I can get a little crazy in the land of Love and Cancer. There can be such a thing, I think, as too much intimacy: When John goes to the bathroom in the early morning I listen. I try not to but I do. Oh yuck, I know, but true.
I am paying attention to the sounds. Does he take a long time? diarrhea? constipation? I listen and gauge. I’m worried about his colon. The part he’s missing and the part he still has. When we are making love and my face is inches from his scrotum and I see the small patch of brown skin I wonder. “How long has that been there? melanoma? testicular cancer? His cough in the morning; normal? allergy? lung cancer?
Saint Paul said, “I die daily”, and he meant surrender. I kill John daily, and that means the sad vigilance of cancer and caregiving.
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Cancer Men
This is just too good! I found this when searching for info on love and cancer:
Cancer men are incredibly appealing to many women. Cancers seem to have insight into what makes a woman fall in love. They are creative, passionate and loyal. When you meet a cancer for the first time you may be instantly smitten. They have been known to sweep a woman off her feet after only a few short dates.
Cancer men are incredibly appealing to many women. Cancers seem to have insight into what makes a woman fall in love. They are creative, passionate and loyal. When you meet a cancer for the first time you may be instantly smitten. They have been known to sweep a woman off her feet after only a few short dates.
Le Marriage
We are married. A small wedding. Our families and the close friends who have been our support for several years. Laughter, tears, cancer as a wedding guest—everyone recognized cancer as one of the attendants. We wrote vows that included being faithful—yes, I know—and that included “in sickness and in health”—knowing what that really means. We had great food, a lot of poetry, books, statues of Mary, our dear stuffed Babar and blue ribbons everywhere.
Then we flew to Paris and walked and ate and walked and ate and made love with windows wide open in the City of Lights.
Then we flew to Paris and walked and ate and walked and ate and made love with windows wide open in the City of Lights.
Monday, August 16, 2010
Married
Yesterday, August 15th, John and I were married. A small ceremony in a school house. Family and friends with us. Beautiful flowers. Lots of laughter. Great cake. And this poem:
“Afternoon, in a Back Yard on Chestnut Street,” by David Keller
Here are a man and a woman, being married.
The entire world of summer lawns
holds its breath for the event. The trees
around them are lovely, displaying the small
breath and motions of August. The couple glance
at one another. Where has the moon gone,
the requisite moon? Nearby, a mother
begs her child, “Try to remember;
when did you have it last?” Oh,
impossible mystery. Where is joy
when it is not here? Time says nothing.
These things can happen, and will,
while children at the yard’s border play
among grown-ups tasting the summer’s wine.
Memory looks at its watch, smiling.
The moon will begin to come round
the way it always did but we’d forgotten.
The lovers touch hands and think of
some place they want to be, and go there.
The child, happy at last,
has remembered where its lost ball is.
In the garden the pink phlox and the lilies
show off, between the old moon
here in the hot sky and the one to come.
Everyone hugs or shakes hands
and walks off toward the future, waving.
The man and woman look at each other.
They know it means happiness, this year. They do.
“Afternoon, in a Back Yard on Chestnut Street,” by David Keller
Here are a man and a woman, being married.
The entire world of summer lawns
holds its breath for the event. The trees
around them are lovely, displaying the small
breath and motions of August. The couple glance
at one another. Where has the moon gone,
the requisite moon? Nearby, a mother
begs her child, “Try to remember;
when did you have it last?” Oh,
impossible mystery. Where is joy
when it is not here? Time says nothing.
These things can happen, and will,
while children at the yard’s border play
among grown-ups tasting the summer’s wine.
Memory looks at its watch, smiling.
The moon will begin to come round
the way it always did but we’d forgotten.
The lovers touch hands and think of
some place they want to be, and go there.
The child, happy at last,
has remembered where its lost ball is.
In the garden the pink phlox and the lilies
show off, between the old moon
here in the hot sky and the one to come.
Everyone hugs or shakes hands
and walks off toward the future, waving.
The man and woman look at each other.
They know it means happiness, this year. They do.
Tuesday, August 10, 2010
My Hero
I’ve been debating all day about whether I can write this. “Too corny”, I thought. And “maybe I won’t feel this way tomorrow”. No, of course not; I’ll feel something else tomorrow. But today—all day—I thought, “He is my hero”.
John is my hero. We have been through so much crap with cancer and divorce and just life in the past two years that I sometimes forget that we have been friends for more than ten years. Ten years of coffee and books and ideas and laughter and too many cookies and cupcakes and hearing each other’s work questions and the juggling of reading and writing for both of us. We met as teachers and became friends, pals, annoyances, confidants, secret fantasies, outright fantasies, refusals, comforters, advisors, infatuations, lovers and partners. But always friends.
