Messages from my mirror

The face is the mirror of the mind, and eyes without speaking confess the secrets of the heart.
~St. Jerome  

Today I scheduled a follow up eye appointment for October.

As I opened up my calendar I realized that the four months would land on the day before I had my surgery, which was when my eye problems started.

In the eight months since my life was spared and my body was torn apart in order to do that... a lot has happened.

One of the things that I find most striking is that my eyes have changed. And I have been trying to figure out what it is that I have noticed.

I am not sure when I started to think my eyes looked different to me, but I recall wondering if somehow my irises had become lighter or cloudier in color. Cataracts at my age?

The crux is that they don't look happy to me, they looked pained, tired, and perhaps even scared.

I don't know that I am any of those things, but I am a very different person than I was in 2014 B.D.

That B.D. is Before Diagnosis.

This process has been hard, but the hardest part was learning to stand up for myself. Standing up to a mother and aunt that I know love me, but who felt that age gave them some sort of prize that included tearing me down... I am sure that is (was) not their intent... but as they threw things at me that I would have previously have bowed my head to and ignored but in the middle of my fight to feel whole again seemed unduly cruel coming from them. As I said, I am sure they did not mean it, but they still hurt me very deeply on a level that a doctor could not touch.

I think, perhaps, that is part of the cloudiness that I see in my eyes.

It is also navigating my health after a pretty invasive surgery, the unwanted weight gain, the change in shape, the pain, the aches... the health of my eyes included.

They are better now though, the scars left on them through repeated injury and a misdiagnosis are healing, almost gone. The burden of the change of lifestyle for them is permanent... eye drops for life, they said. Keep them moist, they said. I will, I reply.

But when I got home from my appointment today, I looked in the mirror and still saw that certain kind of cloudiness, and I hoped it was not permanent.

Then there is this.

“Behind these eyes there is a girl trapped within her pain – a girl feeling all the emotions of anger and sadness. She’s fighting for a way out.”
~ Chimnese Davids

Day 1 - 40DOW - viewpoints on vaccines

This morning was a struggle. 

I am trying my damnedest to get this to happen:

If you can RSVP for a Phoenix event click here.

I struggle because I want it to be successful 

The team I am working with has been UNBELIEVABLY supportive... but it is so hard to get buy in from other folks.

I struggle with that.

But it, my sense of struggling, may have been that I had an unscheduled visit to my oncologist today. 

Bleeding.

Something I am not supposed to be doing at this point.

So I went in and saw my doctors nurse practitioner. Who performed a biopsy. 

I have had biopsies before, in that area...  it hurt like a motherf*&%#r. 

Even though she told me that it was my job to assume it was due to scar tissue, she also told me it was her job to rule out recurrence. She reassured me that it looked like granulation (BTW - don't Google it).

What makes this situation even crazier is that the woman who did my biopsy is also a woman who will be on the panel for the movie screening.

Following up on the fact that I am helping to host a conversation about a preventable cancer
and that one of the panelists will have seen my girly-bits, I just got word who a second panelist will be and.... guess what??????

She has seen my girly bits too.

She was there when my son was born, as in the room... standing right between my husband and my mother.

So, I am trying to find the beauty of all of this. So, "this" being a weird place in my life (waiting for biopsy results) the week before I am helping host an event. The event which happens to be about something that most likely got me into the biopsy situation in the first place.

Anyway, the big shift for me has been to try and be kinder, gentler, more gracious... and yet stay my own person. Hard to do when you are in pain.

I lay there waiting for the biopsy, pretending to be under a fancy kitchen heat lamp

The biopsy was really painful, it still hurts as I type this some 12 hours later.

I still have so much to be grateful for, But it is kind of nerve wracking to be in my position, again… you know, waiting for results. Not the most fun place to be.

Anyway, after my ridiculously painful “procedure” I yelled out “fuck, that hurts” and immediately apologized and lay on the exam table, in tears, for a while. The nurse practitioner who took the biopsy was so very kind and seemed very distressed by my reaction.

I was pretty shocked by it too. It was, however, really painful. I have had biopsies of my girly bits before, without any numbing agent, and it was nothing like this.

At one point, during the second “grab” for tissue I screamed out “oh fuck that hurts”, and then immediately apologized. I am generally not one to curse much… I was embarrassed.

I lay on that exam table, tears streaming down my face, trying to get back to a normal breathing, staring at the bright light above me wishing there was something like a rainbow pooping unicorn to look at…

The nurse practitioner held my hand, asked me how I was feeling, helped me get some of my ibuprofen and drink it down. She seemed very concerned. All very kind considering that she had just learned she would be speaking at the HPV movie thing and that I was involved.

After my breathing got back to normal and the tears stopped falling down my face, she told me to lay there as long as I needed. She, and the other NP with her, quietly left the room. I lay on that exam table, and the tears came back.

It was a pity party I suppose. I lay there crying and trying to remember to be thankful that this was an experience in which I had had tremendous luck. No chemo. No radiation. a tumor the size of a grain of salt.

