Invincible summers and calculated acts of kindness

“My dear,
In the midst of hate, I found there was, within me, an invincible love.
In the midst of tears, I found there was, within me, an invincible smile.
In the midst of chaos, I found there was, within me, an invincible calm.
I realized, through it all, that…
In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer.
And that makes me happy. For it says that no matter how hard the world pushes against me, within me, there’s something stronger – something better, pushing right back.

~ Albert Camus

It was late on December 20th, 2014 and I was still recovering from my surgery.   I read an email from my friend Gail in which she asked if the Junior League of Phoenix (JLP) would be interested in hosting a movie screening. Gail works at The Arizona Partnership for Immunization.

It was this movie screening:




I watched the trailer.

I called her to talk on the phone.

I pretty much told her that I didn't know but I would find a way.  We talked about how I could manage this in my capacity as the member training committee chair and we came up with a plan. The next morning I sent out some emails to my Team Leader in the Junior League and my co-chair. Both were supportive.  Gail and I discussed venues and what options we had. We decided that my cousin, who is Lead pastor at Scottsdale First Church of the Nazarene, would be a good person to approach. So an email went to him. I received immediate replies and all were supportive. 

Here I am 2 months later. The JLP team lead I serve under, has allowed for this to become a bigger deal within the JLP.  More partnerships have developed and are included below.

Our goal is to provide one large movie screening with a panel that is targeting about 200 viewers. 

If you are local - please save the date:

Date:
Thursday, April 9th 2015

Location:
Scottsdale First Church of the Nazarene
2340 N Hayden Rd, Scottsdale, AZ 85257

Time:
 5:30 - 9:00 pm / Movie starts at approx 6:30

Tentative Agenda:
Sign in opens with a meet and greet: 5:30
Movie and topic is introduced and screened 6:30 
(movie is 80 minutes long)
Panel discussion at end of film
closing meet and greet

Community Partners:

Scottsdale First Church of the Nazarene

Junior League of Phoenix

Tapi

Arizona Oncology

AZ Department of Health Services

Genesis City

I am back - with some Calculated Acts Of Kindness (COAK)

Yes, I decided to  come back here. I figured out how to un-subcribe people and did so...

I did that because this chronicles my life for the last 10 years.. and a lot has happened.

But those ten yea

thank you deviantart

rs all had my Squink in them. And even when I did not mention him, it happened around him.

But it also feels like a new beginning and how wonderful that it coincides with the first day of Lent.

So, I am following after Kelli at AfricanKelli with a commitment to Calculated Acts of Kindness...

I will post updates on:

Flickr Pool

Instagram

Facebook

and of course HERE (and on my other site)!!!!

What a wonderful way to start

Life is beautiful - 6 & 7

Yesterday was tough, it is a tough spot right now. 

In my attempt to find the beauty, I failed... I mean, I had that poem, but I really found it the day before... and the rest seemed average and even hard.

It all, life, feels sorta like that - hard. 

I feel completely helpless in some ways (some very new ways) because I am just in a state... angry, mad, desolate to name but a few and all of them in one big huge swirling mass of emotional baggage.

I have no patience for this kind of nonsense. I have too much to do.

And, people keep calling me back to earth and reminding me that my behaviour is inappropriate. Which adds to this feeling of mixed mass emotions swirling and boiling and festering. Shame, I suppose. I am better than being an angry person.

I have moments of average, and when I see my son or husband I can claim joy. But that seems so selfish, in a way, to allow my son and husband to be my bringers of joy... what a HUGE burden to place on them. Guilt, I suppose. 

I am trying to remember to breathe, to mediate, to pray... but the words that come to mind when I do this are hard, and angry, and as my family reminds me... inappropriate.

I have and see so much to be grateful for, but these crazy emotions are so difficult to manage. 

How does one throw themselves a gentle pity party?

So let me conclude by stating that I suppose that the beauty I was able to find is that (#6) I am alive and (#7) I have people who love me. There is comfort in that. But, there is a tinge of insincerity in my heart with these right now. impatience, I suppose. 

