The oil disaster in the Gulf continues to rage. Wildlife are dying. Habitats are crumbling. Ecosystems are suffocating under the weight of the oil. Livelihoods are dying. Consumers are spending elsewhere. There is no reprieve in sight. The devastation will be felt for decades. Decades…
The Gulf Stream. A current that is a powerful, warm, and swift current originating from the Atlantic in the Gulf of Mexico. This current swirls and twirls by the Straight of Florida, meandering along the eastern coastline. This current saved our vacation.
The oil from the Deepwater Horizon/BP spill is being dumped along the Gulf Coastline…except at St. Petersburg…which is where we were. Not one drop of oil. Not one tarball. It was absolutely gorgeous and pristine and amazing beautiful. Talk about blessed. I was relatively sure that we would be able to watch the oil wash up on the shores of St. Pete just as we landed, however, this was not the case. The oil never came. The Gulf Stream kept it bay, so to speak, and you would be hard pressed to find more thankful people than us.
We arrived on Thursday and immediately donned our beachwear and headed down to the water. It was clear enough to see straight down to your feet and into the sand. We have been to several other beaches in the past, and for the exception of Destin, this was the most clear water we have ever seen. The sand was as white as white can be and the amount of beach in between our resort and the ocean itself, was extensive. The island of St. Petersburg left us breathless.
Throughout our week on St. Pete, we saw a stingray leap from the water and dive down, down, down. We rode a banana boat, which is always my favorite event. We went sightseeing through the historical district as well as some of the more “touristy” locales. We dove for sand dollars and seashells. We visited with tourists from as far away as England and listened as their girls practiced their best “Hannah Montana” dialect. We stared in awe as dolphins frolicked right in front of us. Yes, frolicked... We ate grouper, shrimp, scallops, and crab until we could not stand another bite. We lounged by the pools and sprayed each other with sunscreen. We visited with our dear friends from Tampa who brought their children and joined us for an entire day. We went to the IMAX theater and watched “Toy Story 3”. We laughed. We played. We sunned ourselves. We shared. We slept like rocks. It was absolutely wonderful.
I asked big Daddy what the chances were of us selling everything and purchasing a banana boat. We could put up a tiki hut and sell rides all day, every day and then eat seafood every night. Our jobs would be driving people around on a banana boat and helping them have an awesome vacation. Sounds so simple, doesn’t it? A banana boat, a few life jackets, and a tiki hut.
And that’s when it occurred to me…
All this time we have driven so furiously hard to achieve and really, when it comes down to it, we want very little. It isn’t about the big house or the huge savings account. It isn’t about the cars or boats or Harley’s. It isn’t about the Tommy Hilfiger clothes or the Prada shoes. It isn’t about keeping up with the Jones’ who can’t even keep up with themselves. It’s about simplicity.
Talking.
Laughing.
Sharing.
Caring.
Loving.
Time.
Time.
Time.
How are you spending yours?
Are you digging a well, hoping to strike oil?
Are you so engrossed in achieving goals that you are missing out on the very blessings of today?
Please don’t let another day go by that finds you fighting so hard to achieve something that really doesn’t matter.
It isn’t about the money shot, the untapped oil reserve, the next promotion, the letters after your name…
It’s about…
Diving for sand dollars
Banana boat rides
Listening to your children laugh
Making your husband or wife smile
Sharing a piece of key lime pie
Taking lots of pictures and looking at them together year after year after year
It’s about not waiting until you have earned enough money or saved enough money…you will never reach that goal. If we waited until we had enough money to have children, humanity would die out. Same holds true for living. Enjoy today. Do not place all your eggs in the basket of “retirement” or “we will do it when…”
It’s about now. It’s about today. It’s about the one gift you can give anyone, any day of the week, or even every day.
Your time.
Go make memories. Don’t wait. Enjoy today…your family, your friends, your hobbies, your joy.
Share your time because that is sharing you and honestly, that is all anyone wants anyway.
Give the gift of time…your time…you.
God will take care of the tarballs if you simply trust Him to do so…and you can watch the sun set beyond your tiki hut.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
I speak to you, then You
Do you hear me when I speak?
Are you aware of who I am?
Am I?
Why am I here?
What was God’s intent?
Perhaps it is true and I was an accident.
Accidents happen.
The path for me is supposedly narrow and straight.
Why is the road so bent, crooked, and hidden in thickets of confusion?
There must be more.
There must be more.
There must be more.
What if there is no more?
What if God turned His back as His tears stained the clouds?
What if His disappointment was just too great to risk one more try?
I seek You every morning and You listen.
Are You thinking I can figure this out?
I cannot.
My words are watched closely by those who trust them at face value.
My words and my thoughts are often mismatched.
Quiet them.
Give nothing away.
Smile.
Give.
Serve.
Glow.
You are the epitome of happiness.
Yes, yes, I am.
Are you aware of who I am?
Am I?
Why am I here?
What was God’s intent?
Perhaps it is true and I was an accident.
Accidents happen.
The path for me is supposedly narrow and straight.
Why is the road so bent, crooked, and hidden in thickets of confusion?
There must be more.
There must be more.
There must be more.
What if there is no more?
What if God turned His back as His tears stained the clouds?
What if His disappointment was just too great to risk one more try?
I seek You every morning and You listen.
Are You thinking I can figure this out?
I cannot.
My words are watched closely by those who trust them at face value.
My words and my thoughts are often mismatched.
Quiet them.
Give nothing away.
Smile.
Give.
Serve.
Glow.
You are the epitome of happiness.
Yes, yes, I am.
Friday, June 11, 2010
The Hunchback of St. Joe Main
He walked by, hovering over his cane while trying to balance and watch where he was walking while looking for his wife. My guess is that he was around ninety years old. His back was hunched and while his body was long and lean, age had significantly reduced his posture and obvious prior frame of around 6’2”. Now, his round-backed body may have cleared a total height of 5’7”. My heart ached.
I have always said I do not want to get old. Obviously, this is not what I mean since the “fix” for not getting old is to stop living and that is certainly not what I want. I have changed my mantra to not wanting to have a body that has become old and decrepit racked with pain and an inability to move without restriction. In other words, a healthy body. However, as we have come to find out, a healthy body is only partially up to you and how you take care of yourself. Sometimes a bad hand is dealt and you are left holding some pretty sucky cards. Hello, cancer. Hello, car accident that wasn’t your fault. Hello, MS, MD, arthritis, Alzheimer’s, Parkinson’s, etc………
The man, though stooped, maneuvered his way down the hospital corridor looking for her, looking for her, looking for her. I sat there waiting for my turn and while the elderly man went on by, he did not immediately return despite his relatively close proximity to the exit. I sat there. I “people-watched” for a good thirty minutes, which is never enough time…
She came down the hallway balancing on her walker. Her white hair looking like a drift of snow atop her head. Perfectly coiffed as in the old days when your mother used to go to the beauty parlor to have her hair done. The bouffant would last for one week and then our mamas would go back to the beauty parlor and have it all done again. Sprayed. Teased. Sprayed some more. There was no way that hair was going to move in the next week. I remember the weekly trips to the beauty parlor with my mom. They were wonderfully full of conversations I never understood, a scent of ozone-depleting aerosol, and the pungent, unique scent of “permanent solution”. The smell was so strong your nose would sometimes burn as you inhaled the fumes from the bleach and peroxide. Hair care has come a long way since the early 70’s, yes?
