty girls. I was experiencing mixed feelings - sadness at knowing how much I will miss him and that he won't be home again for the next five weeks accompanied by the sense of freedom that comes from knowing I will be living in an empty house for the next few days.

I stopped at the grocery store when I got back to Toronto and bought a mixed sushi dinner and a few treats. I was barely in the door when I retrieved the box of beads I ordered on-line from a Vancouver bead maker that was shipped to me a couple of weeks ago. I grabbed my laptop and my dinner, slipped into some comfy pajamas and took everything to bed with me. The beads are absolutely gorgeous - the product of a true artist. I spread them out all over the bed, turned on the TV and played the entire third season of "Big Love" while I made bracelets and bookmarks and played with combinations of lampwork beads and quartz, amethyst and pearls.

Around midnight I turned off the television, pulled shut the bedroom curtains, tucked away my beads and drifted off to sleep. I slept like a stone. Today was filled with my usual Sunday activities - a leisurely read of the newspaper and completion of the crossword puzzle and three sudoku puzzles, housework and a visit to my mom's. But when I got back tonight, I again enjoyed the luxury of dinner in bed while watching my favorite shows and a couple more hours of playing with my beads.

I miss the boys, but there is a lot to be said for the luxury of time alone.

In the Rhythm of 2010

"Action and reaction, ebb and flow, trial and error, change - this is the rhythm of living. Out of our over-confidence, fear; out of our fear, clearer vision, fresh hope. And out of hope, progress." - Bruce Barton

The new year is a week old and I'm finally getting into the rhythm of it. Jacob's last week of vacation is coming to a close. I will be taking him to Guelph on Saturday and I don't expect he will return home again until his reading week in February. I've spent two days in the office at Willow this week and will go back again tomorrow. My mom's eighty-eighth birthday was yesterday. We celebrated in the afternoon with a visit and a small cake. She is recovering from her chest cold and was up and dressed when I arrived.

The holidays were good. I've certainly enjoyed having Jacob home. It was great to have the house filled with young people again. I enjoyed seeing all my kids. Spending time with family and friends was great too. But I am not sorry to see the season come to an end. I like the rhythm of daily life. I enjoy the peace of a slower pace. I've gotten used to our quiet house. Next week Merv will be away on a business trip and Jacob will be back at school. I will have the house to myself. I will clean my closets, spread my beads and jewelry supplies out and create some new pieces, bring my laptop and tea into bed with me and settle in to watch TV in bed late into the night. These are the small luxuries I have come to enjoy in the months since we became empty nesters and I am truly alone in the house when Merv travels. I have found my rhythm. Life is good.

Moving Through the New Year at Breakneck Speed

And ye, who have met with Adversity's blast,
And been bow'd to the earth by its fury;
To whom the Twelve Months, that have recently pass'd
Were as harsh as a prejudiced jury -
Still, fill to the Future! and join in our chime,
The regrets of remembrance to cozen,
And having obtained a New Trial of Time,
Shout in hopes of a kindlier dozen.
~Thomas Hood

These first days of the new year are flying by in a whirlwind of activity. On New Year's Eve three of Jacob's friends came to spend the night at our house. Once they were duly fed, as is our custom, Merv and I walked down the street to ring in the new year with our friends Brian and Geraldine. After a few glasses of champagne, I collapsed into bed at about 2:00 A.M. It had been a long and hectic day - cooking, shopping and cleaning. At about 3:00 P.M. that afternoon, we had made the decision to host a small open house on New Year's Day.

Throwing together a gathering for our twenty guests required a considerable amount of work so I rose early on New Year's day. By ten o'clock I had cleaned up from feeding the boys the night before and was cooking for the party. At 11:00 I made breakfast for the boys - French toast, two pounds of bacon and a whack of eggs. That, of course, meant I had to clean up the breakfast remnants before I could get back to cooking. It turned out I didn't have a single spare moment through the day. It felt like a triumph to get everything done in time for the guests to arrive. I expected people to join us for an hour and then move on to their own plans but most came at 4:00 P.M. and didn't leave until close to 9:30. I put the food away, loaded the dishwasher and collapsed.

Saturday found me with the desire for a pajama day but that wasn't in the cards. Stan's birthday party was scheduled for 6:30. I did a little bit of shopping, applied as much under-eye circle concealer as possible without using a trowel, pulled myself together and headed to Cath and Stan's. It was a fun party with a lot of karaoke singing - our friend Frank's version of "When I'm 64" being the highlight. At about 11:30 we headed home where I really wanted to collapse. But the cup of non-decaf coffee I stupidly drank at 9:00 o'clock played havoc with my ability to sleep. I finally headed to the land of Nod shortly after 2:00 A.M.

Today, as on every other Sunday, I headed to Mom's nursing home to spend a bit of time with her. She has had a really tough week. She has another major chest cold and she suffered a fall last week. She is isolated in her room, fairly uncommunicative and out-of-sorts. I did successfully feed her a couple of small oranges and she drank some ginger ale which gave me considerable pleasure. After an hour with her, Cath and I headed off to the overpass on Victoria Park where we joined a few dozen other people to pay our respects to the passing motorcade on the Highway of Heroes. Sadly, five Canadians (four soldiers and one journalist) were repatriated this afternoon, all casualties of the war in Afghanistan. It was a bitter cold day and the motorcade passed more than an hour after the expected time. I was wearing a warm jacket, hat and hood and two pairs of gloves. I covered my face with a scarf. My feet, clad in socks and lined boots were absolutely freezing. There was a point when I wondered if I could wait it out in the minus 20 degree weather but I did. It was a sad, sad procession - at least a dozen police cars and twenty limousines. Dozens of frozen observers stood on the highway overpass in silence - all there for their own reasons. We don't talk about how we see the war - whether we support it or believe it is futile. Some are there because their sons and daughters are serving. Others because they've lost people dear to their hearts. Some are themselves soldiers, police officers, fire fighters or paramedics. As for me, I'm there for the mothers. I don't want them to think no one cares about their lost children. I believe it is time to bring our troops home. I don't want to stand on the overpass anymore. I don't want there to be any more heartbroken mothers traveling in limousines on frozen highways as solemn strangers wave their flags in tribute to their fallen children. We've lost so many. Please God, no more.