The kind of beauty I want most is the hard-to-get kind that comes from within - strength, courage, dignity.  ~ Ruby Dee  

find the beautiful 5

I am kicking and screaming

I am angry

I lash out

I don't know where else this could be coming from

damn cancer

and so, to try to slay this angry beast, I looked round me trying to find something beautiful.

here is what I have...

there is a certain kind of light that I have only ever witnessed here in the desert

it comes at sunset, in winter

it is a light that makes our mountains purple instead of brown

that seems to bear a reflective quality like that of burnished gold.

that was the beautiful I saw today

and here is a terrible picture of it...

“Clouds come floating into my life, no longer to carry rain or usher storm, but to add color to my sunset sky.”   

~ Rabindranath Tagore

Find the beautiful

THAT

Find the beautiful

Yes, that...

is my theme for this year.

Though we travel the world over to find the beautiful, we must carry it with us or we find it not.
~ Ralph Waldo Emerson  

Finding the beautiful... it is very present in the external. 

But as I navigated just how ugly it was to go through this cancer thing, how easy it was for people to forget that it is my battle, and I had to find myself repeatedly trying to forgive... I lost my place. And I was so hurt by people that I am close to (who are ashamed of my diagnosis, who couldn't/can't talk to me about what was/is happening, who took things from me with out asking, who made things harder for me....) that I forgot to stop and find the beautiful.

So, fuck the folks who take away from this... they can live with their choices.

And I am so lucky, because I have people in my life who can help me do that. So, I have to let them in and help me see what I need to see.

I,  am so excited. Because, you see, this year, 2015, I get to find the beautiful.

Yes, that...

is really my theme for this year. 

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.

So, when it comes to gratitude I may be, unintentionally, a selfish twat*

* in the sense of being a foolish or despicable person, not the other thing.

So we have this:

gratitude     [grat-i-tood, -tyood]
noun
1. the quality or feeling of being grateful or thankful:
"He expressed his gratitude to everyone on the staff."

But the thing about being grateful, gratitude, is that it is contingent on several factors:

Feeling it (this is the super easy part)
acknowledging the feeling (this is manageable)

but the hard part comes in the next steps...

communicating the gratitude to the person/place/thing for which you are grateful.
communicating it effectively.

When my grandmother died, I wrote her eulogy.

I was devastated by her passing away, I was extremely sad and trying to be strong because of my mother and aunt, after all they were allowed to indulge in a deeper sorrow than I could.

So, I wrote these words of gratitude into the eulogy and while I think it was a wonderful and powerful tribute, I know, I KNOW, that I inadvertently left people out of it and who should have been included. Which means I know I hurt peoples feelings.

Having your efforts acknowledged is important. I know this from both personal experience and from the lack of a personal experience.

As I navigate my recovery from surgery and everything and have posted my gratitude here I have managed to hurt people I love, both in omission and in not enough. I feel sick about these. The thing is, this is a journal and because it is public I have to tread lightly. But I treat it as a means of processing, of navigating things that can be public. But that is not easy in the aether - It has been requested of me, in the past, that I remove things, that I not include things, that I redact things... and I have honored those. but it has created a careful ground to tread upon.

I am not allowed to talk about or post photos of my [relationship intentionally held back].
I have been requested to limit discussions about others I love and about some personal experiences.
Squink and I revisit what I can post about him here on a regular basis.

So, I suppose that this is not truly my journal... it comes out as an allowable letter to the world based on my life and its experiences as long as I don't violate some things. I am OK with this.

But, lets get back to gratitude.

Felling grateful is a humbling experience. Because to get to that feeling you have to go through some kind of vulnerability and being vulnerable is not easy in the sense that is a state of being that we seek.  I mean I don't really know many people who seek to be vulnerable... I tend to think of us humans as trying to avoid being vulnerable.

So here is where I am a twat - inherent in gratitude is sharing it. I have written almost 40 thank you notes (and there are more to be written) to people that helped me along this path... that supported me, that checked in on me and that overall, made me feel like I had a wonderful group of folks supporting me... so what I lack, is that ability to let these people know I am grateful in a manner that conveys just how grateful I am. Because gratitude felt is only part of the experience, gratitude is a social thing (even if you are grateful for a gorgeous sunset or other in-animate thing). So the art in gratitude is that you share it effectively. I suck at that part. I feel gratitude intensely, I tear up and get that pain in your chest that is a good pain, but I have found that is the easy part.

