Tonight there is a lunar eclipse. I am tired, but I am staying up late because the last time a lunar eclipsed happened was 400 years ago. Knowing it may be another 400 years before it happens again and I know I won’t be around to see it --and I want to experience it.
I am okay with saying I won’t be around in 400 years, but last year at this time, I wasn’t sure I’d be around in 1 year.
History has been lingering around me like the pokey Christmas tree spruce needles carpeting my house. (I wish I had a bull pine tree instead of a spruce.) The holidays are a reminder of what I went through this past year, a year I’ve been doing really good at putting behind me.
It was after Thanksgiving last year that I learned I might have some sort of disease, and that disease might be cancer. It was during the Opera’s Holiday Pops Concert that I stood in the back of the performance hall, with a huge lump in my throat and tears streaming down my face as the choir sang Joy to the World. I was not Joyful, I was fearful of what was to come. There was no new life being brought into my world, instead, it felt like life was ending.
This year during Holiday Pops, I sang in the chorus. I have to admit, it was really hard. Here’s a secret most don’t know about me. I am actually quite terrible in crowds and most of the time, I am in character. It’s a trick I learned with all my years of theater. It’s easier for me to be in character because I can escape any stage fright or emotional attachment I have towards something. It was a struggle to fight back tears this year singing what is typical rather emotional music anyway. So needless to say so I didn’t look like a blithering fool, I found that place I needed to be and powered through Joy to the World. Besides, when I cry, I sing flat.
Last year I went to my sorority party and everyone gave me mournful yet supportive hugs. This year the only cancer related thing someone said to me at the party was, “How the heck did you get that wicked scar on your neck?” I smiled and said, “That? Oh that is where I had my cancer biopsy done. But that’s nothing, check this out!” and I pulled my shirt down lower and exposed my port scar which looks like the surgeon cut me open with a chainsaw and stitched me up with a net mending needle. I now have impressive party scars to show off. Not very feminine, but hey, it’s what I’ve got to offer.
Christmas will be the next hurdle. Last Christmas I slept a lot. Mom and dad were here and mom made sure I got plenty of rest which I needed. Everything was kind of a blur since I knew I’d be leaving a few days after Christmas to get the official verdict, the verdict I was pretty sure I already knew.
As these moments repeat themselves a year later, reflection is impossible to bypass and emotions are difficult to hold back. My friend Jamie told me not to ignore my feelings, but instead, just take note of them. So yes, I’ve been making many notes the past few weeks. I imagine myself writing them down, sealing them in an envelope and sending them away, never to be heard from again. I don’t want this season to be remembered with angst and fear. I just want it to be what it is, and live in the present. History is history, and in my case, every 400 years is good enough for me.
It’s 10 degrees outside right now, but I’m headed out to watch the eclipse.
Monday, December 20, 2010
Thursday, September 9, 2010
Get off, the ride is over...
I admit it. I've been MIA. That's because I've been out re-learning how to live my life. So much has gone on in the past few weeks that I want to write about, but for now, I'll keep it simple...
It truly is hard to believe that nine months has come and gone like it was yesterday. Throughout my bout with cancer, I had these magic carrots that dangled off in the distance, celebration to look forward to that would mean I was getting closer to being done with it all. Over the last few months, the carrots have been devoured.
When I was first diagnosed, Addison and I agreed we would have a huge party to not only celebrate, but a thank you party for all our friends and family who helped us along the way. This celebration party took place a few Saturdays ago, and what a party it was.
Cristina surprised me and flew in from Oregon, Dan flew in from Milwaukee, Penny and Mary flew up from Ketchikan and Steve came down from Haines. My friend Susan’s daughter Erin made 90 cupcakes and put them in a beautiful display that would have been a winner in Food Network’s Cupcake Wars. Friends helped decorate the large hall with green and purple balloons as well as flower centerpieces with fresh mint. A DJ in town gave me a 50% discount (because of it being my celebration) but in the end a few friends who wished to remain anonymous (but I think I know who you are) paid the DJ. Over 75 adults and kiddos attended the party and danced the night away. I gave a tearful speech thanking everyone for their support throughout the year, and Lena started the party by proclaiming into the mic the first song request of the evening, “Tonight’s Gonna Be a Good Night!”