I lay there looking at the light above me. Trying to make it something more than just a light, making a distraction from the pain in my internal surgical site and the pain in my heart.

My heart did hurt, I had a vaccine preventable disease.

Let me say that again, I was diagnosed with a vaccine preventable disease.

One that would have prevented everything, a sub-total hysterectomy, worry, agony… and today’s darn biopsy.

It is a vaccine preventable disease.

Granted, I was born before this miracle vaccine was developed. But it is a vaccine preventable disease.

And as I ran through a list of people I do not particularly care for, not one of them and not one of their children were eligible for my wanting them to suffer what I had suffered through, I AM suffering through.

Vaccinate your children. In some cases yourself. Your boys. Your girls. This alternative is not fun. not fun at all. The HPV vaccine is good for kids aged 9 to adults aged 26.

It is a vaccine preventable disease.

..

Find the beautiful 1 - 4

1. Having my mother, brother, and nephews over for a dinner of Wiener Schnitzel.


2.  A gentle and quiet day in bed, watching Netflix and having my husband make some more surprise Wiener Schnitzel for lunch.

Some Wiener Schnitzel being pan fried (photo stolen from Schatzy's "The Facebook" page" - Thank you Schatz

3. Seeing my mom for dinner, drinking a strong margarita with her. Laughing.

4. Getting my first test results back and having them be normal.  

NORMAL!!!!!!!!!!

Dinner with a group of girl-friends. Coming home to a fire in our fireplace.

The fireplace in our living room

“Think of all the beauty still left around you and be happy.” ~ Anne Frank 

holding the darkness at bay

So, after feeling a down due to yesterdays ramblings and self flagellation I find I need to pick myself back up.

The other day someone came to me and asked how I was. I told her that is is a day by day process. That I feel good, that I am grateful for so much.

She went on to ask if I had experienced any dark moments, any depression, and tears. She added that her sister is a doctor and had told her to expect me to get to that point at sometime.

I cried when I got the first message. there is something about being told to call an oncologist that puts a certain indescribable pressure on your heart. To hear it while alone in an office, is hard because it means that you have to call people and share the news - and I will be very, very honest, that I was tempted to not tell anyone. Though I imagined that my husband and mom would have been extremely upset with me had I gone this route - in spite of that though, I can't tell you how tempted I was.

I even called the oncologist first. I called my physician back and asked for a copy of the pathology report we talked about the long wait until my oncology appointment and then what the report meant in terms of what was happening inside my body. I went and sat by the fax and waited for the report to arrive (he was sending it right after we hung up). I got it and sat in my office, reading (memorizing) and mulling the news, tears in my eyes. I dried them, and decided I had to call my husband and so... I called my husband and told him the news. He was devastated (he had been a young boy when his mother had gone through two cancer diagnoses, I think that what was happening to me brought all those memories back) and I had to be strong and reassuring. After I hung up, I sat in the office some more, tears in my eyes again. Bracing myself for the call to my mom. She was walking into a meeting when she answered. I heard that stop in her voice. It was the same stop when I felt when I had to schedule an appointment with a hematologist oncologist for Squink after he was born.  Granted that was just for some jaundice we did not seem to be able to get rid of, and I knew that it was the hematology part we were seeing rather than the oncology part, but still - it isn't something you want to deal with as a mom, your babies should never see an oncologist, that should be the rule.

So that was a quick conversation and I sat in my office again, a sense of "why me?" prevailed. My boss who had gone through that cancer route walked by and noticed I was upset, came in and I shared the news with her. After that, the next 24 hours are kind of a blur. I know I called my dad, and he was probably the hardest one to tell... but only because I had no idea how he would react, and he has a tendency to avoid bad things and go on and pretend as if they did not happen so the idea that he would ignore me in this was something I considered highly probable. I only remember that at some point by the end of that night, I was sick of talking to people. Wait, I love talking to people what it was is that I was sick of re-telling the story, the news. I just did not want to have to say that damned word again.

That has been the darkest point so far.

The days following are still a blur. I talked to my siblings, texted with Prima. Made arrangements for all the responsibilities in my life that would be put on hold. Sent out a group email to women who I adore. Friends put me on prayer lists, and I got through the interminable wait until that appointment. Once I saw the oncologist, it felt so much better, because there was a plan. I knew what was happening and it felt good.

I would even say that I was a bit jubilant the day before my surgery, because that mass of mutating cells was getting removed.

I was in the hospital almost a week, determined that this whole thing would not bring me down. I have managed to stay positive through the rest, even that horrid backslide where, through projectile vomiting and other effluvia, fever spikes and chills all intertwined with a general sense of feeling horrid, I lost over 10 pounds, got dark circles around my eyes and began to lose hair. I was still in a good place.

I have these moments that seem to want to step in to those dark shadows; when I noticed that there is an area near my incision is numb (normal, but a strange feeling), talking to someone else who has gone through this process evokes some teariness, after time spent wondering if I am avoiding dealing with something, being told I hurt peoples feelings all brought forth some form of gloom to my mindset.

Thankfully, they are able to be beaten back.  And I think that is my job right now.

