Reflections on 2017

“Hope smiles from the threshold of the year to come, whispering, 'It will be happier'.” - Alfred Lord Tennyson

My thoughts are muddled on this New Year's Eve morning.  I am unsure how to characterized 2017 in its dying hours.  In some ways, it was a year of firsts for me.  In others, a year of, 'Oh God please, not again.'

I walked in the first protest march of my life in January, joining 60,000 other women, men and children in the Women's March on Washington: Toronto.  It was a powerful day.  Jacob moved out of the house in February and I went into a tailspin, trying to adjust to life in our permanently empty nest. June brought me a wonderful week with Merv in PEI, exploring the seat of Confederation.  We had a great time but it was in that week that I first noticed that I wasn't feeling so well.  I was more breathless, more tired than I had been since getting my pacemaker the year before.  I tried to convince myself that it was emotional fatigue or just a natural part of aging.  I could not. Tests in July screamed the truth.  I have developed heart muscle failure.  It has been a blur of medications, tests, painful procedures and consultations.  There will be more surgery to come in January.  In the midst of it all, there was a wonderful family vacation to Wales and England both to celebrate the wedding of my brother-in-law and to spend some quality time with Jacob exploring London in a different way than we have done in the past.  It will live in my memory as one of the best weeks of my life.

So, indeed the year had its struggles but it also had so many gifts.  I am leaving it without bitterness, not feeling the need to stay up until midnight tonight, just so that I can watch it die.  Unlike the beginning of other new years, I am starting 2018 with no resolutions, no long-term hopes and a measure of trepidation.  I just want to get through January with as little pain as possible.  It is not worrying about the big outcome of surgery that is taking up space in my mind.  It's the anticipation of the pain that is headed my way again.  I wish I was brave.

Me and Harry - Reflections on Christmas Eve

“Yes,' said Dumbledore. 'He'll have that scar forever.'
'Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?'
'Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in useful. I have one myself above my left knee which is a perfect map of the London underground."

- J.K. Rowling

I am feeling pensive today as I prepare for our Christmas Eve celebrations.  This year marks the 25th year that we have hosted Christmas Eve dinner for our family, both those we are connected to by blood and those we chose.  We are a very small group this year - two of the ten who would have been at the table tonight have been sidelined by the flu.  I can remember a year we were fourteen at the table, but we have dwindled in these last years.

I've been struggling this Christmas with a marked decrease in energy and a general sense of malaise. I have been thinking about other Christmases when I was struggling with major health issues - most especially about the Christmas of 2005 when I was facing a second cancer surgery on the first working day in January.  I tried hard to put a good face on that year.  I'm trying hard again this year, though my heart surgery is not scheduled until the second week of January.  I'm hoping I have more lives than a cat.

It's not just the big things that have been occupying my mind though.  It's also the silly, small things that I've been struggling to reconcile.  I've never been a great beauty but the one thing I have had going for me is flawless skin - at least the skin on my face.  My body is so scarred from multiple surgeries that it looks a bit like a road map, but I digress.  Last August, while sitting in a lakeside chair playing cards with my friends, I was swarmed by tiny gnats.  They bit my face in many places, and I reacted badly enough to the bites to send me to the emergency room on the Labour Day weekend.  Eventually, the swelling subsided and the bites healed, all except for five tiny bites which were in a vertical zigzagged row on my forehead.  They healed but they left me with an angry red scar down the center of my forehead.  I have tried all forms of creams and lotions to fade the scar with no success.  I try to cover it now with makeup, but even then, it tends to show through.  So much for my flawless skin.  It is more annoyance than a problem, but I'm vain enough that it bothers me. It looks like the scar that Harry Potter has on his forehead.

I am a huge Harry Potter fan.  I've read the books many times and watched the movies over and over again.  This morning as I was once again grumbling to myself about the stupid scar on my forehead, I started thinking about the part of Harry's story where Dumbledore explained to him why he had the scar.  When attacked by Voldemort, Harry was protected by his mother's love.  It left him scarred but when he looks at that scar, he could always see the evidence of his mother's love.  I've decided that is the way I'm going to look at my own scar now.  I will sit at the table tonight, in my beautiful home with my wonderful family, surrounded by love.  I may be scarred but love is all the protection that I need.  Merry Christmas.