The past few weeks have been nothing but a whirlwind of doctor's appointments and waiting. Waiting for a treatment plan to materialize. My surgeon told me the tumor block had to be sent to California, not so that Arnold could kick it's ass, not so that it would fall of the party boat into Lake Havasu, but rather so that it could be analyzed and compared against the tumors of thousands of other women. Other women whose presentation and outcome might have been much different than mine. Other women who have gone before me, had surgery and treatments, whose outcomes had been measured and would now form the basis for my treatment.
Surgery on the 2nd meant that surely the tumor would be winging it's way West by the time of my first follow up with the surgeon. No, not December 11th. Surely I couldn't have believed it would go so quickly. There were labs to call, plans to be made. Well, then perhaps by the time I saw the oncologist on the 15th! Uhm, no, still not in the mail. However, we should know soon. Soon it was the 22nd and the radiation oncologist told me that no results were received as of yet. It is only on the eve of my next oncology appointment that I am informed that the tumor was sent the 18th. Three weeks after surgery. And with two weeks processing time it would be over a month until I knew the outcome. Disgusted I stayed home yesterday instead of making my appointment at the Dyson Center. The valet parking boys could park someone else's car. I was not playing the "how are you feeling? Fine. We have no information yet..." game.
So I wait. Today comes the call that I have to inform the lab in Ca. that it is okay to release the results to my MD. Apparently I can't have the results released to me. I have to wait yet another long weekend before I know what lies before me.
What a way to welcome the New Year. Waiting.
31 December 2009
03 December 2009
And so there may come a time when things change
I have spent the past 6 months in blissful ignorance. The work continues on my house. I now have a great new bedroom with a fabulous closet, something my old room lacked. The front of my house has been sided. Beautifully by my brother who took pride in designing the board and batten scheme. Interior walls have come down, floors have been changed, new lighting going up in the morning. My little cottage is almost finished and all should be well with the world.
I have spent more time these past few months with my brother and sister than I have in years. I have enjoyed every minute; our talks, sharing of memories, slide shows and dinner. Life was grand and I was in a good spot.
And then, a lump. A lump is all it was. One cm. Not much of a lump. How could I not have missed it? It isn't as though there is a family history of breast cancer. And besides at the same time our Pops was in the hospital having his own cancer surgery. One that involved PET scans and scares of monumental proportions. And our little sister had two lungs full of clots. That seemed to be enough for us to handle right now. And on top of it all I had already had cancer. An easy one. Thyroid. I jokingly told anyone who would listen that it was wise to pick out your cancer early as we'd all likely get it at some point in our lives. And I had beat them all to the punch by having thyroid cancer. Smug. That was me. Before last Tuesday.
I hopped out of the shower last week and in drying myself I felt a lump. It's not like I went looking for it. It presented itself to me, so I wouldn't miss it. All evening long I'd go back to that lump to see if it still survived. And it did. The morning brought a phone call to the breast surgeon and within a week I was diagnosed with breast cancer and had the tumor removed.
I sit home now wondering at how lucky I am. Had I missed the lump, had I ignored the lump, how different things would be. I am reminded of why I am here, what lesson I have been sent to learn. Don't covet, don't lust for that which is not yours. And keep your eyes open. You might miss something.
I have spent more time these past few months with my brother and sister than I have in years. I have enjoyed every minute; our talks, sharing of memories, slide shows and dinner. Life was grand and I was in a good spot.
And then, a lump. A lump is all it was. One cm. Not much of a lump. How could I not have missed it? It isn't as though there is a family history of breast cancer. And besides at the same time our Pops was in the hospital having his own cancer surgery. One that involved PET scans and scares of monumental proportions. And our little sister had two lungs full of clots. That seemed to be enough for us to handle right now. And on top of it all I had already had cancer. An easy one. Thyroid. I jokingly told anyone who would listen that it was wise to pick out your cancer early as we'd all likely get it at some point in our lives. And I had beat them all to the punch by having thyroid cancer. Smug. That was me. Before last Tuesday.
I hopped out of the shower last week and in drying myself I felt a lump. It's not like I went looking for it. It presented itself to me, so I wouldn't miss it. All evening long I'd go back to that lump to see if it still survived. And it did. The morning brought a phone call to the breast surgeon and within a week I was diagnosed with breast cancer and had the tumor removed.