More thoughts and a tale from my misspent youth

Reflection

Something I do a lot of right now.

As I watch, feel, and notice my body heal from a pretty brutal surgery... I reflect back on my life.

What is so amazing to me is that I have such a wonderful group of people here in my life now. 

A husband who waited on me through the surgery, held my hand, brought me food, made me eat when I did not want to, bought me more thermometers than he should have had to purchase for me as I lay in bed vomiting with fever and chills and consistently losing them to the depths of my mattress and covers, who rinsed the vomit bowl so I could have a clean bowl for the next round, massaged my neck that was sore from throwing up, is waiting patiently for my body to heal, fed me, clothed me, monitored me while I showered in case I passed out... crap, the list of things he did [is doing] for me is too long to even recall... I just know that I could not have gotten through the last few months without him. 

Then there are the folks that helped arrange food deliveries, delivered food, send cards, visited, called, sent a text... I am humbled by all of these things. 

An aunt who fought against her ingrained instincts and took care of me as best she knew how when my husband couldn't stay with me.

My mom, who took time off and flew to be with me and watched her first baby sick and vomiting and trying to recover; held her hand, rubbed her brow, made me smile and provided those moments that induced healing that only a mom who loves to mother and nurture can give.

Friends who made sure I felt loved and fed, acquaintances who sent notes and some who even made sure I was fed... they came out like a force field and I was unprepared for the support.

I did not expect any of that, support that is... from anyone outside my immediate family. 

I am not sure why. I tend to keep to myself... I have been deeply burned by some people I thought were friends, so I tend to keep to myself and not talk to many folks. So, when I got the "NEWS" I had to let go, I needed help, I need a group of people to have my back (and not throw me under a bus without a chance to tell my story) and they came out of the woodwork, and I was touched, and am still touched, humbled.. tears are in my eyes now, as I write.

Even friends who I exchanged superficial texts with stepped out and were present to me. Near strangers offering so much more than good wishes.

The world is truly a magical place filled with so much good. I can't wait until I am free to frolic (without pain) and pass on that kind of goodness... for now, I heal, and am blanketed in gratitude that I have a tribe whose large size I didn't know.

~ ~ ~

I was driving and reflecting on what good things have happened to me in my life over the years and  in a brief flash of mental inner dialog that occurs in seconds I noticed that I drove by a building that once housed a flower shop in the 80's when I was in high school and which was made famous by a stop by then president Reagan who went to buy flowers for his mother-in-law who lived up in some super fancy "estates" near my house.

I remember that visit, he was new to office and it was a stop that made the local news. The other funny thing is that night some friends and I went to visit a friend that lived in those "estates" and was a neighbor of Nancy's mom... how do I know,, because of the plethora of secret service who hung out in the neighborhood. I remember a group of us running to the car from my friends house and the agents getting a little "jumpy" - but those were different days. Now we would probably be shot, then we just got stopped on the way past and told to behave by men in dark suits that wore sunglasses at night. 

I smiled at this memory as I drove away from that building that once housed the famous flower shop; I loved high school. I had friends whose company I enjoyed. I had good times... I was a little bit of a rebel, but I had a heart of gold, and the naivete of a child.

update - the last 4 weeks have been interesting

So, what an experience these last few weeks have been.

The surgery went abut as expected.  A scratched cornea in the hospital.

The final diagnosis was the best to be expected. No chemo and no radiation.

Big blessings.

I took a nose dive after I got home... lost over ten pounds in about 24 hours.  

Family took care of me. Friends feed me. I felt/feel deeply loved. 

I have been torn down in a way that has built me back up.

I am exhausted, tired and eager to get on with life.

I even drove once!

Day 18 - 40 days of writing- The long, slow, walk to the guillotine.

My paperwork is filled out.

And I sit here, today, tonight, feeling like I am awaiting an execution.

There is such an ominous feeling in knowing that tomorrow all this becomes so much more real. There are conversations I have to have...   decisions I have to make... all of which feel overwhelming to me now, even before they are completely and specifically known.

And as I contemplate them... the ones that are somewhat known, they feel so bitter.

I can't ask "Why me?" because this is a product of life; choices that I made and that have brought me to this junction. It is futile to wonder the why, but in my most self pitying moments I wish I could scream this into the abyss... and then reason takes over and answers me gently.

Nature is so cruel. I was brought up with that in my every day life. And yet, I want to scream... "why do this to me, why take the one thing that is a symbol of being a mother and obliterate the last few years of my chances at having more children". "I wanted six", I want to add to my scream, and in the end I feel weighed down by this incredible failure of aspiration.

And perhaps it is this failure that makes things in this situation so damn hard, because it is just that. A failure.

I look at the exotic eyes of my beautiful son, and choke up at how much I love him and how profoundly lucky I am that he came in to my life, and feeling that the intense lamentations of the ones who were never to be born are equally lost to him.

Couple that with the idea that I should be grateful that I do have him, creates a whirlwind of emotions as intense as they are complex. 

That which I have held most sacred, motherhood, will be denied me (in this way) much earlier than I am ready for.

