Heat Wave

The August heat sizzles on my head slowing my thoughts. I want to follow my dogs' lead, go for a morning stroll and snoozeaway the day.
I'm following my own lead.
A Hemingway junkie, this week I read The Old Man and the Sea, and I'm still digesting the story. Via this book, Hemingway won a Nobel prize for his influence on narrative voice. At the end of his life, the old man goes fishing. He says he has no luck, but he has precision. He catches the biggest fish ever, too big for his boat, and the sharks tear all the meat from it before he can get it home. So, he didn't get the money for the meat. What did he get out of an ordeal that nearly killed him? A great fish story.
Precision is what I need from my radiation treatments. And a little luck. A great story would be nice, too.

Time Off for Bad Behavior?

Radiation. An element that you can't touch, taste, smell or see, yet we're all scared of it.
It's a dreaded thing.
I told my radiation oncologist, "I grew up near Three Mile Island ... what do you say we shave off a few of these treatments and call it even?"
She said, "Thanks for playing."
"What about the near melt down in '78?" (I was living in Florida at the time, but it was worth a try).
"Hmmph."
"OK, I stand really close to my microwave oven and I'm pretty sure that one time my lead apron fell off during dental x-rays."
"No deal."
Crap.
It's amazes me that any of my generation is still around. As kids, we didn't wear seat belts (and most cars had metal dash boards-- that leaves a mark!). There were no bike helmets. We gave kids a lift on our bike handle bars. I had "clackers," two glass balls suspended on a string that one could hit together. Station wagons, the mini-van of the 60's-70's: how many of us fought to ride in the way back of the that car (no seats)? Neighborhood kids rode their bikes--behind the mosquito spray truck!
But, we had fun! We left the house in the morning and didn't come home until dark! Unless we were hungry. We got into mischief and caused trouble.
I had a bountiful childhood, a life without limits!
Too, I'm glad I didn't have to carry a cell phone with me when I walked the eight blocks to the community pool or went swimming in the lake at Mt. Gretna.
Scary things consisted of "B" horror films, like "Die Monster Die," the Comet, the roller coaster at Hershey Park and the old abandoned farmhouse that my cousins swore was haunted.
Our kids are sheltered. There's more things to fear; parents can't let their kids roam. Too much to worry about.
At the same time, we are, all of us insulated, thinking if we eat the right foods, work out at the gym, drink alcohol in moderation, pass on the smoking, drive the speed limit, buy one of those hang upside-down things, that nothing bad will happen to us.
But life comes without a seat belt.
Life owes us nothing.
So, during each treatment I'll think of childhood walks in the farmer's field, hoping the electric fence wasn't working, riding my bike beyond the limits (sans helmet), driving my '65 VW, no seatbelts, windows down, hair flying, engine in the back driving me forward.

Here Comes My 19th Nervous Breakdown

Rule #1 for cancer patients (and survivors): Eliminate ALL unnecessary stress in your life.

This is funny because dealing with cancer is STRESSFUL!
I have never cried so much and so often in my life. I'm sure I have Liz Gilbert, author of Eat, Pray, Love, beat in total gallons of tears and snot expended during a life crisis! (by the way if you ever have the chance to see her--go!).
So, I do not recommend anyone have their home, their foundation and security, sold, it's contents boxed up when you are still trying to get your land legs post cancer surgery ... unless it's for a damned good reason.
What is my damned good reason? We are moving to Canada.
So when I think I'm about to melt down, I think of the Canadian Rockies' powerful presence. When my stomach turns upside down, I think of our wonderful Canadian friends. When I'm completely overwhelmed, I think of bears, grizzlies, enjoying this year's bountiful crop of berries. Yes, bears eat berries, a caloric necessity for them, a linguistic treat for nerdy writers like me. Like the grizzlies of the Canadian Rockies, the lush mountain meadows' bumble bees have plush, furry coats!
My cherished Canadian friend, Pamela, has become an expert in her kayak, so my goal is to recover 100% of my left arm so that I can give it a try. I'll have to be a back-seater with Pat for a while before I fly solo.
OK, maybe I'm flunking rule #1.
My emotions are riding roller-coaster rails. But here's the thing: I'm trying to manage stress in a positive way. And I cry a lot.
Let's face it: life is stressful. Buddha said, "Life is suffering." Wisdom comes in learning to choose the response that is healthy for you. And all that crying clears your tear ducts and sends your soul through the rinse cycle.
Tissue please!

