Patty Morini – Page 7 – Riding a new Horse

Tired

I left work early afternoon today. I just could not keep up. Came home and slept for like 4 hours or something, I don’t know. Something is going on in my left foot. I’m not sure if it’s a sign of “Taxol toes”, but I’m going to check with the oncologist before the next/last invasion. She may cancel the last treatment if she thinks it has anything to do with the effects of the treatment. I also managed to catch a slight cold.

I’m trying to orient a new staff member at work, and feeling sort of dazed at times. So I’m cutting back with work at the same time trying to corral the troops to give this person a decent orientation. It seems that working at home more often may be in order, which is fine with me. I’m painfully aware of my decreasing earned time bank (my employer’s term for paid time off), and will just have to deal with it. That’s what savings accounts are for right?

A asked if I could take her to the city this weekend while B and E are camping. Normally we’d make the plan and go and have a fun time together. Today I had to say “Sure if I’m up to it”. It’s disappointing for both of us. When making plans now, I include the caviat regarding my energy.

I feel peaceful, but definitely am experiencing a different level of fatigue today. I think I’ll read for a while. See? Even Winnie the Pooh has days like this. Maybe some tea with honey too.

Eye on the ball and living in the moment.

Cheesebread really comes out better when you let it rise two times. I was making the bread yesterday for the staff at the cancer center and A asked if I would make one to go with the soup she was going to make for dinner. If I let the family bread rise twice it would have taken too long and the meeting B was having at 7 at our house would have bumped into dinner time. SO I let OUR bread rise only one time. It was tastey, but the second bread was BEAUTIFUL. I bagged individual pieces this morning and put them in a life is good bag and handed them out to the secretaries, nurses, vounteers and technicians at the center. Today is Presidents Day and the center was to be closed for the holiday except they had too many medical oncology patients to accommodate and thus some staff came in to work. The other parts of the center were closed. It was just the right day to bring a gift of gratitude. They were so appreciative and if you’ve ever had Nonni’s cheese bread, you know why. It’s the ultimate.

All went well. Several “special” folks came to me to comment on this being #11 of 12. We started talking about the transition and saying good bye. It was really natural and groovy. I wore my favorite blue Keen shoes with no socks as it felt like spring to me. I didn’t feel like I needed ‘tallitude’. Several came to see the drawings I was finishing up and, of course today’s panel.

I walked in the house after the grocery store after the infusion and E said “wow, Mom, you look tired.” I said “yea, I ‘m going out for a short walk with D to get some fresh air and move my body and then I’m going to cool it for a while.” He brought his bike along with me and ended up going to hang with his buddy, who happens to be D’s son. I went further than I intended to but felt so much better after fresh air and wonderful conversation. And now me and the Kat-man-doo, our big siamese are hanaging and resting. It will most likely be just B and I for dinner which is perfect.

All’s well. This is Round 2, Cycle 11, day 1. These cycles are 7 days. Pretty soon I will have a day 8 which will be the furthest away from chemo that I’ve been in 12 weeks. Just the thought of that makes me smile. I can do this.

Just Thinking

When I think about the journey so far, the thing that is dominant in my mind is love. I am not cancer. I AM loved. I feel it with my family. I see it when I read back in this blog at the story we are telling. The entries from B, A, and E are part of a love story. I see it and feel it in the comments made by supporters and loved ones. I hear it from others who are keeping up with the blog like it was some form of life support. That actually humbles me to the point of speechlessness. When someone refers to something I said in the blog, or tells me they finally got “caught up”, or that they are keeping up with it, my loquaciousness dries up like a dusty old tumbleweed and blows away.

I struggled to come up with something to write about today. I wanted to let readers know that breast cancer treatment is not ruling our lives most of the time. We are into our ‘normal’ which can be mundane at times. Since this blog is about the breast cancer trail, writing about normalcy during treatment seems apropos, but I don’t want to indulge myself too much and start treating it as a place to dump all the things that go through this brain of mine. No, no, definitely not. (This is to be said with the inflection of Mr. Olivander who was trying to find just the right wand for Harry Potter.)Someone may be compelled to perform experiments on me or something to see what exactly is going on in there.