Now hero.
He is my hero.
Corny? Yes. But after all of the above corny is great!
John is my hero. We have been through so much crap with cancer and divorce and just life in the past two years that I sometimes forget that we have been friends for more than ten years. Ten years of coffee and books and ideas and laughter and too many cookies and cupcakes and hearing each other’s work questions and the juggling of reading and writing for both of us. We met as teachers and became friends, pals, annoyances, confidants, secret fantasies, outright fantasies, refusals, comforters, advisors, infatuations, lovers and partners. But always friends.
Now hero.
He is my hero.
Corny? Yes. But after all of the above corny is great!
Thursday, August 5, 2010
The High Cost of Not Dying
It may be too hard to read if you have cancer but if you have a loved one with cancer you must read the Annals of Medicine article by Atul Gawande in the August 2 2010 issue of the New Yorker magazine.
With compelling stories and plenty of grey in a black and white world Gawande invites us to consider what it means to be dying—especially of cancer—when there is no end of treatments and procedures that can be tried, applied and administered.
Most interesting is his challenge to us about how death itself has changed because we no longer stop and let a person experience it.
This excellent essay walks us through the very high cost of cancer in both dollars and healthcare system costs and the cost to us as people when we treat cancer as a problem to be fixed. We lose not just dollars but part of our humanity—and for those of us who care for or have cared for someone with cancer—we lose an essential piece of being a loved one in the truest sense of that term.
This August 2 issue is on newsstands or at your local library. Check it out. Make copies to share with friends. Talk about it now.
With compelling stories and plenty of grey in a black and white world Gawande invites us to consider what it means to be dying—especially of cancer—when there is no end of treatments and procedures that can be tried, applied and administered.
Most interesting is his challenge to us about how death itself has changed because we no longer stop and let a person experience it.
This excellent essay walks us through the very high cost of cancer in both dollars and healthcare system costs and the cost to us as people when we treat cancer as a problem to be fixed. We lose not just dollars but part of our humanity—and for those of us who care for or have cared for someone with cancer—we lose an essential piece of being a loved one in the truest sense of that term.
This August 2 issue is on newsstands or at your local library. Check it out. Make copies to share with friends. Talk about it now.
Sunday, August 1, 2010
If My Husband Ever...
“If my husband ever…”. Yes, with each round of celebrity infidelity we engage in the age-old game of, “If my husband ever…”. At 56, I’ve played this many times at lunch tables and water coolers and sitting on the floor in a girl friend’s living room. But at 56 I’ve also taken enough early morning phone calls from many of those same friends to know that even if you think you know what you’d do if you discovered a partner’s infidelity, you don’t.
Some leave at once, some never leave, some forgive, some don’t. Sometimes the ones that forgive stay but sometimes leaving is the route to forgiveness. Most chilling, I think, are those that never leave, never separate and never forgive. They keep up appearances—maybe are even envied by others for their perfect marriages which are glued together with hatred and spite.
The agony of infidelity does not discriminate. There is enough to go around. I’ve played all the parts: scorned wife, secret lover, other woman—and the friend who knew. There are no winners. No one has more or less pain.
Now, a new novel comes pretty close to accurately depicting each of those points of view. It’s a great read and even better as a book on CD to listen to in the car or at the beach.
If you have ever said, “I’d never” to any part of the extramarital triangle take a look at: “Heart of the Matter” by Emily Giffen.
Some leave at once, some never leave, some forgive, some don’t. Sometimes the ones that forgive stay but sometimes leaving is the route to forgiveness. Most chilling, I think, are those that never leave, never separate and never forgive. They keep up appearances—maybe are even envied by others for their perfect marriages which are glued together with hatred and spite.
The agony of infidelity does not discriminate. There is enough to go around. I’ve played all the parts: scorned wife, secret lover, other woman—and the friend who knew. There are no winners. No one has more or less pain.
Now, a new novel comes pretty close to accurately depicting each of those points of view. It’s a great read and even better as a book on CD to listen to in the car or at the beach.
If you have ever said, “I’d never” to any part of the extramarital triangle take a look at: “Heart of the Matter” by Emily Giffen.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Sex and Intimacy
It’s been a long time coming but finally an article about sex and cancer. Check out this very good article in the Summer 2010 issue of CURE Magazine. Written by Lacey Meyer the article discusses the challenges, feelings, fears and the shame. The article talks about libido, erectile dysfunction, hormonal changes and the conversations required. Yes, she does include the requisite bit on cuddling—oh please! But brave Lacey Meyer she also talks about masturbation and vibrators and pleasure.