The rituals of this disease are subtle and fierce. My physician turned my care over to the oncologist. I do not get to return to him until I am released back... much like a prison sentence.

And so, I feel like my dinner tonight was a last meal... and tomorrow will begin the long, slow walk to my own personal guillotine.

Day 7 - 40DOW - Curious George is my new hero

There is something kind of magical that happens when you get a serious diagnosis... You get a new level of patience and tolerance, and you hold closer to what's unacceptable and intolerable.

It is as if one gets knighted and imbued with certain super powers. Probably though, it is just some form of self examination that allows for some serious decision making.

I am not dying, but this may be the closest I get to that in a while. A friend wrote me last night about how I was now in the middle of my "bull fight" and that I had an arena of friends who were supporting me through this. I was struck by their using this metaphor not only because I am a bullfighters daughter, but because there really was some intense truth to what they wrote (and also because they hate bullfights so I was surprised to see them use this).

Without delving into a treatise on bullfighting, I will say that the bullfight is not about the torero, it is about the relationship between the bull fighter and the bull, each playing into instincts and their very special mortal relationship. They are each trying to figure the other out, and while they are separate, they form a symbiotic relationship. I am here in this ring, and I am that relationship, the instinct is driving me to examine my surroundings, and as they said, I have a cadre of people supporting that.

Which brings me to something else that has been swirling in my newly seriously introspective mind.

I recall the day when you heard that someone had cervical cancer that a pretty loaded assumption was possible made:

The woman (since men do not get cervical cancer) was a loose ho-bag and had proverbial round heels

I have heard this whispered amongst the most gossipy of people even to this day. So, yes there is a certain fear of assumptions that people (stupid people) may make about me. I know that I have never been a loose ho-bag and I most certainly do not have round heels. And I don't think that what is happening is the direct result of any karmic like indiscretions I may have made.  I am a human with a cervix and it has betrayed me (yet again).

I sit here newly diagnosed with something the most heinous of gossips use to tear people down and between that and the whole mortality associated with the word cancer causes for an astonishing amount of reflection. Self-reflection certainly, but also about the world I live in; the friends I have and thee ones I had, the adventures, the quiet moments, the rage, the gentle, the sweet peace when my son rests his head on my lap, the Ebola crisis, our southwestern drought, or awfully separatist politicians, the atrocities in the Sudan... all these and so much more... they have become different in some ways now.

At the root, though, these are extensions of curiosity, which is a true animal behavior.  There is something primal about trying to understand what is happening around you.  A certain fierceness comes, priorities seems stronger and there is a certain curiosity that reigns over me. It is like an adrenaline rush, but in a very sedate way (much like the adrenaline the human and the bull need to control when in the ring). I consider how the social animals (outside of humans) interact with each other. Elephants are amazing at this, but so are so many other animals. And there is something beautiful in that... in feeling close to that which unites all of us animals as we try to make sense of the world around us. It connects me to my surroundings, makes me feel a part of something whole and those who think this kind of thing (introspection) is something selfish, elitist, or wrong are just temporarily disconnected from the life death continuum.

Day 6 - 40DOW - another stage, perhaps.

In Old Norse the raven was a popular symbol and represented the power and wisdom of the mythological god Odin who would strike fear into the hearts of even the bravest warriors with his two fearless ravens sitting on his shoulders.

Me Hello again, 3:00am. You kind of suck for me right now, though I recall the days when you were fun and I was much more invincible.

I've moved into the next stage. Or is it another stage?

It happened the second I hung up on the last person in my inner circle.

The very second my finger pressed the hang up button.

I felt stupid and ridiculous for all the crying and sad.

This is stupid, I thought to myself.

You're trying to get attention, I scolded myself.

You are making more out of this than it deserves, my inner voice admonished.

I felt ashamed for my tearful calls and emails to these people who mean a lot to me. 

My brain rattled off a list of the reasons that supports its claim that I am swimming in ridiculous.

There was a tiny voice telling me this was all OK. These are scary new words and it's ok to be scared. But tiny voices are easily shut down.

Is this denial? Acceptance? Are there even progressive emotional states after a diagnosis like this, like the stages of grief?

I know I am not going to die, so why all this fuss? Is it really all that ridiculous that I want my mother and aunt with me, even if this causes them even bigger inconveniences? That I want to monopolize their time and play paper dolls with them, like I used to do when sick and at home as a child.

I always loved paper dolls from other cultures

And the vestiges of anger are poking through in those who mean well and tell  me what to do, or discount my thoughts on what I know may be my treatment options. This is my damned body, not yours.

Is there an angry denial phase? Am I really angry? Am I in denial?

I hate that as my body recovers from the cone biopsy, the aches and pains tease me into thinking that the cancer has taken control... that it has, in a blind rage at the attempt at its excision, rallied like a fire breathing mythical beast and waged a war inside me that I am slightly oblivious to and thereby allowing to grow with wild abandon as I navigate the days until my oncology appointment.

I decided that if it should have a name that somehow the notion of carrion should be involved. I have decided to invoke the ancient Valkyries of my genetic past, the ones that were ravens that became the ears (thought) and eyes (memory) for Odin, that cleaned up the battle fields by eating away at the carrion that resulted.