Tomorrow is the second to last infusion of 12. I am beginning to think about what it will be like NOT going to the chemo suite and talking with the people I’ve developed friendly relationships with. My thought at the beginning was one of celebration, the good riddance syndrome comes to mind. But chemo in all of its chemical-ness, has helped me more than it’s hurt me. Oh, I will NOT be sorry to stop infusions. I won’t miss hearing the rhythmic timing of the machine that regulates the drip. I won’t be sad to say fare the well to the various and sundry manifestations of a body on chemicals. I AM struck by even the suggestion of the thought that there might be grief associated with the end of chemotherapy. Here I sit thinking about making a cheesebread to take to the chemo suite tomorrow as a thank you. It’s not my last infusion, but there are people I’d hate to miss if they are not working on that last day. I know I’ll be at the center for radiation in a few weeks, but this feels like an ending to acknowledge. There is a drawing I’ve been working on all along which I have not published, that may be framed as a donation. We’ll see.

The people who have worked on my treatment team, most specifically at this point on the chemo side of things, have been respectful, consistent, tender and real with me. They have many patients to deal with; some who are very sick, some who emotionally unravel in the chair, some who die. I feel like when I’m there we are chatting over a cup of tea or something when they come over just to see what exciting things we may have done over the weekend or tell me about the color they finally chose to paint their living room. I may be getting ahead of myself here, but I’m awake and aware of this feeling. I think it’s time to make some bread now.

Manifesting energy and making lemonaid

It’s like the problems with the port-a-cath are a thing of the past. By living so in the moment, I have had the good fortune to celebrate with the nurse when there is good blood return. I either have to get a life, or I’m doing something good for me. Celebrating anything is good for me.

You know the whole thing about not wanting to jinx something by saying something? Well tra la la to that. I just have to say it’s wonderful when there are no hitches. My energy has been plentiful all day. My spirit content and very much in the moment. Symptoms are relatively manageable.

Yesterday D and I got our arses in gear and took our hour long walk on the road. It felt great in so many ways. Moving is good medicine for me. Today I was a good girl and went to chemo, went to work until about 2 (had some wonderful and funny women doing walking lunges in the hall after supervision), went home, worked more, and went out at o’dark:30 in the PM with D. It was unusual walking into the dark rather than into the light, but man we both felt great. That I have energy to do this is something for which I’m truly grateful. And D, I am grateful for you. Thank you for loving me and meeting me at all hours of the day, in the freezing cold and in the sweaty heat of July for the past 10 years.

Today’s image, as the last few, just poured out of my pencil box. It is oozing into the next panel, and I just went with the energy. Now that I can fathom the last infusion, I feel much more fluid. The beginning of this round was much like starting a labyrinth. Knowing how AC affected me, and hearing so many different reactions to Taxol, I wasn’t exactly going in blind, but I certainly found that I was kind of peeking around corners to see if the symptom fairy was ready with her stinger. The first image, if you recall, is very static, and illustrates this feeling well for me. I was open, but certainly not fluid, in hindsight.

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I’m totally drawing about rebirth. B says that we are finding a new normal. My plans for drawings rarely materialize. I chose to let my energy, my hands and the colors tell the story, not my head. The still quiet of the previous panel was certainly not the energy today. I’m moving, I’m doing, I’m resting, I’m holding on. It’s a little on the edge of risk which I love. The bedroom project is on the front burner again. I’m feeling competent at work. I have no room for negativity and self doubt at this moment. It feels good and right. It felt great to go to sleep last night, it feels great to be awake right now. I’m getting lost in music, finding myself just dancing in the kitchen or singing like a rock star in my car.

I was talking during our walk today about the whole reconstruction, prostheses or nothing issue. I continue to feel that for me not doing reconstruction has been absolutely the right move. I’m still doing scar massage, so intrigued by the sensations that DO exist and those that don’t. I’ve given myself time with this new body with no intrusion and that’s been right for me. Everyone has to find their right. Rushing into a decision I was not at all ready for, and not convinced that I even wanted, would not have been true to me.