The woman shuffled her feet as she placed her walker down in front of her. The corridor was not carpeted and you could hear the steps… Baby step shuffle, shuffle, clank. Shuffle, shuffle, clank. Shuffle, shuffle clank. She looked at each person in every seat in the waiting room. She studied each person despite it requiring her to literally stop walking to her destination. She was definitely hunting for someone in particular, and none of us were who she was looking for. Shuffle, shuffle, clank. Shuffle, shuffle, clank.
I prayed and I prayed hard…“God, please don’t let my body forsake me like that. Please help me to remain healthy and committed to a healthy lifestyle. Please, oh please, God, please…not like that.”
Just then he appeared. The same hunched over man who had scooted by me half an hour before. He was returning and walking directly into the little old lady’s path. He saw her and exclaimed, “There you are!” as if he had not seen her in ages. Her face lit up and she was absolutely ecstatic to see him. Obviously this pair had a history and a love, miles long. The man turned with his cane and the couple headed toward the exit sharing what the doctor had said to each of them. I am unsure if they drove or were chauffeured through some elderly aid organization such as “Wheels”. I am hopeful it was through an assisted living-type deal considering their physical limitations and the exhaustive effort to merely walk.
As they shuffled away, each of them tried to take care of the other, tripping the automatic doors, stopping so that the younger people in such a blazing hurry could blow by them and not knock down their partner…Stooped, crooked, needing physical stability provided by artificial means just to walk, and not even walk erect. These people, this couple…moved me...stirred my heart.
They were patient. They waited for each other. Even when obviously confused and fearful dementia present, they searched for each other. Knowing they were incomplete without their spouse. As they walked away I noticed that the elderly gentleman had soiled himself with urine. The wife noticed, as well, for as they neared the automatic doors she paused and looked around to see if anyone had noticed. Though no one was behind her, she took her purse while maneuvering her walker, and attempted to cover her husband’s “accident”.
They carried on with their conversation and exited the hospital. I lost track of them as the window view stopped short of the parking lot. The lab tech called my name…
I have always said I do not want to get old. Obviously, this is not what I mean since the “fix” for not getting old is to stop living and that is certainly not what I want. I have changed my mantra to not wanting to have a body that has become old and decrepit racked with pain and an inability to move without restriction. In other words, a healthy body. However, as we have come to find out, a healthy body is only partially up to you and how you take care of yourself. Sometimes a bad hand is dealt and you are left holding some pretty sucky cards. Hello, cancer. Hello, car accident that wasn’t your fault. Hello, MS, MD, arthritis, Alzheimer’s, Parkinson’s, etc………
The man, though stooped, maneuvered his way down the hospital corridor looking for her, looking for her, looking for her. I sat there waiting for my turn and while the elderly man went on by, he did not immediately return despite his relatively close proximity to the exit. I sat there. I “people-watched” for a good thirty minutes, which is never enough time…
She came down the hallway balancing on her walker. Her white hair looking like a drift of snow atop her head. Perfectly coiffed as in the old days when your mother used to go to the beauty parlor to have her hair done. The bouffant would last for one week and then our mamas would go back to the beauty parlor and have it all done again. Sprayed. Teased. Sprayed some more. There was no way that hair was going to move in the next week. I remember the weekly trips to the beauty parlor with my mom. They were wonderfully full of conversations I never understood, a scent of ozone-depleting aerosol, and the pungent, unique scent of “permanent solution”. The smell was so strong your nose would sometimes burn as you inhaled the fumes from the bleach and peroxide. Hair care has come a long way since the early 70’s, yes?
The woman shuffled her feet as she placed her walker down in front of her. The corridor was not carpeted and you could hear the steps… Baby step shuffle, shuffle, clank. Shuffle, shuffle, clank. Shuffle, shuffle clank. She looked at each person in every seat in the waiting room. She studied each person despite it requiring her to literally stop walking to her destination. She was definitely hunting for someone in particular, and none of us were who she was looking for. Shuffle, shuffle, clank. Shuffle, shuffle, clank.
I prayed and I prayed hard…“God, please don’t let my body forsake me like that. Please help me to remain healthy and committed to a healthy lifestyle. Please, oh please, God, please…not like that.”
Just then he appeared. The same hunched over man who had scooted by me half an hour before. He was returning and walking directly into the little old lady’s path. He saw her and exclaimed, “There you are!” as if he had not seen her in ages. Her face lit up and she was absolutely ecstatic to see him. Obviously this pair had a history and a love, miles long. The man turned with his cane and the couple headed toward the exit sharing what the doctor had said to each of them. I am unsure if they drove or were chauffeured through some elderly aid organization such as “Wheels”. I am hopeful it was through an assisted living-type deal considering their physical limitations and the exhaustive effort to merely walk.
As they shuffled away, each of them tried to take care of the other, tripping the automatic doors, stopping so that the younger people in such a blazing hurry could blow by them and not knock down their partner…Stooped, crooked, needing physical stability provided by artificial means just to walk, and not even walk erect. These people, this couple…moved me...stirred my heart.
They were patient. They waited for each other. Even when obviously confused and fearful dementia present, they searched for each other. Knowing they were incomplete without their spouse. As they walked away I noticed that the elderly gentleman had soiled himself with urine. The wife noticed, as well, for as they neared the automatic doors she paused and looked around to see if anyone had noticed. Though no one was behind her, she took her purse while maneuvering her walker, and attempted to cover her husband’s “accident”.
They carried on with their conversation and exited the hospital. I lost track of them as the window view stopped short of the parking lot. The lab tech called my name…
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Stupid Things I Have Believed
I’ll grow up and marry a minister because he will never sin against me or leave me because ministers don’t do that.
A cat will always land on its feet.
You cannot hit a bird with your car.
God owes me. (This was for a few years after my parents died)
I won’t get caught. (Primarily teenage years) (Primarily wrong)
It is possible to eat ice cream in moderation when no one is around.
I don’t need to write it down because there’s no way I would forget that.
My one vote doesn’t matter.
I am in control of my life.
I should save my good things. (Forrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr?????)
Honesty is always the best policy.
I can change your mind.
Listening to loud music will not affect my hearing.
By drinking warm apple juice for three days, you can escape a colonoscopy prep.
Oprah is cool.
I won’t get caught. (Speeding)
Say what you think, then no one has to guess. (No…sometimes just let them guess)
I’ll just read the book after I see the movie.
Not disagreeing means you must agree. (No. Not disagreeing means you may not want to argue about it this time) (Very upsetting realization)
It’s not me, it’s you. (Sometimes, it is me)
Raising my voice improves my argument.
I’ll do it next week, month, year…
I need to save that!
I need to hurry and do it…no time to pray about it!
It doesn’t matter what my true motivation is as long as the job gets done.