The hard part is going to the next step of acknowledging your gratitude and announcing it.

It is easy for things like my deep gratitude for how the desert smells after a rain - for example - I can post the word "Creosote" on "The Facebook" and people who have spent time in a desert rain get it.

But, saying "I am grateful for what you did to me, thank you" is hard. It is hard because a "thank you" doesn't cover it. And often, especially in more complex relationships, there is a back story that might be just as important... and in terms of this block of a small thank you notes, how do you put that all out there and say "thank you for the totality of what you did for me" without sounding like a freaking Hallmark card (not that hallmark is bad, they make wonderful cards and I buy them when I buy cards)?

So perhaps, this is my big lesson for the rest of my life... to try and get better at this. Because, while I am very comfortable with feeling at it, when it comes to professing it - I really do suck at it.

“Feeling gratitude and not expressing it is like wrapping a present and not giving it.” ~ William Arthur Ward

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 thirteen - 40 Days of Writing - Obsession

I loved the way Obsession for Men smelled (when I was a teenager).

Yesterday, I obsessively read my pathology report. And by obsessively I mean that I read it repeatedly for a 5 or 6 hour stretch of time. I read this two page report and felt so much that it was as if my life depended on it. I would focus on one part of it, set it down, ponder it, and then come back to it and re-read that section. I would then set it down. Then pick it up and read the whole thing again. Focus on another section and repeat this process all while watching the utterly mindless and unbelievably mind-numbing Vampire Diaries on Netflix as background noise. 

Thankfully, I am done. I think. I don't really want to read it any more. My medical school stint reared its virtual head and I gained that understanding that I was looking for, picturing in my head the sizes of the different samples, trying to picture them as I read the descriptions. These three dimensional images rotating in my brain and looking at them from all directions. My brain would form these hologram like images as I studied each section of the report and the three samples in question and I could twist them to try to better understand the height and width and depth in hi-fidelity color based on the descriptions of the stains they used. My brain hadn't thought this way for a while, it was both exhilarating and exhausting.... and all while not focusing on the screaming absence of the words "clear and present margins" and breathing deeply and heavily at the places that stated that the "extend ... to the margin". Wondering then, how much further they could have gone in order for me to be able to read those words I kept hoping to find.


That those two black and white pages that my GYN faxed to me contain the key information about what is going to happen to my life for the next few months (years, too) is a bit mind blowing. It is like the home pregnancy test I took when I was pregnant with Squink, something so small serves as such a huge symbol of GIGANTIC changes that are about to come.

It just seems, in a weird way, that these symbols of huge life changing moments should be different somehow. Maybe. It is also just amazing how simple things reveal so much. I wonder what the pathology report would look like if I painted it, applied rhinestones... or gave it a tiara?

As I woke up today and wondered what inspiration might come my way in terms of what to write for this round of 40 Days Of Writing... all while pondering how I spent my day yesterday - and hoping that I wouldn't be so stuck on the diagnosis and the "C" word...  when, I thought that part of this process of managing a diagnosis like this is that there is an element (or time period) of obsessing about it. Trying to get into its skin, wearing it and figuring it out... especially in those times of waiting (which frankly sucks the most of anything so far).

It all makes perfect sense, in a way. Today is another day.

Day 11 - 40 Days of Writing - ten years ago my cervix failed me too

I realized that I have been blogging for 10 years, starting around this same time of year. There are earlier posts but those were after the fact. The linked one was my first and the one before it was an email I sent to friends on that day (he day I retroactively published it).

The huge irony is that it was about my cervix as well, granted in that case I also gained a son... instead of in this case where it is about losing my uterus.

It is ironic, I suppose... to have started this blog because I was in a dark place. Bed rest, as romantic as it may sound, was amazingly lonely and dark.

And now, these ten years later (almost to the day) coming here and writing again from another dark place, that has a very different feel to it... a deeper kind of vulnerability, perhaps.

Jean Jacques Henner - Solitude

Day 9 - 40DOW - a little conversation I want to have with men

I think the one thing that has been hardest on me is how the men in my life have handled this.

First of all, let me state this is not all the men.