If reconstruction gives me a perky breast, it’s 47 year old partner will not be able to keep up if you know what I mean. Even if I become a work out fiend when this is all over, breast tissue just is not muscle, and without external cables or a good underwire, I cannot imagine symetry will be sustained as the years go on. The potential hassle and risk of reconstruction for one side which will never have sensitivity just doesn’t fit for me. I’m thinking more about talking with the “fitta” and just doing some dry runs . This for me is mostly about clothes fitting. Summer clothes, I mean. I could go with the non fitted sort of summer stuff, but I don’t want to overlook the possibility of symetry as well. If I find stuff that can work with an asymetrical shape, I may just go that direction. It’s my body and I don’t really have a need to hide anything. Sure, it would be nice to get attention for looking good in my clothes, but I get the attention I need most of the time from the people who matter to me most. The way I look has never been the most important thing to me. My good friends and family know I’d rather wear warn holey jeans and a t shirt that’s been through the wash a few hundred times.

This is the reality of breast cancer. I don’t need to be a poster child, that’s not my mission here. I want to be comfortable with myself. That IS my mission. I will talk with some women who have gone with the body as it is and will let you know what I find out. I love hearing how others have coped as we look at our new normal. Cancer and treatment are no fun at all. What remains is what is. I’m making lemonaid.

Appearances

My hair is sort of coming in and falling out and light on the top and dark on the sides and really fuzzy and funky. I get tired of wearing stuff on my head, but really need it there for warmth. My thermostat is just in malfunction mode at this point, and most of the time I’m really cold. My eyebrows never really fell out completely and seem to be thinning again. I am really interested in how mindful I am of the hair stuff. Oh, I get by. I have hats I love to wear and some scarves that actually stay in place. I still have absolutely no interest in wearing a wig. I get tired of having stuff on my head, but cannot do without it for long, purely for the heat retention function. My friend and sister-in-the-know said that losing her eyebrows and eyelashes was the worst of the worst for her. While I’m not completely bald in those places, I’m definitely not bushy. It looks like some features are fading away when I look in the mirror, and that’s just weird.

I went to a party last night where a bunch of people dressed up all groovy and 60’s like for a friend and colleague’s retirement celebration. I went straight from work, having grabbed our Marti Gras peace sign beads from the cabinet in the morning. So I sort of looked like I was groovy. (I mean I’m always groovy, but you know…) My doo rag was among several others, and I was loving that. I hadn’t seen these folks in many months, several of whom have been in the stampede with us. It was wonderful to be with the celebrant as well as others and to feel so good at 6pm on a Friday. I was fortunate to receive warm welcoming hugs from many people. Someone I had not seen in a very long time, (like 2 years) who also apparently has not learned of our ordeal, was sitting across the table from me when we sat to have dinner. When we made eye contact she said something in passing about my appearance, not thinking twice that anything was up, and immediately went on to talk about our mutual work interests. She had no clue. But I did think about what affect such a comment would have on someone feeling more vulnerable than I. She meant no harm, that I have no doubt about. She was happy to see me and we had a great conversation about what we were up to on the work front. I actually sort of made a quick evaluation about whether to “go there” with her, and decided not to. We were having too much fun.

What she said exactly is not important. She did make me think. When I left the party, I wondered about what, if anything, I might say to a colleague if I saw her having what might look like obvious chemo effects or perhaps something less obvious. “I notice that you have no eyebrows, did you have another bout with the wood stove?”

I do love it when someone notices my sideburns and wants to see the latest mutation of hair. It’s like they are the hair folicle cheerleaders. Come on, you can do it! I enjoy the indulgence when people fuss over stuff like that.

I think what people see in me is someone who is not necessarily set back by an obstacle. They see something beyond my appearance. They see the G.D. optimist each time I show up somewhere. They see someone living in the moment. There is no dwelling in this reality for us. That’s why when I chase shiny things I don’t look back. You should see me during firefly season! It makes B crazy sometimes. Like this morning when I started making breakfast and something shiny caught my eye…

Enjoying “A”

As I was writing the entry below about the recent infusion, A and I looked like dualing laptops at the dining table. We laughed as she played this game over and over and over singing and singing random songs at the top of her lungs. Her eyes were aglaze. “I can’t get out of this!” You know the feeling you get when you play whatever game is your favorite and just cannot stop telling the darn machine to start another game and you say something like “ok after this one I’ll do my work.” It’s funny to see such an intelligent and at this point motivated young woman mush out sometimes.