There are perfect people living perfect lives. (There are some very good actors in a whole lot of churches on Sundays)
I’m sure they wouldn’t show all the funny parts in the previews!
Sunbathing with baby oil on the beach is a good idea. (Stupid, stupid teenager)
Using a sunlamp is an even better and FASTER way to tan than using baby oil on the beach. (Stupid, stupid teenager in the emergency room)
Nobody is watching. (Ummm, hello? God?)
A Christian workplace will be perfect. We will have Bible study together, pray together, share each other’s burdens, and everyone will be nice and sweet and kind. (Oh, boy…waaaaaaaaay off on that one)
Passive-aggressiveness means we won’t argue but you will still do what I am wanting you to do. (Really???)
If my students like me, they won’t lie to me.
The more I say “yes”, the more people will like me.
My house isn’t big enough/clean enough/rich enough to entertain.
I will make them feel guilty by doing it myself. (Stupid, stupid, gullible, stupid)
My van/truck/suburban will fit in there!
I’m sure they didn’t mean to…hurt my feelings, upset me, make me angry, say that, imply that, or make me crazy.
They have my best interest at heart.
It can’t hurt THAT bad or women wouldn’t keep having babies.
If I argue with you, you will see that I am right and then acquiesce.
No one could be THAT stupid.
If I say “I’m sorry” and mean it, they have to forgive me. (Apparently not)
One taste is all I need and then I won’t want to eat the whole thing. (Fat moron)
Short list…but a good start. More to come, for sure.
A cat will always land on its feet.
You cannot hit a bird with your car.
God owes me. (This was for a few years after my parents died)
I won’t get caught. (Primarily teenage years) (Primarily wrong)
It is possible to eat ice cream in moderation when no one is around.
I don’t need to write it down because there’s no way I would forget that.
My one vote doesn’t matter.
I am in control of my life.
I should save my good things. (Forrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr?????)
Honesty is always the best policy.
I can change your mind.
Listening to loud music will not affect my hearing.
By drinking warm apple juice for three days, you can escape a colonoscopy prep.
Oprah is cool.
I won’t get caught. (Speeding)
Say what you think, then no one has to guess. (No…sometimes just let them guess)
I’ll just read the book after I see the movie.
Not disagreeing means you must agree. (No. Not disagreeing means you may not want to argue about it this time) (Very upsetting realization)
It’s not me, it’s you. (Sometimes, it is me)
Raising my voice improves my argument.
I’ll do it next week, month, year…
I need to save that!
I need to hurry and do it…no time to pray about it!
It doesn’t matter what my true motivation is as long as the job gets done.
There are perfect people living perfect lives. (There are some very good actors in a whole lot of churches on Sundays)
I’m sure they wouldn’t show all the funny parts in the previews!
Sunbathing with baby oil on the beach is a good idea. (Stupid, stupid teenager)
Using a sunlamp is an even better and FASTER way to tan than using baby oil on the beach. (Stupid, stupid teenager in the emergency room)
Nobody is watching. (Ummm, hello? God?)
A Christian workplace will be perfect. We will have Bible study together, pray together, share each other’s burdens, and everyone will be nice and sweet and kind. (Oh, boy…waaaaaaaaay off on that one)
Passive-aggressiveness means we won’t argue but you will still do what I am wanting you to do. (Really???)
If my students like me, they won’t lie to me.
The more I say “yes”, the more people will like me.
My house isn’t big enough/clean enough/rich enough to entertain.
I will make them feel guilty by doing it myself. (Stupid, stupid, gullible, stupid)
My van/truck/suburban will fit in there!
I’m sure they didn’t mean to…hurt my feelings, upset me, make me angry, say that, imply that, or make me crazy.
They have my best interest at heart.
It can’t hurt THAT bad or women wouldn’t keep having babies.
If I argue with you, you will see that I am right and then acquiesce.
No one could be THAT stupid.
If I say “I’m sorry” and mean it, they have to forgive me. (Apparently not)
One taste is all I need and then I won’t want to eat the whole thing. (Fat moron)
Short list…but a good start. More to come, for sure.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
Sandy the One Cent Pony
It caught my attention and I almost stopped walking to look at it. Sandy, the one cent mechanical horse at the local grocery store. I flashed back to a time when my children were small. We would go into the grocery store and they would ask to ride the mechanical horse, and I would always let them. I like to think I was a good mom in that regard, taking time to do the little things here and there. Not letting the hurry scurry rob us of each and every opportunity to stop and smell the roses. With Precious Son being two years older than Beautiful Daughter, they remained at ages to enjoy Sandy the One Cent Pony quite often.
I miss those days. I loved being the mother of young children. Preschool aged children. When school starts, the family dynamic changes, and not necessarily for the better, in my humble opinion. Before the children go to school, the family is in charge of its own calendar. We don’t have to worry about testing dates, picture day, or getting to bed on time. Before school takes over, the family eats lunches prepared by the mom who knows all the food allergies, peanut butter to jelly ratio, and how to buy wheat bread that looks and tastes like white. Before school dictates the family’s vacations, there are late night movies on the couch cuddled up with each other. Beginning school changes everything. You are forced into bedtimes, bath times, homework, bus schedules, teacher planning days, school-recognized holidays, along with how to celebrate Christmas without acknowledging Christmas at all. After the children begin school, we are relegated to a scheduled calendar not created by ourselves, even though it is for our family.
God bless Sandy the One Cent Pony.
Sandy represented a carefree lifestyle with no real restrictions as to when or where or what. When to get up, where to learn about cool places, or what to do with colorful pipe cleaners, tissue paper, and Crayola markers. Sandy the One Cent Pony meant that my children were little and excited to learn and discover new things. Sandy showed me how a three year old can be made to giggle uncontrollably and how a big brother can help his little sister on and off the “big horsie”.
Precious Son will be a senior in high school in two months. How is this possible when I just had him??? I remember the day he was born as if it were yesterday. Even with chemo brain, I remember everything. Same with Beautiful Daughter. I can recall details from that day that surely were inconsequential to the rest of world, but not to me. I remember how Big Daddy called from Korea the morning of Precious Son’s birth. It was nighttime in Korea and he was calling to see how things were going. My water had just broke and I was on my way to the hospital. Talk about excited. Big Daddy went from zero to 90 when he heard me say I was on my way to the hospital and that we were going to have a baby today. He told me to make sure I locked the stove and turned off the door. He was a bit rattled, I guess you could say. *smile*
Beautiful Daughter will begin her sophomore year of high school in less than sixty days. This is the same little person who was two weeks late and the role model for Dr. Dobson’s “strong willed child”. Beautiful Daughter is her daddy made over. She is strong, stoic, and has a heart that knows no end. She is kind and considerate of the less fortunate, but don’t ever cross her because she will not forget. Easy to love but not so easy to be loved by. Beautiful Daughter keeps her guard up all the time, never wanting to be caught unaware. I have never seen a more beautiful young girl nor have I ever spent time with a sweeter spirit. The day she was born, the people at the hospital did not believe that I was in labor. That’s what happens when you hook up the monitor wrong…misinformation. With Beautiful Daughter being my second child, I knew I was in labor… I also knew that she was coming NOW! After some “mild” persuasion, the monitor was re-attached and sure enough, the baby was on its way. She came fast and furious, throwing her into fetal distress. They swept my baby away and took her to NICU and left me by myself. Big Daddy went with her and made sure the baby they brought back to me was the one they originally took. In a relatively short amount of time, Beautiful Daughter was fine and ready to be with her mommy, daddy and big brother.