I sit home now wondering at how lucky I am. Had I missed the lump, had I ignored the lump, how different things would be. I am reminded of why I am here, what lesson I have been sent to learn. Don't covet, don't lust for that which is not yours. And keep your eyes open. You might miss something.
13 June 2009
Darlings, I see light at the end of the tunnel
One day about 4 months ago my brother showed up to transform my house. The front room was to become a bedroom, complete with closet. The back of the house was to be opened up into one large room for living purposes. Now I say large but really it's not too large at all as my hacienda was once a store in a little village north of the Tappanzee in NYS. As the years went by it housed an elderly couple for many decades and then younger couple bought the house, did minor updates and moved out, asking a fortune for what it was. I was able to past this hot mess and see the building's potential, bought the place and the conversion slowly began.
My bedoom is all but finished. I have a closet now with recessed lighting and lots of hanging room. I have new windows which open, a major move forward as the house still had the original store shop windows after all of these years. I only need the crown moulding to appear and the door to be finished and viola' ... on to step two.
Only step two will not be taking down the interior walls as I'd hoped. No, instead it will be replacing the ceiling in the dining room. One day about 6 weeks ago I noted that a wall in that room was wet. Then I noted that the ceiling was ready to burst with water. After several drill holes the ceiling drained. And after another visit by my brother the water pipe in the attic was plugged. Meanwhile this fix has become a priority in my life as I'd love to get rid of swiss cheese that pretends to be ceiling board in that room.
Sometimes I look around and think why in hell did you buy this place anyway? You could have bought a real house. Like a building which was residential since it's inception. But what would be the fun of that? It may take another couple years but eventually I will have a little cottage in the 'burg, one that I've designed myself. I'll have french doors and skylights, a place that I can grow old in. And when I'm lying on the sofa, looking toward the sky someday I will see the stars.
I hope.
My bedoom is all but finished. I have a closet now with recessed lighting and lots of hanging room. I have new windows which open, a major move forward as the house still had the original store shop windows after all of these years. I only need the crown moulding to appear and the door to be finished and viola' ... on to step two.
Only step two will not be taking down the interior walls as I'd hoped. No, instead it will be replacing the ceiling in the dining room. One day about 6 weeks ago I noted that a wall in that room was wet. Then I noted that the ceiling was ready to burst with water. After several drill holes the ceiling drained. And after another visit by my brother the water pipe in the attic was plugged. Meanwhile this fix has become a priority in my life as I'd love to get rid of swiss cheese that pretends to be ceiling board in that room.
Sometimes I look around and think why in hell did you buy this place anyway? You could have bought a real house. Like a building which was residential since it's inception. But what would be the fun of that? It may take another couple years but eventually I will have a little cottage in the 'burg, one that I've designed myself. I'll have french doors and skylights, a place that I can grow old in. And when I'm lying on the sofa, looking toward the sky someday I will see the stars.
I hope.
11 June 2009
...and the end of civility as we knew it.
What became of respect? Respect for individuals, respect for professionals, respect amongst adults? I have my theories including the need for immediate information, the rise of the internet (darn Al Gore) which provides too much information for many to truly understand and the focus on oneself. It's all about me and I want it now seems to be the new motto.
This week at work the loss of civility was driven home in a big way. On Tuesday a family member approached the desk and started hounding me with questions about his father, questions laced with his favorite word apparently. That word begins with 'f '. As civilly as I could I told said gentleman that I would not be answering any questions about his father's protected health information particularly in light of his own language and behaviors. Instead of being a calming influence on his behaviors my intervention caused this son to escalate to proportions where a security officer in the hospital had to be called. All because a middle aged man couldn't approach the desk and simply ask, "Could you tell me what's going on with my father's tests?"
Later that day I was coming out of a patient's room on one end of a very long hall. At the far end were two middle aged men, outside the ICU. What were they doing? Their behaviors seemed so incongruous to the setting. As I moved closer I noted that arms were flailing, one man had the other in a head lock and legs were going everywhere. My lord the two men were having a fist fight. Like in a bar, or so I'm told. As I neared the scene of the crime I find one man with a moderately severe head laceration, the other with his clothes literally ripped off his back. We soon found out that these two men are brothers, fighting over the care of their elderly mother who is in the Intensive Care Unit. Yes as an elderly woman is struggling for each breath while making her peace with the world her sons are out in the hall beating the crap out of each other.
All because the two could not go together into the lounge and have a peaceful conversation about their mom's situation and how it should be resolved.