She reached over and grabbed my hot cup of tea for a sip as she looked at me with loving eyes. As her lips touched the cup, I told her it was called “smoothe move tea”. She gave the cup back unsipped. B tells a story about when he was in school and some kids kept stealing lunches. So the victim brought chocolate chip cookies in with ex-lax in place of the chocolate. I just could not let her take a sip of that tea, but it reminded me of this funny story of B’s.

I have a really hard time concentrating when there is noise. Sometimes I want music, but if it’s too “bumpy” I just cannot wrap my brain around what I am trying to do. Most of the time if I’m reading, working or writing, I need silence to be able to focus. My daughter, on the other hand, has to have her phone right next to her computer which is playing music and/or videos, a video chat session going and her homework in front of her to get the job done. Have I mentioned she’s a straight A student who, when she entered high school struck a deal with us by saying “If you don’t ask me about my homework, I’ll get it done.” ? So it’s now been about 50 minutes since B and E left for their activity, and the singing has NOT stopped. In fact she has ended video chat with a friend because she just wants to keep on singing and doesn’t want anyone to see her like this…except me, of course. Before B left I kept looking at him and he knew exactly what was going on for me. This is what choosing my battles is about. I could wreck this experience by being cranky about not being able to concentrate, but I’m having too much fun to do that.

For A to say “are you writing about me and my singing?” and to suggest that an entry get devoted exclusively to her, is remarkable. She does not like to talk about breast cancer, and usually does not want me to talk about her to others. At the same time, she is sympathetic most of the time, sensitive to my needs and tolerant of, though not always liking, what is going on. She helps me see when I am being irrational or too sensitive about things. She is a good mirror for me.

How strange it must be for teenagers to deal with their mom’s breast cancer. At a time when their own bodies are weirding out and doing amazing and beautiful things, their mom’s body is being ravaged by something out of her control. Their parents are dealing with a very real and intimate bunch of complex issues. Dad may be scared or at least feeling powerless. Every day they are reminded. For months and months treatment is in the middle of the room. Mom’s body looks and feels different. They are cheerleaders as Mom’s hair grows back. They are unconditional in their loving acceptance of this person who doesn’t look anything like she used to, and who is not able to keep up the way she could last winter. I do not know how families deal with a dad’s breast cancer. I’m sure it has its own story.

If there are things to be grateful for in this pile of dung, one would be that A is 15 and not 5. She has a life, she has interests, she has some maturity, and she is incredibly independent and creative. Oh, I’m sure if she was 5 there would be gratitude as well. I am just so glad she was the little spirit in line next when B and I, well, you know. I’m so glad she was born into our family.

He wears pink high tops

We have been so fortunate to have been assigned a wonderful nurse who is usually the one who works with me at each infusion. She told a story today of being at the gym and seeing a young man (late teens early 20’s) who was very handsome and buff wearing pink high tops. A few days later he had different sneakers on with pink laces. SO she asked what was up with the pink. He told her that he wore them in honor of his cousin with breast cancer. She thought it was very cool that he would do that. Another young man, who was much smaller and not as buff, apparently, said something to the effect that he could never pull that off. I can’t remember exactly what he said, but it was really funny. When thinking about the young guy wearing pink sneakers, I love how diverse the support for breast cancer is. I will miss this nurse when the invasions are over.

Another one without a hitch. I am so thankful. While I was there a woman brought her therapy dog around. Ruby is a cocker spaniel and is so incredibly sweet. What’s sweeter is that Ruby’s human just celebrated 5 years cancer free. She and I spoke a lot about what good news that is and yet how it still looms in her mind, especially around times when she has scans. She spoke about living in the moment, so beautifully. She looked at my artwork and said that she journalled through her infusions too, and feels that is what gave her the most strength.

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When I drew today it came out quickly. It feels like a transitional panel, like a way to get ‘there from here’. It does depict the feeling of floating that I have, just going through the motions until the last infusion. I must say that having 3 hours to do stuff like draw and read when I’m not working, will be missed and I will have to make a point of carving out time if it is to continue. The inaction in the drawing is necessary, conservation of energy and all. But it can be BORING as B suggested in the last entry. Mind you, I’m not bored. I can’t imagine that… I just prefer to be active.