And here I stood, 17 years later, looking at Sandy the One Cent Pony, devoid of my children riding her. Absent of any child, actually. I looked around and saw a young mother with her little, twin boys, as they were checking out. The boys were asking if they could “ride the horsie” and the mom said “no”, that they had many things to do and the milk would spoil. As my bold life would have it, I walked over to her and said…
“Sweet Girl, the milk won’t spoil…let them ride Sandy. In the blink of an eye, you will be helping them with college applications and reminding them of their curfew. This time is fleeting and irreplaceable. Enjoy it. Embrace it. Cherish it. This time is the sweetest and the shortest.”
I gave the young mom some pennies and walked by Sandy the One Cent Pony on my way out of the store. I had to get the kids off to school and then myself to work. I felt a wave of emotion inside of me and knew tears were forming. I really just hoped that I had been a good mom to my young children because my young children had been so good to me. I glanced back at Sandy the One Cent Pony one last time as she mechanically bucked and whinnied while twin boys giggled with delight.
I miss those days. I loved being the mother of young children. Preschool aged children. When school starts, the family dynamic changes, and not necessarily for the better, in my humble opinion. Before the children go to school, the family is in charge of its own calendar. We don’t have to worry about testing dates, picture day, or getting to bed on time. Before school takes over, the family eats lunches prepared by the mom who knows all the food allergies, peanut butter to jelly ratio, and how to buy wheat bread that looks and tastes like white. Before school dictates the family’s vacations, there are late night movies on the couch cuddled up with each other. Beginning school changes everything. You are forced into bedtimes, bath times, homework, bus schedules, teacher planning days, school-recognized holidays, along with how to celebrate Christmas without acknowledging Christmas at all. After the children begin school, we are relegated to a scheduled calendar not created by ourselves, even though it is for our family.
God bless Sandy the One Cent Pony.
Sandy represented a carefree lifestyle with no real restrictions as to when or where or what. When to get up, where to learn about cool places, or what to do with colorful pipe cleaners, tissue paper, and Crayola markers. Sandy the One Cent Pony meant that my children were little and excited to learn and discover new things. Sandy showed me how a three year old can be made to giggle uncontrollably and how a big brother can help his little sister on and off the “big horsie”.
Precious Son will be a senior in high school in two months. How is this possible when I just had him??? I remember the day he was born as if it were yesterday. Even with chemo brain, I remember everything. Same with Beautiful Daughter. I can recall details from that day that surely were inconsequential to the rest of world, but not to me. I remember how Big Daddy called from Korea the morning of Precious Son’s birth. It was nighttime in Korea and he was calling to see how things were going. My water had just broke and I was on my way to the hospital. Talk about excited. Big Daddy went from zero to 90 when he heard me say I was on my way to the hospital and that we were going to have a baby today. He told me to make sure I locked the stove and turned off the door. He was a bit rattled, I guess you could say. *smile*
Beautiful Daughter will begin her sophomore year of high school in less than sixty days. This is the same little person who was two weeks late and the role model for Dr. Dobson’s “strong willed child”. Beautiful Daughter is her daddy made over. She is strong, stoic, and has a heart that knows no end. She is kind and considerate of the less fortunate, but don’t ever cross her because she will not forget. Easy to love but not so easy to be loved by. Beautiful Daughter keeps her guard up all the time, never wanting to be caught unaware. I have never seen a more beautiful young girl nor have I ever spent time with a sweeter spirit. The day she was born, the people at the hospital did not believe that I was in labor. That’s what happens when you hook up the monitor wrong…misinformation. With Beautiful Daughter being my second child, I knew I was in labor… I also knew that she was coming NOW! After some “mild” persuasion, the monitor was re-attached and sure enough, the baby was on its way. She came fast and furious, throwing her into fetal distress. They swept my baby away and took her to NICU and left me by myself. Big Daddy went with her and made sure the baby they brought back to me was the one they originally took. In a relatively short amount of time, Beautiful Daughter was fine and ready to be with her mommy, daddy and big brother.
And here I stood, 17 years later, looking at Sandy the One Cent Pony, devoid of my children riding her. Absent of any child, actually. I looked around and saw a young mother with her little, twin boys, as they were checking out. The boys were asking if they could “ride the horsie” and the mom said “no”, that they had many things to do and the milk would spoil. As my bold life would have it, I walked over to her and said…
“Sweet Girl, the milk won’t spoil…let them ride Sandy. In the blink of an eye, you will be helping them with college applications and reminding them of their curfew. This time is fleeting and irreplaceable. Enjoy it. Embrace it. Cherish it. This time is the sweetest and the shortest.”
I gave the young mom some pennies and walked by Sandy the One Cent Pony on my way out of the store. I had to get the kids off to school and then myself to work. I felt a wave of emotion inside of me and knew tears were forming. I really just hoped that I had been a good mom to my young children because my young children had been so good to me. I glanced back at Sandy the One Cent Pony one last time as she mechanically bucked and whinnied while twin boys giggled with delight.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Memorial Day 2010
Memorial Day. It means something to me. It isn’t about having a day off from work…it means something deep in my heart. My father was a Lieutenant Colonel in the United States Army. As a child, I remember the pomp and circumstance associated with military functions and formality. I have always been awestruck with the lowering of our flag at 5pm. Not sure why that in particular stands out, but it does. Even when stationed in Germany, I would proudly watch the lowering of our flag even as others would try to hurry off base so that they would not have to stop and be bothered with such nonsense. GRRR! As you can tell, it still bothers me when Americans do not honor our flag and all it represents. If we are fortunate enough to stand in silent respect as our flag is lowered or raised, then we should, and it should always be an honor to do so, never a chore or inconvenience. The inconvenience was dying or becoming maimed… How dare someone not respect the flag? Our National Anthem? How can you not remove your baseball cap and place your hand over your heart when you hear that song? Obviously, a touchy subject…
Moving on…
Memorial Day…We first observed Memorial Day on May 30, 1868, by placing flowers on the graves of Union and Confederate soldiers at Arlington National Cemetery. In 1971, Congress established the last Monday in May as the national holiday to remember those who paid the ultimate sacrifice in service to our country. In 1915, inspired by the poem “In Flanders Fields,” Moina Michael penned her own tribute to the fallen:
We cherish too, the poppy red
That grows on fields where valor led,
It seems to signal to the skies
That blood of heroes never dies.
From this verse, she conceived the idea of wearing a red poppy on Memorial Day to honor those who died in uniform during times of war.