I want those ravens to remove my carrion and bring me the wisdom to do it bravely.

Day 5 - 40DOW - I don't have Ebola

Restless nights provide for interesting lucid thinking. I'll start from a doze-like-state with some thought usually a random one.

At this point, it's 3:00 am and I am snuggled up in our Arizona pines under a heated blanket. I have arranged for a Skype call with my sister in England for later. But what woke me was the thought; "I don't have Ebola". Which isn't that far off since we have a gentleman up here in a self imposed quarantine after his return from a mission trip to Liberia. News link

It's also interesting that I've had to, on a couple of occasions, give friends permission to worry for me. When something scary happens to someone you care about it can be hard. But it's tough to understand since I've always felt the right to deal with these things as my body dictated. I'm also surprised in the ever slight shift in my self. I'd consider myself to be nurturing in many ways, I tend to love people fiercely when something about them speaks to my soul, and as I manage the phone conversations and emails, I feel decidedly more nurturing to them. It's very subtle, but it's something I've noticed. I wonder if it's the result of the emotional exhaustion or just an internal shift and I wonder how temporary it might be... this urge to tell the people I love that are family and friends to give in to how their body is telling them to react. Maybe it's because I see love in their reactions and I'm honored and humbled by its reciprocity.

Maybe it's because it's now 3:30 am and I need to get more sleep.

Here is a picture of a bull with a B on his butt.

Day 4 - 40DOW

Emotionally drained.

Moved through the last phone calls, began the personal emails and then prepared for and began to draft the mass email to friends whom I respect. 

At this point I became exhausted and took a several hour nap.

 

People, so far, are being gracious and supportive. Except for the one friend who heard the news and (not unexpectedly) proceeded to talk about themselves for 40 minutes. Thankfully, it caused me to laugh in some form of delight.

A last minute trip north, just to get out and get a break. 

Everyone on their respective devices, random conversation about physics, religion, books.

Two more personal contacts left... 

I feel better today.

Day 3 - 40DOW

My prima gave me this.

I made it through the first night with the "C" word.

I slept better than I thought, but I think I woke up more often, though my fitbit says otherwise.

There is a part of me that wishes I did not have to tell anyone. And I mean anyone. That I could forge through alone, because, frankly, it would be easier for me mentally... relationships take an awful amount of energy and I suppose I want to save it (energy) for what is important,

But, I can also admit that I just won't be able to go through this alone. I need my team. I have the core. I am glad for that.

I hate very much, though, that I find that I break down in tears, and tend to do that when I am rummaging through closets and cupboards. My friend says that she did her crying when she was in the shower.

I hate that I keep telling my son that I keep getting dust in my eye. Because I just start crying randomly... even when thinking about red-lights and changing lanes.

But you want to know what scares me the most? Telling my friends. My close friends. The people whom I would want to know if something difficult/similar befell them. I am struggling on how to tell them. Family is easy, I know they will stick by me. Extended family is easy, I know they will manage in their own way. Strangers (like my son's teachers or parents at Squink's activities) are super easy, mainly because I frankly don't give a fuck what they do.

But those who fall in between nothing and genetic filial obligation... they scare me. I have started the process. I have called most of the people that I truly value, the ones I hope I don't lose. There are a few left, but they have birthdays and other events going on, and since I don't really know what is going on with me (in terms of what is going to happen ) and won't until I see the oncologist, it can wait.

I wrote a friend who is on this same track right now and asked what to say, what to do, did anything work better...? And she confirmed my fear (which I knew but I was hoping that my awkward introversion was at play) that there is no right way.

She also touched upon how there is this period of not knowing, and that you don't want to fling the diagnosis out, but then secrecy happens and people get nervous. So I think I am going to ask if I am free to emulate in a grand unveiling, if you will indulge the flourish, of what is going on with me.

I am starting to feel like I am fitting pieces together, the pieces of what I need and want in order to move through this. I know I want to proceed with rose tinted optimism. I consider myself to have my feet firmly planted in the ground and am aware of all sides of things, I want to get through this without wallowing in dark and negativity that is generated by other people. Why, do I want this? Because I know I am going to go through all these different stages and I won't allow negative Ned's and Nelly's" to bring me down... I want you to lift me up, to sing with me, to smile, and say "Blair, this will all end up OK".

So, I suppose not only am I afraid of the friends I will lose because they are burdened by a fear too great to be with me through this, but I am afraid of the friends I will chose to lose because they are too negative or pessimistic people to be around. I am still trying to come to terms with this.

I still breathe.

Burnt poetry

"All poets write bad poetry. Bad poets publish them, good poets burn them."
~ Umberto Eco

iMessage with my mother

Mom, I love this conversation so much, I had to share it with the world!

facebook memes replicated

Somehow, I see Facebook as more fleeting than a blog, that the Gran Guru of all things Technical (Google) will not remove this though the popularity of Facebook may wane... and there is something in this gratitude meme that I don't really want to lose~ so I post my responses here.