My husband has been über fabulous; he has been there for me and has been a solid rock and really been wonderful and supportive and asked questions and made me feel like he is in this with me 100%.

It is the other ones.

Like My Boys   - sigh.

I mentioned the one that talked about himself after I shared the news... though he has sent a note back in which he sorta says one brief little thing and proceeds to write about himself for three or so long paragraphs (that is how he is). Another, that found out through his wife, sent a note to my husband saying that he knew. For those two, it was perfect. It fit their personalities and I am so glad. 

I did share with the other boys, and nothing. I am hoping that they might be out of town for a very long time or too shocked at the news and feel kind of helpless and not know what to say or even do. I mean there is something so very personal about talking about your lady parts with a man, I imagine it might be embarrassing or something along that fine continuum for a man to talk about a female friends girly parts in such a deeply personal way... even if you never utter the words cervix, ovaries, uterus, vagina.

The other three male friends that I have told have been able to reply. One with a sweet message and encouragement and stories of how his mother has gone through something similar. Amazingly supportive and wonderful. Another apologized about what I am going through and then turned into a lump that seems to want me to take care of him. The last proceeded to offer a bunch of medical advice based on his experience with his mother and her ovarian cancer.

I can't imagine what it must be like for a male, to hear from a friend that her girly bits have failed her in such a dramatic way.  I am sure that saying "I am sorry that your cervix is going through that" just seem too ridiculous for a male.

So, if you are a male and you have a friend (or loved one) who has been diagnosed with a reproductive cancer (or any cancer) here is some advice based on what I have learned so far;

• If she tells you, respond. Even if you just say: I am so sorry you are going through this. I don't really know how to respond, but I am here if you need me. Repeat this on occasion if you are still speechless.

• Prepare yourself, think about times when you have been scared, or ill, or going through a difficult time. What did you want to talk about? What did you need? Consider your friends personality; is she forthright or private and talk to her. 

• Tell her you are sad that she has to go through this, acknowledge what she is going through.

• If possible, invite her to lunch or dinner or breakfast or brunch, and listen to her if she accepts (and let her know it is ok to say no). Ask her if she needs a hug, and talk to her about things you know interest her; books, plays, etc. Reminisce the old times, make her laugh at how silly you both were when you were younger if your friendship has lasted decades. 

• Don't continuously pick up and stare at your phone or allow other distractions when you talk to her, especially if she is talking about what she is going through.

• Let her know you are interested in her health, and are willing to help. If she is alone, ask if she needs help putting in light-bulbs or other small house projects. If she is married or living with someone and you know them, ask if you should take her partner out and get his mind of things. If you offer, and she accepts. Follow through. 

• Be honest about your feelings.

• If you have a history of doing things together, plan something she can look forward to.

• If you have shared friends, ask if she would like you to let them know. Respect her answer.

• Try not to offer medical advice. Don't send her information on protocols and options don't be upset when she makes decisions that you find odd or extreme or even not extreme enough. 

• Most importantly, continue the friendship... knowing there is a support system out there for her is incredibly important (even if she doesn't take you up on the offer)

I hope that I have given some pointers that are helpful. 

These are ideas based on my experience so far. I am sure that there is some variety among women who are going through this and I am sure that Google probably has far better advice available if you search. 

IMPORTANT UPDATE:  Please refrain from talking about her disease around her children. She may choose to really limit what the kid/s know during this time since it can be super scary, and needlessly so.

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.

Untie the haggis and why wear pants - 40DOW - Day 1

I spent yesterday at the hospital. The hospital my son was born in. The hospital my nephews were born in. The hospital my half-siblings were born in... and some other some such relatives.

This time it was for me though, I had to get some girly things taken care of. Which reminds me, ladies... get your check ups.

Actually, that reminder is super good place to start... because that is where this journey started.

A friend posted about getting a cancer diagnosis on Facebook, and what a crazy ride it had been. I read her post, with tears in my eyes and realized it had been a few years since I had done mine.

Actually, it was more than a few years. That is what I found out when I called the doctor to schedule an appointment.

Not a smart move on my end.  Things like DES are a part of my history. I really should have known better than to let so much time lapse, but I did.