On a daily basis, every American should proudly support our Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen, and Marines, many of whom are in harm’s way in remote locations around the globe – it is these brave men and women (past and present) we must remember. I reminded our children to take time during their long weekend to pay tribute to members of the armed forces who “gave their full measure of devotion”. We have our freedoms today because of what they gave yesterday. Their Father. Their Grandfather Kyle. Their Uncle Mark. I hope they did.
We headed to the lake Friday afternoon around 4. The kids brought friends and we had a very nice ride as we talked and shared with each other. I brought the boys, as in my Yorkies. I say that “I” brought them because no one wanted me to bring them. That’s usually the way it is, though, so I am used to it and I don’t even care what anyone says anymore. These boys are my sweet babies and they are coming with me. Period. Our son’s friend, Jay, said, “Oh, Pandora…be careful. You will be that dog lady”, to which Precious Son replied, “Oh, Jay, she already is that lady.” Ha ha. Very funny. Sticks and stones…pfffft.
We arrived at the lake and unloaded all we could onto the boat and then checked into the hotel. Since I had chemo that morning, I was quite fatigued however, the look on everyone’s faces with how excited they were gave me added energy. Either that or pure will to stay awake. Not to mention that our friends were on their way, too. Uncle Bill and Elay had left about an hour after we did. We were all having dinner together and that always makes me happy because I love spending time with them.
Dinner was fabulous as we ate at the marina with fresh seafood and lots of great conversation. Another family ate with us, too. They have a speedboat while Uncle Bill and Elay have a pontoon like we do. We worked out the details for Saturday as to when and where and what and then all headed to our respectful places of rest and called it a night. I never sleep very well my first night in a hotel, but not this time. Besides the normal shifting from hip pain (chemo-induced arthritis which should go away) and the inability to have the temperature below 60 because I room with cold-blooded reptiles that freeze, I slept pretty well. Only my Yorkies appreciate the state of eternal sunshine that I am in and allow me to slumber in temperatures that could make a polar bear shiver.
Saturday morning came and we were on the boats in no time. We anchored in a cove and tied all three boats together. All the kids had a blast and ran to and fro between the boats jumping off, diving in, and eating each other’s snacks. It was great. Titan, my big boy Yorkie, loved the water. Trooper, my itty bitty Yorkie, well, not so much. They both wore their little life jackets (made by Outward Hound…how cute is that?!?!?!?) and while Titan was very comfortable swimming, Trooper was just as uncomfortable drowning despite them both doing the exact same thing in the water. It was quite comical, to say the least. Since it was Memorial Day we all decided that Titan was a Navy Seal and Trooper was land-loving Infantryman.
We rode jet skis and pulled people on the inner tube. It was a blast! Big Daddy agreed to let me drive the jet ski with him on the back. I would say that lasted for approximately seven minutes until I turned the jet ski around and let him get off. He kept making weird noises like grunts and groans of death and then began screaming things like “we’re gonna die” and “do you see that ship?!?!?” Well, that’s only so funny for so long…especially when you realize he was serious…and there were no ships.
We had dinner at the marina again because we all love it there so much. Sunday was a repeat of Saturday and was just as enjoyable. We headed home around 9pm Sunday night and basically collapsed into our beds at home. It was a wonderful weekend full of family, friends, and a whole lot of memories…and you know how I feel about making memories.
It is with great sincerity that I say I hope your weekend was wonderful and full of happy memories, too. We have today…and we have today because of our soldiers who were and are willing to die for our freedoms. Lest we forget…
Far-called, our navies melt away;
On dune and headland sinks the fire:
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Ninevah and Tyre
Judge of the Nations, spare us yet.
Lest we forget—lest we forget!
Rudyard Kipling
Recessional
Moving on…
Memorial Day…We first observed Memorial Day on May 30, 1868, by placing flowers on the graves of Union and Confederate soldiers at Arlington National Cemetery. In 1971, Congress established the last Monday in May as the national holiday to remember those who paid the ultimate sacrifice in service to our country. In 1915, inspired by the poem “In Flanders Fields,” Moina Michael penned her own tribute to the fallen:
We cherish too, the poppy red
That grows on fields where valor led,
It seems to signal to the skies
That blood of heroes never dies.
From this verse, she conceived the idea of wearing a red poppy on Memorial Day to honor those who died in uniform during times of war.
On a daily basis, every American should proudly support our Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen, and Marines, many of whom are in harm’s way in remote locations around the globe – it is these brave men and women (past and present) we must remember. I reminded our children to take time during their long weekend to pay tribute to members of the armed forces who “gave their full measure of devotion”. We have our freedoms today because of what they gave yesterday. Their Father. Their Grandfather Kyle. Their Uncle Mark. I hope they did.
We headed to the lake Friday afternoon around 4. The kids brought friends and we had a very nice ride as we talked and shared with each other. I brought the boys, as in my Yorkies. I say that “I” brought them because no one wanted me to bring them. That’s usually the way it is, though, so I am used to it and I don’t even care what anyone says anymore. These boys are my sweet babies and they are coming with me. Period. Our son’s friend, Jay, said, “Oh, Pandora…be careful. You will be that dog lady”, to which Precious Son replied, “Oh, Jay, she already is that lady.” Ha ha. Very funny. Sticks and stones…pfffft.
We arrived at the lake and unloaded all we could onto the boat and then checked into the hotel. Since I had chemo that morning, I was quite fatigued however, the look on everyone’s faces with how excited they were gave me added energy. Either that or pure will to stay awake. Not to mention that our friends were on their way, too. Uncle Bill and Elay had left about an hour after we did. We were all having dinner together and that always makes me happy because I love spending time with them.
Dinner was fabulous as we ate at the marina with fresh seafood and lots of great conversation. Another family ate with us, too. They have a speedboat while Uncle Bill and Elay have a pontoon like we do. We worked out the details for Saturday as to when and where and what and then all headed to our respectful places of rest and called it a night. I never sleep very well my first night in a hotel, but not this time. Besides the normal shifting from hip pain (chemo-induced arthritis which should go away) and the inability to have the temperature below 60 because I room with cold-blooded reptiles that freeze, I slept pretty well. Only my Yorkies appreciate the state of eternal sunshine that I am in and allow me to slumber in temperatures that could make a polar bear shiver.
Saturday morning came and we were on the boats in no time. We anchored in a cove and tied all three boats together. All the kids had a blast and ran to and fro between the boats jumping off, diving in, and eating each other’s snacks. It was great. Titan, my big boy Yorkie, loved the water. Trooper, my itty bitty Yorkie, well, not so much. They both wore their little life jackets (made by Outward Hound…how cute is that?!?!?!?) and while Titan was very comfortable swimming, Trooper was just as uncomfortable drowning despite them both doing the exact same thing in the water. It was quite comical, to say the least. Since it was Memorial Day we all decided that Titan was a Navy Seal and Trooper was land-loving Infantryman.
We rode jet skis and pulled people on the inner tube. It was a blast! Big Daddy agreed to let me drive the jet ski with him on the back. I would say that lasted for approximately seven minutes until I turned the jet ski around and let him get off. He kept making weird noises like grunts and groans of death and then began screaming things like “we’re gonna die” and “do you see that ship?!?!?” Well, that’s only so funny for so long…especially when you realize he was serious…and there were no ships.