While I am very patient with others and with myself usually, it is balanced with thoughts of “OK, come on girl, let’s go. GIDDAY UP now.” Funny, that’s what I say to myself when I don my boots and head out on infusion day…

Transformations

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During today’s infusion there was someone who was a few chairs away, behind me. This person was apparently really struggling. I was only peripherially aware of this as I had my ipod on and was tuned into my niece V’s gift of songs which are really fun to sing to.

We have mentioned several times that at chemo, we have observed quite a range of human coping and suffering. Some people go to treatment in their sweats and slippers. Some bring stuff to do. Some lay back and rest or sleep pretty much the whole time. Each chair has its own television, so some are tuned in to that. Most dialogue is private but there is usually a hum in the air. I pretty much say hi and smile to anyone whose eyes meet mine, but basically I tune into my stuff. I dress partially for work with a matching shirt from B’s closet and always have my cowboy boots on. (I wear B’s shirts both because they are comforting and it’s much easier to access the port-a-cath with a button down shirt on, which I don’t have many of.) You’d find me content I’d say, usually singing silently as I work on my lap top or drawing. Occasionally I read.

Today when this other patient’s lament came into my awareness I kept my music on as I wanted both to afford this patient some privacy and honestly, I didn’t want to be dragged down. When the nurse checked in with me she asked if I was ok with what was going on, and all I said was that I was sympathetic to the patient’s suffering, but didn’t know if I could do anything for them. This is really important for me to write about here. Unlike the other chemo cocktail I was on, with this one my defenses are mostly still in tact. Keeping my stride during this marathon includes looking over my armour for any areas of vulnerability. Finding the balance of compassion for others and self care is always important to my well being. In having compassion I am able to do what I can to send energy out. This is what I CAN do.

This patient was going through a transformation just like I am. I think if a person observed me they would see someone who really looks like she is content…maybe enjoying herself. Music transforms me. Art transforms me. Being able to reestablish myself at work is part of what makes me feel productive and useful. Love transforms me and we know there is so much of that free flowing into our life. Pain transforms me as well.

Right now I feel like I’m in a time warp, an incubator of sorts. Today’s drawing is about that. Physically I’m feeling good. No nap this afternoon. I left the infusion at 11, went to work for 2 hours, came home, finished the funding application (YEA!!) and have been working and taking breaks since. It’s a really rainy afternoon, and aside from grief over skiing conditions, I’m doing well and plan to retire early after a nice long shower after dinner.

Taking time

I left work on Friday noonish with the full intention of going home and working. I have a funding application that is due this coming week, and the draft needs some quiet time…rather I need quiet time to complete it. I made it home ok, but then received a call from a friend that had something to drop off. She stayed for tea. Then I remembered I wanted to call my 93 year old aunt who’d just given up driving at the request of her children. So much for work.

“I’ve been praying for you every night.” was the first thing my aunt said when she realized who was calling. We eventually chatted about the difficult decision to stop driving. I remember how it was for my mom, her sister, when she chose to do the same. Giving up that particular independent task must be such a loss. Both my aunt and my mom have been independent women. They ran their homes with 4 and 5 children respectively…and husbands too. Even in their aging they both want nothing to do with burdening their children. I am taking a liberty here to say that my family, my brothers, sisters in law, cousins, nieces, nephews and I have all been blessed with their tender loving care. So when my aunt told me about praying for me, I smiled and thought to myself that this woman just gave up something that most of us take for granted and here she is wanting to talk more about me than her. The word selfless comes to mind when I think about the two of them. They always take time for me.

This call got me thinking about a comment that A made a few days ago. I referenced it in my last entry. I had left work early so that I could take my kids to get hair cuts, and I planned on being on a phone conference during their appointments. The haircuts didn’t take as long as the conference, so we walked to the car with me attached to the phone, and sat in the car until the meeting was over. A said something like “you are always on the phone and I don’t feel like we get time with you any more”. Boy Hardy, let me tell you it took all of me to hold back my self absorbed thoughts. I did engage in a very unsatisfying debate for a few minutes and decided to wait until I collected my thoughts before we went on.