Here is the link:
http://www.curetoday.com/index.cfm/fuseaction/article.show/id/2/article_id/1484
Here is the link:
http://www.curetoday.com/index.cfm/fuseaction/article.show/id/2/article_id/1484
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
Coaching Cancer
Last night a very moving moment on ESPN. Coach George Karl of the Denver Nuggets spoke passionately about his experience with cancer. First prostate and then throat and neck cancers. He spoke about being a man committed to winning and making a career pushing himself and others to be strong and win every time. He spoke movingly about the kind of winners and fighters he met in cancer treatment rooms and said, “I was not the bravest one in those rooms, many are braver than me facing those treatments for cancer.”
He addressed the live audience and the ESPN viewing audience asking for government commitment to fight cancer. And he asked that the United States government match dollar-for-dollar what is raised by the American Cancer Society and other cancer foundations.
What stood out was how much this big, strong man had suffered in his cancer treatment and was still suffering in his recovery from treatment. We so often forget that part. People with cancer have to survive both the cancer and the sometimes quite brutal treatments for cancer. That second phase can take a very long time.
He addressed the live audience and the ESPN viewing audience asking for government commitment to fight cancer. And he asked that the United States government match dollar-for-dollar what is raised by the American Cancer Society and other cancer foundations.
What stood out was how much this big, strong man had suffered in his cancer treatment and was still suffering in his recovery from treatment. We so often forget that part. People with cancer have to survive both the cancer and the sometimes quite brutal treatments for cancer. That second phase can take a very long time.
Tuesday, July 13, 2010
Saturday, July 10, 2010
My Happiness is My Business
I’ve been grumbling today. My to-do list is too long. I’m achy and tired. I’m mad at John. I’m mad at John because his list is not as long as mine. And he doesn’t sweat the small stuff in the ways that I do. But in my head I’m making my case: “It’s all up to me; look at all I do; I’ll never get it all done; how can I feel sexy or happy when I have all this to do?” Etc.
Then this thought came to me: My happiness is not his business. Many of the things on my list are there because I care about details. I coordinate and I make things match and I’m a nut about following up with friends; I have a long list of self-care tasks that I do because I want to and I have two jobs and I love to read, dance, play golf, exercise and take classes. Yeah, the list is too long, but it’s mostly my list.
I can’t tell you how grateful I am for this fresh thought. My happiness is my business. When I try to make my unhappiness his business then I’m making me a victim. Wow.
Then this thought came to me: My happiness is not his business. Many of the things on my list are there because I care about details. I coordinate and I make things match and I’m a nut about following up with friends; I have a long list of self-care tasks that I do because I want to and I have two jobs and I love to read, dance, play golf, exercise and take classes. Yeah, the list is too long, but it’s mostly my list.
I can’t tell you how grateful I am for this fresh thought. My happiness is my business. When I try to make my unhappiness his business then I’m making me a victim. Wow.
Wednesday, July 7, 2010
Chemo Love Therapy
Kisses that last at least ten seconds and hugs of at least six seconds increase the flow of oxytocin and serotonin. Oxytocin is the love chemical that promotes bonding, and serotonin, as we all know, is the happiness drug.
XOXOXOXOXO
XOXOXOXOXO
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
God Hold My Fearful Heart Today
God hold my fearful heart today.
Work scares me
Love scares me
Marriage scares me
Fragile bodies scare me
Hold my fearful heart today.
Amen.
Work scares me
Love scares me
Marriage scares me
Fragile bodies scare me
Hold my fearful heart today.
Amen.
Monday, July 5, 2010
San Antonio Dancing
We are back from a great vacation in San Antonio. It was a bit of everything: writing, speaking, learning, listening and play time. Part of the trip was a big conference and the best night included hours of dancing. Everything is big in Texas and that includes parties. In one hotel we went to three different ballrooms and danced in each one: Rock & Roll, Big Band and Texas Swing. We danced. No surprise that John is a good dancer even as he demurs—he’s an athlete and a musician so we danced to everything. Yeah, sometimes we had to make up our own moves but after a taste of Texas Swing I am determined to learn more.
The real treat of dancing that way though—and I’m guessing that swing dancers know this—is that the movement doesn’t stop when the music does. So even after stumbling-literally—to bed at midnight we kept reaching for each other all night and the dance continued.