We had dinner at the marina again because we all love it there so much. Sunday was a repeat of Saturday and was just as enjoyable. We headed home around 9pm Sunday night and basically collapsed into our beds at home. It was a wonderful weekend full of family, friends, and a whole lot of memories…and you know how I feel about making memories.
It is with great sincerity that I say I hope your weekend was wonderful and full of happy memories, too. We have today…and we have today because of our soldiers who were and are willing to die for our freedoms. Lest we forget…
Far-called, our navies melt away;
On dune and headland sinks the fire:
Lo, all our pomp of yesterday
Is one with Ninevah and Tyre
Judge of the Nations, spare us yet.
Lest we forget—lest we forget!
Rudyard Kipling
Recessional
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Bad Dreams on Chemo Friday
I mentioned before how I hate dreaming about my parents because it always affects me for a long period of time after I wake up. It doesn’t really matter if the dream was a good one or a bad one…my mental state is altered toward the negative. Friday morning was chemo. I woke up and got the kids off to school and lay back down for about 40 minutes. Sleep was easy because I have been so incredibly tired lately. A new dream entered my subconscious and it had nothing to do with my parents, however, I awoke just as shaken and the after-effects were long-lasting, to say the least.
I dream vividly. I can see colors and I recognize all the nouns…people, places, things. In this particular dream, I was seated in the office of my oncologist and he told me the news. The oncologist was not my regular one, because he only gives me good news. This oncologist was a new guy who was older, heavier, and had far less tact.
“The results are back. The cancer has returned and it has invaded your brain. There is nothing we can do.”
I sat on the examining table with my mouth stuck in that awkward position between gaping open and clenched teeth. The news sank in and I disputed it as best I could…
“But you don’t understand, Big Daddy works incredibly hard! He asked you to do everything possible so that the cancer would NOT return! He asked you! You promised him! You can’t do this to him!”
The oncologist spoke to me quite matter-of-factly and while he wanted to alleviate Big Daddy’s concern, he simply could not. Big Daddy was not with me at this appointment. He was working, of course! My time off from work had surely diminished our finances and Big Daddy was out working even harder than usual. I had not even bothered to tell him about the appointment because I was positive all was well.
I continued to argue with the oncologist and he continued to tell me there was nothing anyone could do. The cancer was back. It had invaded my brain. I was going to die. Period.
I thought maybe if I complimented the oncologist enough, he would change my prognosis. I told him that while Big Daddy was an incredibly hard worker, I was sure he was, too! I told him that I was positive he worked enough hours to qualify as two full time jobs, just like Big Daddy. I went on and on about how hard oncologists worked, but he must work harder than any other.
Nothing changed. The cancer was back. It had invaded my brain. I was going to die. Period.
I argued and pleaded and begged for the doctor to make this go away. I explained to him that Big Daddy would not be in a position to carry on if something were to happen to me. The oncologist asked me why I thought that…
“Because he told me so.”
With that, the oncologist informed me that people die every day and the ones left behind do carry on because they have no choice and that Big Daddy would do the exact same thing. He would carry on. He would go to work, watch the children marry and have their own families, become a doting grandfather, and live the rest of his life. He would be fine. Big Daddy would go on with his life and be absolutely fine…without me.
The oncologist dismissed my fear for Big Daddy’s resolve and told me I could get dressed. He said he had originally scheduled a PET scan, but now there was no need for it and that I did not have to endure anymore tests. There was no point. I was going to die and it was really just a matter of time. That’s how it is brain cancer…you become the walking dead.
And with that, the oncologist walked out and I woke up.
I got up and dressed for my chemo appointment. I went alone. Big Daddy was working exceptionally hard because of the Memorial Day weekend and we were going to the lake with friends. All the work had to be completed by Friday at 3pm in order for us to get away for the weekend. We also pay weekly, so payroll had to be done in addition to the actual work itself. Big Daddy was pushing it, to put it mildly, to get everything accomplished and be on the road by 4 with the kids arriving home from school at 3:45. I don’t even remember if I told him I had chemo or not.
I went for my labs and everything came back pretty much okay. I am now anemic, which is not that bad of news, really. It explains my constant fatigue as well as my inability to stay awake. It is also temporary, if all goes well. The absolute trauma your body goes through with continual chemo is amazing…maybe it is more amazing to survive it at all. Regardless, the chemo-induced arthritis and the anemia should resolve themselves as I complete my chemotherapy regimen. You know, just in time to undergo my next surgeries for reconstruction.
*eyeroll*
Anyway, I went on to chemo and the subsequent appointments that I go to on chemo days. The urge to cry was constant. I wanted to. I did tear up here and there but didn’t break down and boohoo all over the place. I just couldn’t seem to get it together. That stupid, stupid dream had made me an emotional basket case. I tried not to think about it…I mean, really, what are the chances of the cancer coming back, anyway? Oh, yeah. No one knows. They can’t even tell me the kind of cancer I have now, much less what may be coming down the cancer pike.
I saw Linda, and she took vials of my blood for lab work. I sat in the waiting room for what seemed like eternity, standing out like sore thumb because I was the youngest one in there. Youngest by a LOT. The dream had put me on super-sensitive mode and I noticed all kinds of things that I normally would not have worried with. There was also a silent auction going on but I didn’t even check it out. I love silent auctions. Not sure why… The people in the waiting room seemed to stare at me. They whispered and made comments about “breast cancer” and “oh, how sad”. My breast cancer baseball cap gives away my diagnosis, which is fine. The tears streaming down my face gives away my own disbelief.
Finally, after almost an hour, the physician’s assistant called me back to have my temperature taken and weight recorded. That’s another thing. I have gained weight. I am not happy. The steroids are temporary but what if the weight isn’t? It may not seem like a big deal to put on weight when you have cancer and are undergoing treatment, but it IS. It was a big deal to lose all that weight. Trust me, it is far easier to put it on than it is to take it off. I actually prayed, again, this morning for release from the bondage of vanilla bean ice cream and Magic Shell.
I sat in the examining room for another thirty minutes. A little crying here, a little there. Whenever the dream snuck into my consciousness, I would tear up. The look on Big Daddy’s face was enough to make anyone upset. That’s what it was about the dream…Big Daddy’s reaction. Not that the cancer had returned or invaded my brain or even that I was going to die… The most upsetting part of the dream was seeing Big Daddy’s reaction to my impending death. It was all a flashback to the day he told Precious Son and Beautiful Daughter. I had never seen him so…so…silently shaken. That’s the part of my dream that was not very sensible. I was watching Big Daddy’s reaction to the news, even though he was not with me in the examining room. He was someplace else…but still hearing the news at the same time I was. Just like now…I was at the doctor’s appointment and Big Daddy was not. He came with me to all my appointments, big ones, little ones, lab ones, result ones, even ones that were the wrong ones because I misunderstood some detail. He was always with me…but not in my dream and not today.
