Making Lists

I have always been a list maker. A friend once teased that, “Her lists have lists.” But the joke was true. I even have a master list of packing lists. There is the New York City Packing list and the Cape Cod list and the Kripalu Packing List and the Camping Trip list. I mean, really, these are vastly different undertakings, no?

Another list memory: my first husband—and this may be why he is an ex-husband—once wrote on my daily to-do list: “Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale….”.

Even at that I have defended my lists. Maybe it’s outer order balancing inner chaos? But my defense is always that I get a lot done.

But yesterday reading a wonderful novel called “April & Oliver” by Tess Callahan I read this line:  “Lists are for people who don’t do what they want.”

It struck me to the core. If I was doing what I really wanted would I really need a list?

Cancer101 Cancer Planning

“There are wedding planners and baby planners; why not a cancer planner?”

That’s what Monica Knoll thought as she struggled through years of managing her own cancer, and that thought led to her design and launch of the nonprofit and web-based, Cancer101.

Knoll was motivated to find and found a new kind of resource for people going through lengthy cancer treatment as a result of the way her work and career were impacted by first breast cancer and then later ovarian cancer. She found quickly that cancer stigma is strong and persistent in the workplace. Juggling cancer in the long-term is a challenge to workers and workplaces. Hence Knoll’s creation.

Do take a look at: http://www.cancer101.org/

 

What Really Matters?

There are many strategies for discernment. Many spiritual techniques and practices taught by experts in psychology, spirituality, even management. But there is nothing like seeing an irregular mole that wasn’t there yesterday to snap my mind into, “What really matters?” I go into mental triage: What now? What later? And while it is a bit paranoid and a kind of self torture to always be killing him off like this —it is also a gut compass that points me to the truest truth about what matters to me and who I am—good and bad—if his cancer does return.

Christmas Vacation

People plan. God Laughs.

Our three day trip to in Florida turned into eight. John’s Mom has no TV or internet so we blithely arrived at the Palm Beach airport to fly home on December 27th and like many were turned away. After hours and hours of airport life and long lines and my almost visceral refusal to believe that even with the storm we could not leave for five days—I finally surrendered and accepted what it was.

I began a gratitude list in the airport:

1. I had 18 hour mascara

2. I love to read magazines and the airport was full of mags I’d never read.

3. My husband was not screaming at me—a man behind us kept screaming at his wife.

4. We were not blind—a couple near us were both blind. (And they were negotiating all this hassle and being decent.)

5. I was not traveling with an infant—several families had teeny new babies.

6. I remembered to pray. (It took some work to get my thoughts to behave but I did pray)

7. We were both ok—really ok. We had family nearby so eventually we gave up and went back to John’s Mom and ate extraordinary food for five days and

8. This unexpected and unplanned week gave me a chance to get to know my new mother-in-law in ways I never could as a holiday houseguest.

Because we had planned our Christmas time with each other for December 27th—we had our own celebration on January 1st.

My favorite gift to John was a hard to find recording of Jeremy Denk playing Ives.

My favorite gift from John was the “Clapper”—the gadget that turns lights on and off with a clap of hands. Really. Now we can turn lights on and off in bed. All kinds of possibilities there.

It's Always There

I leave today for a week in Orlando for a Caregivers conference. Longest we have been apart since John’s surgery. I notice that my mind calculates time this way.

Yesterday in the car on our way to a concert we were listening to the Yankees game and there was a public service announcement for Colon Cancer screening. We both listened and didn’t speak. It’s always there.

We talk about the future. We talk about “when we are old” but cancer and its nasty statistics are always there. And I calculate. I plan for a wedding and a funeral. I dream of white and black. My contingency plan is always in place. Cancer is the hum in the background. It’s always there.