My luck is that I went in time. But I needed some work. and I got it.

So ladies, get checked. Men, make damn sure the women you like (even just a little but whom you know well enough to enquire about their vaginal health) get their lady bits checked. Regularly.

But I had fun at the hospital. If such a thing can be fun.

I hate IV's... hate them, hate them, hate them!

I invoked my grandmother by going home in a muumuu that my aunt had bought for me... a gorgeous caftan of multiple colors and GLITTER!

I can't even begin to describe its awesomeness.

I took pictures for as much as I could. (for the record, I love selfies, I love looking at them and I am OK with taking them and I am especially fond of what I laughingly call "we-we's" but most people refer to as "groupies".

My favorite we-we. ever. but only sorta, because Squink isn't in it.

For some reason we began referring to my cervix as my haggis and made a plethora of jokes about them that involved playing bagpipes and other such hilarity that probably only seems funny if you were a part of the conversation. The whole haggis thing was compounded when I get home and after much sleeping and woozying find I got an amazon email that was, ironically, all about haggis.

An email about haggis.

My arm bands had the colors of the flag of the countries I was born and grew up in... in spite of my aunt insisting my blue was really Greece (it isn't).

Amarillo, azul, y rojo (and NOT GREECE) and featured on my Instagram account

My aunt, brother, and husband picked up Squink and so he was there when I got out of recovery...

I can't tell you how much joy I felt in knowing that his little body was there waiting for me. And when he saw me he was sweet and gentle and it was beautiful.

And then I found the glitter from the muumuu had managed to get on everyone and you know life is good when you are glitter bombed. Right?

Excited that a caftan experience awaits at the end of this!

Why wear pants when you can wear a muumuu? 

~ Beth Ditto

Being swallowed by the essence of life...

Volunteering.

It is considered on of those important things to do to lead a happy life.

I would agree, though if you are one of those who claim it is about (solely) reciprocal altruism... I would disagree. But that might be good for another post. 

I recall conversations with my mother when I was a young girl in her pre-teens. Growing up in a third world country where poverty is very much in your face, and you are most definitely on the "haves" end of things can be distressing. My mother volunteered often and I recall asking her about poverty. She counseled me by telling me that it was our duty to help those who needed our help. That has stuck with me ever since.

On Friday I attended a work related conference and was fortunate to have an organization that I work with represented at their program fair. I shared the organization with people I had met throughout the conference that had mentioned they wanted to work with a good character development program.That organization is called Release The Fear

Saturday, I got to help another organization that I belong t,o a women's membership organization (JLP), and we do really wonderful things in the community. Squink and I spent yesterday morning helping the committee tasked with training our brand new members what things we have done in our community. Here I am at the Arizona Science Center overlooking the Rosson House Museum (both projects the League has worked with):

We followed that with another volunteering excursion by taking Squink out for his first ever fundraising effort by setting up a popcorn sales table at a local Safeway.

I was/am so proud of him! The other scouts that were supposed to show up, didn't. Though the city was deluged with a rather amazing rainstorm (floods and downed trees kind of storm). As Squink and I drove tot he location we talked about not going, but we also talked about fulfilling our obligations and we decided that it was best to go and see what the store said.  They obviously told us to go ahead and set up.

Squink had one marvelous experience there. He met Keith. Keith was a retired photographer from the Arizona Highway department. They used to use his photographs of ruins and petroglyphs to create papier-mâché reproductions of them and how they were often featured at the sate fairgrounds. He also told Squink about his years as a door-to-door salesman in Indiana. Keith spent some time giving Squink pointers on how to be a better sales person. Keith did not have cash and we couldn't take credit cards. So he said he would get cash back after his grocery purchases. Sadly, the rain had caused problems with the credit machines and the cash-back option was not working. When he came back, he told us that he could not do it, but that he had been planning to go out to dinner and had decided that he would now stay home and eat what he had on hand and watch a movie and use the money he was going to use to eat to buy a bag of popcorn. Keith used the scooters that the grocery store has to get around and had walked in using a cane. When Keith parked the scooter as he got ready to leave, Squink went up to him and asked if he could help him to the car. Here is a picture of the two of them walking out the door.