(Grizzly bear picture taken by Charlie Russell, naturalist and North America's leading bear expert. This bear is called "Spirit Bear." Please Google grizzlies and the intrepid Mr. Charlie Russell.)

Healing Thoughts

I've been thinking about what it takes to survive and struggling with some of the cornerstones, like positive attitude and focusing on healing.
I have to admit I'm more Eeyore than Tigger, though I have my Tigger moments. But I've wasted a lot of time waiting for the other shoe to drop.
We're all living under a shoe filled cloud.
In my case, the other shoe already dropped and it wasn't a Manolo Blahnik stiletto - it was cancer.
Post-surgery, my oncologist is sure this ugly shoe is out of my body. I am officially a survivor. Too, my DNA pool is much better than thought earlier: I tested negative for the BRCA1 and 2 gene mutations. Whew!
Now I have make that transition from doom to hope.
Too, I have to undergo more treatment to be sure the ugly shoe stays gone.
I have all the post-surgery aches and pains and these uncomfortable expanders in my chest wall (ouch), will help me retain my female form
But right now they feel as comfortable as margarine tub lids.
I'm meditating on the good things in my life: my unbelievably loving and supportive husband and kids, friends and family who are standing by me through this journey, and my kick-ass medical team (the much appreciated privilege of having good health care).
Like Eeyore, I'm a work in progress. It's ironic that this little grey donkey wears a pink ribbon on his tail.

SQUIRM

I gave this blog its name because it's perfect for a rant about breasts. Throughout sixteen weeks of chemo, I was secretly hoping for a lumpectomy since my tumor size is small and response to chemo has been A+. But I'm not getting that break (not that lumpectomies are a piece of cake). I'm in for full demo and reno. Both breasts.
medical staff: "We want to be able to say "cure.""
me: squirm
medical staff: "It's the best option. Otherwise you'll be under constant surveillance."
me: squirm
medical staff (now exasperated): "It's only fifteen extra minutes in the O.R."
me: squirm
I'm not ready for this!
Too, I've been trying to "prepare my mind for surgery," a series of basic relaxation methods which I'm supposed to learn and then put to use when I get scared (which is all the time). I'm listening to tapes which teach deep relaxation, but all I can do is picture my body on a metal table with my eyes X'd out! Then I read that picturing your body on a metal table with your eyes X'd out is not optimal for the pre-surgery mind.
squirm
Still, I keep reminding my catastrophic thoughts that I've made a choice which offers the best outcome -- I'm reaching for optimum health. My medical team is #1! Dammit, I'm going for cure (imagine crowd cheering)!
Yes, bilateral mastectomies. squirm.

Whining

I can't conceive a better place to spill a few pre-surgery tears than the Napa Valley. Growing up in farm country, I'm attuned to the vibrant energy in the growing grapes, the tending of the vines and hopes for a bountiful harvest. So much green under brilliant blue skies!
And the food - I gained five pounds! Too, I learned a new appreciation for champagne (the bubbles settle my wiggly stomach).
I did more wine sniffing than tasting, and was the designated driver for the love of my life. No complaints. For a few days I was Mustang Sally driving a fast convertible (yes, my hair stayed on!).
Memorable moment? We shared the most delicious plum, courtesy of Mr. Ramirez at his fruit stand along the Silverado Trail. Truly fabulous!
I did a lot of living in the moment and celebrating real love.

Oh Canada!

We are making a trip to visit Calgary friends and the gorgeous Canadian Rockies. Being in the presence of these majestic mountains gives me strength. Their peaks, beautifully sculpted and glacier scarred, are the strongest survivors. Maybe we are all timeless.