The day of the party there were lots of rainbows out, and Lena was pointing them out on the way to the party. We were crossing the bridge when she said, “That rainbow is falling down.” It was actually a para-glider sailing down from Mt. Roberts and she mistook the arch of the parachute for the rainbow. It was an amazing moment and as we continued on to the party, everyone in the car was silent thinking about falling rainbows and the past year.
The day was kind of “my” day, but Lena really stole the show and I was fine with that. She continued to amaze me with little “Lena moments.” When we were at Costco picking up the cake someone asked her if the cake that said “Kicked It!” was her birthday cake. Lena looked at them oddly and said matter of factly, “Um, no. It’s my mommy’s celebration cake!” Later in the day I overheard Lena telling someone that we were having a celebration because her mommy’s cancer is gone and she is done with her treatments. Even at three, my daughter amazes me. Lena danced all night, which is what her and I both envisioned “our” party being. Throughout the evening, children faded and left to go home to bed, but Lena danced until the music stopped. And when the music ended, she helped clean up by putting away candles and sweeping the reception floor with a broom that was wider than she was tall.
The party was everything I imagined. Good friends from near and far, my doctor who found my cancer, my infusion nurse, dancing, children waiving ribbon wands, smiles, hugs, and celebration.
A few days after the party, I started my new job at the Juneau Arts and Humanities Council. It’s actually where my party took place. When I started work on Wednesday morning, I walked into the empty reception hall and it was very quiet. My feet echoed as I crossed the hardwood floor. I looked across the vast empty room and noticed a purple balloon with white polka-dots gently resting about two feet up from floor. It was a balloon from my party. I remember it getting away from us as we were cleaning up and watching it float up towards the ceiling. Lena was worried we’d never get it back. Yet, here it was, barely able to float and holding onto what little strength it had left before it melted into the floor completely. I stood there for a long time staring at it taking in the meaning.
This balloon, which is now sitting on my desk, symbolizes the last of it. Well, I guess the balloon isn’t the only last hurrah. Back in February, my friend Jen sent me a bracelet that said “Cancer Sucks.” I wore it every day and just yesterday, I decided it was time to put it away. Not that I don’t think cancer still sucks, but I really just want to try to move on. I took it off only find that I actually did get a tan this summer because where the bracelet lay on my wrist, glowed a bright white stripe. Like the balloon losing its helium, my cancer sucks tan line will be yet another reminder that will eventually fade.
With that said, I am pleased I learned from this experience, and I hope others did too. Don’t take things for granted and enjoy every second of your life- even the crappy parts. And if you can’t enjoy, try to gain strength from them. My body may still be in recovery mode, but I am now the strongest I’ve ever been.
It truly is hard to believe that nine months has come and gone like it was yesterday. Throughout my bout with cancer, I had these magic carrots that dangled off in the distance, celebration to look forward to that would mean I was getting closer to being done with it all. Over the last few months, the carrots have been devoured.
When I was first diagnosed, Addison and I agreed we would have a huge party to not only celebrate, but a thank you party for all our friends and family who helped us along the way. This celebration party took place a few Saturdays ago, and what a party it was.
Cristina surprised me and flew in from Oregon, Dan flew in from Milwaukee, Penny and Mary flew up from Ketchikan and Steve came down from Haines. My friend Susan’s daughter Erin made 90 cupcakes and put them in a beautiful display that would have been a winner in Food Network’s Cupcake Wars. Friends helped decorate the large hall with green and purple balloons as well as flower centerpieces with fresh mint. A DJ in town gave me a 50% discount (because of it being my celebration) but in the end a few friends who wished to remain anonymous (but I think I know who you are) paid the DJ. Over 75 adults and kiddos attended the party and danced the night away. I gave a tearful speech thanking everyone for their support throughout the year, and Lena started the party by proclaiming into the mic the first song request of the evening, “Tonight’s Gonna Be a Good Night!”