I could have called him. Talking to him always makes me feel better. But, like I said, he had a ton of things to do before our mini-vaca at the lake, so I just toughed it out by myself. The doctor came in and explained my need for more iron to combat the anemia along with my need for more rest. “Iron is not magic, you must slow down”. I was dismissed by the doctor and returned to the waiting room for my chemo to begin. My phone rang and it was Big Daddy. He was calling to see what I was doing. I mentioned the dream and how I didn’t like feeling that way. Big Daddy commented on my voice saying I sounded like I had been crying. I told him I was fighting crying but was fine. You see, I hate seeming needy to him when the rest of the world needs him, too. Actually, I hate seeming needy to him even when I am. Crazy independence? No, probably just crazy.
The chemo nurse came and got me and I was hooked up. The tear stains must have been evident because my nurse asked why I had been crying. I immediately choked up and as briefly as possible explained that I had a bad dream and just could not shake the feeling. She asked if it was about cancer and I said yes, that the cancer had returned and had moved into my brain. I didn’t go into any more detail because I just didn’t want to talk about it. The nurse was very kind, gave me a hug and said that everything would be okay. She asked if Big Daddy was on his way and I said no because I wasn’t even sure I had told him I had chemo today. She smiled and hooked me up to the clear liquid that would soon drip into my veins and hopefully save my life.
I sat there for a few minutes as the IV flowed. I had brought the book I have been trying to finish for a couple of weeks now and thought for sure, this would be the day I finish it. The title is “The Wedding” by Nicholas Sparks. The title reminded me of my wedding to Big Daddy and that’s pretty much as far as I got with the book. I remember the night we were married, so many years ago. How I felt like I looked beautiful and have never looked as pretty as I did the night I walked down the aisle. I remembered how handsome Big Daddy looked in his tuxedo and how excited we were to begin our life together as a military couple. I never read a single word of “The Wedding” by Nicholas Sparks, however, I did reminisce about the wedding Big Daddy and I penned…and then he walked in.
Big Daddy was covered head to toe, in grass clippings and raindrops. The rain had started in the wee hours of the morning but the mowing had to be finished, so off he went. He stood there with a big grin on his face and asked me what I was doing. I smiled and the tears flowed all at the same time. He came close to me and kissed my forehead. I reached for him but he said not to because he would get grass and dirt all over me. Oddly enough, for the first time in my entire life, I didn’t care about being covered in dirt. I reached up as Big Daddy gingerly held me as close as he could without disturbing the tubing and needles and port.
We sat and talked about stuff, including the dream and that’s when it hit me. As I was trying to explain it to Big Daddy, it became clear why I was so bothered by it. I told Big Daddy that I had always planned on taking care of him and here we were with him taking care of me. He was the one with the dangerous jobs, first in the military and now, protecting and serving the great metropolis of Lexington. He had done everything under the sun short of bungee jumping, which I was glad of. Big Daddy is an adrenalin junkie…he needs the thrill, the excitement, the rush. I, on the other hand, become giddy when I find the remote. Yes, opposites do attract.
Apparently, my taking care of Big Daddy was my plan all along and being the psycho-Type A-planner that I am, him having to take care of me completely messed up everything! In addition to fighting the fact that I had to be cared for during the hard chemo stage of battling cancer, I was also fighting it through my subconscious now that I was a few months out. My dream depicted me as a helpless, frail, and dying person unable of caring for herself, much less anyone else. Well, my plans for my life have me at the helm, caring for my family, wholly, independently, and as only I can.
Big Daddy wiped away my tears with his grass-stained hand and reassured me that I will be the one to care for him for years and years and years. That we would grow old together and spoil our grandchildren like nobody’s business. We would travel and sightsee and ride the Harley until I saw something that I just had to take a picture of…and he would actually stop and let me. *smile*
Big Daddy told me that we had waaaaaaaaay too much stuff to do and I had waaaaaaaaaay too many years left to take care of him…just like I have every day for the past twenty…and we laughed because there was tremendous truth in that statement. The chemo nurse came in and asked if I would like an Ativan to calm my nerves and I declined saying that I was sitting next to the best medicine around.
Hey, Big Daddy, thanks for leaving work on your busiest day to come and sit with me when you thought I may be upset about something as silly as a bad dream. You remain, as always, my hero, my best friend, and the absolute love of my life.
I dream vividly. I can see colors and I recognize all the nouns…people, places, things. In this particular dream, I was seated in the office of my oncologist and he told me the news. The oncologist was not my regular one, because he only gives me good news. This oncologist was a new guy who was older, heavier, and had far less tact.
“The results are back. The cancer has returned and it has invaded your brain. There is nothing we can do.”
I sat on the examining table with my mouth stuck in that awkward position between gaping open and clenched teeth. The news sank in and I disputed it as best I could…
“But you don’t understand, Big Daddy works incredibly hard! He asked you to do everything possible so that the cancer would NOT return! He asked you! You promised him! You can’t do this to him!”
The oncologist spoke to me quite matter-of-factly and while he wanted to alleviate Big Daddy’s concern, he simply could not. Big Daddy was not with me at this appointment. He was working, of course! My time off from work had surely diminished our finances and Big Daddy was out working even harder than usual. I had not even bothered to tell him about the appointment because I was positive all was well.
I continued to argue with the oncologist and he continued to tell me there was nothing anyone could do. The cancer was back. It had invaded my brain. I was going to die. Period.
I thought maybe if I complimented the oncologist enough, he would change my prognosis. I told him that while Big Daddy was an incredibly hard worker, I was sure he was, too! I told him that I was positive he worked enough hours to qualify as two full time jobs, just like Big Daddy. I went on and on about how hard oncologists worked, but he must work harder than any other.
Nothing changed. The cancer was back. It had invaded my brain. I was going to die. Period.
I argued and pleaded and begged for the doctor to make this go away. I explained to him that Big Daddy would not be in a position to carry on if something were to happen to me. The oncologist asked me why I thought that…
“Because he told me so.”
With that, the oncologist informed me that people die every day and the ones left behind do carry on because they have no choice and that Big Daddy would do the exact same thing. He would carry on. He would go to work, watch the children marry and have their own families, become a doting grandfather, and live the rest of his life. He would be fine. Big Daddy would go on with his life and be absolutely fine…without me.
The oncologist dismissed my fear for Big Daddy’s resolve and told me I could get dressed. He said he had originally scheduled a PET scan, but now there was no need for it and that I did not have to endure anymore tests. There was no point. I was going to die and it was really just a matter of time. That’s how it is brain cancer…you become the walking dead.
And with that, the oncologist walked out and I woke up.
I got up and dressed for my chemo appointment. I went alone. Big Daddy was working exceptionally hard because of the Memorial Day weekend and we were going to the lake with friends. All the work had to be completed by Friday at 3pm in order for us to get away for the weekend. We also pay weekly, so payroll had to be done in addition to the actual work itself. Big Daddy was pushing it, to put it mildly, to get everything accomplished and be on the road by 4 with the kids arriving home from school at 3:45. I don’t even remember if I told him I had chemo or not.