Running the breast cancer treatment marathon totally rearranges my availability to my family…and myself. Obviously, there are other things I’d rather be doing. So as I think that I’m getting back to work, finally ending the drain on my paid time off accrual, managing to get our kids where they want and need to be, feeling more like a partner to B, finding time to do what I want to do…balancing and juggling… I hear that my kid thinks I’m not available. Our kids have gracefully accepted something that has gyped them of so many things. They have not complained one bit. And although this chemo drug is not nearly as depleating as the first combo, my fatigue is evident at times now. At dinner that night I asked A how I could be more available. She really is very logical about it all.

I lay in bed Friday night thinking about how the heck I was going to make it through Saturday. We have passes to a couple ski mountains and we have been alternating hills each week in January. Saturday was to be the bigger of the two, a place that is really one of my favorites in Maine. The reason for my trepidation was the accumulating fatigue that I’d been noticing this week. There was no way I was going to make it through the whole day skiing. I’d planned to bring my computer so that I could get that application completed and put in the time I’d abandoned on Friday. I was even wondering about the drive. What I was doing was anticipating fatigue, not necessarily feeling it. My thoughts included “I SHOULD really take it easy. I SHOULD NOT over do things. I SHOULD be careful. This fatigue will put me at risk.” And finally: “I SHOULD get that work done.” These thoughts are so foreign to me that I could not believe I was actually thinking them.

E brought a friend along and A and I planned to ski together for as long as I could. The day was your picture perfect winter day. Crystal clear sky as blue as blue is blue. Cold enough to keep conditions terrific and warm enough to stay warm enough. As we went up the lift each time it was impossible not to notice and comment on the beauty. The snow covered trees against the pristine sky provided an amazing back drop for wonderful conversation between us. We skied and skied. We started racing down the hill taking different paths to see who could make it to the bottom before the other. Even the lift attendants were watching to see who arrived first. I found myself skiing with complete abandon, which for me is like what Dory did in “Finding Nemo”. You know, where she’d be on a mission and then just start weaving around and singing? Well, I’d start racing down the hill and then get into my form and turns and weaving and humming and sometimes singing really loud, before I remembered that I was in a race. It was so freeing. Incidentally, A finished first many times more than I did. Riding up the lift one time A said “I feel so happy when I ski.” She described the feeling of “infinite” that the boy in the wallflower book spoke about. We started talking about the sky and the expanse of the universe and the blue. At what other time would we have had this conversation? There is just something about skiing for A. Her smile was noticed by many who commented and she said “Of course I’m smiling, I’m skiing.”

Before we knew it, it was time to pack up. The ride home was quiet as we drove into the dusk. The views over the lakes and mountains were spectacular. A joked about a conversation she had with a friend she saw. “He asked who I was here with and I said…my mom. How lame is that?” We laughed and laughed. As we pulled in the driveway A was planning her ride to the hockey game, immediately after our return. I looked at her and said something like “you know I’m not going to be able to drive you…” and she said “I’m all set mom. Daddy is going to take me. Thanks for spending time with me today.”

Today is Sunday. I slept well. I feel ready to FINALLY put in some work time. The fire’s roaring, the katz are snoozing. E and B are out on an adventure. A is still abed. I’m so happy we went skiing yesterday.

The time before spring

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Home from the infusion. You know the feeling when seed catalogs start appearing in the mailbox? Well here in Maine it is a sacred time…at least for me. Today I got that feeling when I drew this panel. Something is moving for me. I and we are doing what it takes to enjoy and endure the winter cold, snow, quiet, dark, ice. I feel the incubation and am taking care of our plants more than usual. The cyclamen that I was given at my 20th anniversary at work is actually producing a whole bunch of new blooms. (Usually those plants end up a frozen block on the top of the compost awaiting spring to put them out of their ugly misery.) The only plant that is not happy at all is our Ficus. She is shedding every leaf (could it be chemo covad??) and believe it or not, has new green sprouts here an there. Mangy fox syndrome if I ever saw it.

I was really tired in spite of the fact that the infusion went quickly and smoothly. So instead of going to a meeting at work and then a friend’s house for an enchilada lesson, I came home, met by phone and snooooooozed with the furry you know whozzzzz. The friend said she’d be delivering the enchiladas and the lesson could come at another time. At this point the fatigue is evident, definitely a cumulative thing. I’m incredibly grateful that my night time sleep has returned to my usual which is total slumber. Occasional dreams which are comforting, occasionally waking because a light is on in the living room illuminating the scene for teenage activity. I’ve come up with a hydrating routine that seems to be good enough for the raisin body.