Does this lack of common decency come at the price of a society moving too fast to remember the little things? Or is the fact that manners are no longer being taught by either parents at home or teachers in school. Sometimes I think our hectic pace makes it impossible to take the time to be gracious and civil and I long for a time before cell phones and the internet. For simpler times when manners were emphasized.
Yet I fear it's too late much the same as the babble coming out of Sarah Palin's mouth somehow passes for intelligence.
This week at work the loss of civility was driven home in a big way. On Tuesday a family member approached the desk and started hounding me with questions about his father, questions laced with his favorite word apparently. That word begins with 'f '. As civilly as I could I told said gentleman that I would not be answering any questions about his father's protected health information particularly in light of his own language and behaviors. Instead of being a calming influence on his behaviors my intervention caused this son to escalate to proportions where a security officer in the hospital had to be called. All because a middle aged man couldn't approach the desk and simply ask, "Could you tell me what's going on with my father's tests?"
Later that day I was coming out of a patient's room on one end of a very long hall. At the far end were two middle aged men, outside the ICU. What were they doing? Their behaviors seemed so incongruous to the setting. As I moved closer I noted that arms were flailing, one man had the other in a head lock and legs were going everywhere. My lord the two men were having a fist fight. Like in a bar, or so I'm told. As I neared the scene of the crime I find one man with a moderately severe head laceration, the other with his clothes literally ripped off his back. We soon found out that these two men are brothers, fighting over the care of their elderly mother who is in the Intensive Care Unit. Yes as an elderly woman is struggling for each breath while making her peace with the world her sons are out in the hall beating the crap out of each other.
All because the two could not go together into the lounge and have a peaceful conversation about their mom's situation and how it should be resolved.
Does this lack of common decency come at the price of a society moving too fast to remember the little things? Or is the fact that manners are no longer being taught by either parents at home or teachers in school. Sometimes I think our hectic pace makes it impossible to take the time to be gracious and civil and I long for a time before cell phones and the internet. For simpler times when manners were emphasized.
Yet I fear it's too late much the same as the babble coming out of Sarah Palin's mouth somehow passes for intelligence.
06 June 2009
Almost ready
Today I can declare myself almost ready for summer ... garden wise. I planted the containers out front of the house just moments ago with geraniums and impatients and watered the bejesus out of them. One of the planters has sprouted both a sunflower and a couple of pumpkin seeds which I am leaving alone. Can't wait to see what happens there.
And I've planted the sunflowers on the west side of the house along with more pumpkins. Lots more pumpkins. Those seeds have sprouted and are moving right along. There are still some morning glories to go in along the fence near the gate but again, I'm making progress.
Inside the fence I have all of my other pumpkins and sunflowers planted, my raspberries are coming into fruit, my blueberries have green berries. The broccoli is brockling and my peas are growing and blooming. No peas as of yet. The boxwoods I moved are settling in well as are the dwarf spruce , the decorative grasses and my King River White Birch. My kitchen garden has all of it's herbs planted along with a couple of grape tomato plants. And in various spots I have tomato seedlings coming up from last year along with yes, more pumpkins from last year's seeds.
I look around at my tiny yard which still sports too many weeds and realize I've recreated a lot of memories on this little plot of land. White birch, always in a stand on the side of the house my dad built, right outside our bedroom window. spice bush and mountain laurel, seen nightly on our yard tour with mother. Raspberries ... who can forget the raspberries at Grandma M's. We'd pick them for breakfast and eat them with fresh cream. Sunflowers, the fields in bloom as I drove the windy road to my first place when I moved back home to the valley. Pumpkins, how my children and grandchildren love to pick just the right pumpkin.
Yes it seems I am planting a water colour of my life and I am almost ready now to sit down and enjoy it.
And I've planted the sunflowers on the west side of the house along with more pumpkins. Lots more pumpkins. Those seeds have sprouted and are moving right along. There are still some morning glories to go in along the fence near the gate but again, I'm making progress.
Inside the fence I have all of my other pumpkins and sunflowers planted, my raspberries are coming into fruit, my blueberries have green berries. The broccoli is brockling and my peas are growing and blooming. No peas as of yet. The boxwoods I moved are settling in well as are the dwarf spruce , the decorative grasses and my King River White Birch. My kitchen garden has all of it's herbs planted along with a couple of grape tomato plants. And in various spots I have tomato seedlings coming up from last year along with yes, more pumpkins from last year's seeds.