I went for my labs and everything came back pretty much okay. I am now anemic, which is not that bad of news, really. It explains my constant fatigue as well as my inability to stay awake. It is also temporary, if all goes well. The absolute trauma your body goes through with continual chemo is amazing…maybe it is more amazing to survive it at all. Regardless, the chemo-induced arthritis and the anemia should resolve themselves as I complete my chemotherapy regimen. You know, just in time to undergo my next surgeries for reconstruction.
*eyeroll*
Anyway, I went on to chemo and the subsequent appointments that I go to on chemo days. The urge to cry was constant. I wanted to. I did tear up here and there but didn’t break down and boohoo all over the place. I just couldn’t seem to get it together. That stupid, stupid dream had made me an emotional basket case. I tried not to think about it…I mean, really, what are the chances of the cancer coming back, anyway? Oh, yeah. No one knows. They can’t even tell me the kind of cancer I have now, much less what may be coming down the cancer pike.
I saw Linda, and she took vials of my blood for lab work. I sat in the waiting room for what seemed like eternity, standing out like sore thumb because I was the youngest one in there. Youngest by a LOT. The dream had put me on super-sensitive mode and I noticed all kinds of things that I normally would not have worried with. There was also a silent auction going on but I didn’t even check it out. I love silent auctions. Not sure why… The people in the waiting room seemed to stare at me. They whispered and made comments about “breast cancer” and “oh, how sad”. My breast cancer baseball cap gives away my diagnosis, which is fine. The tears streaming down my face gives away my own disbelief.
Finally, after almost an hour, the physician’s assistant called me back to have my temperature taken and weight recorded. That’s another thing. I have gained weight. I am not happy. The steroids are temporary but what if the weight isn’t? It may not seem like a big deal to put on weight when you have cancer and are undergoing treatment, but it IS. It was a big deal to lose all that weight. Trust me, it is far easier to put it on than it is to take it off. I actually prayed, again, this morning for release from the bondage of vanilla bean ice cream and Magic Shell.
I sat in the examining room for another thirty minutes. A little crying here, a little there. Whenever the dream snuck into my consciousness, I would tear up. The look on Big Daddy’s face was enough to make anyone upset. That’s what it was about the dream…Big Daddy’s reaction. Not that the cancer had returned or invaded my brain or even that I was going to die… The most upsetting part of the dream was seeing Big Daddy’s reaction to my impending death. It was all a flashback to the day he told Precious Son and Beautiful Daughter. I had never seen him so…so…silently shaken. That’s the part of my dream that was not very sensible. I was watching Big Daddy’s reaction to the news, even though he was not with me in the examining room. He was someplace else…but still hearing the news at the same time I was. Just like now…I was at the doctor’s appointment and Big Daddy was not. He came with me to all my appointments, big ones, little ones, lab ones, result ones, even ones that were the wrong ones because I misunderstood some detail. He was always with me…but not in my dream and not today.
I could have called him. Talking to him always makes me feel better. But, like I said, he had a ton of things to do before our mini-vaca at the lake, so I just toughed it out by myself. The doctor came in and explained my need for more iron to combat the anemia along with my need for more rest. “Iron is not magic, you must slow down”. I was dismissed by the doctor and returned to the waiting room for my chemo to begin. My phone rang and it was Big Daddy. He was calling to see what I was doing. I mentioned the dream and how I didn’t like feeling that way. Big Daddy commented on my voice saying I sounded like I had been crying. I told him I was fighting crying but was fine. You see, I hate seeming needy to him when the rest of the world needs him, too. Actually, I hate seeming needy to him even when I am. Crazy independence? No, probably just crazy.
The chemo nurse came and got me and I was hooked up. The tear stains must have been evident because my nurse asked why I had been crying. I immediately choked up and as briefly as possible explained that I had a bad dream and just could not shake the feeling. She asked if it was about cancer and I said yes, that the cancer had returned and had moved into my brain. I didn’t go into any more detail because I just didn’t want to talk about it. The nurse was very kind, gave me a hug and said that everything would be okay. She asked if Big Daddy was on his way and I said no because I wasn’t even sure I had told him I had chemo today. She smiled and hooked me up to the clear liquid that would soon drip into my veins and hopefully save my life.
I sat there for a few minutes as the IV flowed. I had brought the book I have been trying to finish for a couple of weeks now and thought for sure, this would be the day I finish it. The title is “The Wedding” by Nicholas Sparks. The title reminded me of my wedding to Big Daddy and that’s pretty much as far as I got with the book. I remember the night we were married, so many years ago. How I felt like I looked beautiful and have never looked as pretty as I did the night I walked down the aisle. I remembered how handsome Big Daddy looked in his tuxedo and how excited we were to begin our life together as a military couple. I never read a single word of “The Wedding” by Nicholas Sparks, however, I did reminisce about the wedding Big Daddy and I penned…and then he walked in.
Big Daddy was covered head to toe, in grass clippings and raindrops. The rain had started in the wee hours of the morning but the mowing had to be finished, so off he went. He stood there with a big grin on his face and asked me what I was doing. I smiled and the tears flowed all at the same time. He came close to me and kissed my forehead. I reached for him but he said not to because he would get grass and dirt all over me. Oddly enough, for the first time in my entire life, I didn’t care about being covered in dirt. I reached up as Big Daddy gingerly held me as close as he could without disturbing the tubing and needles and port.
We sat and talked about stuff, including the dream and that’s when it hit me. As I was trying to explain it to Big Daddy, it became clear why I was so bothered by it. I told Big Daddy that I had always planned on taking care of him and here we were with him taking care of me. He was the one with the dangerous jobs, first in the military and now, protecting and serving the great metropolis of Lexington. He had done everything under the sun short of bungee jumping, which I was glad of. Big Daddy is an adrenalin junkie…he needs the thrill, the excitement, the rush. I, on the other hand, become giddy when I find the remote. Yes, opposites do attract.
Apparently, my taking care of Big Daddy was my plan all along and being the psycho-Type A-planner that I am, him having to take care of me completely messed up everything! In addition to fighting the fact that I had to be cared for during the hard chemo stage of battling cancer, I was also fighting it through my subconscious now that I was a few months out. My dream depicted me as a helpless, frail, and dying person unable of caring for herself, much less anyone else. Well, my plans for my life have me at the helm, caring for my family, wholly, independently, and as only I can.
Big Daddy wiped away my tears with his grass-stained hand and reassured me that I will be the one to care for him for years and years and years. That we would grow old together and spoil our grandchildren like nobody’s business. We would travel and sightsee and ride the Harley until I saw something that I just had to take a picture of…and he would actually stop and let me. *smile*
Big Daddy told me that we had waaaaaaaaay too much stuff to do and I had waaaaaaaaaay too many years left to take care of him…just like I have every day for the past twenty…and we laughed because there was tremendous truth in that statement. The chemo nurse came in and asked if I would like an Ativan to calm my nerves and I declined saying that I was sitting next to the best medicine around.
Hey, Big Daddy, thanks for leaving work on your busiest day to come and sit with me when you thought I may be upset about something as silly as a bad dream. You remain, as always, my hero, my best friend, and the absolute love of my life.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