It was such a sweet experience, two friends (thank you Ronnie and Angie) stopped by and purchased some pop-corn too!


CUB SCOUTS

You can help him meet his goal of selling a minimum of $1500 by clicking on this link:
http://www.trails-end.com/All/b/6479672011?ie=UTF8&title=All+Products

If you are prompted to select whom you will support these are the things you need to know to make sure Squink (aka Josef S) gets credit.

Type in the council zip code of 85016

Look for the following once the scouts name field populates:

Josef S - Blair - Pack 0324 - Villa Montessori School

Make sure that you click to support Josef S - Blair - Pack 0324 - Villa Montessori School

 (you might get the option to choose the Grand Canyon Council (but Squink wont get credit)

If that is too complicated, just leave a comment or get a hold of me and let me know what you would want and I can work with you.

Now, this reminds me of a few other things that are coming up.

Biltmore Prep Hermosillo Exchange Program

Squink has decided that he wants to participate in an exchange program with a school in Hermosillo. It will be the second year this occurs and he is so excited about the opportunity. However, as a part of that he has committed to securing $1000 in tax credit donations for the program to help offset the costs related tot he program.

Here is the Facebook page for the program: https://www.facebook.com/BPAExchangeProgram

And you can contact me (again by comment or email) if you have questions or want me to email you the form in another format.

For information from the school about this tax credit go here: http://biltmore.creightonschools.org/apps/cross.jsp?wREC_ID=2676&crossPath=/apps/pages/index.jsp%3FuREC_ID%3D181276%26type%3Dd  There is a link to download it in PDF form or the link to the online donation.

The link for the on-line donation is:
https://secure.edlio.com/ssl/forms/tax_donation/english_v2/index.jsp?ech=creightonschools.edlioschool.com&cross=1

PLEASE Make sure to enter Biltmore Prep and also to specifically mention the Hermosillo Exchange Program

Amount: * $
Any amount up to the maximum allowable 2014 tuition tax credit as follows:

Single or Head of Household: $200.00
Married Filing Jointly: $400.00
Married Filing Separately: $200.00

School Recipient: *
Biltmore Preparatory Academy

Program Preference:
Biltmore Prep Hermosillo Exchange Program

If you do donate, please (please, please, please)  let us know so I can let the program organizers know that you are donating as a direct result of his efforts so he gets the credit for his efforts. I don't need to know the amount if you don't wish to share that information, but please make sure I have the name you put on the donation form (so that they can cross check).

For the above fundraising efforts, please feel free to share this with people whom you feel are inclined to help Squink raise money to go to scouts or his exchange program.

###

RELEASE THE FEAR

So, I have mentioned a few of the programs that I work with that if you want to support, I would be grateful.

One of the more exciting is that in addition to the School tax credit above you can also do a Working poor tax credit (yes, I believe that you can do both but check with a tax accountant/specialist!!!!)

Release the Fear qualifies as a provider of services to the working poor. Which means that you can use the following tax table:

Taxpayers filing as “single” and “head of household” status may claim a maximum credit of
$200. Taxpayers filing as “married filing separate” may claim a maximum credit of $200.
Taxpayers that file as “married filing joint” may claim a maximum credit of $400.

Source: http://www.azdor.gov/About/FAQs/CharitableTaxCredit.aspx
DONATE to Release The Fear ON-LINE HERE: http://www.releasethefear.org/donate.asp or get ahold of me for other ways. Make sure you mention in the comments that you want the tax credit and that Blair sent you.

And for that Women's organization, you can make a charitable donation here:
https://www.jlp.org/?nd=donate_summary or get ahold of me if you would like to donate another way.

What is the essence of life? To serve others and to do good. ~ Aristotle

It is that time again - 40 days of writing to resume again

So, I belong to a writing group on "The Facebook" called 40 Days of writing.

It is set to begin on October 1st and I am facing this challenge with total and complete mixed emotions.

Yes, I need to get back in the habit, I have left off and forced myself to put stuff down that feels exceptionally sub-par and fluffy.

I am faced with another challenge though, this one starts the day after I get to go through surgery.

I am tempted to write about that experience, but it seems so stupid in the age of cyber stalking and such other human on human atrocities. Someone, I am sure, will use it against me.