1) I am exceptionally grateful for a loving and supportive family. A mother that taught me about the importance of sacrifice through action, my aunt that taught me to see the world in so many colors, a grandmother that formed the basis for being curious about the world. A brother who has always rooted for the underdog. Nephews who delight me with the men they are becoming. A husband (Christoph) who's skill at navigating my lesser qualities humbles and strengthens me. Squink needs no explanation as to how profoundly he has filled my heart and delights me every day.

2) I am grateful for a legacy of ancestors that include women getting a college education when that was not the norm with areas of interest that included education, the arts, science and philosophy. I am grateful to the men who brought their skills and stood up for the underserved. I am grateful for a grandfather who was an amazing engineer and be it for better or worse; his work on the dams, roads, bridges, developments and mines of Arizona helped to make it a place I am deeply connected to. My other grandfather who taught me how to fish and shoot a rifle, identifying my dominant eye at a young age to help ensure an accuracy that I am proud of. I am grateful for the pioneers, the cowboys, and the cowgirls that helped formed the state I call home.

3) I am grateful that I was raised with a distinct worldview. That I was raised in countries that encouraged me to see the world as a magical place with castles and high snow-caped mountains surrounded by patchwork fields that gifted us with delightful nutritious food. I am grateful that my father was able to hand me the lands we lived in, that he taught me how to ride horses on those mountains and showed me that life is as brutal as it is delightful.

4) "The Facebook", as frustrating and annoying as it can be, I am eternally grateful that it brought back people into my life from far away lands that I did not think I could connect with; Doralice, Alexis, Jeff, Beth, Erica, Ingrid (even if you were just a baby), Ladna, and Jonathon. I have so many great, wonderful memories of being a kid in Quito with all of you that there is a comfort in knowing that you are still out there and for that, I am grateful.

5) My dear wonderful cousin Aimee; it is a blend of things like her beauty, kindness and grace that gave me a gift that I didn't even know I wanted. She brought me so much through just loving me unconditionally that I can't even begin to thank her for the gift of her friendship that is bound within the blood ties we share. I am grateful for all the gifts she is to me.

6) I am grateful for friends that meet up and chat and support each other. Gentle moments after which I am always delighting in the glow of their kindness and generosity.

7) Extremely grateful that I have access to healthcare and that I am safe in the knowledge that when a day includes the word biopsy that I know that I can get the care that I want and need. I follow that with the gratitude that I have physicians and nurses that I deeply respect and can discuss all my options and possible scenarios. That this is something that many people do not have access to in the way that I do, is ever so humbling.

8) I am grateful that I know how to read and that I can read things both beautiful and moving, hard and direct, subtle and desperate. Through this ability I was able to read this article this morning (http://aeon.co/magazine/culture/olivia-laing-me-lonely-in-manhattan/ ) and I was struck by how that article wrote about loneliness; I can't image what that was really like, something so dark that it removes you from a feeling of having a place wherever you are. and because reading that I was able to better understand how I am so very privileged to know that I am loved and not alone.

9) I am grateful that I can watch my son jump and play. There is a beauty in watching your children (and even pets) do those things that rings of a certain freedom that adulthood seems to reign in... though perhaps the thing gained through adulthood is that you get to watch it and be moved by it so deeply.

Help - I need somebody

A horrifying situation that I feel like I can't even begin to talk about happened. 

As a child there is a tendency to think of ourselves as invincible. When you are a parent, or a nurturer, and you have to deal with life and death types of risks in regards to children, you find that your whole mind set changes.

deary me, that probably only makes sense to me

Squink had a situation that absolutely terrified me. Made my heart stop. Made me roil and boil with an unfathomable anger that is still present and is mixed with dread, fear, anxiety...

My take away, one of them anyway, from what happened is that we have failed most of our kids in that we have not taught them what "get help" means.

When I was 7, I found my 9 or 10 year old cousin and my grandfather together. My cousin was laughing hysterically and my grandfather was blue and sweaty and unable to speak. My cousin said that he was laughing because my grandfather was pretending he couldn't move. 

I knew immediately that this was serious. I told my cousin to find my dad and get help while I went to find our grandmother. We were on a boat, they were easy to locate.

I was seven. He, my cousin, was at least two years older.

I don't know if I was able to assess the situation because I had grown up with a great caution instilled in me (from the very real possibility of my being kidnapped and being told what to do should that ever happen - my brother and I shared a room for quite some time so that in the case someone came in to our room at night, at least one of us could scream for help).

I don't know if I went to get help because I was taught by my mother what to do in cases of emergency.

I don't know if I went to get help because I am a girl, and that is what girls do.

But, the fact is that I got help. 

Not that it helped, he died that night.  But how much more awful would it had been to not have gone for help when it was obvious there was a need for some further intervention that was out of our child hands.

So, yes...

Squink was in a life or death situation. He was with "friends", all over the age of 7.

All were boys.

None got help. Actually, one did. He told his older brother who ran to help Squink immediately.

We found out by accident that he was in trouble, Overhearing the first two back washing their hands.