I look around at my tiny yard which still sports too many weeds and realize I've recreated a lot of memories on this little plot of land. White birch, always in a stand on the side of the house my dad built, right outside our bedroom window. spice bush and mountain laurel, seen nightly on our yard tour with mother. Raspberries ... who can forget the raspberries at Grandma M's. We'd pick them for breakfast and eat them with fresh cream. Sunflowers, the fields in bloom as I drove the windy road to my first place when I moved back home to the valley. Pumpkins, how my children and grandchildren love to pick just the right pumpkin.
Yes it seems I am planting a water colour of my life and I am almost ready now to sit down and enjoy it.
05 June 2009
Leave town
So three weeks have passed and on Monday we sent our parents on their way. Our time with them was over and it was time to get back to real life and cherish our memories.
I'd be lying if I said it was an easy time having the parental unit here in the valley. My dad has changed little although his driving skills are a tad scary, especially considering he was heading out on the road with my mother to travel across country to Montana for the summer. Somehow, however, they'd made it here from Arizona so I figure that some diety is looking out for them. My mother is frail and decidedly opinionated. Yet as I looked back over the years of my childhood and early adulthood I realized not much had changed. She still saw children as an entity to be seen and not heard, to be strictly obedient and not emotionally needy, to be accepted but not truly nurtured. That kind of hurts to say aloud but time hadn't changed my parents at all.
The siblings on the East Coast spent many hours with our parents, showing them where we work, taking dad fishing at his favorite spots, looking at gardens with mom and eating, my did we eat. Yet as with all good things on Monday the time had come for the last meal together. And so my sister and I went out to purchase the Last Supper and with a weary smile asked that the baker write on their cake .....
LEAVE TOWN.
And they did. The next day.
I'd be lying if I said it was an easy time having the parental unit here in the valley. My dad has changed little although his driving skills are a tad scary, especially considering he was heading out on the road with my mother to travel across country to Montana for the summer. Somehow, however, they'd made it here from Arizona so I figure that some diety is looking out for them. My mother is frail and decidedly opinionated. Yet as I looked back over the years of my childhood and early adulthood I realized not much had changed. She still saw children as an entity to be seen and not heard, to be strictly obedient and not emotionally needy, to be accepted but not truly nurtured. That kind of hurts to say aloud but time hadn't changed my parents at all.
The siblings on the East Coast spent many hours with our parents, showing them where we work, taking dad fishing at his favorite spots, looking at gardens with mom and eating, my did we eat. Yet as with all good things on Monday the time had come for the last meal together. And so my sister and I went out to purchase the Last Supper and with a weary smile asked that the baker write on their cake .....
LEAVE TOWN.
And they did. The next day.
16 May 2009
Hello honey we're home!
About 30 years ago our parents decided to move across country and leave the family behind. It really was that simple. A phone call to inform us and within months the family home had been sold, childhood and high school rememberances tossed out and off they moved to the American desert, never looking back.
In the years which have since transpired I have raised two children by myself after a brutally protracted divorce, gone back to school and received a third degree, my BSN. My daughter has married and has three lovely children, a great husband and a home in upper NYS. My son has graduated from school and after spending several years abroad is now buying his first home. We've moved on. Without my parents around to use for emotional support, for a sounding board or to see how we have grown and changed.
Now they have returned for a visit having driven once again across country, a car stuffed full of their worldy possessions. They are now in their 80's and eager to share stories and offload tools, glassware and sporting goods to our generation. No matter that we have no memories of these items acquired out West, long after their move. No matter that their lives over the last 30 years have only been shared in phone calls and irregularly scheduled visits. Tomorrow my father will meet his great grandchildren for the first time and I wonder ....
do they understand?
In the years which have since transpired I have raised two children by myself after a brutally protracted divorce, gone back to school and received a third degree, my BSN. My daughter has married and has three lovely children, a great husband and a home in upper NYS. My son has graduated from school and after spending several years abroad is now buying his first home. We've moved on. Without my parents around to use for emotional support, for a sounding board or to see how we have grown and changed.
Now they have returned for a visit having driven once again across country, a car stuffed full of their worldy possessions. They are now in their 80's and eager to share stories and offload tools, glassware and sporting goods to our generation. No matter that we have no memories of these items acquired out West, long after their move. No matter that their lives over the last 30 years have only been shared in phone calls and irregularly scheduled visits. Tomorrow my father will meet his great grandchildren for the first time and I wonder ....
do they understand?
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