The day of the party there were lots of rainbows out, and Lena was pointing them out on the way to the party. We were crossing the bridge when she said, “That rainbow is falling down.” It was actually a para-glider sailing down from Mt. Roberts and she mistook the arch of the parachute for the rainbow. It was an amazing moment and as we continued on to the party, everyone in the car was silent thinking about falling rainbows and the past year.
The day was kind of “my” day, but Lena really stole the show and I was fine with that. She continued to amaze me with little “Lena moments.” When we were at Costco picking up the cake someone asked her if the cake that said “Kicked It!” was her birthday cake. Lena looked at them oddly and said matter of factly, “Um, no. It’s my mommy’s celebration cake!” Later in the day I overheard Lena telling someone that we were having a celebration because her mommy’s cancer is gone and she is done with her treatments. Even at three, my daughter amazes me. Lena danced all night, which is what her and I both envisioned “our” party being. Throughout the evening, children faded and left to go home to bed, but Lena danced until the music stopped. And when the music ended, she helped clean up by putting away candles and sweeping the reception floor with a broom that was wider than she was tall.
The party was everything I imagined. Good friends from near and far, my doctor who found my cancer, my infusion nurse, dancing, children waiving ribbon wands, smiles, hugs, and celebration.
A few days after the party, I started my new job at the Juneau Arts and Humanities Council. It’s actually where my party took place. When I started work on Wednesday morning, I walked into the empty reception hall and it was very quiet. My feet echoed as I crossed the hardwood floor. I looked across the vast empty room and noticed a purple balloon with white polka-dots gently resting about two feet up from floor. It was a balloon from my party. I remember it getting away from us as we were cleaning up and watching it float up towards the ceiling. Lena was worried we’d never get it back. Yet, here it was, barely able to float and holding onto what little strength it had left before it melted into the floor completely. I stood there for a long time staring at it taking in the meaning.
This balloon, which is now sitting on my desk, symbolizes the last of it. Well, I guess the balloon isn’t the only last hurrah. Back in February, my friend Jen sent me a bracelet that said “Cancer Sucks.” I wore it every day and just yesterday, I decided it was time to put it away. Not that I don’t think cancer still sucks, but I really just want to try to move on. I took it off only find that I actually did get a tan this summer because where the bracelet lay on my wrist, glowed a bright white stripe. Like the balloon losing its helium, my cancer sucks tan line will be yet another reminder that will eventually fade.
With that said, I am pleased I learned from this experience, and I hope others did too. Don’t take things for granted and enjoy every second of your life- even the crappy parts. And if you can’t enjoy, try to gain strength from them. My body may still be in recovery mode, but I am now the strongest I’ve ever been.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
You get what you pay for
I am starting to think driving to Fred Meyer to save a buck isn’t worth it. The downtown grocery store, which is very close to my house, tends to be a lot more expensive than Fred Meyer, so I typically make the 15 minute drive to Fred Meyer to save a few bucks. Weighing in that even with the extra gas used to get to Fred’s, it’s still probably cheaper since Fred Meyer has the cheapest gas in town.
I am usually annoyed by Fred Meyer. Mom’s drive their carts through the store like it’s the Indy 500 and if you’re not careful while idly pushing your cart down the center aisle, you’re likely to get side swiped by a 5’3” 80 lb woman wearing running tights and a sport bra while pushing her cart at Mach 8 just so she can reach the check-out line and stand in it for 15 minutes.
The store itself is so huge that if you’re over by the deli and remember that you’re going to need sauerkraut to make your Ruben’s complete, you’re going to have to walk all the way back to Germany to get it. I oftentimes just scratch it at that point and give up.