A couple that lived closer to the incident site decided to listen to their barking dog, look out the window to see what he was barking at, and they saw Squinks finger tips waving from a mud pile.

When they got there he was unable to scream. One of his rescuers told me that he was unable to scream for help any more and that as soon as they had removed him from the situation, that he seemed to be in shock.

My heart breaks at this situation.

So, if you are involved with children in any way... please talk to your children about what getting help means. That it means you get someone there right away. That it is serious and they should never worry about being in trouble. To scream when others can't.

Still, I just can't help but be bewildered that none of them got help.

I can't even describe the lump in my throat.

He was stuck in a very muddy excavation trench for a high voltage underground wiring system for some homes nearby. It was at least 4 feet deep. There was at least one line that was live. The hole was not barricaded, filled in, or had any forms of warning that it was not to be messed with (such as caution tape or barricades). In such shoddy work, it would be entirely possible that the contractor used broken pipe.

You can see the holes where his legs were stuck.

I can't even begin to describe the anger I feel at the contractor responsible for not doing any of those things and how he chose to follow up on the situation.

The fact is, Squink is my child and it is my god given, ancestral duty to protect him and so many people failed me on helping me do this. 

I assume a social contact with friends and family, with too few exceptions in this case, they and their children failed me.

I assume a social contract with professionals in whatever job that rules will be followed (in this case construction), they failed me.

I am angry.

I am heartbroken.

But for the sake of my child, you will hear me roar.

A slow and beautiful viewing of the world by car, plane and foot

I suppose it was a vacation, my last two weeks traipsing off to Austria to collect my Squink and bring him home and thus bringing back a sense of peace of having him in my close proximity.

It was an adventure, from my departure,  to my week with my in-laws (sans their son), the flight back to the EEUU (that is USA, for Spanish speakers) to a week with my mother in a state located in Americas heartland.

Living without your young child for more than one month is a strangely shocking thing, there is the idea that free time will occur, but the truth is, no such luck... if anything there were more demands for my time often coupled with phrases like "... since your son' isn't here..."

But, being busy was good, because the truth is that I missed my Squink sooooo much! And the freedom to trot off with friends who are not kid friendly or a wine with friends kind of thing was just not satisfying enough to make up for not having his insight into my daily life.



He came back speaking beautiful German, and considering that I last spoke the language at about his age, I feel like he has been able to bring back some of those skills for me... though I still have to make some pretty amazingly creative sentences to try to communicate with him... I am a bit pleased that speaking with him has brought back some of it, a good thing considering I have not spoken German in about 35 years.


I am also so very fortunate that I trust my mother-in-law enough to trust her with my son for such an extended period of time, though I try not to feel bad that she misses him so much not that he has returned home.

“In the first place, you can't see anything from a car.” ~ ed abbey (my personal edit: you can, if you must)

As I was heading back, en route to visit my mother on a long trans-Atlantic flight I thought about my upcoming week with my mother... I glanced at the clouds outside and way below the window of the plane, smiling at Squink's comment that we were flying way above the cloud line... I had noticed that as a very young girl, mentioning that we were visiting my grandparents in Heaven. My mother realized I had noticed this cloud thing and that I had made some connection... what is interesting, though, is that I actually thought Arizona was Heaven... and considering that I visited in Summer... I must have had a broad understanding that Heaven did not necessarily mean reasonable temperatures... and that the living were capable of visiting. I must have been a curiously interesting child.

Anyway, with inner peace restored by the mere physical presence of Squink back in my life, I smiled at that. Squink is rather religious so I wondered if he would have thought the same thing had we traveled as much as I did as a kid.

And there was something so perfect about going to see my mother on the trek back home, there was a ritual aspect to it on some levels; giving him the gift of time with both of his adoring grandmothers.

As such, I took pictures of the journey that Squink and I made, and will have to get those on here for the gentle tale of our pilgrimage home.

"As I make my slow pilgrimage through the world, a certain sense of beautiful mystery seems to gather and grow." ~ A. C. Benson

Exploring vulnerability

Everyone, I think, would agree that there is something about being vulnerable that sucks.

I write about it here.

In terms of why I am cross referencing both blogs, the answer is that I am still looking at both platforms, not sure what to do. I think they both have advantages and disadvantages in a manner such that that I do not feel in-any-way-compelled to use one over the other... I sorta wish I could use both in one.

What are your thoughts?


Anyone?



Anyone?



Anyone?

Sylvia should have taken more baths. - 39/40

Last night I found myself with a disarming amount of time left to myself. It was a heady luxury I am not often given chance to enjoy. I had dishes in the sink, and laundry to be done, work to finish, some writing to do... but I happened across a tub of olive oil hair mud and I decided ti was time to treat myself. Mainly because I had also touched the skin on my face and noticed it felt like sandpaper (ugh).

So, I pulled out the olive oil hair mud, my super expensive shampoo and conditioner samples, my facial scrubs, my facial masks and proceeded to fill up my bath with hot, hot, hot water. 

I set my iPad off to the side and pulled up the Netflix app. 