The real treat of dancing that way though—and I’m guessing that swing dancers know this—is that the movement doesn’t stop when the music does. So even after stumbling-literally—to bed at midnight we kept reaching for each other all night and the dance continued.
Monday, June 28, 2010
Whatever..
I’m thinking about how things get reduced to a symbol, shorthand ways that we communicate, and the funny ways that people think/talk about cancer.
The other day I heard a friend talking to another friend about one of her friends who has cancer and she said, “Yeah and she has cancer…you know, the bandana and whatever.”
Cancer, the bandana and whatever.
The trouble is, I knew exactly what she meant.
The other day I heard a friend talking to another friend about one of her friends who has cancer and she said, “Yeah and she has cancer…you know, the bandana and whatever.”
Cancer, the bandana and whatever.
The trouble is, I knew exactly what she meant.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
Learning to Fall
So much falling in this “love in the time of cancer” story: Falling in love, falling apart, falling down in grief, falling down in laughter.
Last week my friend Stephen recommended a book called “Learning to Fall” by Philip Simmons. I got the book from the library and within minutes I was scribbling in the book. That’s always my clue that it’s a book I need to own so I ordered a copy for me and copies for friends too.
Simmons was 35 years old when he was diagnosed with ALS (Lou Gehrig’s disease) in 1993. That disease causes falls so the metaphor became clear at once. But his most eloquent writing is about all the other kinds of falls we take when we face life head on.
This is one of those books that you’ll want to copy out pages to give to friends or pass out at work so just go buy a copy now.
Here is just a taste from page 8 speaking about life problems:
“And here is where we go wrong, for at its deepest level life is not a problem but a mystery…Problems are to be solved, true mysteries are not. At one time or another each of us confronts an experience so powerful, bewildering, joyous, or terrifying that all our efforts to see it as a “problem” are futile. …What does mystery ask of us? Only that we be in its presence, that we fully, consciously, hand ourselves over."
I like this idea of seeing challenges not as problems to be solved but as mysteries to wonder at. It doesn’t make it easier, and Simmons is clear on that too.
I think this is like the difference between happiness and joy. Happiness depends on certain positive conditions but joy is ever possible even in the hardest, saddest most challenging times.
Last week my friend Stephen recommended a book called “Learning to Fall” by Philip Simmons. I got the book from the library and within minutes I was scribbling in the book. That’s always my clue that it’s a book I need to own so I ordered a copy for me and copies for friends too.
Simmons was 35 years old when he was diagnosed with ALS (Lou Gehrig’s disease) in 1993. That disease causes falls so the metaphor became clear at once. But his most eloquent writing is about all the other kinds of falls we take when we face life head on.
This is one of those books that you’ll want to copy out pages to give to friends or pass out at work so just go buy a copy now.
Here is just a taste from page 8 speaking about life problems:
“And here is where we go wrong, for at its deepest level life is not a problem but a mystery…Problems are to be solved, true mysteries are not. At one time or another each of us confronts an experience so powerful, bewildering, joyous, or terrifying that all our efforts to see it as a “problem” are futile. …What does mystery ask of us? Only that we be in its presence, that we fully, consciously, hand ourselves over."
I like this idea of seeing challenges not as problems to be solved but as mysteries to wonder at. It doesn’t make it easier, and Simmons is clear on that too.
I think this is like the difference between happiness and joy. Happiness depends on certain positive conditions but joy is ever possible even in the hardest, saddest most challenging times.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Fathers Day
Many layers of grief, worry and sadness on this day. Missing my Dad, coming to terms with who he was, and wrestling still with the leftovers of that relationship and how even today I see myself struggle with commitment, love and belief that I am loved. All of that has an impact on my life with John.
For John too. Missing his Dad, sadness over his kids anger at him, hoping they will get it that he had to leave their mother to save his own life. But they are kids—men really—but with our parents are we ever not still kids?
But I have another layer of fear and sadness on this day. I worry about cancer too and how it might colors father’s day in years to come. Yes, cancer. I do the countdown in my head. I know the stats and they haunt me. He is well, yes. Beat the odds? We hope so. My deep fear for his kids is that someday they will have regrets over having missed the last three years of John's life--out of pride or because they wanted to make a point or they could not let go the grip of man-to-man testosterone-fueled “rightness”. I have anticipatory grief for them and I wish time to fly so they can catch up before it is too late.
For John too. Missing his Dad, sadness over his kids anger at him, hoping they will get it that he had to leave their mother to save his own life. But they are kids—men really—but with our parents are we ever not still kids?