That’s just the inside. The outside is a zoo as well, complete with its own exotic animals. Shopping carts are littered all over the parking lot (which I hereby publicly declare my biggest pet peeve) and I’m always coming back to my car to find carts jammed up against it. And, people drive like madmen. I actually was in an accident a few years ago when a drunk driver thought it was a good idea to drive down the lane at 40 miles an hour. Granted, it was my fault because I backed out into traffic and hit him while he was driving by. But as soon as I said we should call the police, he quickly said it was okay and jumped back in his truck and weaved gingerly away.
Today was no exception. I had just about completed the trip and I was quite proud of the fact that there had been no run-ins when I was loading up my groceries onto the belt and it happened. In the line behind me was a man in his late 60s in one of the mechanical shopping carts. He was flirting innocently with Aurelia who was cooing and smiling back at him. He struck up a conversation with me about “back in the day.” He told me how he remembers when he could buy a week’s worth of groceries for $20. He said he could fill his car up for $1.57 and drive it for a week. I laughed and agreed and told him those days are missed. He then said what really gets him is the price of cigarettes and how he wished they were still cheap too. This is where I should have just smiled and kept my mouth shut. Instead I said, “Well, I actually don’t mind that if it might help deter a few people to stop smoking.” Then, out of nowhere, a woman behind him in her early 50s piped up and snapped at me saying, “You’re not a smoker so of course you don’t give a shit about how much people have to pay to smoke.” SCREEEEECHHHHH!!!!! What? Who are you and why are you screaming at me? Once again, shut up Frances, don’t say anything. But before I knew it I said, “You’re right, I’m not a smoker, but I am a cancer survivor and I don’t appreciate inhaling second hand smoke. Plus, I have friends that smoke and I wish for their health, they’d stop because I don’t want them to get cancer.” She then pulled her shirt collar aside and exposed a freshly accessed port with a bandage over it. She yelled, “BIG F@CKING DEAL, I’M GOING THROUGH IT NOW, WHAT’S YOUR F@CKING POINT!?”
There were many points I could make, but I decided to keep it calm. I looked at her and calmly and with true concern replied, “I am really sorry that you’re going through chemo now, it’s not fun and I hope you do well and you have a good outcome.” She then said, “Oh, now you’re just playing your God complex, you think you’re holier than though, don’t you?”
My mom has drilled into me that you just never know when someone is going to go completely crazy on you and pull out a gun and cap you over taking the last cream cheese on the shelf. Knowing this woman could very well be on the verge of using her shopping cart as a weapon of mass destruction on me, I sealed my lips. However, my silence just egged her on. She continued to rattle off insults at me loud enough for all the shoppers in the area to hear. I tried to block it out but I heard her say things such as “I was a survivor too, but on my 10 year check, it came back…..” “You just think you’re so wonderful, don’t you?” As I was leaving, I apologized to the elderly man for what happened and he said, “No worries, but just so you know, I’ve been smoking for over 50 years and I’m healthy as an ox.” I looked at him in his automatic cart, while he gasped for air, I smiled and said, “I hope you stay that way.” Then I turned to the checker and apologized, he smiled at me and said, “I’ve seen worse.”
I went out to the car and was shaking so badly I could barely buckle Aurelia’s car seat straps. I didn’t want this woman’s behavior to bother me, but it did. I kept telling myself I handled it well and that she probably isn’t this angry, but she’s probably on steroids which makes anybody angry. And besides, if she just had chemo this morning, why is she at the grocery store by herself? Shouldn’t someone be picking her cigarettes up for her? (Okay, that was uncalled for) But seriously, it was definitely an unexpected occurrence that I never want to repeat again. I think it’s worth paying extra to boycott Fred Meyer for awhile and stick to my own neighborhood grocery. I’ll be doing my part in the green movement by shopping locally, and saving gas.
I am usually annoyed by Fred Meyer. Mom’s drive their carts through the store like it’s the Indy 500 and if you’re not careful while idly pushing your cart down the center aisle, you’re likely to get side swiped by a 5’3” 80 lb woman wearing running tights and a sport bra while pushing her cart at Mach 8 just so she can reach the check-out line and stand in it for 15 minutes.