Now, normally I would get myself a glass of red wine to accompany me through the luxurious journey on which I was about to embark. But, I gave up alcohol for lent, so I prepared a nice BIG cup of hot peppermint tea with cream and honey.

I lit candles, started my show, and got in the water.

Not my actual tub, but this is how I like to do this, April gets it

That moment when I was all in, when I leaned back against the back of the tub, when I just let go... was fabulous. I looked at the way the candlelight reflected of the water, and my skin and felt beautiful. I sat in the tub for 40 minutes just listening, being quiet, occasionally glimpsing the movie playing off to my side. I was as present for that bath as one can get. I was mindful of the luxury of something like this in my over-watered desert. I considered the molecules and how the fatty acids were reacting with alkali (way too simple of an explanation, but its base is there).

I reached a point when I was content, in the way that contentment can be brief but completely satisfactory.

I reached for the hair and skin accouterments and proceeded to make my skin and hair silky smooth.

I washed and rinsed my hair and put some more hot water in the tub, and sat for another forty-five minutes. 

It was the best two hours I have spent on myself in along time.

“I am sure there are things that can't be cured by a good bath but I can't think of one.”
~ Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

Kitten, the diminutive and other nicknames - 36/40

As a child growing up, I had several extremely unusual nicknames.

As a young woman, I had friends that called me Blaise (modesty was not something one would have necessarily applied to me).

Later, I had a boyfriend that called me "darlin'".  And another that called me "sweetpea".

I love nicknames. I love giving them to people, I love the the way they make me feel when I am given one, I like invoking the diminutive in the names of folks who are dear to me as well.

Of course, the underlying assumption is that they are all nice and don't include words that translate into words that look like: %$#$.

I make up nicknames for many folks, and many seems to be heartily bothered by them... I mean I call one nephew "Mo" and I don't think he appreciates it. My son has told me that he is not overly fond of Squink, though we had a long talk about what the name means and where it came from and now I (AND ONLY I - emphasis his) am allowed to call him that... which is funny because most of my friends have forgotten or don't know his real name. I am puzzled by this whole "don't-call-me-that" thing,because nicknames are an indicator of love.

My mother is the one who comes up with the most awesome nicknames though and she is a tough act to follow. I try, and I think I am getting better.

I have a Goofus (or Gallant, depending on behavior), a Squink, a TanteTia, a Jojoberry, a Squid and an AnnieA.

Each one of those names comes from a place in my heart that melts, just like mine does when I hear myself being called a "nombre de cariño". 

When I go out with the ladies (sic), I don't force them to pronounce my name. I tell them I like to go by the nickname of Kitten.
~ Joaquin Phoenix*  

* Note to "Kitten" - Dude, what is up with using the term "the ladies" - how gruesome!

*

Gentle hands made these 26/40

One of the things I am rarely without is a necklace. I never take off the gold chain with the tumi charm. Though I often wear what is apparently called a statement necklace I have added another necklace that has somehow manged to capture my intention in wearing it at all times.

The tumi charm was a gift from some family and friends in Ecuador, when they gave it to me they said that I had shown that I was a native daughter to the land and that as an Incan surgical tool it represented my studies in medicine. It is a treasured gift and I don't take it off unless absolutely necessary.

The new piece that I seem to wear almost constantly is a piece I bought in a monastery gift shop. It was hidden away on a bottom shelf in a basket under which was hidden a small 3x5 card with some terrible pictures of beautiful round-faced African women on one side and some pencil drawings and crude information on the other, It implied that the necklaces contained in the basket were hand made ceramic beads at a woman's cooperative in Africa that used local clays. It gave no mention of where in Africa, but the necklaces were amazing with these tiny round beads with occasional longer beads. As the daughter of a woman that traversed the terrains of Latin America in search of exquisite hand crafts I was intrigued and the necklace was only $5.00. So, I picked through them and found one that seemed a little different from the rest.

The purchase was made (thank you, mom) the necklace slipped into a paper bag and forgotten until the trip was over. Once I opened the bad with the necklace a month or so later I was still struck by how magnificent the small handmade beads were. I twisted open the barrel closure and put the necklace on.  I had no idea what magnificence I was yet to see.

When I woke up the next morning with the necklace still on, I was brushing my teeth when I was stunned by the transformation that necklace had gone through in the 24 hours since I had put it on. The obviously clay beads had picked up a beautiful sheen from the natural oils in my skin and had become this incredibly rich mix of colors, with a patina that was mind-blowing. I set my toothbrush down and touched the beads as I look at them int eh reflection in the mirror. The beads were beautiful and I was struck by the memory of the highly pixelated pictures in my recollections of the 3x5 informational card that was with them in that monastery gift shop.

Several weeks later I had need to take it off for a formal event. And I set it on the tray on the dresser in my bathroom. When I went noticed it the next morning I was struck again by how much it had changed, It had returned to a far less beautiful version of themselves. It was obvious they were meant to be worn, to go through a transformation that spoke to so many layers of humanity. They have become a reminder that we are all beautiful, but something comes out that makes us magical when we are  doing what we need to do with others. They have become about community and have somehow manged to tie me to a landmass that I have not properly visited, and hope to someday.