But I have another layer of fear and sadness on this day. I worry about cancer too and how it might colors father’s day in years to come. Yes, cancer. I do the countdown in my head. I know the stats and they haunt me. He is well, yes. Beat the odds? We hope so. My deep fear for his kids is that someday they will have regrets over having missed the last three years of John's life--out of pride or because they wanted to make a point or they could not let go the grip of man-to-man testosterone-fueled “rightness”. I have anticipatory grief for them and I wish time to fly so they can catch up before it is too late.
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Caught Off Guard
Ah, and I thought I was so prepared. That’s the trouble with mental rehearsal of troubles. They catch on to your head and then and sneak up from another direction.
Yesterday was oncology check up day. Four month interval with blood tests, looking for the tumor marker and the “Can you open your pants for me?” the belly exam that I so love to tease John about. It does seem that the most attractive PA’s and nurses ask, “Can I see your scars?” and he obliges like they were his etchings.
It was all good, Blood work OK and tummy-tapping just fine. But me: not!
I was a crazy woman all day. Grumbling about minor infractions and feared big events. My scared-girl head took me on a day long roller-coaster of “he doesn’t love me” and “they (any “they” will do) will upset the apple cart of our good life.” Just a day of fearful scenarios that ended—I’m ashamed to say with me saying nasty things and finally sobbing.
Oh duh, cancer got me again.
I guess all’s well that ends well and our day ended with left over pasta, a Yankee win and an early bedtime.
Progress not perfection.
Yesterday was oncology check up day. Four month interval with blood tests, looking for the tumor marker and the “Can you open your pants for me?” the belly exam that I so love to tease John about. It does seem that the most attractive PA’s and nurses ask, “Can I see your scars?” and he obliges like they were his etchings.
It was all good, Blood work OK and tummy-tapping just fine. But me: not!
I was a crazy woman all day. Grumbling about minor infractions and feared big events. My scared-girl head took me on a day long roller-coaster of “he doesn’t love me” and “they (any “they” will do) will upset the apple cart of our good life.” Just a day of fearful scenarios that ended—I’m ashamed to say with me saying nasty things and finally sobbing.
Oh duh, cancer got me again.
I guess all’s well that ends well and our day ended with left over pasta, a Yankee win and an early bedtime.
Progress not perfection.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Celebrate This Day!
Years ago I was a student at Marywood College in Scranton, Pennsylvania. It was then a small women’s school, today it’s a University. I went there as a ‘returning” student. I was “older” in my twenties and I devoured the curriculum. Yes, one of those sit in the front and ask for more assignment types who frustrated the other students but who delighted the faculty. I was hungry to learn. That never went away.
A memorable teacher and class: the nun, Sister Rosemarie, who taught “Marriage and Family” addressed our class frequently on one topic: enjoy this day. She told us that any time you had occasion to celebrate you should. She said—attention on the younger women I think—that there will be so many occasions for tears in your life that any occasion that is good deserves celebration.
That has stayed with me.
As we head into this week with worry over doctor's appointments and sadness for the death of a friend's baby and struggle with so many losses buried in gains of this relationship. I hear Sister Rosemarie saying, “Celebrate!”
A memorable teacher and class: the nun, Sister Rosemarie, who taught “Marriage and Family” addressed our class frequently on one topic: enjoy this day. She told us that any time you had occasion to celebrate you should. She said—attention on the younger women I think—that there will be so many occasions for tears in your life that any occasion that is good deserves celebration.
That has stayed with me.
As we head into this week with worry over doctor's appointments and sadness for the death of a friend's baby and struggle with so many losses buried in gains of this relationship. I hear Sister Rosemarie saying, “Celebrate!”
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Flashback
Today I drove to Hudson, New York for a business meeting. I followed the directions and pulled into the parking lot where the meeting was being held. It was an oncology center!
I signed in at the lobby desk and was directed to the conference center on the second floor. I passed through the clinic area and saw the patients and families waiting. Patients were being called in for blood work and to have their ports checked. It came flooding back.
The waiting rooms. Waiting to be called. Patients tired and anxious. Families with their reading bags and knitting and cell phones. The stress on their faces. Greeting each other with careful nods in that small community that a chemo waiting room becomes.
I signed in at the lobby desk and was directed to the conference center on the second floor. I passed through the clinic area and saw the patients and families waiting. Patients were being called in for blood work and to have their ports checked. It came flooding back.
The waiting rooms. Waiting to be called. Patients tired and anxious. Families with their reading bags and knitting and cell phones. The stress on their faces. Greeting each other with careful nods in that small community that a chemo waiting room becomes.
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