I’ve moved acupuncture to every other week as our insurance has changed and they don’t wanna play. I’m looking forward to tomorrow’s visit. My guts aren’t right. Not nausea, not exactly constipation, but definitely not functioning the way it should be. Don’t like that. Haven’t had any major celebrations of late, if you know what I mean.

The weekend was really fine. I volunteered at the commissary at the ski mountain near our house on Saturday afternoon while the kids skied and boarded. It is always a fun thing to do. I was able to attend a wonderful 50th birthday party for a lovely friend after and we even stayed till almost midnight. Wonderful to be around fun people we’ve known for a long time, and to listen to, play and sing some great songs as a family with friends. Amazing. Amazing for me even sans chemo to be up and alert that late. On Sunday I mostly made up some work time that I missed last week, having left work early for snoozeland.

And today we awoke to a nice snow fall. It’s just stopped, we may have gotten 4 or 5 inches, enough to clean things up and improve conditions for the activities we enjoy.

Every so often I still run into people who have not been privy to the information about my health. I’ve probably mentioned an observation that as people age, their annual holiday greeting letters get longer and longer, and more and more about health issues. I see how it became the main focus for Pop, and is becoming the focus for mom as body ages and activity slows. I take any opportunity to ask someone who’s been there about the things I am about to embark on. You can bet that if you’ve had a colonoscopy that I may be calling for some hits from Heloise when I turn 50.

But even if I didn’t want to mention it, my coiffe is hard to ignore. I just happened to run into 3 such people this past week. The general response is “let me do something to help…I didn’t get to all this time…what do you need?” More love and support. The genuine interest in what we’ve been through is touching. While I love talking about other things, I want these people to know whatever they want/need to know to get caught up. AND it is something that has woven itself into the tapestry that is our life. SO the conversations were about both what we’ve been up to since we saw one another, and what we’ve been up to in relation to breast cancer. Saying that I was diagnosed in the summer gave me a view down the long trail that we are on. This is a view I don’t look at too often, since staying in the NOW is where I’m at these days. I think that breast cancer touches us all. I still see in the faces of people I’m talking to the old “if she can get it so can I”. Women grieve breast cancer, men grieve breast cancer. Everyone wants to save the Ta Tas, and so there is a load of compassion.

A lovely woman at work who cheers me on every day, who celebrates fantastic socks, and embodies G.O. energy told me that she has a new car. I was appropriately excited I think. Then she said that she was registering it and thought of me and got a breast cancer plate. No whiplash. We shared watery eyes, smiles and the knowing that G.O. energy was alive and well.

I think our family is doing ok with stuff. I’m working much of the time, and when I do at home, I’m on the phone or my computer a lot. I’m working afterall. My family thinks I love talking on the phone, which I really don’t, but I DO want to spend the time with callers or people I call in the name of being present and connected to the important stuff in my life. I HAVE to use the phone for work, and sometimes do supervision or have meetings on the phone for HOURS AND HOURS. Kids don’t like that. Mom’s home, mom is home for me. And because I cannot concentrate on my role in the meeting when A is standing before me with the most crucial social plans awaiting my approval, or just wanting a hug…sometimes I have to say “excuse me, your honor, I am taking a minute to hug my daughter…” in the middle of the meeting. Thank the universe that my colleagues and boss understand what is important in life.

We don’t talk about treatments or cancer or how they’re doing with it all a lot. That would be picking the scab if you know what I mean. They know my schedule and say “good luck” or “I’ll be thinking of you today.” when they know I’m going in for an invasion. They know to close the door and keep the volume down when the katz and I are in a pile on the bed. And when we are doing something fun they take the time to say “I’m glad we are doing this.”

I got on a new horse in July 2009. My boots are wearing in beautifully and are becoming a regular part of my life. The horse is not unruly, just unpredictable. The more I work on mindfulness and being awake, the freer I feel, and the more flexible I become to stretch in ways I did not think possible.