The store itself is so huge that if you’re over by the deli and remember that you’re going to need sauerkraut to make your Ruben’s complete, you’re going to have to walk all the way back to Germany to get it. I oftentimes just scratch it at that point and give up.
That’s just the inside. The outside is a zoo as well, complete with its own exotic animals. Shopping carts are littered all over the parking lot (which I hereby publicly declare my biggest pet peeve) and I’m always coming back to my car to find carts jammed up against it. And, people drive like madmen. I actually was in an accident a few years ago when a drunk driver thought it was a good idea to drive down the lane at 40 miles an hour. Granted, it was my fault because I backed out into traffic and hit him while he was driving by. But as soon as I said we should call the police, he quickly said it was okay and jumped back in his truck and weaved gingerly away.
Today was no exception. I had just about completed the trip and I was quite proud of the fact that there had been no run-ins when I was loading up my groceries onto the belt and it happened. In the line behind me was a man in his late 60s in one of the mechanical shopping carts. He was flirting innocently with Aurelia who was cooing and smiling back at him. He struck up a conversation with me about “back in the day.” He told me how he remembers when he could buy a week’s worth of groceries for $20. He said he could fill his car up for $1.57 and drive it for a week. I laughed and agreed and told him those days are missed. He then said what really gets him is the price of cigarettes and how he wished they were still cheap too. This is where I should have just smiled and kept my mouth shut. Instead I said, “Well, I actually don’t mind that if it might help deter a few people to stop smoking.” Then, out of nowhere, a woman behind him in her early 50s piped up and snapped at me saying, “You’re not a smoker so of course you don’t give a shit about how much people have to pay to smoke.” SCREEEEECHHHHH!!!!! What? Who are you and why are you screaming at me? Once again, shut up Frances, don’t say anything. But before I knew it I said, “You’re right, I’m not a smoker, but I am a cancer survivor and I don’t appreciate inhaling second hand smoke. Plus, I have friends that smoke and I wish for their health, they’d stop because I don’t want them to get cancer.” She then pulled her shirt collar aside and exposed a freshly accessed port with a bandage over it. She yelled, “BIG F@CKING DEAL, I’M GOING THROUGH IT NOW, WHAT’S YOUR F@CKING POINT!?”
There were many points I could make, but I decided to keep it calm. I looked at her and calmly and with true concern replied, “I am really sorry that you’re going through chemo now, it’s not fun and I hope you do well and you have a good outcome.” She then said, “Oh, now you’re just playing your God complex, you think you’re holier than though, don’t you?”
My mom has drilled into me that you just never know when someone is going to go completely crazy on you and pull out a gun and cap you over taking the last cream cheese on the shelf. Knowing this woman could very well be on the verge of using her shopping cart as a weapon of mass destruction on me, I sealed my lips. However, my silence just egged her on. She continued to rattle off insults at me loud enough for all the shoppers in the area to hear. I tried to block it out but I heard her say things such as “I was a survivor too, but on my 10 year check, it came back…..” “You just think you’re so wonderful, don’t you?” As I was leaving, I apologized to the elderly man for what happened and he said, “No worries, but just so you know, I’ve been smoking for over 50 years and I’m healthy as an ox.” I looked at him in his automatic cart, while he gasped for air, I smiled and said, “I hope you stay that way.” Then I turned to the checker and apologized, he smiled at me and said, “I’ve seen worse.”
I went out to the car and was shaking so badly I could barely buckle Aurelia’s car seat straps. I didn’t want this woman’s behavior to bother me, but it did. I kept telling myself I handled it well and that she probably isn’t this angry, but she’s probably on steroids which makes anybody angry. And besides, if she just had chemo this morning, why is she at the grocery store by herself? Shouldn’t someone be picking her cigarettes up for her? (Okay, that was uncalled for) But seriously, it was definitely an unexpected occurrence that I never want to repeat again. I think it’s worth paying extra to boycott Fred Meyer for awhile and stick to my own neighborhood grocery. I’ll be doing my part in the green movement by shopping locally, and saving gas.
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