Being publicly vulnerable sucks.

Of course, I should get back to writing "that book", but I am still trying to get past someone calling it "too porny". This happened around the last 40 days of writing thing and it essentially shut me down, except for a sad, feeble attempt at a modern day revisit of one of the Arthurian Legends.

The great thing about 40 Days of Writing is getting to read what others post, I love to read the stories and things they put out, it often inspires and there is something about getting to see into their lives that makes me feel better about the world... so there is that,

The thing is... that I look at these pieces of themselves that they put out and am moved and touched and want to return those gifts with quality stories of my own.

I tend to be lazy, and detail is something that is just so hard to me. Breaking down important descriptions is the last thing on my mind. It makes for weird stories, stories that are not quite worthy of the ones I am reading.

Practice. I suppose it is about practice... and returning the gifts of these stories with my "practicing" just seems so lame. It is, however, the only thing I can do at this point.

OK, that all reads as so negative, but it is more than that... what are the other positives?

I do know what I don't want to write:

• How to's,  (the ones I would write might be too strange; how to shrink a head?)
• Self-help directives (who am I to tell anyone how to save themselves)
• Recipes (I don't follow them, so I should not write them)

I guess I will keep trying to plug away at this writing thing...

It is always an overwhelming experience

My parents are the kind of people that have never turned away a chance at adventure... though perhaps in some way it finds them and they are really not given a true choice.

My semi-estranged father (and I say semi-estranged because I just have not figured him out yet and he is like a stranger to me) had arranged another bullfight for himself and his bullfight friends.

This is how I grew up, from when I was born until about 1979. Bullfights. Or something bullfight related. Every. damn. weekend. Especially so when we had the bullfight stock bull ranch.

At some point in those years, my mother stopped going to them and I can't imagine my dad taking kids with him... but I can't recall not going having that exposure (maybe it was when we would go to the ranch?).

So, it is hard to get past something that is so in your face, to me bullfighting just was.. I mean, didn't your dad love it too? Really, I just thought it was something all dad's liked. Though it was in that way that it was not a surprise that other dad's didn't, but I just figured they had a different all consuming passion.

So, we flash forward to my father getting back into it around 2000, I was just married and had actually not been aware that my half-sibling hadn't grown up the same way. My dad must have been miserable (though he was living in England). but somehow he starts up, and then gets divorced, moves in Spain and ends up in Northern California. Northern California has a huge Portuguese community and many of them have ranches where they raise bulls for their festivals (allowed per the California constitution) and so he starts and to me, it is like he never even stopped. As a matter of fact when he was talking and let us know that he had not bull-fought from 1980 to 2000, I was a little shocked.

In 1998, my dad gave me money for my birthday with the direct instruction to buy an abono for the Bullfight Festival in Ecuador. I did, with the caveat of buying better seats when his favorite bullfighter was there. That was in pre-blog era and I should write about that some day I suppose.

Anyway, I got to see him around 2006 when Squink was just over a year old and we go to a part to practice using the cape.

Then we get to late in 2008 when Squink is about 3, and I see him back in a ring again.

And then, in 2012, I get in to a ring.

So, now we are at 2014 and my (full) brother and I take our kids to see dad fight and to take them to a "professional" fight.

The fact is, this is never easy on me.  I have had to find a way to wrap my head around it. I have rituals that I have developed from my youth (I always look at the bulls eyes as it dies).

It is so hard to write about all the crazy emotions that are involved in an experience like this. I don't even know where to start when I bring those in to teh equation.

I suppose I should start by just telling folks who have the gumption to read something on this theme what it is that happened. Though I imagine it might become a multi-part series... which is a positive as it keeps me pretending to "write good".

Friday night - Schatzy and I get home from work, load up the car and in his ever so awesome self he begins the long haul road trip drive to San Diego where we are meeting my dad, my uncle, and my brother and his kids (who are also doing the commute from Phoenix). Most of the planning gets done on our drive out there, what time we need to get together, what time we want to leave, how to check in, that kind of stuff.

Saturday means a 11:00 am departure to head towards Tecate, Mexico.

I have yet to upload the shots from my camera, but here are some from my phone.

Here is where we ended up on Saturday.